Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages (New Approaches in Archaeology, 1) [1 ed.] 2503600905, 9782503600901

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Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages

New Approaches in Archaeo­logy Volume 1

general Editor Paul S. Johnson, University of Nottingham

Editorial Board Marianne Hem Eriksen, University of Leicester Lara Fabian, Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg Linda Gosner, University of Michigan Christopher Loveluck, University of Nottingham Cheryl Makarawicz, Christian-Albrechts-Universität zu Kiel Dimitrij Mlekuž, University of Ljubljana

Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages

Edited by

Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski

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© 2023, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2023/0095/90 ISBN: 978-2-503-60090-1 e-ISBN: 978-2-503-60091-8 DOI: 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.130172 Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

Table of Contents List of Illustrations

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Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski 1. Animals and Animated Objects in Early Medi­eval Worlds: An Introduction

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Sebastian Beermann 2. Bear Phalanges and Bearskins in Graves of the First Millennium ad: Cultural Developments and Characteristics of a Unique Burial Custom in Central and Northern Europe

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Sarah Croix 3. What Could Birds Do for the Dead? Animals and Humans in the Mortuary Practices of Viking Age Ribe

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Klaudia Karpińska 4. Between Life and Death: Waterfowl in Viking Age Funerary Practices

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Harriet J. Evans Tang and Keith Ruiter 5. Exploring Animals as Agents and Objects in Early Medi­eval Iceland and Scandinavia

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Matthias S. Toplak 6. Horse Burials on Viking Age Gotland: Between Mounted Warriors and Totemic Animals

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Jerzy Sikora 7. Horses and Burial Rites in the Early Piast State and Pomerania

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Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski 8. Riders on the Storm: Decorative Horse Bridles in the Early Piast State and Pomerania

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Tõnno Jonuks and Tuuli Kurisoo 9. Between the Beasts: On the Meaning and Function of Small Quadruped Figurines from Estonia

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List of Illustrations 1. Animals and Animated Objects in Early Medi­eval Worlds — Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski Figure 1.1. a: Zdzisława Ratajczyk, the discoverer of the zoomorphic spurs from Ciepłe; b: Replica of the zoomorphic spur from Ciepłe.

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Figure 1.2. The participants of the III International Interdisciplinary Meetings ‘Motifs through the Ages’ in Bytów during a visit to an early Iron Age burial ground in Węsiory.

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Figure 1.3. Leszek Gardeła, Bartosz Ligocki, Zdzisława Ratajczyk, and Kamil Kajkowski during the ‘World on a Spur’ exhibition at the West Cassubian Museum in Bytów.

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2. Bear Phalanges and Bearskins in Graves of the First Millennium ad — Sebastian Beermann Figure 2.1. Smiss (Eke parish), Gotland, Sweden. Grave 293. Plan of the grave chamber and reconstruction.

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Figure 2.2. Grave 89/66, Schlotheim, Thuringia, Germany. Ceramic vessel (urn) and twelve cremated bear phalanges.

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Figure 2.3. Lanceheads: By, Stod, Nord-Trøndelag; grave XII, Vendels kyrka, Uppland.

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Figure 2.4. Animal-shaped sword pommels from Birkaland, Kirmukarmu, and Österbotten, Gulldynt, both Finland. After Hackmann 1895, figs 1 and 2.

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Figure 2.5. Prästgården, Ed, Sweden: sword pommel (with reconstruction), found in a bearskin grave with weapons.

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Figure 2.6. Helmet press-sheet model from Torslunda, Öland, Sweden and silver phalera from Niederhohne, Hessia, Germany.

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Figure 2.7. Högom, Sundsvall, Sweden, mound 2: reconstruction of a motif on one of the tunic edgings.

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3. What Could Birds Do for the Dead? — Sarah Croix Table 3.1. Basic data for burials at Ribe’s earliest cemetery containing animal remains.

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Figure 3.1. Grave SJM 348, G35. The cremation deposit was placed in a shallow pit, here sectioned during excavation in 2016.

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Figure 3.2. Grave SJM 348, G35. The deposit contained rich artefactual and osteo­logical material: A: cremated human bones; B: cremated dog bones; C: cremated bird bones; D: comb fragments; E: beads of glass, bronze, and gold.

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Figure 3.3. Details of the Oseberg tapestries. Procession scene, with birds flying above and between the participants.

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Figure 3.4. Detail of the Oseberg tapestries. The bird-headed figure.

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4. Between Life and Death — Klaudia Karpińska Table 4.1. Viking Age graves with documented bones of birds belonging to the family Anatidae discovered in Scandinavia.

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Figure 4.1. Grave 277, Snubbekorsgård, Sjælland (Denmark) under excavation.

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Figure 4.2. Plan of the third and fourth layers of grave A88, Rytterkær, Sjælland (Denmark). 1. Fragment of a human skull, 2. Metal pin, 3. Mounts of a chest, 4.  Knife, 5. Shield boss, 6. Remains of a wooden object (a bucket?).

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Figure 4.3. Bones of a goose discovered in grave IV, Tuna, Sweden. Historiska Museet, Stockholm.

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Figure 4.4. Amber lump from Hedeby, Germany, with a carving of waterfowl.

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Figure 4.5. Antler waterfowl (a duck?) from Birka, Sweden. Historiska Museet, Stockholm. Photo by Klaudia Karpińska.

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Figure 4.6. Silver pendant from Hedeby, Germany, in the shape of chair/throne.

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Figure 4.7. Iron staff from Gävle, Sweden, with a bird-shaped mount.

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Figure 4.8. Stone from Sanda kyrka, Gotland, Sweden, with depiction of a bird.

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5. Exploring Animals as Agents and Objects in Early Medi­eval Iceland and Scandinavia — Harriet J. Evans Tang and Keith Ruiter Figure 5.1. Artistic reconstruction of grave A505 in Trekroner-Grydehøj in Sjælland, Denmark.

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6. Horse Burials on Viking Age Gotland — Matthias S. Toplak Figure 6.1. Chamber grave Bj 752 B in Birka; equestrian burial at the cemetery of Hemlanden 1C.

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Figure 6.2. Distribution of horse burials on Gotland.

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Figure 6.3. Grave goods from grave 1 in Broa, Halla sn.

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Figure 6.4. Distribution of burials with horses, horse bones or horse-related artefacts in the cemetery of Ire, Hellvi parish.

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Figure 6.5. Grave 230B in Ire, Hellvi parish; burial of a female in a cart body next to a bitted horse.

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Figure 6.6 Grave 497 in Ire, Hellvi parish; burial of an infant of approximately eleven years with a horse and a dog.

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Figure 6.7a. Grave 505 in Ire, Hellvi parish; burial of an infant of approximately twelve–thirteen years of age equipped with a sword, two spears, horse-related artefacts, and a horse and a dog.

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list of illust r ati o n s

Figure 6.7b. Artistic reconstruction of grave 505 in Ire, Hellvi parish.

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Figure 6.8. Grave 1952A in Slite, Othem parish; chamber burial of a male with a horse and a dog.

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Figure 6.9. Grave 8/1973 in Gällungs, Väskinde parish; burial of a male aligned with a horse.

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7. Horses and Burial Rites in the Early Piast State and Pomerania — Jerzy Sikora Table 7.1. Dziekanowice, site 22. The chrono­logical model for the horse burial and grave 21/92 based on radiocarbon-dating.

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Figure 7.1. Horses in pre-Christian burial places in Poland from the seventh to the eleventh centuries.

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Figure 7.2. Horse skeletons and scattered horse bones in inhumation cemeteries from the tenth to the twelfth centuries.

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Figure 7.3. Dziekanowice. Horse burial.

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Figure 7.4. Dziekanowice. Chrono­logical model of human grave 21/92 and horse burial.

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Figure 7.5. Pień. The calibration curve for dating grave 70 (a horse burial).

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Figure 7.6. Ostrowite. Grave 77. A. Plan of the grave; B. Close-up of the silver necklace and the amber pendant in situ; C. The base of amber pedant featuring a cross directly after extraction from the grave.

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Figure 7.7. Ostrowite. Plan of trenches D100, G10, and J10 with scattered horse and cattle remains in pits surrounding grave 77 and 3D models of those features.

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Figure 7.8. Ostrowite. Plans of grave 35 and related features.

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Figure 7.9. Graves with horse-riding equipment from the tenth and the eleventh centuries.

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Figure 7.10. Żarnów. Alleged grave 1/1973. Plan and grave goods.

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Figure 7.11. Graves with spurs from the tenth to the twelfth centuries.

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Figure 7.12. Graves with horse harness. Comparison of grave assemblages.

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Figure 7.13. Graves with spurs. Comparison of grave assemblages.

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Figure 7.14. Markowice. Graves 125 and 125 A. Plans and grave goods.

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Figure 7.15. Markowice. A chrono­logical model of the cemetery.

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Figure 7.16. Dziekanowice. A simplified plan of the cemetery.

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Figure 7.17. Kałdus. A simplified plan of the cemetery.

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Figure 7.18. Kraków, Rynek Główny. A simplified plan of the cemetery.

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8. Riders on the Storm — Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski Table 8.1. Cross-shaped strap distributors from Poland (Type 1).

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Table 8.2. Openwork strap distributors from Poland (Type 2).

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Table 8.3. Copper-alloy cheekpieces from Poland.

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Figure 8.1. Western Slavic rider on a konik polski as interpreted by Bartosz Ligocki from Drużyna Konna Pancerna X.

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Figure 8.2. Copper-alloy strap distributors from grave 5 in Lutomiersk.

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Figure 8.3. Copper-alloy and iron strap distributors and two cheekpieces from grave 10 in Lutomiersk.

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Figure 8.4. Zoomorphic spurs.

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Figure 8.5. The contents of grave 5 in Ciepłe.

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Figure 8.6. Variants of cross-shaped strap distributors discovered in the area of the Piast state and Pomerania.

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Figure 8.7. Selection of cross-shaped strap distributors made of iron and copper alloy.

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Figure 8.8. Selection of cross-shaped strap distributors made of iron.

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Figure 8.9. Reconstruction of the bridle from grave 10 in Lutomiersk.

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Figure 8.10. Four iron strap distributors from grave 35 in Ciepłe.

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Figure 8.11. Three iron strap fittings from grave 35 in Ciepłe.

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Figure 8.12. Selection of openwork strap distributors made of copper alloy.

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Figure 8.13. Selection of copper-alloy cheekpieces from the Piast state and Pomerania.

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Figure 8.14. Serpentine motifs on different categories of Western Slavic objects.

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9. Between the Beasts — Tõnno Jonuks and Tuuli Kurisoo Table 9.1.  Stylistic features and the weights of the quadrupeds from Estonia.

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Figure 9.1. Quadruped figurines from Estonia. The stylistic groups represent similar interpretations of the ideal images that served as a source of inspiration.

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Figure 9.2.  Distribution map of quadruped figurines in Estonia.

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Figure 9.3. Stylistic features of the figurines.

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Figure 9.4. Comb-shaped pendant with zoomorphic extensions from Maidla.

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Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski

1. Animals and Animated Objects in Early Medi­eval Worlds An Introduction The significance of animals in early medi­eval Europe is uncontested. Textual, archaeo­logical, and other sources leave no doubt that in both a literal and metaphorical sense human and animal worlds were tightly interwoven. Mammals, fowl, and fish were seen not only as creatures that could be bred, hunted, and exploited in a variety of other ways but also as core constituents of sophisticated worldviews and systems of belief that blurred the boundaries between humans and non-humans and their shared realms or ‘zoomorphic worlds’. Many people of the early Middle Ages thus regarded animals as much more than mere ‘things’ or ‘commodities’ — the flesh of which could be consumed and bones transformed into objects — but rather as prominent actors possessing their own agency or even personhood (e.g. Dobres and Robb 2000; Fowler 2004; Hill 2013). Visitors to archaeo­logical sites and museums in Western and Northern Europe often marvel at the quantity and quality of visual representations of real and fantastic animals on carved stones, items of jewellery, weapons, and equestrian equipment from the Middle Ages. These evocative images attest to the outstanding skills of their creators, the vastness of their imagination, and the sophistication of pre-Christian systems of belief. When zoomorphic artefacts are situated in the light of extant written sources, it becomes possible to gain even further insight into the profound messages and meanings encoded in them (e.g. Gräslund 2006; Jennbert 2011; Toplak 2019; Gardeła 2020; Røstad and others 2020). Illuminated or ‘animated’ by textual evidence, the creatures that adorn some of the masterpieces of pre-Christian art can once again be brought to life and recognized as fantastic and mytho­logical animals associated with specific deities and other entities that populated the (super)natural world of the

Middle Ages. In some instances, these animals can be also plausibly interpreted as companions, assistants, or guardians of humans and/or metaphors or extensions of their physical abilities and mental faculties. It is noteworthy, however, that medi­eval items endowed with animalistic qualities need not necessarily carry obvious or easily recognizable visual representations of animals. Old English and Old Norse textual sources demonstrate that in Western and Northern Europe weapons such as swords and spears — devoid of zoomorphic ornamentation — were also regarded as animal-like and animated objects (e.g. Hatto 1957; Brunning 2015; 2019): in medi­eval imagination, they had their own unique agency and the ability to literally and metaphorically bite and move like deadly snakes. In Old Norse literature the iconic Viking ships, well known to laypeople and specialist scholars all across the world, are also frequently attributed animal-like qualities and animal-derived names, and some of their surviving archaeo­logical examples actually resemble serpents or dragons. The best tangible example of this phenomenon is the magnificent prow of the Oseberg ship, shaped like a snake’s head (e.g. Christensen and others 1992). All across Europe animals and their parts were also used in healing and mortuary rituals, as food for the dead, as protectors of burial places, and as creatures that transported or guided the deceased to the otherworld. Furthermore, clear references to animals can be witnessed in names, both those given to humans and those associated with specific places in the landscape that surrounded them: still today in Scandinavia and elsewhere in Europe it is not uncommon to encounter people who carry names or surnames directly or indirectly referring to wild predators like wolves, bears, and foxes as well as to fish and fowl.

Leszek Gardeła ([email protected]) is Senior Researcher at the National Museum of Denmark. Kamil Kajkowski ([email protected]) is Senior Curator at the West Cassubian Museum in Bytów. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 11–22 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132513

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Although in recent years medi­eval scholarship has spotlighted human–animal interactions in early medi­eval Scandinavia and Anglo-Saxon England (e.g. Jennbert 2011; Carver and others 2010; Bintley and Williams 2015b; Røstad and others 2020), similar phenomena among Central and Eastern European societies continue to remain relatively understudied and underrepresented in wider international discussions (but see Żak 1955; Kajkowski and Kuczkowski 2011; Kajkowski 2012; 2015; 2016; 2017; 2019; Kulakov 2018; Pluskowski 2012; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021). This collection of papers seeks to partly fill this gap and bridge a persistent divide between Northern, Western, Central, and Eastern European scholarship; a divide resulting from a range of socio-cultural circumstances, different research trends and methodo­ logies, as well as linguistic barriers. By presenting, discussing, and contextualizing some of the latest results of interdisciplinary research on Scandinavian, Slavic, and Baltic approaches to animals, and by investigating the ways in which the boundaries between humans and other representatives of the natural world could be blurred, this volume aspires to create a platform for unprejudiced cross-cultural and cross-disciplinary dialogue and pave new ways for future academic inquiries and collaborations.

Researching Human–Animal Interactions: Past and Present Trends and Trajectories Exactly a quarter of a century ago, a renowned Polish historian of religion Tadeusz Margul (1996, 8) argued that in understanding the role of animals in myths and ritual practices lies one of the keys to every civilization. This is by no means an isolated view as it fits into the wider context of international and interdisciplinary research surrounding the relations between past societies and the natural world (e.g. Haseloff 1981; Gilhus 2006; Røstad and others 2020). Humans often see themselves and the environment around them through the prism of the culture–nature dichotomy. It is noteworthy, however, that this dichotomy does not necessarily reflect the actual state of reality and rather serves as a point of reference and a tool that allows people to perceive and comprehend the world and the mechanisms that govern it. This anthropocentric worldview began to take form in the early medi­eval period ( Jensen 2013, 208–09; Boyd 2017). Under the growing influence of Christianity, medi­eval Western societies perceived nature in the light of the Book of Genesis which postulates the idea that it is us, humans, who are the rulers of the Earth and that animals and nature (broadly understood) are some-

thing else, something foreign, and thus the human species stands above its environment, its fauna and flora, and determines their fate (Fagan 2018, 38; see also Bintley and Williams 2015a). The proverbial final touch to this view of the world was added by the French philosopher Descartes (1596–1650), according to whom animals, lacking both thought and speech, should be placed on the same level as objects. Cartesianism (or, as some would have it, the inheritance of Descartes) led rapidly to the establishment of theoretical positions which recognized various forms or incarnations of the culture/ nature, human/animal, social/bio­logical dichotomy (e.g. Lejman 2008, 26–33; Peterson 2016, 240–41; Fagan 2018, 281; Schroer 2018, 315). A view based on Christian and Eurocentric traditions eventually introduced so-called ‘species chauvinism’ and positioned humans above all other living beings. In this perspective, humans owed their highest rank in the hierarchy of species to their (self ) awareness, their capacity for abstract and rational thinking and communicating with the aid of language, as well as their ability to form culture and civilization. In more recent times, the anthropocentric manner of comprehending and valorizing reality became the target of critical commentaries, especially those emerging out of poststructuralism which rejected the subjective treatment not only of the natural world but also of material things. Poststructuralism regarded all things as having their own identity and bio­graphy as well as the capacity to act, to induce change in their surroundings, and to influence humans (Trigger 2009; Domańska 2016, 324; Salzani 2017). It was argued that anthropocentrism should be seen as nothing more than a contemporary scientific construct and that this view of the world was foreign to ancient societies (Boyd 2017, 300). Poststructuralism also drew attention to the bio­logical connections between humans and their close environment as well as other complex relationships or entanglements they share with the wider world (e.g. Hodder 2012). As a consequence of these relationships humans began to be seen as part of a rich (eco)system, and it was acknowledged that they should no longer be considered as ‘measures of all things, as egocentric, autonomous individuals and cultural beings’ (Domańska 2015, 8; translation by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski; see also Tourigny 2020). Thus, while earlier research on past societies concentrated on people’s (dominant) roles in culture, the so-called animal turn and posthumanism which emerged in the 1990s highlighted their roles in nature as well as their relations with other species (for a well-referenced overview of the history and developments of the animal turn, see Hill 2013).

1. ani mals and ani mat e d o b ject s i n e arly me d i ­e val worlds

The former anthropocentric model of research into human–animal relations, assuming that animals lacked their own agency and could only be used for agricultural, economic, or religious purposes, was challenged. In this new perspective animals were no longer viewed as commodities destined to satisfy the basic needs of human existence. Instead, they started to be seen as co-creators of reality, on a par with humans (Domańska 2015, 18). This paradigm shift has left its strong impression on prehistoric and medi­eval archaeo­logy, eventually leading to more theoretically and methodo­logically aware approaches to faunal materials and ‘grand themes’ like domestication and early human–animal relations in hunter-gatherer and early farming societies. The former include, among others, nuanced studies of diet and living conditions of human groups; explorations of changes in the morpho­logical characteristics of various animal species with the aim of elucidating environmental and climatic transformations and their influence on a given society; and investigations of the function and meaning of specific animal species or objects made from their body parts (antlers/horns or fur/hide) in the social and religious life of past communities (e.g. Brisbane and Maltby 2002; Gräslund 2004; 2006; 2020; Jennbert 2004; 2011; Loumand 2006; Pluskowski 2006a; 2006b; Pentikäinen 2007; Dubois 2012; Lindholm and Ljungkvist 2015; Karpińska 2018; Kaliff and Oestigaard 2020). Phenomeno­logical research into material cultures, architecture, landscapes as well as places and spaces of religious activity has also been influenced by the animal turn (e.g. Jennbert and others 2002; Lucas and McGovern 2007; Pluskowski 2012). Today, the role of animals is no longer reduced to that of passive commodities in ritual acts, and questions are being asked about their wider significance and agency in the spiritual life of past societies. Archaeo­ logists now strive to avoid throwaway comments and simplistic conclusions such as those that were frequently posed in publications from the first half of the twentieth century, i.e. conventionally limited to the contention that animal remains discovered in funerary, settlement, and other contexts had utilitarian roles and were just ‘consumed’ or ‘sacrificed’. Contemporary researchers are finally in the position to ask more detailed questions such as: How did the roles of animals in ritual practices develop and change in space and time? Which species and which parts of their carcasses were preferred for religious activities and why? What was their symbolic significance and how were they inscribed into ritual scenarios? How did these animals behave in the course of the ceremonies and what responses

did their behaviour evoke among the human and non-human participants of these events? Attempts to provide answers to these and many other questions have resulted in a quantitative and qualitative re-evaluation of former presumptions regarding human relations with the world of fauna. At the same time, also in (zoo)archaeo­logical discourse, animals have ceased to play the role of passive bystanders to human communities and begun to be seen ‘as creatures living intimately with their human counterparts’ (Boyd 2017, 304 citing Lev-Tov and deFrance 2010, xi). We have come to realize that dependencies in the past between humans and the world of fauna varied in space and time and were far more complex and multifaceted than they are today. Research conducted to date has clearly shown not only the heterogenous onto­logical status of individual animal species but also the differences in their valorization which ensue from the diverse values that define societies, groups, or even individuals (Margul 1987, 218; Poole 2014, 866; Mazza 2020, 263). After decades of significant developments in understanding and approaching human–animal relations, today’s scholars seem to generally agree that animals in prehistory and the Middle Ages (as well as in later post-conversion periods) were not only destined to satisfy basic human needs, and that the people of the past had a much more complex perception of them than we do today, treating animals as inseparable constituents of the surrounding world (Cassirer 1977, 177; Hill 2013, 117–18). Understood in this nuanced way, animals not only possess their own history but ‘should be acknowledged as agents who made an essential contribution to creating and developing human history’ (Domańska 2016, 323; translation by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski), becoming active and immensely important beings in the worldviews and religions of past societies (Cassirer 1977, 177; Lindstrøm 2012).

Researching Animated Objects: Paradigms, Problems, and New Perspectives In the 1990s and the first two decades of the 2000s, the paradigm shift known as the animal turn went very much hand in hand with another intellectual current in the humanities — namely, the so-called material turn (e.g. Appadurai 1986; Latour 1993; Miller 1998; 2009; Bennett and Joyce 2010; Hicks and Beaudry 2010; Ingold 2012; Ott and others 2015; Hofmann and others 2016; all with further references). Admittedly, archaeo­logists had always been preoccupied with objects, their physical qualities, classification, dating, and so on. The material turn,

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however, introduced new methodo­logies and theoretically inspired tools that individually and collectively contributed to a more nuanced understanding not only of things per se but also the networks of correspondences in which they were enmeshed, the people and animals they were associated with, as well as their agentive and symbolic qualities. As part of these developments anthropo­logists and archaeo­ logists began to investigate themes like object bio­ graphy (Kopytoff 1986; Gosden and Marshall 1999) and personhood (Fowler 2004). The later incorporation of these theoretical perspectives into the field of early medi­eval archaeo­logy made it possible to view some categories of objects as having the qualities of social agents (e.g. Gardeła 2009; 2016; Lund 2017). As Julie Lund (2017) has rightly observed, in Viking Age Scandinavia people were not only telling stories of themselves, their families, and their ancestors but also the stories of things’ lives. Over the course of time, and as a result of complicated processes of production, exchange, transformation, and (re)deposition, things — like humans — could acquire unique, complex, and multilayered bio­graphies. In some circumstances during their life course things could also be treated in an analogous or ‘symmetrical’ way to humans: for instance they could be given names, provided with ‘food’ and ‘dress’, and even buried in an appropriate ceremonial manner. In line with these developments, several researchers specializing in Viking Age Scandinavia have recently investigated the idea of ‘animated objects’, i.e. objects that appear to have been infused with ‘life’ or a kind of personhood that endowed them with particular potency and ability to act, sometimes against the will of their owners (e.g. Gardeła 2009; 2016; Brunning 2015; 2019; Lund 2017; Armstrong Oma 2018; Knutson 2020). In this context, it is noteworthy to remember that the Latin word for ‘animal’ was interpreted by Isidore of Seville (c. 560–636) as deriving from animans or ‘living’ because the creatures were ‘animated by life and moved by spirit’ (cf. Adams 2015, 13). The word ‘animation’, often used in popular parlance today in connection with children’s cartoons, also refers to the concept of bringing things to life — in this particular case, pictures. Although gaining increasing popularity in Western and Northern Europe, object bio­graphy, personhood, and other related theoretical perspectives have not been extensively applied in explorations of early medi­ eval archaeo­logical finds from Central and Eastern Europe. Regardless of the fact that the material culture of the people inhabiting these areas — i.e. the various denominations of Western and Eastern Slavs as well as different groups of Baltic peoples — is of

high quality and often profusely ornamented, deeper explorations of its meaning-content still remain at a nascent stage (e.g. Żak 1959; Posselt and Szczepanik 2017; Szczepanik 2017; 2019a; 2019b; 2019c; 2020a; 2020b; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021; Kajkowski 2019; Gardeła 2022). The reasons for this are manifold and partly come from the isolation of Central and Eastern European medi­eval archaeo­logy from the intellectual currents stemming from Western and Northern Europe during the communist period (in the Polish People’s Republic/PRL between 1952–1989) as well as from the still persisting preoccupation of Central and Eastern European scholars with macro-histories and research on long-term processes such as migration, the development of settlements and strongholds, state formation, Christianization and so on. The general lack of interest in micro-historical approaches to people, animals, and things also contributed to the much slower implementation of theories associated with the animal and material turn in research on medi­eval Slavic and Baltic communities. Until recently, another problem was the misleading conviction that the majority of high-status objects carrying zoomorphic decorations discovered in the Western Slavic area were culturally foreign and stemmed from Scandinavia or Rus (e.g. Kara 1991; 1992a; 1992b; 1998; 2001; Wachowski 2001; 2006; Wołoszyn 2004; Krysztofiak 2011; Grygiel 2014; contra Ratajczyk and others 2017; Gardeła 2018; 2019a; 2019b; in press; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019). A strong wind of change came with the (re)excavation of an early medi­eval inhumation cemetery in Ciepłe in Pomerania, Poland. Several fieldwork campaigns orchestrated and led by Zdzisława Ratajczyk of the Archaeo­logical Museum in Gdańsk resulted in the discovery of three chamber graves furnished with weapons and equestrian equipment of exceptionally high quality (Ratajczyk 2011; 2013a). One of these graves contained a well-preserved set of copper-alloy spurs decorated with finely executed images of creatures resembling cattle, snakes, and birds (Ratajczyk 2013b). Similar items had been known before, albeit in fragments, from several Polish sites and conventionally interpreted as foreign imports stemming from Scandinavia, Rus, or Eastern Europe (e.g. Jażdżewski 1951; Nadolski and others 1959; Wachowski 2001; 2006; Wołoszyn 2010). As a result of detailed (re)investigations of the spurs, their broader contexts, and a variety of textual and folkloristic sources pertaining to pre-Christian religion, in 2017 a new path-­ breaking argument was put forward (Ratajczyk and others 2017). It was suggested that the spurs were not only markers of Western Slavic identity and status in a martially oriented group of elite riders but also

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carriers of profound religious messages and meanings (see also Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and others 2019; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Söderberg 2019; Michalak and Gardeła 2020). Essentially, the spurs appear to have served as models of the Western Slavic cosmos, with the different creatures acting as embodiments of the natural and supernatural powers governing the universe and/or avatars of deities and humans. The zoomorphic spurs from Ciepłe — as well as their analogies known from other sites in Poland, Germany, and Sweden — are some of the best examples of ‘animated objects’ in the Western Slavic cultural milieu, not only due to their obvious entanglements with ideas of prestige, power, and warriorhood but also due to their unique physical properties and design (Fig. 1.1a). Like other miniature objects (e.g. Bailey 2005), the zoomorphic spurs have the capacity to unsettle the minds of their observers, invoking a feeling of being ‘transported’ into a scaled-down world of Slavic pre-Christian myth and imagination: a world where the horse figure serves as a psychopompos or carrier of souls, where the horned cattle represent human souls grazing on an island amidst the sea and where the bird-like creatures and snakes on the leather straps allude to divine antagonists engaged in a constant struggle for world domination. Remarkably, the sun which in Slavic beliefs is the main subject of this struggle, is represented by a sliding copper-alloy ring with a swastika motif — an item which is both literally and metaphorically animated. When viewed from the side, the spurs resemble a large snake, a creature endowed with great potency and ambivalent characteristics as well as one which the Slavs associated with some of the most powerful deities in their pantheon (cf. Majewski 1892; Tomicki 1974; Tomiccy 1975). But these are not the only aspects that have the capacity to enliven the spurs and their imagery: the two bells attached to their arms also (literally) play a significant role in this process. When the spurs are in motion, the bells produce a jingling sound, serving as their own unique voice — a voice that immediately commands attention (Fig. 1.1b). All these new investigations of the zoomorphic spurs have opened up previously unseen or ‘barricaded’ doors into the world of early medi­ eval Western Slavic imagination, material culture, human–animal relations, and many other themes. In deciphering the meaning-content of these outstanding artefacts, and in situating them in context, researchers have finally begun to acknowledge and understand the dense networks of correspondences that exist between various high-status elements of tenth- and eleventh-century Slavic material culture.

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b

Figure 1.1. a: Zdzisława Ratajczyk, the discoverer of the zoomorphic spurs from Ciepłe. Photo courtesy of Klaudia Karpińska; b: Replica of the zoomorphic spur from Ciepłe created by Tomasz Czyszczoń (Montanus Historical Jewellery). Photo courtesy of Tomasz Czyszczoń.

They all appear to be part of a coherent ideo­logical programme, rooted in pre-Christian conceptions of the cosmos and adopted to serve new roles in the process of forging identities and creating the foundations of the early Piast state (Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021). Some of these correspondences will be explored in further detail in the present volume, but it is crucial to already emphasize the fact that the new doors to the world of the Slavs have been opened not by researching past humans per se but the animated objects they created and the animal representations that adorn them.

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Figure 1.2. The participants of the III International Interdisciplinary Meetings ‘Motifs through the Ages’ in Bytów during a visit to an early Iron Age burial ground in Węsiory. Photo courtesy of Klaudia Karpińska.

Figure 1.3. Leszek Gardeła, Bartosz Ligocki, Zdzisława Ratajczyk, and Kamil Kajkowski during the ‘World on a Spur’ exhibition at the West Cassubian Museum in Bytów. Photo courtesy of Klaudia Karpińska.

The Origins and Scope of this Volume The idea for this volume was born during the third instalment of the ‘Motifs through the Ages’ conference, which took place in Bytów, Poland over 15–17 December 2017. In the course of a stimulating threeday meeting held in the atmospheric rooms of a fourteenth-century Teutonic castle amidst the dense forests of Cassubia (Kashubia), we sought answers to many questions pertaining to human–animal relationships (Fig. 1.2). Among other things, we tried to better understand which animal species played

predominant roles in the development of culture and the building of identity in the societies of the Baltic Sea Basin: Did these species enjoy the same esteem on its northern and southern coasts? And if not, what lay at the core of different perceptions of the world of fauna, and why? The programme of the conference consisted of three parts devoted to three culturally distinct regions of Europe in the early Middle Ages inhabited by Slavic, Germanic (Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian), and Baltic peoples (Gardeła and Kajkowski 2017). The first part of the conference focused on the significance of animals in Scandinavian societies of the Vendel and Viking periods. Sæbjørg Walaker Nordeide, Gunnar Anderson, Sarah Croix, and Klaudia Karpińska investigated the roles of their different species in archaeo­logical and textual sources with a strong focus on how certain animals would be entangled or even merged with humans in ritual contexts, especially in the course of funerals. The second part of the Bytów meeting concerned the world of the Western Slavs. Two papers explored the role and symbolism of the horse in the areas of present-day Germany and Poland. Fred Ruchhöft investigated whether any remnants of horse-­ related rituals, which are so vividly described by Saxo Grammaticus in his Gesta Danorum, can actually be tracked down within the remit of the site of Arkona on the island of Rügen in present-day Germany. Jerzy Sikora, on the other hand, discussed the role of the horse in Slavic mortuary customs, with a particular focus on the area of the Piast State and Pomerania. In the course of this part of the conference, substantial attention was also dedicated to high-status equestrian equipment and the aforementioned elaborately decorated zoomorphic spurs discovered in

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the cemetery in Ciepłe in Pomerania. In their paper, Zdzisława Ratajczyk, Leszek Gardeła, and Kamil Kajkowski attempted to decipher the mytho­logical messages encoded in these remarkable finds and interpreted them as models of the Slavic cosmos. In the evening of the first day of the conference, the original spurs from Ciepłe were displayed in a special temporary exhibition entitled ‘The World on a Spur’, and their fully functional replicas — commissioned by Bartosz Ligocki (Pancerna X) and created by Tomasz Czyszczoń (Montanus Historical Jewellery) — were revealed to the participants (Fig. 1.3). The third and final part of the conference was dedicated to spells and curses used in medicinal magic of Anglo-Saxons (Christina Lee), theoretically driven explorations of animals as agents and objects in early medi­eval Scandinavia (Harriet Jean Evans Tang and Keith Ruiter), and of the meaning of the horse and objects with horse-related decoration in Western Baltic mortuary practices (Sławomir Wadyl). Regrettably, as a result of a series of unfortunate as well as tragic circumstances — also involving the untimely passing of two of our dear and esteemed colleagues, Zdzisława Ratajczyk and Sæbjørg Walaker Nordeide — only a selection of the papers presented at the Bytów conference could be included in the present volume, either in a form that dovetails with the original oral presentations or with some changes to their format and scope. With the intention to compose a book that would reflect the stimulating content and spirit of the Bytów conference, but also one that would chart completely new research trajectories, we decided to invite four international scholars whose work addresses human–animal relationships in early medi­eval Europe: Sebastian Beermann, Tõnno Jonuks, Tuuli Kurisoo, and Matthias S. Toplak. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages focuses on the period spanning c. the sixth to the thirteenth centuries ad in a vast territory extending from present-day Baltic states to Poland, Western Europe, and Scandinavia and all the way to Iceland. It begins with a thought-provoking article by Sebastian Beermann who charts the use of bear phalanges and bearskins in Germanic societies of the first millennium and provides an overview of a long-lasting cultural phenomenon that arose from a complex constellation of social, economic, and religious impulses. The next chapter by Sarah Croix addresses the notion of human–animal entanglements in the Viking Age town of Ribe in Jylland, Denmark and in particular the multiple roles birds played in creating human/animal hybrid identities during cremation rituals. Croix’s paper challenges previous anthropocentric approaches in Viking studies and highlights the need to acknowledge the notions

of reciprocity and interdependency in human–animal relations. The following chapter by Klaudia Karpińska is a much-needed pioneering overview of the significance of waterfowl in Viking Age funerary practices. First-hand and museum-based analyses of animal remains and careful studies of archival documentation have enabled Karpińska to demonstrate the varied symbolic meanings Viking Age people attributed to these animals and how waterfowl were associated with liminal spheres, sacrificial acts, magic as well as ideas of secular and supernatural empowerment. In the next chapter by Harriet Jean Evans Tang and Keith Ruiter attention is shifted to horses and their significance as animals, agents, and objects in early medi­eval Iceland and Scandinavia. Referring to archaeo­logy, Old Norse literature, and legal texts, they argue that the close association and blurring of domestic animals and para-animal persons is a feature that occurs across all these different bodies of source material and may have been rooted in ‘cross-species exchanges of knowledge and learning’. The significance of horses and horse-­ related equipment in Viking Age mortuary contexts is explored further in the next chapter written by Matthias S. Toplak who investigates the phenomenon of so-called ‘horse burials’ on Gotland. By conducting in-depth analyses of virtually all presently known graves with horses and horse-related equipment, Toplak arrives at the conclusion that ‘horse burials’ enabled a ‘presentation, consolidation or construction of a collective identity by referring to local traditions, origin or descent as well as to mytho­logy or cosmo­logy’. Gotland is place that had strong ties with the Eastern and Western Slavic world and therefore a wider reflection on the lifestyles, worldviews, and customs of its Viking Age inhabitants serves as an excellent prelude to the following three contributions to this volume that centre on Piast Poland, Pomerania, and the Baltic states. Jerzy Sikora’s chapter offers an extensive overview of the phenomenon of horse burial in Poland, showing its origins, developments, and variations over the course of time. In discussing the significance of horses in Western Slavic mortuary practices, Sikora draws on a range of archival materials as well as the results of his own excavations. The chapter by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski is also related to horses in the Western Slavic world, but the authors’ attention is concentrated on high-status equestrian equipment used by riders who may have belonged to the retinues of the first Piasts. A comprehensive exploration of horse bridles and their decorative elements (strap distributors and cheekpieces) has prompted the creation of the first ever typo-chrono­logical classification system that embraces this important body of material.

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A significant component of Gardeła and Kajkowski’s chapter is also an investigation of the bridles’ symbolic significance and the role these core elements of equestrian equipment may have had in manifesting collective and individual identity as well as bonds between humans, animals, and the supernatural sphere. The final chapter in this collection, written by Tõnno Jonuks and Tuuli Kurisoo, focuses on a group of small quadruped figurines from late Iron Age Estonia and examines their diverse forms, functions, and religious significance. They argue that it was the moral and ideo­logical values circulating in Estonian societies that affected the figurines’ shape, bringing to mind associations with aggression and dominance. Individually and collectively, all chapters in this volume demonstrate intriguing and multifaceted correspondences and overlaps between human and animal worlds, blurred boundaries between people, animals, and objects, and the benefits one may gain when different early medi­eval phenomena (not least related to mortuary practices and other ritual

acts) are situated in cross-cultural and interdisciplinary perspectives. It is our sincere hope that this volume will be met with interest and enthusiasm from the international academic community. We would also be delighted if it would reach broader non-academic audiences, including re-enactors and various other history enthusiasts, who — often in truly inspiring ways — help animate the remains of the past that we so passionately strive to uncover.

Acknowledgements The authors wish to express their thanks to Tomasz Czyszczoń and Klaudia Karpińska for supplying wonderful photo­graphs. Leszek Gardeła’s work on this volume is linked to the Tanken bag Tingene project at the National Museum of Denmark which is generously supported by Krogagerfonden.

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Z badań nad składem etnicznym, organizacją i dyslokacją drużyny pierwszych Piastów’, Kronika Wielkopolski, 62.3: 33–47 —— . 1998. ‘Wczesnośredniowieczny grób uzbrojonego kupca z miejscowości Ciepłe na Pomorzu Gdańskim w świetle ponownej analizy chrono­logicznej’, in Hanna Kóčka-Krenz and Władysław Łosiński (eds), Kraje słowiańskie w wiekach średnich: Profanum i sacrum (Poznań: Stowarzyszenie Naukowe Archeo­logów Polskich Oddział w Poznaniu), pp. 505–24 —— . 2001. ‘Frühmittelalterliches Grab eines bewaffneten Kaufmannes aus dem Ort Ciepłe (Warmhof) im danziger Pommern im Lichte einer erneueten Analyse’, Acta Universitatis Lodziensis: folia archaeo­logica, 23.1: 113–44 Karpińska, Klaudia. 2018. ‘Asche und Knochen. Vogelüberreste in wikingerzeitlichen Gräbern auf den Nordfriesischen Inseln und in Dänemark’, Arkæo­logi i Slesvig / Archäo­logie in Schleswig, 17: 115–31 Knutson, Sara Ann. 2020. ‘When Objects Misbehave: Materials & Assemblages in the Ancient Scandinavian Myths’, Fabula, 61.3–4: 257–77 Kopytoff, Igor. 1986. ‘The Cultural Bio­graphy of Things: Commoditization as a Process’, in Arjun Appadurai (ed.), The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), pp. 64–91 Krysztofiak, Teresa. 2011. Terra Sancta: Giecz w monarchii piastowskiej (Dominowo: Rezerwat Archeo­logiczny Gród Piastowski w Gieczu)

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Kulakov, Wladimir I. 2018. ‘Prussische Tierdarstellungen in Frühmittelalter’, in Sławomir Wadyl, Maciej Karczewski, and Mirosław Hoffmann (eds), Materiały do archeo­logii Warmii i Mazur, ii (Warsaw: Instytut Archeo­logii Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego), pp. 99–108 Latour, Bruno. 1993. We Have Never Been Modern (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press) Lejman, Jacek. 2008. Ewolucja ludzkiej samowiedzy gatunkowej: Dzieje prób zdefiniowania relacji człowiek-zwierze (Lublin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Marie Curie-Skłodowskiej) Lev-Tov, Justin, and Susan D. deFrance. 2010. ‘Animals and Complexity: How Zooarchaeo­logists Contribute to the Study of Complex Society in the New and Old Worlds’, in Douglas V. Campana, Pamela Crabtree, Susan D. deFrance, Justin Lev-Tov, and Alice M. Choyke (eds), Anthropo­logical Approaches to Zooarchaeo­logy: Colonialism, Complexity, and Animal Transformations (Oxford: Oxbow), pp. x–xii Lindholm, Karl-Johan, and John Ljungkvist. 2015. ‘The Bear in the Grave: Exploitation of Top Predator and Herbivore Resources in First Millennium Sweden – First Trends from a Long-Term Research Project’, European Journal of Archaeo­ logy, 19.1: 1–25 Lindstrøm, Torill Christine. 2012. ‘“I Am the Walrus”: Animal Identities and Merging with Animals – Exceptional Experiences?’, Norwegian Archaeo­logical Review, 45.2: 1–26 Loumand, Ulla. 2006. ‘The Horse and its Role in Icelandic Burial Practices’, in Anders Andrén, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere (eds), Old Norse Religion in Long-Term Perspectives: Origins, Changes and Interactions; An International Conference in Lund, Sweden, June 3–7, 2004, Vägar till Midgård, 8 (Lund: Nordic Academic Press), pp. 130–34 Lucas, Gavin, and Thomas McGovern. 2007. ‘Bloody Slaughter: Ritual Decapitation and Display at the Viking Settlement of Hofstaðir, Iceland’, European Journal of Archaeo­logy, 10.1: 7–30 Lund, Julie. 2017. ‘Connectedness with Things. Animated Objects of Viking Age Scandinavia and Early Medi­eval Europe’, Archaeo­logical Dialogues, 24.1: 89–108 Majewski, E. 1892. ‘Wąż w mowie, pojęciach i praktykach ludu naszego’, Wisła, 6: 318–71 Margul, Tadeusz. 1987. Religie jako święte przekazy: Repetytorium z teorii i fenomeno­logii religii dla studentów wyższych lat kierunku religioznawstwa (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego) —— . 1996. Zwierze w micie i kulcie (Lublin: Wydawnictwo UMCS) Mazza, Selene. 2020. ‘New Land, Old Custom? Viking-Age Graves with Animal Remains from Scotland’, Scandia: Journal of Medi­eval Norse Studies, 3: 261–94 Michalak, Arkadiusz, and Leszek Gardeła. 2020. ‘The Spur Goad from Lubniewice, Poland. Slavic Elite Culture in the Western Part of the Piast State’, Slavia antiqua, 61: 135–61 Miller, Daniel. 1998. Material Cultures: Why Some Things Matter (London: UCL Press) —— . 2009. Anthropo­logy and the Individual: A Material Culture Perspective (Oxford, NY: Berg) Nadolski, Andrzej, Andrzej Abramowicz, and Tadeusz Poklewski. 1959. Cmentarzysko z XI w. w Lutomiersku pod Łodzią, Acta archaeo­logica Universitatis Lodziensis, 7 (Łódź: Łódzkie Towarzystwo Naukowe) Ott, Michael R., Rebecca Sauer, and Thomas Meier (eds). 2015. Materiale Textkulturen: Konzepte – Materialien – Praktiken (Berlin: De Gruyter) Pentikäinen, Juha. 2007. Golden King of the Forest: The Lore of the Northern Bear (Helsinki: Etnika) Peterson, Anna. 2016. ‘Religious Studies and the Animal Turn’, History of Religions, 52.2: 232–45 Pluskowski, Aleksander. 2006a. ‘Harnessing the Hunger: Religious Appropriations of Animal Predation in Early Medi­ eval Scandinavia’, in Anders Andrén, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere (eds), Old Norse Religion in Long-Term Perspectives: Origins, Changes and Interactions; An International Conference in Lund, Sweden, June 3–7, 2004, Vägar till Midgård, 8 (Lund: Nordic Academic Press), pp. 119–23 —— . 2006b. Wolves and Wilderness in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge: Boydell) —— (ed.). 2012. The Ritual Killing and Burial of Animals: European Perspectives (Oxford: Oxbow) Poole, Christopher. 2014. ‘The Contextual Cat: Human-Animal Relations and Social Meaning in Anglo-Saxon England’, Journal of Archaeo­logical Method and Theory, 22: 857–82 Posselt, Normen, and Paweł Szczepanik. 2017. ‘Zoomorphe Applikationen und Darstellungen auf slawischen Schläfenringen im nördlichen westslawischen Raum’, in Felix Biermann, Thomas Kersting, and Anne Klammt (eds), Religion und Gesellschaft im nördlichen westslawischen Raum: Beiträge der Sektion zur slawischen Frühgeschichte der 22. Jahrestagung des Mittel- und Ostdeutschen Verbandes für Altertumsforschung in Chemnitz, 29.-31. März 2016 (Langenweissbach: Beier & Beran. Archäo­logische Fachliteratur), pp. 193–220 Ratajczyk, Zdzisława. 2011. ‘Nowe odkrycia na cmentarzysku z okresu wczesnego średniowiecza w Ciepłem, gm. Gniew, stanowisko 6’, in Mirosław Fudziński and Henryk Paner (eds), XVII Sesja Pomorzoznawcza, i: Od epoki kamienia do wczesnego średniowiecza (Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku), pp. 553–70

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—— . 2013a. ‘The Cemetery in Ciepłe – Current Research Results’, in Sławomir Moździoch, Błażej M. Stanisławski, and Przemysław Wiszewski (eds), Scandinavian Culture in Medi­eval Poland, Interdisciplinary Medi­eval Studies, 2 (Wrocław: Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy of the Polish Academy of Sciences), pp. 323–51 —— . 2013b. ‘Jednak ostrogi – brązowe okucia typu lutomierskiego w świetle najnowszych badań na cmentarzysku w Ciepłem, gm. Gniew’, Slavia antiqua, 54: 287–305 Ratajczyk, Zdzisława, Leszek Gardeła, and Kamil Kajkowski. 2017. ‘The World on a Spur: Unravelling the Cosmo­logy of the Pagan Slavs / Świat na ostrodze. Odkrywanie kosmo­logii pogańskich Słowian’, in Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski (eds), Book of Abstracts: Animals and Animated Objects in Past Societies / Książka abstraktów: Zwierzęta i ożywione przedmioty w dawnych kulturach; III International Interdisciplinary Meetings Motifs through the Ages / III Międzynarodowe Spotkania Interdyscyplinarne Motywy Przez Wieki (Bytów: Muzeum Zachodniokaszubskie w Bytowie), pp. 33–42 Røstad, Ingunn M., Hanne Lovise Aannestad, Katherine Eliott, and Anja Mansrud (eds). 2020. Fabelakte dyr – fra jernalder og vikingtid (Oslo: Kulturhistorisk museum) Salzani, Carlo. 2017. ‘From Post-Human to Post-Animal. Posthumanism and the “Animal Turn”’, Lo Sguardo: rivista di filosofia, 24.2: 97–109 Schroer, Sara Asu. 2018. ‘A View from Anthropo­logy: Falconry, Domestication and the “Animal Turn”’, in Karl-Heinz Gersmann and Oliver Grimm (eds), Raptor and Human: Falconry and Bird Symbolism throughout the Millennia on a Global Scale (Kiel: Wachholtz), pp. 313–21 Szczepanik, Paweł. 2017. ‘Early Medi­eval Bronze Sheaths with Zoo- and Anthropomorphic Ornamental Fittings from Poland – Mythical Pictures and their Content’, in Felix Biermann, Thomas Kersting, and Anne Klammt (eds), Religion und Gesellschaft im nördlichen westslawischen Raum: Beiträge der Sektion zur slawischen Frühgeschichte der 22. Jahrestagung des Mittel- und Ostdeutschen Verbandes für Altertumsforschung in Chemnitz, 29.-31. März 2016 (Langenweissbach: Beier & Beran. Archäo­logische Fachliteratur), pp. 169–78 —— . 2019a. ‘Nowe znalezisko miniaturowego konika z okolic Tymawy, gm. Gniew’, Pomorania antiqua, 28: 197–211 —— . 2019b. ‘Wczesnośredniowieczne brązowe okucia pochewek noży z przedstawieniami zoo- i antropomorficznymi z terenów Słowiańszczyzny Zachodniej. Obraz mityczny i jego treść’, in Hanna Królikowska (ed.), Zjawiska magiczno demoniczne na terenie dawnych ziem pruskich na tle porównawczym, ii (Olsztyn: Wydział Humanistyczny Uniwersytetu Warmińsko-Mazurskiego), pp. 79–93 —— . 2019c. ‘Nowe znalezisko miniaturowego konika z okolic Cedyni’, Materiały Zachodniopomorskie, 15: 283–304 —— . 2020a. Rzeczywistość mityczna Słowian północno-zachodnich i jej materialne wyobrażenia: Studium z zakresu etnoarcheo­ logii religii (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika) —— . 2020b. ‘Treść przedstawień figuratywnych na kamieniu z Leźna’, Pomorania antiqua, 29: 155–78 Tomiccy, Joanna, and Ryszard. 1975. Drzewo życia: Ludowa wizja świata i człowieka (Warsaw: Ludowa Spółdzielnia Wydawnicza) Tomicki, Ryszard. 1974. ‘Żmij, Żmigrody, Wały Żmijowe. Z problematyki religii przedchrześcijańskich Słowian’, Archeo­logia Polski, 19.2: 483–508 Toplak, Matthias S. 2019. ‘The Warrior and the Cat: A Re-evaluation of the Roles of Domestic Cats in Viking Age Scandinavia’, Current Swedish Archaeo­logy, 27: 213–45 Tourigny, Eric. 2020. ‘Do All Dogs Go to Heaven? Tracking Human-Animal Relationships through the Archaeo­logical Survey of Pet Cemeteries’, Antiquity, 94.378: 1614–29 Trigger, Bruce. 2009. A History of Archaeo­logical Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Wachowski, Krzysztof. 2001. ‘Elementy rodzime i obce w uzbrojeniu wczesnośredniowiecznym na Śląsku’, Acta Universitatis Lodziensis: folia archaeo­logica, 23: 153–76 —— . 2006. ‘Funkcja okuć typu lutomierskiego’, Archeo­logia Polski, 51.1–2: 155–61 Wołoszyn, Marcin. 2004. ‘Obecność ruska i skandynawska w Polsce w X–XII w. – wybrane problemy’, in Maciej Salamon and Jerzy Strzelczyk (eds), Wędrówka i etnogeneza w starożytności i średniowieczu (Kraków: Historia Iagiellonica), pp. 245–77 —— . 2010. ‘Obecność ruska i skandynawska w Polsce od X do XII w. – wybrane problemy’, in Maciej Salamon and Jerzy Strzelczyk (eds), Wędrówka i etnogeneza w starożytności i średniowieczu (wyd. drugie, poszerzone) (Kraków: Historia Iagiellonica), pp. 299–334 Żak, Jan. 1955. ‘Grzebienie z wystrojem zwierzęcym z ziem polskich i zachodniosłowiańskich’, Wiadomości Archeo­logiczne, 20: 180–85 —— . 1959. ‘Uwagi o stylu zwierzęcym w sztuce wczesnośredniowiecznej na ziemiach polskich’, Archeo­logia Polski, 4.1: 7–27

Sebastian Beermann

2. Bear Phalanges and Bearskins in Graves of the First Millennium ad Cultural Developments and Characteristics of a Unique Burial Custom in Central and Northern Europe In the vicinity of Döhren, Minden, near the Weser River in northern Germany a small cemetery from the early Pre-Roman Iron Age was excavated in the late 1970s. In its centre an urn grave was found (grave F55) which in some respects differs significantly from the other burials (Günther 1981, 46, 59). The cremation remains, osteo­logically determined as belonging to a young female, were deposited in a Roman bronze vessel, a situla, that dates the grave to the fifth or fourth century bc. Among the human ashes some remarkable animal bones were found: four claw bones of an adult brown bear (Ursus arctos). These claw bones, outer parts of the toes and bearers of the horn claw (phalanx III), further on referred to as phalanges, show no traces of being treated by any kind of human tools and have no perforations or eyelets. The phalanges were found calcined and had obviously been burned together with the human corpse. Moreover, the phalanges in the grave of Döhren seem to represent all four paws of one individual bear, but no other bear skeleton parts were discovered. Apart from some iron clasps, probably belonging to a wooden board, the grave contained no further items. About three hundred kilometres further north a similar finding was made in a stone cist grave on the edge of a cemetery near Husby, Schleswig-Flensburg, northern Germany (Raddatz 1967; 1974, 73). The deceased individual in grave 1033, whose remains were identified as those of a man, was cremated and buried in a Roman bronze vessel, in this case a cauldron. And again, the cremated remains included three burnt bear phalanges without traces of modification. Apart from the cauldron and the stone cist, grave 1033 contained quite lavish equipment in the form of horse tack and parts of a four-wheeled chariot. It can be stated for both graves — Döhren F55

and Husby 1033 — that they are the most richly furnished and the oldest graves in the respective cemetery being the only graves containing bear phalanges. As similar findings of bear phalanges among cremated remains are known from several hundred graves in Central Europe and Scandinavia since the late Pre-Roman Iron Age (Fig. 2.1), these findings evoke the urgent question regarding their origin and meaning. A possible answer is given by findings of inhumation graves of a much later date. Thus at some point in the late third century ad, in the late Roman Iron Age, a woman was buried in a stone cist near Smiss, Eke parish, on the Swedish island of Gotland (Almgren and Nerman 1923, 89). As her well-preserved skeleton shows, she was interred flexed on her right side. Beside her head and feet third phalanges of a brown bear were placed in four groups each containing not more than five bones. This in situ finding of the four claw bone concentrations combined with the fact that the claw bones show no signs of modification and that no other bear skeleton parts were found in the grave, points to the deceased woman being covered by or laid on a bearskin with claws attached (Fig. 2.2). This interpretation is based on the assumption that the claw bones stayed attached to the paws after skinning. So far there is a scholarly consensus about the obvious assumption that the calcined bear phalanges in the cremation graves are the remains of bearskins burnt on the pyre together with the corpse, as Müller (1900) already noted. It is not clear, however, in what way the furs were burnt and what role they played during the funeral rites. A spreading of the skin like a blanket appears rather unlikely as it would have hampered the burning process (Holck 1986, 177). If the bearskin was not burnt separately

Sebastian Beermann ([email protected]) studied archaeo­logy, Scandinavian studies, and anthropo­logy at the Georg-August-Universität Göttingen. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 23–38 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132514

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Figure 2.1. Smiss (Eke parish), Gotland, Sweden. Grave 293. Plan of the grave chamber (left) and reconstruction (right). After Almgren and Nerman 1923, fig. 156a, drawing by Katharina Vogt 2020, with kind permission.

and perhaps cut into pieces before cremation, its function as a wrapping of the corpse is most probable. Wrapping of the deceased in animal skins was not uncommon in Eurasian Iron Age societies and was probably intended as a form of metaphysical protection (Kirkinen 2019, 21, 35), a motif that will be discussed in detail later below. However, the interpretation of unmodified third phalanges among the human cremated remains as former parts of a bear pelt’s paws may allow for a general denomination of these graves as ‘bearskin graves’. Bear phalanges and bearskin graves have repeatedly become the focus of scholarly attention over the last eighty years with a remarkable increase of interest during the last decade (Schmid 1941; Møhl 1977; Petré 1980; Schönfelder 1994; Grimm 2013; Lindholm and Ljungkvist 2015; Wamers 2015a; Beermann 2016; Kirkinen 2017).

The three introductory examples of bearskin graves illustrate the aim of this paper: to give a definition of the term ‘bearskin grave’ followed by a geo­ graphical and temporal overview of the phenomenon of the bearskin burial custom from the Pre-Roman Iron Age to the Viking Age, including an attempt to structure it in a chrono­logical context.1 This overview discusses several examples of graves representing the respective region and period by drawing attention to their specific features. Many of these features provide evidence of, and indications for, the use of bearskins in connection with the funeral ritual. With the help of written sources and depictions from the Merovingian period to the medi­eval period, the question of the meaning and purpose of the bearskins is examined in more detail. As far as we can see, bear phalanges mostly occur in numbers between one and twenty. Furthermore, they show no traces of human modifications other than burning and there are no other bear bones like legs or skulls found in the graves. This sets the bearskin graves apart from graves containing for example single modified bear claws provided with suspension devices like drilled holes or metal eyelets for wearing them as pendants, presumably as amulets (Schmid 1941; Beermann 2016, 55). Only rarely have they been found in cemeteries where also unmodified claws were discovered; it has been established so far that both forms have never occurred in the same grave. The same pattern can be observed with regard to the use of bear teeth with drilled holes as pendants in graves of women and girls known from different periods, for instance the Hallstatt or the Merovingian period (Arends 1978, 139; Koch 1990, 15). Bear graves from northern Scandinavia, connected to the Sámi bear worship, are burials of bears and bear bones conducted after the ritual consumption of the meat. These graves — essentially burials of animals resembling the burials of humans — are of a completely different character compared to the bearskin graves. But a remarkable absence of the phalanx III in some of the deposited and buried bear skeletons indicates that these bones were left on the bearskin after skinning (Zachrisson and Iregren 1974; Wamers 2015b, 53). The bearskin was not buried together with the bear but underwent a special treatment, whether as a ritual or trading item, as clothing for the living, and in some cases eventually as clothing for the dead (Kirkinen 2019, 32), and — although there is no evidence for such a direct connection — as a grave good in a bearskin grave.

1 This results mainly from my MA thesis at the University of Göttingen published in 2016.

2 . b e ar p h alange s and b e arsk i ns i n grave s o f t he f i rst mi lle nnium ad

Bearskin Graves of the Pre-Roman Iron Age and the Older Roman Iron Age: The ‘Central European Horizon of Bearskin Graves’ The above-mentioned graves of Döhren and Husby are not the oldest bearskin graves known today, as there are some late Neolithic and Bronze Age graves in northern Germany and Norway containing bear phalanges (Bärenfänger 2009, 33; Holck 1986). However, the demonstrable beginning of the phenomenon in Central and Northern Europe lies in the last two centuries bc, the time of the late or younger Pre-Roman Iron Age. In Central Europe bearskins in graves seem to disappear during the second century ad for about five hundred years with the very rich chamber grave at Mušov, Brno-venkov, Czech Republic (Peška and Tejral 2002) as the latest known example. In contrast, in Northern Europe the custom continues until the Viking Age, and bear phalanges and other remains of bearskins appear more frequently in both cremation and inhumation graves. In the course of the Pre-Roman Iron Age to the older Roman Iron Age about thirty-five bearskin graves in eighteen archaeo­logical sites have been identified in Central Europe, mainly in Germany and the Czech Republic. I would like to name this early period the ‘Central European horizon’ of bearskin graves. Thus, in some of the large cemeteries on the lower Elbe some bearskin graves were found, for example Harsefeld, Harburg, with two graves (Wegewitz 1973, 126; 1994, 170) or Putensen, Harburg, with four graves, two of which contained fourteen bear phalanges (Wegewitz 1973, 117; Eger 1999, 103). The four Putensen graves are simple urn graves without any further objects, but in the Harsefeld graves the cremation remains were buried in Roman bronze vessels, objects of high material value and probably status symbols. The frequent occurrence of bear phalanges in graves with bronze vessels of mostly Roman provenance, like in the above-mentioned graves of Döhren and Husby, can be observed from the Pre-Roman Iron Age to the Migration period. In the later graves of Harsefeld and Putensen, dated to the first century ad, bear phalanges are absent, and the custom seems to undergo a slight shift up the Elbe River during the first century ad. Five urn graves in the cemetery of Großromstedt, Thuringia, contained bear phalanges in numbers between two and seventeen, four of them also a sword and other weapons (Eichhorn 1927, 233; Peschel 1991, 143). In a burial ground near Schkopau, Merseburg, Saxony-Anhalt, four bearskin graves were found, all of them burials of men of a mature age (Schmidt and Nitzschke 1989). Some of them contained weapons:

Figure 2.2. Grave 89/66, Schlotheim, Thuringia, Germany. Ceramic vessel (urn) and twelve cremated bear phalanges. After Dušek 2001, pl. 32.

the man in grave 50 was buried with a sword, lance, shield, and spurs (Schmidt and Nitzschke 1989, 54). Another example located further east and dated to the first century ad is the cemetery of Dobřichov Pičhora, Kolín, Czech Republic, with cremation graves of adult men (aged between twenty and thirty) with full sets of weaponry and with many brooches and dress equipment (Dobisíková 1999, 182; Droberjar 1999). Two graves also contained bear phalanges. A third grave with weapons and bear phalanges was that of a three- to four-year-old child. There are several other graves in the Czech area, Poland, and Slovakia regarded as bearskin graves. The grave from Brzyków in Łódź Voivodeship, Poland contained a Roman bronze situla used as an urn, a sword and a seax, and two bear phalanges (Pescheck 1939, 139). Apart from those more male-dominated and martial examples there are also some — partially very richly furnished — graves from eastern Germany that might be regarded as ‘female-gendered graves’. For instance, grave 8 at Kleinzerbst, Köthen (SchmidtThielbeer 1998, 41, 65) contained a chain made of gold wire; a grave from Haldensleben, Halle held a silver brooch (Lau and Petersen 2012, 121); and the remarkable grave of Profen, Halle was furnished with rich gold jewellery including chains with berlocks and arm-rings, a silver beaker, a Roman bronze vessel, and other precious pieces doubtlessly made for a woman (Meller 2011, 323–25; Meller and others 2011, 198). From the first century bc there is also a remarkable scattering of findings to the west connected with the occurrence of bear phalanges in a

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handful of Gallo-Roman luxury graves like Welwyn, Hertfordshire, England, with lots of ceramic vessels such as amphorae (Stead 1967), and Clemency, Käerjeng, Luxembourg, a very ornate chamber grave richly furnished with feasting equipment (Metzler and others 1991). Several bearskin graves in Sweden and Norway and only a few in Denmark are found in the Central European horizon. Holck (1986) names fifty-one Norwegian graves from the Pre-Roman and early Roman Iron Age (e.g. Bøler, Eidsberg) with weapons and bronze objects. From this period in Sweden about thirty graves with bear phalanges are known (Petré 1980; Nicklasson 1997; Beermann 2016, 32), predominantly cremation graves. These graves commonly include different combinations of weapons and bronze vessels, as shown by three graves from Östergötland. Thus grave 111 of Fiskeby, Norrköping (Lundström 1965, 24; 1970, 13), contained a sword, a lance, and fifteen bear phalanges, grave 108 of Lagerlunda, Kärna held a situla used as an urn and also a sword and a lance, whereas a grave from Hjärterum, Kuddby was furnished with a sword, a lance, and a shield, a Roman bronze bowl, a bronze fibula, and sixteen bear phalanges (Lund Hansen 1987, 126; Nicklasson 1997, 198). On the other hand, in the six bearskin graves in the cremation cemetery at Kyrkbacken, Horn, Västergötland, only small dress objects could be found as additional grave goods (Sahlström and Gejvall 1948, 23). For the bearskin graves of the Central European horizon the following concluding statements can be made: – Bearskin graves often constitute less than 1 per cent of all graves in the burial ground – Bear phalanges occur nearly exclusively in cremation graves. They are usually burnt and found among the cremated remains which implies that they were ‘pyre-goods’ placed with the dead as accessories or costume – The phalanges show no traces of further modification, their quantity ranges between one and twenty, and no other parts of the bear skeleton are found, except a few findings of the phalanx II, so we might infer that they represent whole bear pelts, not bear bodies or jewellery made of claws – The quantity of the claw bones per grave seems to be quite arbitrary, low numbers between one and five are generally more frequent. Graves with bronze vessels, weapons, or rich jewellery typically contain fewer phalanges than those without or with only a few other grave goods

– The phenomenon seems to occur mainly in male-gendered graves and is often combined with weapon burial. Female-gendered individuals are less likely to be buried with bear phalanges – There was frequent use of Roman bronze vessels like the situla or the cauldron, mostly serving as an urn.

Bearskin Graves of the Late Roman Iron Age: The ‘Danish Horizon of Bearskin Graves’ Many of the above points remain relatively unchanged during the following centuries, while others undergo cultural changes as bearskins appear in both maleand female-gendered graves. Most noteworthy, however, are the geo­graphical shifts. Thus, in the late second and third centuries ad, the period of the late Roman Iron Age, the bearskin custom seems to vanish in Central Europe. By contrast, several graves are known in Denmark, where, as opposed to the rest of the Continent, the custom seems to disappear not before the end of the fourth century ad. I will therefore refer to this period as the ‘Danish horizon of bearskin graves’. In total there are twenty-eight Danish graves with bear phalanges known from fifteen archaeo­ logical sites, mainly from flat cemeteries (twenty-one graves) but also groups of grave mounds. The Danish bearskin graves show a clear geo­graphic orientation towards the east, most of them were found close to the east coast of Jylland or the Danish islands. No less than fifteen of the bearskin graves are located on the island Fyn, eight of them in the cemetery of Møllegårdsmarken and three at Brudager Mark (Albrectsen 1971, 35–186; Henriksen 2009). Among the deceased in these graves male and female individuals could be determined according to osteo­logical sexing. In addition to the bear phalanges, the grave goods included glass beakers, beads, and bone combs. Glass vessels were also part of the assemblage of the rich inhumation grave of Varpelev on Sjælland containing gold- and silver jewellery, bone gaming pieces, and bear phalanges, but no weapons (Engelhardt 1877, 349; Grane 2011, 108). Bear phalanges in combination with a bone comb, a glass beaker and gaming pieces are also found in some cremation graves of Jylland like a group of three grave mounds called Stilling Trehøje, Skanderborg (Andersen 1976; Møhl 1977) and a grave at Postgården, Ålborg (Nielsen 2008, 6). The latter contained twenty-seven–twenty-eight bear phalanges, certainly representing the remains of more than one skin.

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The Danish horizon spreads widely into Sweden and Norway. In Sweden, a broader distribution than earlier is noted, ranging over south and middle Sweden up to Härjedalen, Jämtland. The most outstanding inhumation grave of Smiss on Gotland has been mentioned above. In contrast to the Danish bearskin graves of this period, some of the Swedish ones were also furnished with weapons, for instance a cremation grave under a mound at Stommen, Tärby, Västergötland which held a sword, a lance, a spear, and a shield and also spurs and golden finger rings (Nicklasson 1997, 222). Extraordinary grave goods such as rings or brooches of precious metal are generally rare in bearskin graves of the Danish horizon. The scientific examination of bear remains in Iron Age graves, especially those from certain Central and Northern European regions including present-day Denmark, begs the question of their geo­graphical origin. As genetical or isotope analyses of the bone material are lacking so far, no definite determinations can be made (Nikulina and Meadows 2012). But neither can it be automatically assumed that the bearskins in the graves are products of local hunting. For certain regions this can even be excluded, as in the case of the island of Gotland where brown bears never were endemic. There is some evidence from recent studies that in parts of southern Scandinavia, particularly Denmark and southern Sweden, the brown bear population was ‘either already extinct or very low’ (Lindholm and Ljungkvist 2015, 7). This means that finds of bearskins in these regions must be interpreted as gifts of well-travelled guests, war booty, or results of the fur trade, presumably with people from northern Scandinavia, Finland, or the eastern Baltic regions (Munksgaard 1959, 18; Møhl 1977; Petré 1980; Lindholm and Ljungkvist 2015, 9; Kirkinen 2017, 22; 2019, 31).

Bearskin Graves of the Migration Period to the Early Viking Age: The ‘Norwegian-Swedish Horizon of Bearskin Graves’ After the fifth century ad bearskin graves become virtually non-existent in Denmark and on the Continent. In Norway and Sweden on the other hand, the custom seems to flourish and becomes quite common in graves of both sexes. There are about three to four hundred bearskin graves known from the Migration period to the early Viking Age, and thus this period is named the ‘Norwegian-Swedish horizon of bearskin graves’ in my termino­logy. About 95 per cent of the bearskin graves of this elongated horizon date to the time of the fifth to the eighth centuries ad.

In Norway the time of the bearskin graves seems to end during the sixth century but in Sweden they still occur until the end of the tenth century. Only about 5 per cent of the bearskin graves of this horizon date to the Viking Age, and after this significant decline, the custom seems to have vanished completely. The distribution of the Norwegian bearskin graves of this horizon is spread over Vestland and southern Norway to the most northern localities near Føre, Bø, in Lofoten (Sjøvold 1962, 77). Bear phalanges and remains of bearskins appear mainly in cremation graves but also in inhumation graves. The grave types do not differ significantly from contemporaneous Norwegian graves without any bear remains: most of them are grave mounds of various size built from soil or boulders and arranged in small groups rather than on burial grounds with more than a hundred graves. Stone cists are often part of the grave construction. Again, the cremation graves with bear phalanges are often urn graves with bronze cauldrons or resin-sealed wooden vessels serving as urns. The graves usually contain two to seven bear phalanges. Exceptions include the grave from Lund, Verdal, with twenty-two phalanges or that from Hove, Vik with twenty-six phalanges that testify to the usage of more than one bearskin (Henriksen 2001, 11). The latter is a cremation-inhumation double grave of a burnt and an unburnt individual in a stone cist. Beside the bear phalanges among the cremation remains, organic remains of the skin were detected in the inhumation part of the grave. In some other Norwegian inhumation graves, only parts of bear hair and horn-claws have been preserved, and no bear phalanges at all (e.g. the grave from Døsen, Hordaland; Schetelig 1912, 139). This implies that at least parts of a bearskin lay in the grave. Such remains of hair are sometimes also found in cremation graves like the grave from Eik, Vest-Agder (Gjessing 1925, 44). There were not only seven bear phalanges in the bronze urn but also the remains of bear fur suggesting that the ashes were wrapped in a second, unburnt bearskin. In the grave from Haram, Haramsøy, with fifteen bear phalanges, the whole bronze urn was wrapped in a second bearskin (Solberg 1984, 100–01). Those graves provide clear evidence that bearskins were part of grave furnishings, also in graves containing calcined bear phalanges. Why the cremation remains or the urn in these graves were provided with such an extra protective case is uncertain. It is not unreasonable to assume that wrapping the urn or the ashes in a bearskin could metaphorically correspond to the wrapping of the corpse in inhumation graves or on the funeral pyre. It is also noteworthy that the bronze urns contributed to the preservation of the unburnt

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remains, and that burnt bear phalanges are generally significantly better preserved. Thus, the use of a second ‘wrapping skin’ was maybe more common than is evident from the find material. In most of the Norwegian inhumation graves the bearskin lay presumably upon a layer of stones and birch bark as padding for the corpse. Many of these inhumation graves with bearskins show a luxurious grave inventory. Two graves from Vest-Agder, i.e. Snartemo, and Vemestad, Lyngdal, contained both an extensive weaponry set consisting of a sword, an axe, a lance, a spear, and a shield as well as golden jewellery, a glass beaker, and iron tools like scissors and knives (Gjessing 1925, 52; Hougen 1935, 109; Bemmann 1994, 524). Two further examples distinguished by particularly luxurious furnishing are the graves Evebø 43, Nordfjord (Schetelig 1912, 111), and Krosshaug, Jæren (Magnus 1975). The presumably male individual in the Evebø grave 43 was buried in a mound with a nearly four-metre-long chamber built of flat stones. The deceased was equipped with a sword, a shield, and arrows, and with numerous tools and wooden objects, an elaborate belt and two woollen tunics. The sleeves of the under-tunic were decorated with tablet-woven edgings with animal motifs. In the Krosshaug mound (30 m in diameter) a presumably female individual lay buried in a stone chamber of drystone walling. This lavish grave construction as well as the glass vessels, gold, and silver jewellery among the grave goods are markers of an upper class, whereas a spindle whorl might be a symbol of a craftswoman working with textiles. But also some rich bearskin cremation graves are characterized by opulent grave goods, such as the Haram, Haramsøy and Ålesund, Gudøya graves, with rich gold jewellery (Grimm 2013, 283). An interesting example is the Byrkje grave, Vestland which apparently contained a boat preserved as boat rivets in a charcoal layer (Schetelig 1912, 97). This grave was a multiple burial with individuals of both sexes with at least three individuals laid over each other in one stone cist, of which two were buried unburnt. Beside fourteen bear phalanges, some dress objects, partly of silver, as well as a spear and other weapons were part of the inventories. In most of the other bearskin cremation graves the grave goods consist of bone objects like combs, gaming pieces, and items that presumably served as meat or skin scrapers or maybe as tools used during the process of the bearskin manufacturing. The Swedish bearskin graves of the NorwegianSwedish horizon are found in groups of grave mounds as well as in cemeteries with flat graves, rarely containing more than two or three graves with bear claws per burial ground. And again most of the bearskin

graves are cremation graves. Seven bearskin graves were found in the cemetery Spånga 168, Stockholm (Bennett 1987). Not far away, six persons were buried in the cemetery no. 150 on the Mälar island Helgö with bearskins and with small and precious objects of metal and bone (Holmqvist 1970). In the cemetery near Lunda on the neighbouring island Lovö the graves A9 and A86 contained bear phalanges (Petré 1984). These graves were pyre sites with stone settings and with button-on-bow brooches as parts of the buried person’s dress. Generally speaking, the Swedish bearskin graves show the longest continuity from the Pre-Roman Iron Age to the Viking Age and the highest variety of the grave furnishings from simple flat graves to the largest grave mounds and the most luxurious grave décor. Bear phalanges were also found in some magnificent Swedish tombs in large grave mounds. Here the other grave goods mostly consisted of high numbers of bones of livestock, dogs, and birds of prey as well as of precious metal objects. Three famous sites are the Västhög and Östhög graves in Gamla Uppsala and Ottarshög near Vendel, of which at least the first ones belonged to people of royal status (Lindqvist 1936; Ekero Eriksson 2018). The human skeletal remains in the Östhög grave were osteo­ logically determined as those of a man, those in the Västhög as those of a male and a female individual (Dahr and Hedell 1936). A few smaller graves in the Storby Backe cemetery at Gamla Uppsala also contained bear phalanges. Another outstanding example is the burial ground of Högom, Medelpad, Sundsvall (Ramqvist 1992). In two of the seventeen mounds of various size three bearskin graves were found, two of them in mound 4 which measured 42 m in diameter and was 5.7 m high. One of these two graves, a cremation grave with a cauldron, contained a layer of charcoal with thirteen burnt bear phalanges and a pit with cremated remains and some metal and bone objects. This arrangement could be a direct indication for the burning of the bearskin in situ (Grimm 2013, 285). Mound 2 from Högom is of similar size, containing a man’s grave chamber measuring 2 by 5 m. The man lay on a wooden bed wearing his complete costume including a rich belt. Around him weapons like a magnificent sword, a shield, a lance, a spear, and arrows, golden and silver objects, riding equipment (a saddle, spurs, and a harness) were laid. Furthermore, skins of several bears and of nearly all known European fur animals were draped. The man’s tunic was — similar to that of Evebø 43 — lined on the sleeves with an edging with woven motifs of horsehair, depicting men in a worshipping pose between animals (Nockert 1991; Bender Jørgensen 2001, 4).

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One of the latest and most striking bearskin graves is the Klinta grave on Öland dated to the tenth century ad (Pettersson 1958; Schulze 1987, 58). It seems to be a double grave albeit with the human remains buried in two separate features: initially a man and a woman were probably cremated together, presumably on a boat as indicated by a large number of rivets, and their remains were afterwards buried in two grave mounds. Beside the bear phalanges — among them also phalanx II — large quantities of domestic animal bones were found. The rich inventory also includes boat remains, weapons, gaming pieces, beads, oval brooches, bronze and glass vessels, scale pans, two copper sheets with runic inscriptions, and a small ring with four Þórr’s hammers. But the most noticeable part of the ensemble is an iron rod or staff with a preserved length of 82 cm. On one end the staff is provided with a basket-like construction consisting of four rods, fixed to the central shaft by copper-alloy mounts and too big to serve as a handle. Each of the mounts is decorated with four animal heads that have been interpreted as bears or wolves (Price 2002, 183; Gardeła 2016, 195). Around thirty examples of similar rods are known from Scandinavian Viking Age graves, mostly those of women of higher social status (Gardeła 2016, 45). The rod from Klinta is one of the most magnificent and the only one found together with bear phalanges. Its function has been the subject of many scholarly discussions (Bøgh-Andersen 1999; Heide 2006), and there is evidence suggesting that it served as a ritual or magic staff with multiple symbolic connotations (Price 2002, 147; Gardeła 2016, 223). From Öland let us now take a quick look at the island of Gotland. As mentioned above, on Gotland bears were never indigenous, so all bearskins and claws — as in the case of Denmark — found in funerary contexts must be regarded as ‘imports’. Of the seventy to eighty known bearskin graves on Gotland most date to the Vendel period, like twenty-two of the thirty-three bearskin graves in the cemetery of Barshalder, Grötlingbo (Rundkvist 2003); the other eleven graves are ascribed to the Migration period. The Barshalder graves of the Vendel period show a tendency to include more objects in the inventories and more women seem to have been buried with bearskins. Rich weapon sets were found in graves of both periods. For instance, grave 1961:19a contained a sword, a seax, a lance, and a shield, as well as a horse harness, a horse skeleton and dog skeletons, gaming pieces, and a bearskin (17 × phalanx III, 3 × phalanx II). The human bones were anthropo­ logically identified as female. Perhaps this was a grave of a woman who lived her life as a warrior or perhaps the grave goods refer to warrior ideals? We

will never know for sure, but the combination of a bearskin and weapons in a woman’s grave is remarkable. The phenomenon of the deposition of martial equipment in women’s graves can be expected in Iron Age graves, and it continues in the late Iron Age, as discussed extensively in the work of Leszek Gardeła (2021). Other female graves at Barshalder contained different types of brooches, beads, knives, and fittings and other objects of copper alloy and iron. Some of them held not only bear phalanges but also phalanges of lynx (Lynx lynx), possibly also the remains of skins. Apart from the furs, the bear-lynxskin graves from Barshalder were relatively richly equipped. Two of them contained the remains of one small child each. The phenomenon of lynx skins is also witnessed in (mainly) women’s graves in the Swedish Uppland region from the Migration to the Merovingian period (Holmqvist 1970, 179–70; Petré 1984, 65; Bennett 1987, 118). Whereas on Gotland the lynx skin is often encountered together with a bearskin, the Upplandic graves are mostly ‘pure’ lynx skin graves. Due to its relatively small size in contrast to that of a bear, a lynx skin’s role as a wrapping or as a blanket for the deceased seems rather unlikely. Nevertheless, it can be considered as an item of high material and symbolic value. The symbolic and sociocultural function of the lynx skins and their possible connection to a pre-Christian female deity have recently been discussed by Zachrisson and Krzewińska (2019). It is noteworthy that two dog skeletons were found in a male inhumation grave from Hallvede, Eke (Petré 1980, 11). This individual was equipped with an axe and a knife, and his skeleton lay flexed on its right-hand side similar to the much earlier Smiss grave. The sixteen bear phalanges found in the Hallvede grave also lay in four groups marking the position of the bearskin under the corpse. It is remarkable that the two dogs both did not lie on the bearskin, as if that was their master’s privilege.

Bearskin Graves of the NorwegianSwedish Horizon outside Scandinavia During the Norwegian-Swedish horizon bear phalanges in graves are known from the northern Baltic and south-eastern Fennoscandian regions. In the first millennium ad, with a significant increase in the time from the Migration period to the Viking Age, they occur in cremation graves in southern Finland and the Karelian Isthmus. In her recent studies, Tuija Kirkinen (2017, 8; 2019, 45) mentions 161 third phalanges of brown bears from twenty-two cremation cemeteries. Most of these sites represent a special type of cemeteries called ‘cemeteries under level

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ground’ (Kirkinen 2017, 9 with further references). Due to the collective burial construction prevailing in these cemeteries, an exact number of graves (and individuals) buried together with bear phalanges cannot be given. However, also these phalanges are interpreted as the remains of bearskins, and Kirkinen (2019, 71) sees them as a cultural contrast to the indigenous customs of bear worship and assumes Scandinavian influences. Moreover, an occasional (re-)occurrence of the bearskin graves during the Norwegian-Swedish horizon in the southern and western total distribution area is to be noted. Bear phalanges were found in graves in the Anglo-Saxon cemetery Spong Hill, Norfolk, England (McKinley 1994, 92), and in some cremation sites in the Saxon cemetery of Liebenau, Lower Saxony, Germany (Häßler 1990, 58; May 1994, 185). Another extraordinary example is the rich Franconian double grave under Frankfurt Cathedral, Hessia, Germany which belonged to two four- to five-yearold children (Hampel 1994; Wamers 2015a). One child was a girl of clearly noble status, as suggested by her luxurious dress and grave goods. The other child had been cremated and buried together with bear phalanges. These rather isolated and widely distributed finds cannot really be claimed as a reappearance of the bearskin burial custom, it is more likely that we are dealing with isolated and Scandinavian-influenced phenomena (Wamers 2015a, 189). However, it is remarkable that these findings show a constant connection of the bearskin burial custom with cremation even at the time when inhumation was gradually becoming the most common funerary rite.

Discussion: Interpreting Bearskin Graves A summary discussion of the entire corpus of bearskin graves poses a particular challenge. As the phenomenon occurs in an area that ranges from eastern Central Europe to northern Scandinavia and over a time span of about 1500 years, it is obvious, that the ‘typical’ bearskin grave simply does not exist. We cannot even be absolutely sure that every claw bone is part of a whole bear pelt, even if there are a number of archaeo­logical indications that support this theory, as could be illustrated by the many examples discussed above. As large as the distribution area and the time period of the custom’s occurrence is, the variety of grave forms and furnishings the bearskin custom is combined with is equally enormous. As shown above, bear phalanges were found in both cremation and inhumation graves of men, women, and even children. Some lay in simple urn graves with no further items, others in lavish chamber graves or large grave mounds where

the deceased were equipped with gold jewellery, weapon ensembles, and in rare cases with vehicles like chariots and boats. The overall very low percentage of bearskin graves (even in the later chrono­logical periods with increasing numbers) may result in part from poor preservation or the circumstances of archaeo­logical recording. However, it creates the impression, that only selected individuals were buried with an item as exclusive as the bearskin. That leads finally to the crucial question: What reasons did people have for this curious custom which prevailed for over a millennium in Central and Northern Europe? Who were the individuals apparently privileged to be buried with a bearskin and what made them special compared to others? Why did the mourners decide to integrate the bearskin in the mortuary ceremony and to place it in the grave? Maybe the answer lies within the material, the bearskin itself. In considering the significance of bear remains from funerary contexts we are first confronted with the problems of damage resulting from the cremation process on the one hand and decomposition in inhumation graves on the other, both of which may hamper our attempts to provide in-depth explanations of the meaning of bearskins. We simply do not know if these skins were tanned specifically for the purpose of the funeral or if they had been in use by the deceased during their lifetime and what kind of use this could have been. Two special features of the bearskin are, however, significant in this context: 1. The bearskin or pelt makes a large and very soft warming blanket. These qualities are unchallenged by other coverings, even by skins of big ungulates like bison (Bison bonasus), elk (Alces alces), or reindeer (Rangifer tarandus) of which at least the latter two have been archaeo­logically identified in Iron Age graves (Kirkinen 2019). 2. The brown bear is the biggest and strongest European land predator, which gives its skin a certain symbolic content representing power and strength. In Europe and the northern hemisphere, the bear has been the object of religious worship probably since the Palaeolithic. The in a sense ambivalent relationship of men towards the bear, marked by fear, awe, and spiritual kinship, possibly results mainly from the bear’s behaviour and outer appearance: its humanlike body structure including the ability to rise and even walk on the hind legs and its omnivorous diet on the one hand, and its fearsome shape and unsettling unpredictability due to low pronounced facial expressions and a mask-like mimic on the other. Among the reindeer-hunting societies in Finland

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and northern Scandinavia, the bear was (and still continues to be) a central element of mytho­logy and rites connected to the sphere of shamanism and totemism (Pentikäinen 2007, 33; Wamers 2015b): ‘its hibernation, however, marked it out as symbolising the waxing and waning of fertility in nature, and its unusual size and man-like habits made it the focus of men’s attention’ (Pentikäinen 2007, 35). The bear was thought of as the (holy) lord of the forest animals but also as a divine and eternal reborn being and deity of heavenly origin, referring to the Great Bear from the sky (Pentikäinen 2007, 66, 98). The bear-hunting custom was connected with laborious and protracted rituals that, for instance, culminated in the above-mentioned bear graves of the Sámi. On the other hand, it may seem surprising that in Old Norse textual sources referring to mytho­ logy, the bear seems to be rather underrepresented (Pentikäinen 2007, 24). Nearly all of the numerous known mammal predators in Norse mytho­ logy are wolves. This is all the more puzzling as the bear is an extremely strong and dangerous wild animal. To obtain its skin, it must be caught and killed under dangerous, life-threatening circumstances (Oehrl 2013). This means that any part of a bear’s corpse, especially its complete skin, is of great material and symbolic value. This fact emphasizes strongly the impression that at no time and in none of the graves discussed above are the bearskins ordinary grave goods but rather unique and precious signs of a special status of the deceased, expressing adoration or appreciation by the mourners or simply ‘wealth’. Obviously not every grave could be furnished with a bearskin. As mentioned above, the brown bear population in large parts of the bearskin grave distribution area was very low already in Iron Age times or simply non-existent. Therefore, the pelts were not available in unlimited quantities and those who wanted to use them for funerary purposes had to import them, presumably via the fur trade. Although in Scandinavia the bearskin custom appears to be rather frequent, the skin never becomes a standard part of the burial assemblage and there are many opulent graves without bearskins. On the other hand, there are also graves that apart from the skin do not contain any further grave goods but they can nevertheless be regarded as rich, as argued above. The bearskin was probably a precious possession of the deceased and was placed as a sign of wealth und prestige. In inhumation graves it served furthermore as a soft pad or blanket or also, at least during the funeral ritual, as a decorative feature, often accompanied by other

prestige objects and symbols of power, as demonstrated above. Considering the bear phalanges and their number in the graves, it seems that in richly furnished cremation graves the number tends to be rather low, as if in the sense of pars pro toto there was no need for picking all phalanges out of the pyre’s ashes. Hitherto it has not been possible to decipher the deeper significance of the number of phalanges buried with the dead due to fact that this custom is fairly inconsistent and the filter of tradition is too manifold. It is remarkable that apart from the bearskin most of the bearskin graves do not differ by any other significant feature or attribute from contemporary graves of similar status. Very few indeed seem to have been allotted a special place in the burial ground, e.g. centrally or in the margins, as can be stated for the above-described graves F55 from Döhren and 1033 from Husby. Others contained further extraordinary grave goods. Were the deceased in those graves socially outstanding individuals such as ritual specialists, wise women, or other persons with functions in religious cult or familiar with magic? The iron staff of the woman in the above-mentioned Klinta grave was probably a ritual tool of such a person, a ‘ritual specialist’, dealing with the supernatural, that ‘functioned on the margins of society’ (Gardeła 2016, 175). Other objects in the grave, such as amulets and metal sheets with runic inscriptions, may also point in this direction. The Klinta grave is one of the latest known bearskin graves and the only one with a staff, and thus any conclusions are to be drawn carefully. Possibly the bearskin itself also had a magical and apotropaic function ensuring peaceful rest in the grave and/or a safe passage into the afterlife or — on the other hand — protecting the living against revenants (Munksgaard 1959). This protection could be — especially on the funeral pyre — provided by wrapping the corpse in an animal skin to control ‘the liminal stage of death’ (Kirkinen 2019, 70). Also the sewing of the corpse into skins was regarded as an optional method of defence against revenants in folk beliefs (Bodner 2006, 602), but there is no archaeo­ logical and historical evidence that would suggest the classification of the bearskin graves as ‘deviant burials’ in which the corpse had undergone a special — presumably apotropaic — treatment (Toplak 2016, 308). In her doctoral thesis, Tuija Kirkinen (2019, 65) points out that the wrapping of the dead in reindeer or brown bear skins ‘was a widespread and long lasting northern tradition’. There is indeed some rare archaeo­logical and textual evidence indicating a special role of the bear in the religious, cultic, or magical world of imagi-

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Figure 2.3. Lanceheads, left: By, Stod, Nord-Trøndelag; right: grave XII, Vendels kyrka, Uppland. After Lamm and Rundkvist 2005, figs 8 and 9, with kind permission of SHM Stockholm.

nation in Central and Northern Europe during the first millennium ad (see also Gardeła and Kajkowski in this volume). Written sources like Old Norse poetry and sagas speak about the berserkir and úlfheðnar who have often been interpreted as warriors wearing bearskins and wolfskins respectively. The idea of a bloody and furiously raging warrior wrapped in a bearskin is situated (according to recent research reviews by Wamers 2009 and Dale 2022) in the realm of (modern) literary fantasy and legend.

Indeed the wearing of bearskins or bear transformations are testified here and there in Old Norse literature and comparable historical sources, but the sources lack information about the wearing of bearskins in actual combat or other martial-related activities. Furthermore these sources never speak of the bearskin’s usage during funeral rites. Nevertheless, there seems to have been a certain connection of the bear with warriorhood during the first millennium ad which perhaps is also associated with the bearskin graves. This connection can be seen in the idea of shape changing (Hedeager 2004), rooted in the sphere of magic and shamanism. Kirkinen (2019) argues that this idea finds its reflection already in the bearskins themselves. Due to the natural function of skin as a ‘border between an inner and an outside layer’ (Kirkinen 2019, 35) the skin is significantly involved in the creation of identity. Thus wrapping the deceased in an animal skin, understood as a ‘second skin’, was possibly awarded the power to evoke a transformation of identity (Kirkinen 2019, 35, 70). It is obvious to assume, that the skinned and tanned hide as a (former) bearer and mirror of the animal’s self was considered as ‘animated’ (see Gardeła and Kajkowski in this volume). There is perhaps some additional icono­graphic evidence that allows us to go a step further and find a direct link between animal and especially bear-related shapeshifting and the martial sphere. The most striking examples of such contemporaneous icono­ graphical sources are a couple of figural depictions from the Vendel period on weapons and helmets. Two lance heads, the sockets of which are decorated with two oppositely arranged four-footed animals, were found in two graves, one from By, Nord-Trøndelag, Norway and the other from Vendel, Uppland, Sweden (Gjessing 1934, 54; Böhner 1991, 697). Depicted in

Figure 2.4. Animal-shaped sword pommels from Birkaland, Kirmukarmu (left), and Österbotten, Gulldynt (right), both Finland. After Hackmann 1895, figs 1 and 2.

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Figure 2.5. Prästgården, Ed, Sweden: sword pommel (with reconstruction), found in a bearskin grave with weapons. After Lamm and Rundkvist 2005, figs 2 and 3, with kind permission of SHM Stockholm.

a lying position, the animals show many features of bears, for instance massive heads with rounded ears bowed down onto the front paws with pronounced claws (Fig. 2.3). Moreover, a couple of sword and knife pommels, also resembling quadrupeds and bear-like creatures, were found in Finland and Sweden (Lamm and Rundkvist 2005) (Fig. 2.4). Again the figurines’ snouts are facing the ground. Contrary to the above-mentioned ‘lance bears’, there are tendrils around the animals’ front and legs. It is noteworthy that the Finnish finds of these figurines come from regions where bear phalanges were found in graves. A direct connection of the ‘pommel bears’ is known from Swedish Uppland: a very stylized and fragmented specimen was discovered in a Vendel-period grave at Ägget, Prästgården (Fig. 2.5), also containing three bear phalanges (Lamm and Rundkvist 2005). The lance and pommel bears are very stylized depictions with features of the ‘cowering beast’, a rather recurrent motif of the animal style (Haseloff 1979, 17) and in a quite similar way occurring in the form of the Scandinavian animal-shaped oval brooches from the Vendel period. Due to the high degree of stylization it is, however, rather uncertain that these brooches represent bears. The same uncertainty also applies to the contemporaneous Gotlandic animal-head brooches (Nerman 1969; Beermann 2016, 62). Far more naturalistic and clearly identifiable as bears are the two upraised quadrupeds on the relief depiction on one of the helmet press-sheet models at Björnhovda, Torslunda, Öland (Beck 1968; Böhner 1991, 696) (Fig. 2.6). The bears flank an armed man holding two dagger-like weapons. The man seems to be fighting against the bears enclosing his temples with their open snouts. A similar depiction is found on a helmet press-sheet from Valsgärde. The motif can be seen as a variant of the image motif known as ‘the Master of Animals’ (Arnold and Counts 2010) recurrent in many periods and cultures. There is a stunning similarity of the Björnhovda depiction to the one on a phalerae

Figure 2.6. Helmet press-sheet model from Torslunda, Öland, Sweden (left) and silver phalera from Niederhohne, Hessia, Germany (right). After Böhner 1991, pls 55 and 63, with kind permission of SHM Stockholm and RGZM Mainz.

of a grave near Eschwege, Hessia, Germany with the main difference that here a naked man without weapons is shown (Fig. 2.6). This depiction is conventionally considered as a Nordic variant of the biblical motif of Daniel in the lion’s den — showing bears instead of lions — which then on the press-sheets of Björnhovda was, once again, developed by adding the harness and the weapons (Böhner 1991, 695). Was the bearskin meant to impressively underline some bear symbolism and imagery? In spite of all this formulaic style, it is hard to imagine that all those bear depictions are mere decorations with an ornamental function. All of them are obviously based on a certain common idea: the animal’s cowering position, tendrils symbolizing shackles or some form of binding, pointing to its exhaustion, weakness, and powerlessness (Oehrl 2011, 175). The scene in the Björnhovda model displays an array of indications and ‘icono­graphic ciphers’ for the flanking beasts’ submissiveness. Apparently, the strong and powerful predator is depicted as psycho­logically bound and physically overcome, thus possibly transmitting power from the bear to the warrior’s weapon and thus to himself. This may not only apply to weapons: the animal head mounts on the Klinta staff can

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Figure 2.7. Högom, Sundsvall, Sweden, mound 2: reconstruction of a motif on one of the tunic edgings. After Nockert 1991, fig. 115, with kind permission of SHM Stockholm.

possibly be interpreted as helping spirits or animal guardians, too (Gardeła 2016, 201). Another older example of an interesting depiction can be found in the tunic edging of the bearskin grave at Högom described above (Fig. 2.7). It shows stylized humans in a worshipping pose with raised hands, flanked by outward-looking, predator-like beasts, possibly bears (Nockert 1991, 96). Is this depiction also based on the Daniel motif ? One of the worshippers seems to have just one eye, presumably alluding to the god Óðinn, who, according to Old Norse tradition, sacrificed an eye to drink from the well of wisdom. It is remarkable that, when worn normally, the ornamented edging was hidden and invisible. It might have been reserved for special occasions or supernatural powers. The mysterious beasts of tunic-edgings from the Norwegian bearskin grave Evebø 43 also show predator-human hybrids resembling so-called ‘beastmen’ of the animal style (Haseloff 1981, 118). It might be daring to label these tunics as ‘bear shirts’ intended to help their wearers to transform into bears in their imagination (Bender Jørgensen 2001, 7; Hedeager 2004, 245). Whichever interpretation is right, all of them point to the sphere of magic, shamanism, ideas of shapeshifting and animal transformation, achieved by adoring the animal on one hand, and overcoming and conquering it on the other. Such a world of imagination seems to be connected with an elitist warrior cult, occurring at least since the Migration period and characterized by luxurious and ostentatious graves. Whatever this connection suggests, the depictions establish the fact that the bear as a powerful predator, both very human-like and very strange in its behaviour and appearance, played a profound role in the world of human imagination of the Germanic Iron Age. To search for a reflection of this particular connection and role of the bear in every known bearskin grave could possibly lead to an interpretive overstressing of the find material. The high quantity of graves of women is to be taken into account as well as all the other bearskin graves showing no insignia of warriorhood and visible relations to the martial sphere at all. But there is yet another aspect that probably points in this direction. The appearance of bearskins in areas without a bear population can be related to trade and import of skins

and furs, goods regarded as precious gifts, powerful hunting trophies, and/or signs of bravery and skill of the hunter. In some of the later bearskin graves also skeletons of dogs were found, presumably hunting dogs. These graves often contained, as in the case of the examples described above (Prästgården or the woman grave Barshalder 21961:19), also horse skeletons or riding equipment as well as weapons that were not only suitable for combat but also for killing a bear. If already in prehistoric times hunting was a privilege of an upper class, this could support the theory of bearskins being emblems of a social — and in most cases also military — elite.

Conclusion Drawing any final conclusions from the phenomenon of the bearskin graves is a challenging task. It might neither be possible nor useful to look for an overarching explanation valid for all bearskin graves of the period between the Pre-Roman Iron Age and the Viking Age. Moreover, such an approach may be questionable, since it is more likely that behind every bearskin in a grave lies a very particular and unique motivation. There are good reasons to assume that in many bearskin graves the pelt was regarded as nothing more than a warm and soft blanket or clothing of high quality, in others as an animated and protective item and shelter for the corpse or the deceased person’s soul, in others again as an emblem of an elitist warrior cult. Icono­graphic evidence shows unequivocally that the bear played a certain role in martial imagination, probably related to the concepts of power transmission and shapeshifting. Despite all splits and breaks in the lines of tradition, a trait and feature all regions and periods have in common is the occurrence of bearskins in opulent and outstanding graves, but the bearskin itself was also of very high material value. Therefore, it appears that also those bearskin graves that seem to be poorly furnished, can be placed on a similar level as those with rich furnishings. A bearskin is always a splendid and powerful grave good, although at first glance this might not seem very obvious from the few burnt phalanges that usually survive in the archaeo­logical record.

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—— . 2015a. Franconofurd, ii: Das bi-rituelle Kinderdoppelgrab der späten Merowingerzeit unter der Frankfurter Bartholomäuskirche (‘Dom’), Schriften des Archäo­logischen Museums Frankfurt, 22.2 (Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner) —— . 2015b. ‘“Steh nun auf, mein lieber Bär, deine Gäste zu empfangen!” Zum Bärenkult zirkumpolarer Jägervölker’, in Egon Wamers (ed.), Bärenkult und Schamanenzauber: Rituale früher Jäger (Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner), pp. 41–59 Wegewitz, Willi. 1973. Das langobardische Brandgräberfeld von Putensen, Kreis Harburg (Hildesheim: Lax) —— . 1994. Das Abenteuer der Archäo­logie (Oldenburg: Isensee) Zachrisson, Inger, and Elisabeth Iregren. 1974. Lappish Bear Graves in Northern Sweden: An Archaeo­logical and Osteo­logical Study (Stockholm: Kungl. vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien) Zachrisson, Torun, and Maja Krzewińska. 2019. ‘The “Lynx Ladies”: Burials Furnished with Lynx Skins from the Migration and Merovingian Periods Found in Present-Day Sweden’, in Melanie Augstein and Matthias Hardt (eds), Sächsische Leute und Länder: Benennung und Lokalisierung von Gruppenidentitäten im ersten Jahrtausend (Wendeburg: Krebs), pp. 103–19

Sarah Croix

3. What Could Birds Do for the Dead? Animals and Humans in the Mortuary Practices of Viking Age Ribe The entanglement between humans and non-humans has been to the fore of a so-called ‘animal turn’ in the humanities in the past twenty years (e.g. Andersson Cederholm and others 2014). In line with post-human theory and its impact on archaeo­logy (see Fahlander 2014 for a useful overview), it has been proposed that non-human agents, including animals, are in possession of potency mutually affecting and conditioning human lives (Hodder 2012; contra Lindstrøm 2015). Human–animal relations should be approached as a ‘web-of-species’ (Oma and Goldhahn 2020) or networks of interaction and interdependency in which the human and non-human actors are involved on equal footing, breaking down anthropocentric notions of hierarchical relationships (Boyd 2017). One setting in which animals and humans are often encountered together in archaeo­logical contexts in the pre-Christian North is in human burials (e.g. Jennbert 2011, 101–05; Strehlau 2018; Karpińska this volume). In these contexts, animals appear both whole and in parts. Various species are represented too, wild as well as domesticated. They participate in a wide range of mortuary practices from chamber graves to simple cremation deposits in endless variations. Based on comparison with contemporary and later textual accounts, ethno­graphic cases, or theoretical trends, the reasons behind the presence of animals in human graves have been described in a variety of ways, with scholars typically proposing multiple explanations and favouring at times one or the other depending on the species. These may include roles as: sacrifices in honour of the dead (e.g. Sten and Vretemark 1988), ingredients of funeral meals or meals to be consumed in the afterlife (e.g. Prummel 1992; Bond 1994), faithful companions, both during life and in death (e.g. Horning 1993; Gräslund 2014), as means of transport (quite literally during the funerary rituals or to the afterlife or

as psychopompoi), as status and/or identity markers of the deceased and/or of the mourners, and as theatrical props utilized in the mise-en-scène of lavish, public mortuary rituals (e.g. Price 2010). Generally, the proposed interpretations have tended to see the animals as accessories to the human, whereas recent theoretical developments may ask us to reconsider these interpretations. Understanding the involvement of animals in mortuary practices is bound to the question of what these practices are supposed to achieve. Beyond the mere disposal of a human corpse, mortuary practices are the locus for a multitude of strategies and intentions on the part of those enacting them, from techno­logies for social representation and remembrance, of the deceased and for the mourners; means of coping with emotional distress, grief, and loss, to rituals facilitating the journey from one sphere of existence to another and/or aiming at protecting the living from the — potentially — returning dead (e.g. Ucko 1969; Oestigaard and Goldhahn 2006; Fahlander and Oestigaard 2008; Gardeła 2013; Williams 2013). While acknowledging that all these factors may have been at play at the same time, one of the crucial purposes of such a ritual, as most rituals, is to facilitate the process of death as involving a corporeal, spiritual, and social transition from a state of being among the living to one in which corporeal, spiritual, and social functions occur in a world other than of the living. In regards to method, in previous research, multi-variate approaches combining the ritual process and characteristics of the human and non-human actors have been applied in order to refine the range of interpretative possibilities bringing fruitful results (e.g. Bond and Worley 2009; Ravn 1999; Sigvallius 1994; Strehlau 2018). Privileged associations between humans and animals of various species have been assessed by comparing the number of occurrences

Sarah Croix ([email protected]) is Associate Professor in Archaeo­logy in the Centre for Urban Network Evolutions (UrbNet) / School of Culture and Society, Aarhus University. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 39–56 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132515

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according to the sex and age at death of the deceased, their social status as expressed through the degree of lavishness of the overall mortuary representation, and the mortuary treatment (cremation/inhumation). In order to narrow down the potentially extremely wide range of interpretations regarding the function and symbolic meaning of animals, attention has been focused on the completeness or fragmentation of their bodies in the mortuary contexts, and, when possible, the presence of cut marks resulting from sacrifice and from butchering. In the following, such an approach, taking into account a range of parameters characterizing the mortuary practices and the representation of the deceased through material culture, as well as the identification of animal species and of their body parts, will be applied to the recently excavated and analysed material from the earliest cemetery in Viking Age Ribe, c. 700–850+. This chapter outlines multiple roles played by animals in mortuary practices, and proposes that birds placed on the pyre and mixed together with cremated human bones were involved in the creation of a human/animal hybrid entity (sensu Fahlander 2014); a process through which the deceased human was ‘elevated’ or ‘enhanced’ in order to become a member of the community of the dead (sensu Williams 2001). Some individuals may have needed to go through this process in order to become ‘properly dead’, either because of who they were in life or because of the circumstances of their death, which called for a specific ritual response. With this proposal, a fresh understanding of human–animal relationships in Viking Age mortuary practices is gained, showing that they were more than theatrical props or mere tools for social representation of wealth and religious inclinations. Ultimately, this contribution highlights further the need to challenge previous anthropocentric approaches in the study of past societies and to abolish our projection of a hierarchical relationship between humans and animals by acknowledging reciprocity and interdependency rather than exploitation.

Ribe’s Earliest Cemetery Located on the north side of the Ribe River, the specialized trading and production site that emerged at the beginning of the eighth century a few kilometres inland from the Wadden Sea is well known in the context of Scandinavian and early medi­eval European archaeo­logy (Feveile 2006; 2012; Sindbæk 2022). On the south side of the river, where the medi­eval town of Ribe would eventually emerge in the eleventh century, a new cemetery was established c. 860 (Søvsø 2012; 2014; 2016). It has been interpreted

by the excavators as belonging to a Christian community based on the mortuary practices (inhumations oriented west–east, often in coffins), the spatial limits of the burial area, and the continuous use of the site, which later became the location of Ribe Cathedral. Prior to this, from the 700s onwards, the inhabitants of the emporium, a term referring to the specialized economic character of the settlement, buried and cremated their dead to the north-east of the site. Remains of an extensive burial ground, estimated to extend over c. 8–9 ha, have been found along today’s Rosen Allé (Croix 2020a). Excavations at the site have revealed remains from centuries of settlement occupation, from the Viking Age until today, as well as one hundred archaeo­logical features belonging to the Viking Age cemetery. The cemetery, however, may have counted hundreds of graves originally: the site seems to extend beyond the areas that have been excavated to date, and the Viking Age phase has suffered from poor preservation conditions and truncations by later activities. The features include a variety of burials for humans: inhumations in various forms of coffins and in pit graves, both with various orientations; and cremations, where the remains from the pyre were deposited in shallow pits or in urns placed in the ground. Various items were also placed in the graves, such as dress fittings, coins, and personal implements such as knives and ornaments. Instances with tools and riding equipment are rare and cremation deposits tend to be relatively better equipped than inhumations. This difference may be due to divergent traditions and modes of mortuary expressions rather than social inequality, as there is no sign of spatial segregation according to mortuary rite or degree of wealth across the site. Additionally, several examples of ring ditches indicate that some graves were marked above ground with a small circular barrow. Bone remains were preserved in seventy-one of these one hundred features. All have been the subject of a systematic osteo­logical analysis (Østergaard 2017), which revealed sixty-seven human individuals and allowed estimating the age at death for most of them, as well as sex for about one third of the buried population. The analysis also identified various animal species among the remains, both alongside humans or in depositional contexts without them. In at least one instance, the remains of a horse and a dog were carefully laid in a pit. The position of the remains and the absence of human remains, both in the pit and in the immediate vicinity, suggest that the horse and dog were treated on equal footing with humans, their burial being perhaps more than an accompanying deposit. The horse was even accompanied by full horse tack and saddle (this find will

3 . w hat co u ld b i rd s d o fo r t he dead? Table 3.1. Basic data for burials at Ribe’s earliest cemetery containing animal remains. The instances marked in grey are not discussed in the text.

Grave ID

Burial custom

Osteo­logical ID

ASR 8, G5

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human ( Juv.), dog

ASR 8, G8

Urn with pyre remains

Human (30–40?, F?), pig, 1 small bird (1 long bone)

ASR 8, G12

Urn with pyre remains

Human (adult, M?), 1 bird (1 wing bone)

ASR 8, G16

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (adult, F?), 2 birds (long bones)

ASR 8, G23

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human, mammal

ASR 8, G24

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (infans I – 2.5 years), 1 small wild bird (long bone)

ASR 8, G25

Cremation, disturbed, secondary deposit

Human, mammal

ASR 8, A43

Special deposit

Horse

ASR 1000, G1 Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (young adult, F?), pig, dog/fox

ASR 1000, G2 Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (40–50, F?), mammal, at least 3 birds of different species, including a small wader (long bones), fish (min. 3 ind.)

SJM 348, G2

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (juv), animal

SJM 348, G8

Cremation, ring ditch, disturbed

Human (burnt), horse teeth (unburnt)

SJM 348, G9

Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (Adult, sex unspec), bird (5 frag.)

SJM 348, G10 Inhumation

Horse, dog

SJM 348, G25 Inhumation, earth grave

Human (infans II, F?), horse

SJM 348, G28 Inhumation

Dog

SJM 348, G34 Inhumation, earth grave, possibly disturbed Human (adult, M?), sheep SJM 348, G35 Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (18–30, sex unspec), mammal, dog, min 6 ducks (tip of wings)

SJM 348, G42 Cremation pit with pyre remains

Human (infans II), bird (various, both wings and legs)

SJM 348, G43 Inhumation in pit

Human (infans II), bird (3 long bones)

be discussed in further detail in an upcoming publication; see Sindbæk and Croix 2016 for preliminary remarks). Other examples include the inhumation of a dog (the preservation does not allow determining whether it was complete or in parts) in a small pit, as well as the seemingly disarticulated remains of a horse in a large pit (Feveile and Jensen 2006, 78). Another large pit excavated in 2016 contained various animal remains, both burnt and unburnt (SJM 348, unpublished documentation). These features, probably relating to the ritual activities conducted in the mortuary landscape, deserve their own separate discussion. Instead, the focus here will be on instances, seventeen in total, where human and animal remains were found jointly in burial features (see Table 3.1). Among these, three will be excluded, as the features were disturbed by later activity, meaning that the integrity of the find context could not be established (ASR 8 – G25, SJM 348 – G8, SJM 348 – G34).1

1 Key to abbreviations: SJM 348 = Sydvestjyske Museer, excavation record no. 348; ASR 8 = Antikvarisk Samling Ribe, excavation record no. 8; G25 = Grave 25.

With fourteen undisturbed burial contexts containing both human and animal remains, this combination is attested in about one fourth of the burials for which bone remains were preserved. The rite is thus not particularly rare but appears mostly related to cremation deposits with twelve of fourteen instances. The rarity of animal remains in inhumation graves, with only two instances of pit graves, might be a result of the very poor conditions for preservation of unburnt bone in Ribe. Additionally, cremation contributes to better bone preservation through fire-alteration/calcination, as does the deposition of the osteo­logical cremains in pottery vessels or other containers. Thus, whether animal involvement was more likely to occur in the frame of the practices surrounding cremation than inhumation cannot be ascertained. The osteo­logical analysis of human remains allows correlating these practices to age groups and in a few instances to sex as well. Although the corpus of data is too small to allow statistical analyses, all age groups are represented, seemingly in a similar way as for the remainder of the population buried in the cemetery. It was possible to estimate sex for only five individuals. Keeping

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in mind a fair degree of uncertainty in the estimates, female individuals seem relatively better represented. Several animal species are attested: dog or dog/ fox, pig, bird, fish, and horse. They often appear in combination: pig and bird (one burial), pig and dog/fox (one burial), bird and fish (one burial), dog and bird (two burials). In three cases, the species could not be identified with further precision and thus they have been labelled merely as ‘animal’ or ‘mammal’. Due to the small number of occurrences of animal remains in inhumation graves, it is not possible to compare species representation between inhumation and cremation but, interestingly, the single occurrence of horse remains (a single tooth) is in an inhumation grave. In all cases of cremation graves, the animal bones were cremated too, suggesting that they were placed on the pyre alongside the deceased human. For comparative reasons, focus will be directed towards animal species which occur more than once, with a final note concerning the finds of fish bones. Dog (or dog/fox) appears in three burials. In the first, only bone fragments from the legs and paws (mostly phalanges) of a medium-sized adult animal were represented (ASR 8, G5). Its remains accompanied a young adult human, and there were no grave goods in the cremation deposit. The second contained the remains of two different dogs: a small puppy, less than a month old, of which only part of the skull was present, and a relatively small adult dog of which most body parts were present (ASR 1000, G1). The grave also contained the remains of a young adult, possibly female according to the osteo­logical analysis. The sex estimate together with the finds, an iron key, and a copper-alloy fitting of Celtic/Irish type reused as a brooch, suggests a gender identification as female. The third grave contained the remains of most parts of a small adult dog and of an adult human, whose sex could not be estimated osteo­logically (SJM 348, G35). However, it contained rich artefactual material, including a large number of beads and a comb, suggesting a female individual. Therefore, in at least two of the three instances, dogs of relatively small size were probably deposited whole on the pyre, in most cases alongside a young adult woman. Pig appears in two burials: in the first one as fragments of metacarpal bones (ASR 8, G8), and in the second as parts of the skull, more specifically the mandible (ASR 1000, G1). In the first case, the animal bones were deposited alongside the cremated remains of an adult individual, possibly a thirty– forty-year-old female according to the osteo­logical analysis, inside an urn with a wide range of grave goods supporting the gender identification. The

second grave has been described above as the one containing the remains of two dogs. In those two cases, it is noteworthy that only some small parts of the pigs were represented. This contrasts with the human individuals, whose cremation deposits typically contain bone fragments from most parts of the body, and the nearly complete dog from the second grave suggests a rather thorough gathering of the pyre remains. The absence of other body parts of the pigs may thus reflect that only some parts were actually placed on the pyre. Both pig trotters and cheeks can be consumed as food but are not the most meat-rich parts of the animal. It might be that the rest of the animal was consumed during mortuary rituals and that only a less nourishing chunk was shared with the deceased. Bird is the most commonly represented animal in the Ribe graves: as many as nine cases have been noted. Three graves contained more than one bird (two in grave ASR 8, G16, at least three in grave ASR 1000, G2, and six different birds in grave SJM 348, G35; Figs 3.1 and 3.2). With the exception of a single vertebra (SJM 348, G35), all fragments of bird bone appear to have belonged to various long bones (primarily legs and wings). In a few cases, more precise identifications suggest wing bones. With the exception of a small wild bird, as well as a wader and several ducks from the same grave, species identification was usually impossible, and often only the relative size of the animal could be assessed (pigeon-like in four cases). The deposition of parts of birds on the pyre seems rather indiscriminate in terms of the age and/or sex of the deceased human. All age groups are represented (one small child of 2.5, two infans II, one individual aged eighteen–thirty, three ‘adults’ without further estimate for the age at death, and two further adults, one aged thirty–forty and one forty–fifty). Although subadult burials are relatively better represented at Ribe than in its wider context (Croix 2022), the number of occurrences is too small to see a particular association with subadults. Osteo­ logical sex estimates for grown individuals are very uncertain owing to poor preservation and the often modest artefactual material. Jointly, however, they suggest that of the six adult individuals four may be female and one male. None of the graves from Ribe can be said to be particularly rich, and we should be cautious in assuming a lower status for graves without grave goods. However, it should be mentioned that both graves with a relatively wide array of items and graves without other finds than cremated bones contained bird bones. Fish is only attested in a single cremation deposit in Ribe. Besides the bones from at least three different species of birds, as described above, grave ASR

3 . w hat co u ld b i rd s d o fo r t he dead?

Figure 3.1. Grave SJM 348, G35. The cremation deposit was placed in a shallow pit, max. c. 30 cm deep and max. c. 130 cm in diameter, here sectioned during excavation in 2016. Photo credits: Aarhus University / Museum of South-West Jutland.

Figure 3.2. Grave SJM 348, G35. The deposit contained rich artefactual and osteo­ logical material: A: cremated human bones; B: cremated dog bones; C: cremated bird bones; D: comb fragments; E: beads of glass, bronze, and gold. Photo by Sarah Croix.

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1000, G2 also contained a fragment of a long bone from an unidentified medium-size mammal (sheep/ goat, deer, pig, or dog), as well as vertebrae from three different species of fish: Gadidae sp. (n=3), Flesus/ platessa/limanda (n=10), and Cyprinidae sp. (n=2). As a single find, this occurrence cannot be contextualized using the evidence from the site. This grave, however, stands out by the relatively large number of animals and their diversity. The three species of bird and three species of fish present a numerical parallelism that may not be anodyne in a ritual context. The artefacts which have been retrieved from the deposit (a handful of very small iron rivets; an incomplete bone pin in seven fragments; one opaque red glass bead, and one fragment of a melon-shaped silver bead) are not particularly unusual or informative as to the identity of this adult, possibly a female individual according to the osteo­logical analysis. Several tons of animal bones have also been retrieved during excavation campaigns in the settlement area of the emporium (Hatting 1991; Enghoff 2006b; Kveiborg 2022). Although the range of species represented there is much broader than at the burial site, the same overall categories are found: cattle, sheep/goat, and pig on the one hand, and various species of birds, especially ducks, on the other hand. These animal remains have been interpreted as an indication of meat consumption (Enghoff 2006b, 178–79), although the presence of wing bones from sea-eagle and crow might be linked to the use of feathers (Gotfredsen 2014, 372), perhaps for making arrow vanes or ornaments (Enghoff 2006b, 178–79). Interestingly, however, bird bones only make up a very small fraction of the animal remains at the emporium in comparison with large mammal bones, whereas birds are the most common species used in connection with cremation practices. This discrepancy underlines the significance of this practice as relating specifically to mortuary contexts, suggesting that these animals were not involved as mere sources of meat. The species of fish identified in the single cremation deposit correspond well to those which were most commonly consumed at the emporium (Enghoff 2006a; Kveiborg 2022). In order to tease out some form of meaning from the practices we have observed, some significant details are worth highlighting: – None of the animals was represented whole in the cremation deposits. It is difficult to tell whether they were whole or in part on the pyre but, contrary to the human entity, there does not seem to have been any effort put into the gathering of all parts after the cremation process. Dog is the species for which most body parts are repre-

–

– – –

sented in graves, suggesting that complete animals were used. Remains from pigs suggest that on the occasion of the funeral they were used for their meat in the same way they were used within the households of the people living at the emporium. The idea that they acted here as foodstuff during mortuary rituals, as an offering to the divinities of the hereafter, as provisions for the dead on their journey or for their post mortem existence are all plausible interpretations. A single grave contained the remains of three different fish species, an exception which, at least for the present author, is difficult to explain. Horses are not represented in cremation burials in Ribe. Birds are the most common animal in burial contexts and accompanied deceased humans of all ages, sex, and social status, with a slightly greater association with adult women and perhaps subadults.

Further contextualization of these results may allow us to refine our interpretations.

Comparison and Contextualization Ribe emerged out of and in a composite cultural landscape. On the one hand, its immediate regional context in south-west Jylland was part of the south Scandinavian cultural sphere, but with Frisians, Saxons, and increasingly Franks as its closest neighbours. On the other hand, its community was also involved in long-distance trading networks stretching towards the distant Arctic outlands, the North Sea region, and the Middle East. Its community cannot be described as culturally or ethnically uniform, which makes the contemporary comparative material to contextualize the evidence observed in Ribe and draw parallels from it broad and complex — and at times paradoxically scarce. Besides a couple of major cemeteries, Lindholm Høje and Nørre Sandegård on Bornholm, the funerary landscape of south Scandinavia, corresponding to present-day Denmark and southern Sweden, is remarkably sparse from the sixth up to the early ninth centuries, with few, smaller groupings of burial sites with a very uneven geo­graphic distribution (Kleiminger 1993; Eisenschmidt 2004; Gerds 2015, 18–37). Whereas the burial ground at Nørre Sandegård only comprised inhumation graves and occasional horse depositions, Lindholm Høje provides much better material for comparison. The large burial ground at Lindholm Høje had a long period

3 . w hat co u ld b i rd s d o fo r t he dead?

of use, from the fifth to the early eleventh centuries, but most graves can be dated between the sixth and the eighth centuries (Ramskou 1976; Nielsen 2009). Cremation patches dominate mortuary practices with 581 examples against only forty inhumation graves. No actual urn graves were recorded. The deceased was often accompanied on the pyre by various objects, including beads of glass, crystal, and bronze, bronze ornaments and dress fittings, spindle whorls, knives, tweezers and combs, arrowheads in a few instances, but otherwise no weapons (Nielsen 2009, 88–89). In this regard, the grave goods fit the pattern we find in Ribe very well and they also correspond with the rest of southern Scandinavia, although the absence of riding equipment, documented in Ribe in two instances, is noteworthy. The cremated bone remains from 387 graves were preliminarily analysed with the aim to determine the species (human/animal), but without further concern for sex or age at death of the human individuals (Møhl 1976), thus limiting the possibility of comparing the results with the data from Ribe. Two thirds of this sample contained a combination of human and animal bones, thus testifying to a fairly common practice (Nielsen 2009, 89–90). With 222 instances dogs were by far the most common species, and they probably had been laid whole on the pyre suggesting, for Karen Høilund Nielsen (2009, 89), their role as companions. Other species, all domestic animals (horse, sheep, pig, cattle), were rarer and usually only represented by single parts. Whereas Nielsen does not mention birds in her overview, there is a single instance of a cremation patch with parts of the metacarpus of a little gull (Møhl 1976, 112). The grave did not contain any other finds (Ramskou 1976, 27). From the ninth century onwards, burial finds become more abundant in south Scandinavia, and mortuary practices are much better documented. Whereas a full updated inventory of animal bone finds from burial contexts for Viking Age Denmark cannot be conducted in the frame of this contribution, some valuable insights can be gathered from previously published overviews (see Prummel 1992, 176–78 for the following). Overall, apart from some local traditions or particularly ostentatious burials, the practice appears somewhat marginal. The animal species most commonly associated with human burials are horse and dog. The two species are often combined and linked with inhumation graves, mostly dating to the tenth century with a few older examples. Including Scania, only a single cremation find contained bones from horse, dog, cattle, sheep, and pig. In the cemetery of Vätteryd, the cremation deposits, sometimes associated with stone-settings, have also

yielded many occurrences of animal bones, including horse, dog, pig, and cattle. The finds suggest a period of use spanning the Migration period to the Viking Age (Svanberg 2003, 208–09). To this body of data, one should also add a number of instances with bird bones from Viking Age Denmark, one cremation and five inhumations, three of which are from the same cemetery (Karpińska 2020, 118 and references therein; see also Karpińska this volume). The Ribe emporium is commonly associated with the emergence of urbanism in Scandinavia in the eighth and early ninth centuries. The main phases of the large cemeteries at Kaupang, Birka, and Hedeby date to the ninth and tenth centuries, and are thus younger than Ribe (see overview in Croix 2020b). The probable site of Reric, Gross Strömkendorf, is, however, roughly contemporary with Ribe (Gerds 2015). Besides contemporaneity, the two sites share further similarities which makes the comparison between the two relevant: both their communities were likely composed of people from various cultural backgrounds, which may have led to various processes of cultural transfer and hybridization between groups, also in mortuary expressions; and their main occupations involved local, regional, and long-distance trade, as well as specialized crafts. Additionally, they may have had strong ties to one another, as testified by the same form of monetary economy (sceattas) at both sites (Feveile 2019). At Gross Strömkendorf, animals appear in mortuary contexts in two ways: as separately inhumed individuals, both horses (nine ex.) and dogs (seven ex.), which were in two cases also buried alongside each other (Gerds 2015, 99–113), and as partial remains together with a human, in a few inhumations but mostly in cremation burials (Gerds 2015, 183–91). As regards Ribe, the spotlight will be placed here on the second group, represented by eighty-four burials, the largest majority of which are cremation deposits in urn (Gerds 2015, table 16). This figure corresponds to about one third of all burials at Gross Strömkendorf, and therefore reflects a relatively common practice. As in Ribe, the complete osteo­logical analysis of the human and animal remains allows assessing relations between species and age and sex of the human individuals deposited together in graves (Wolf 2015, 405–18). Among the graves containing animal bones, all age groups are represented, and in proportions corresponding to the general demo­graphic pattern of the cemetery. Both male and female individuals are represented as well, with a skewed ratio towards female individuals (Gerds 2015, 185). Due to preservation conditions and the high degree of fragmentation of cremated finds, the spe-

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cies represented could only be identified in thirty-four cases. Domestic species dominate, the most common being cattle and pig, followed to a lesser extent by sheep/goat. Dog is also fairly common while horse is much rarer. Bird bones (including ducks, geese, and a single occurrence of domestic fowl) are by far the most common animal species in the graves, with twenty occurrences. Large wild animals and birds of prey are absent from the burials at Gross Strömkendorf. In the majority of cases, only one animal species could be identified for each grave, but there are also several examples of combinations, the most common with two species at a time, cattle/pig (five ex.) and dog/bird (including duck; three ex.) (Gerds 2015, table 16; 184–89). Dogs regularly appear to have been placed whole on the pyre (Gerds 2015, 185). Of the eight graves where this practice is attested, the sex of the human individual could be estimated osteo­logically in six instances, all but one being likely female. The age association of this practice is particularly striking, with two groupings: twenty–thirty in five cases (+ one age twenty–forty), but also three cases with mature individuals (fifty–sixty and two individuals over sixty) (Gerds 2015, table 16). Both cattle and pig seem to have been parted and only single parts such as skulls were placed on the pyre. Gerds suggests that these body parts acted pars pro toto for the whole animal, while the remainder of the animal was consumed during mortuary rituals (Gerds 2015, 185). This proposition is compelling, considering that heads carry a strong symbolic meaning in many cultures, and that other parts of the body would have provided greater quantities of meat to the mourners. In the eleven graves with cattle, the sex of the human individual could only be estimated in two cases, one male and one female, whereas the age could be estimated in nine cases, revealing adult individuals from all age groups. In the ten graves with pig remains, the sex of the human could be estimated in only four cases, all of which were female. All age groups among adult individuals are represented and they do not display any apparent pattern (Gerds 2015, table 16). In contrast, birds often appear to have been placed whole on the pyre. In eleven cases, the species could not be identified with any further precision than simply as ‘bird’, but there are also seven instances of duck, one of goose, and one of domestic fowl. In nine of these eleven cases, several bird species were combined. The sex of the human individual could only be estimated in six cases, four female and two male. Age at death could be estimated in twelve cases, the large majority twenty–thirty years old. The two male individuals are also the only ones

who are older (twenty–forty, forty–forty-five). The only find of goose bones is also associated with the only subadult (seven–fourteen years old) (Gerds 2015, table 16). Overall, Gerds (2015, 191) considers the primary role of cattle, pig, and bird (duck) to be sources of meat. This interpretation fits well with the pattern observed at the contemporary settlement at Gross Strömkendorf, where cattle and pig dominate for meat consumption (Gerds 2015, 185). It is also in accordance with the fact that these two species are usually only represented by single parts that had been placed on the pyre. However, birds are comparatively much more common in burials than at the settlement. Furthermore, grouping birds (especially ducks) together with food animals is contradicted by the fact that they are often associated with dogs and that they often appear to have been placed whole on the pyre, just like dogs. Another role seen by Gerds (2015, 185), perhaps more similar to that of the dogs, is that of companions to the humans. Looking towards the North Sea region, the North Frisian Islands present a rich burial material for this period in comparison with the rest of Jylland and Schleswig (La Baume 1953; Eisenschmidt 2004, 298–303). Cremation followed by the deposition of pyre remains in an urn and its burial under a mound was the most common practice, and some cremation deposits on the surface or in pits are also attested. Due to poor preservation of bone material and issues of storage and access to the material retrieved during excavation more than a hundred years ago, the possibility of osteo­logical analysis is limited. Remains of bird bones, however, are mentioned in thirteen instances in the archaeo­logical record (Karpińska 2020, 117), including the four cases discussed below. For two of the cemeteries, Wenningstedt and Morsum, a thorough osteo­logical analysis was conducted. Seven out of thirteen graves from the former site and seventeen out of thirty-eight graves from the latter have been analysed (Eisenschmidt 2004, 498–502; 486–96). As in the case of Ribe, the sex estimates are very uncertain. Only one of the seven analysed graves at Wenningstedt (LA 52) yielded animal bones. It was a burial mound built of turf squares, raised over an urn containing the cremated remains of a possibly female individual and a number of grave goods: a knife, an iron ring, a bone needle case, and a melted glass bead. Six grams of cremated bone from different parts of the body of a bird, possibly a duck, were also identified (Eisenschmidt 2004, 499). At Morsum, five of the seventeen graves contained animal bones, which could be identified at the level of species in four cases: pig (grave 47.08),

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sheep (grave 49.12), and bird (graves 49.01, 49.11, 49.12). All were cremation graves comprising urned cremation deposits buried under a mound. The pig bone, possibly part of a hip bone, was associated with the grave of a young child (c. four years old), alongside whom sherds from several pottery vessels were found (Eisenschmidt 2004, 488). Sheep bone was found together with bird bones in the grave of a juvenile individual, possibly female, with no other grave goods than a cramp and some melted glass (Eisenschmidt 2004, 496). The two other graves contained bird bones and the bones of adult individuals. The osteo­logical analysis of the first could not estimate the sex, but the artefactual assemblage (including a knife, a folding knife, three arrowheads, a copper-alloy buckle, and a strap end) suggests an individual of male gender. The second, with whom only a few iron fittings and nails were found, was osteo­logically identified as male (Eisenschmidt 2004, 492–93, 495–96). Further south along the North Sea coast, in the provinces of Friesland and Groningen, animals are well attested in mortuary practices (Knol 1993). They could be both inhumed in their own graves or placed on the pyre and deposited together with other cremated remains (Prummel 2001, 76–77). Horses and dogs could receive their own burials, sometimes jointly. A few examples of horses and dogs inhumed alongside a human are also attested. They have been interpreted as possessions or status symbols (Prummel 2001, 83). Cremated animal remains are attested in at least one out of three early medi­eval cemeteries where cremation was practised in the province of Friesland. According to Prummel (2001, 78, 83), between 8 and 30 per cent of the cremation graves at these sites also contained cremated animal remains, which she sees as ‘gifts’ to the deceased and foodstuff for the afterlife. In these regions, cattle was the most represented species in mortuary contexts, closely followed by sheep and sandpipers, but single instances of pig, mallard, teal, domestic fowl, and roe deer are also attested. Animals were usually found as parts and could be associated with human individuals of all ages and sexes. Parts of the torso were the most commonly represented, a selection which may have a symbolic meaning according to Prummel, although she does not specify which. In some cases, only foot bones of cattle, roe deer, and sheep/goat were found, suggesting that animal skins were burnt, perhaps as shroud or for transportation, with the hooves acting as handles (Prummel 2001, 78). Prummel associates birds with various forms of consumption (food, feathers). This applies to the small sandpipers as well, which were eaten, but based on research from

late Iron Age Central Sweden (Sigvallius 1994, 81), they may also have had a connection to the soul of the dead (Prummel and Piersma 2000). Finally, in an even broader perspective encompassing the Scandinavian homelands as well as the regions of the Scandinavian diaspora in the Viking period, the involvement of animals in mortuary practices is well attested, in particular in lavish burials (e.g. Sikora 2003; Jennbert 2011, 101). While the tradition can be followed throughout the late Iron Age, it seems to have increased in intensity in the Viking period (Mansrud 2006). Animals appear in both cremation and inhumation graves, with a wide range of species represented, on their own or in combination: horses, dogs, and birds of prey stand out for often appearing to having been placed whole in the graves/on the pyre, whereas sheep/goat, cattle, and pig chiefly occur as cut-out body parts (Mazza 2019, 264–65). Cats, bears, fowls, and fish have also been identified.

Synthesis At first glance, the practices observed in Ribe present stronger ties to traditions documented in the Frisian sphere than those at Lindholm Høje, including the presence of urn cremations, the rarity of horses or horse parts being placed on the pyre, the inhumation of horses and dogs in independent graves, and the massive representation of birds. With about one fourth of the cremation graves in Ribe containing cremated animal bones, the figures fit the pattern observed in Friesland and Groningen provinces (Prummel 2001, 78), also in regard to the fact that individuals of all ages and sexes could be accompanied by animals on the pyre. There are, however, some differences as well. In the Frisian sample studied by Prummel, there are no examples of dogs being cremated, while there are two such examples from Ribe. In this regard the burial rite is more reminiscent of the pattern observed at Lindholm Høje. This is strengthened by the fact that dogs seem to have been placed whole on the pyre in both cemeteries. Also, contrary to what can be observed in Friesland, no torso was observed in Ribe for domestic mammals. The suggestion that in Friesland animal hooves found in graves represent animal hides that had been used as shrouds or for transporting the body might be relevant for one of the examples from Ribe, as it has been suggested previously that the fatty layer covering the bottom of one of the inhumation graves (ASR 8, G10) may be the remains of a cow skin. However, in Ribe, only feet from a pig were identified (ASR 8, G8). A third, remarkable difference is the absence of cat-

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tle or sheep among the cremated remains from Ribe, which are otherwise well represented in the Frisian sample. Whereas there can be many explanations for this, one possibility may be that the Frisian communities, albeit coastal, represent essentially agrarian populations relying primarily on farming for their livelihood. In contrast, the subsistence strategies of Ribe’s inhabitants were more oriented towards trade and craft production, and animals such as cattle and sheep, primarily associated with farming, may not have been a part of their identity or cultural repertoire to the same extent. The evidence from Reric/Gross Strömkendorf provides the best comparison for the Ribe material and is also strikingly similar on several levels. Besides general similarities in the range of mortuary practices, the spectrum of animal species represented and the commonality of the practice are very similar, even down to the level of detail of patterns of association between species and the age and sex of the deceased humans. The association between dog and bird (including duck) appears at both sites, with a stronger association with young adult female individuals. Dogs also often seem to have been placed whole on the pyre at both sites, while the presence of whole birds in Reric and that of wings in Ribe suggests that these animals played a more active role in the ritual process than passive meat supplies. In Reric just as in Ribe, sheep/goat are scarcely represented. An important difference between the two sites is the high frequency of cattle and its common deposition together with pig at Reric, but at both sites, the presence of parts of some domestic animals suggests meat consumption, either by the dead (in the afterlife), the mourners, or as an offering to a deity. In contrast, the involvement of animals in the mortuary practices of early Viking Age Ribe diverges from the broad-brushed patterns encountered across Viking Age Scandinavia and the regions of the Scandinavian diaspora on at least three levels: the Ribe evidence does not point to a particular social bias towards a local elite; the combination and range of species is narrower; although horses and dogs appear, these two species played a less prominent role than birds, which, at least in previous research, seem more marginally involved except for birds of prey (although see Karpińska, this volume, for a fresh view on this question). Overall, this comparative exercise reveals strong cultural ties between the two emporia, and the affinity of Ribe’s traditions to the Frisian region in particular, with perhaps some elements from the Jylland Peninsula. Considering these observations in the framework within which Ribe is traditionally under-

stood, i.e. Viking Age Scandinavia, the mortuary practices involving animals in Ribe reflect an original tradition, which emerged nested in a specific geo­graphical and historical context. Throughout the comparative exercise, a number of interpretations proposed by other scholars have been reviewed, which now allows outlining a pattern for which kind of roles animals could play in mortuary practices.

Discussion In the cremation practices attested in Ribe, the remains of animals, whole or in parts, and of humans who were placed together on the pyre and later gathered and grouped together to be deposited in shallow pits or in urns, were subject to the same transformative processes. During mortuary rituals, the human dead were indeed shifting their ‘sphere’ and form of existence. Among the wide range of possibilities for disposing of a corpse, cremation is special in that it allows the dead to lose their former bodily integrity (Oestigaard and Goldhahn 2006), which was necessary for their functioning as living beings, by fragmenting it into countless smaller pieces. Whether or not these had an agency of their own (Williams 2004), their ability to act as a person was impaired by the lack of a corporal form. However, by gathering the remains from the pyre, either to place them in a pit or inside an urn, a process of reassembling took place (Williams 2014), giving the dead a new corporality that was unsuitable for a living, human person, but seemingly suitable for a dead one (Williams 2001, 206). In Ribe, however, it also meant that fragments of both humans and non-humans were mixed. The new corporality they attained was thus one that was shared with an animal: we may call this a new ‘hybrid entity’ (see also Fahlander 2014 for a similar suggestion based on late Iron Age finds from Central Sweden). The elaboration of a cremation deposit, combining fragments of different entities, may be seen as a similar process to that of the manufacture of objects decorated in animal style (Kristoffersen 2010, 263). Through the production process, the animal was given a new form in the object, which in turn was imbued with the qualities of the animal that the object’s wearer wished to harness. Thus, the human dead may have been able to gain and assimilate some desired qualities of the animal(s) they were merged with at death. Placing humans and animals on the pyre and merging their remains into shared cremation deposits is also attested in Anglo-Saxon England. Howard Williams has previously proposed that the purpose of this practice was not merely to reflect the social

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identity of the human dead, but ‘to forge a link’ between the human and the animal, possibly akin to shamanistic practices (Williams 2001, 199). This process may have helped the human dead on their journey to the hereafter or elevated them to the status of ancestors. Although the techno­logies of transformation and remembrance described by Williams correspond closely to the practices observed in Ribe, the animal species occurring in Anglo-Saxon contexts (horse, sheep/goat, to some extent cattle, pig, and dog, and rarely birds, fish, and wild animals; Williams 2005; Bond and Worley 2009) suggest a different repertoire of symbolic meanings. The analysis of the evidence from Ribe and the comparison of its results to other regions and sites suggest that the roles played by animals in mortuary contexts were manifold. In Ribe, chunks of pig may have been laid on the pyre as foodstuff intended for the deceased or for those beyond or as ingredients for ritual meals. Comparison of consumption pattern with settlement data supports the role of pig and other domestic species as sources of meat, although some variation between rural and urban coastal communities may reflect different resource strategies and preferences. It also supports the fact that dogs were probably not used as a source of meat. They were, like human individuals, deposited whole on the pyre, which might suggest a similar notion of personhood. The role of dogs — alongside horses — as precious companions and tokens of an elite lifestyle in early medi­eval mortuary contexts on the Continent (Prummel 1992; Hornig 1993, 117–38) or in Scandinavia in the ninth and especially tenth centuries (Gräslund 2014, 37–39) does not seem to apply for the cremation graves of Ribe and Lindholm Høje. Archaeo­logical evidence and later textual traditions from Scandinavia and Iceland suggest that dogs were often involved in ritual practices and in transitions between the here and the hereafter (Gräslund 2014, 39–44). Stretching the evidence beyond the limits of its interpretative (and source-critical) value, one might find an echo of Sleipnir with his rune-inscribed teeth carrying Óðinn to Hel in the single horse tooth deposited next to the head of a subadult in a simple pit grave in Ribe (SJM 348, G25). The comparative material selected to contextualize Ribe’s finds did not allow shedding light on the puzzling find of fish bones in one of the cremation graves. Questions of taphonomy and excavation practice (e.g. sieving of grave fills) certainly need to be kept in mind ahead of reading the seeming rarity of the phenomenon as significant. When broadening the sphere further, a few examples of (nearly) contemporary cremation graves with fish bones can be gathered. The practice is, for example, attested at Spong

Hill (Bond 1994), where fish has been interpreted as foodstuff and part of a ritual meal (Williams 2014). In one of the burials in Vendel (A:1–A:2), a large mound covering the cremated remains of three adults and three children, the remains of various animals were found: horse, dog, hunting birds, as well as cattle, pig, goat/sheep, wild birds, geese, and hen, which have been interpreted as food offerings (Arrhenius 2005, 313). The presence of a Frisian comb and of possible medical implements among the remains, alongside those of both cremated and uncremated fish, has led Birgit Arrhenius to the interpretation that these individuals were Christian missionaries, perhaps from Frisia. While the cremation practice is indeed attested in Friesland in the second half of the eighth century, I find the suggestion that Christian missionaries would have been offered a prominent cremation burial in Vendel unlikely. However, the importance of the fish in Christian symbolism is undeniable, and some form of transfer of meaning is not entirely impossible. That the presence of fish would be a distinctive feature of Mound A:1–A:2 in Vendel also needs to be nuanced by a recent inventory listing thirteen graves with fish bones from Vendel-period and Viking Age Uppland (Strehlau 2018, 30). Although including fewer instances (five graves), the major (older) study of animals in cremation graves from late Iron Age Central Sweden by Sten and Vretemark (1988) provides crucial information through the identification of six fish species: Esox Lucius (northern pike), Gadus morhua (cod), Perca fluviatilis (European perch), Abramis brama (grey mullet), Rutilus rutilus (common roach), and Coregonus sp. In one instance (Viby, RAÄ 33), there may have been additional uncremated fish bones (see discussion in Karpińska in this volume). The more recent finds of two early Viking Age ship burials on the island of Saaremaa, Estonia, show striking similarities, too, and may be considered part of a Central Swedish tradition (Allmäe and others 2011; Peets and others 2012). Fish was documented in one of the two ships, Ship II, the similarities with the Swedish practices going as far as to the level of preferred species: Esox lucius, Rutilus rutilus, Leuciscus leuciscus, Cyprinidae, and Perca fluvialitis (Peets and others 2012, 54). While taking into consideration the Central Swedish tradition indicates that the Ribe find is not unique in a broad Scandinavian context, it contributes little to a deeper understanding of the practice. Sten and Vretemark (1988, 152) did not discuss them further than as reflective of local diets including fish consumption, the view of fish as food offerings being later reiterated by Sten (2013, 230). Peets and others (2012, 56) merely stated that the remains

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of fish, as for other animal bones, were probably not accidental. Interestingly, Strehlau considers whether the involvement of fish was intended to express that the deceased practised fishing, just as birds of prey have been interpreted as evidence for the practice of falconry. However, as there is no preferential association of fish finds to particular gender- or social groups, plus the fact that some finds display cut marks suggesting consumption, and that scholarly debate on the symbolic meaning of fish is still lacking, she — reluctantly — concludes with a similar interpretation as authors dealing with AngloSaxon England or late Iron Age Scandinavia: fish were probably part of a ritual meal or food offerings (Strehlau 2018, 65). In contrast to the infrequent presence of fish, the importance of birds in Ribe stands out. Their pattern of deposition on the pyre, often whole or limited to wings only, as well as their occasional association with young adult female humans, is striking. Although birds, especially ducks, seem to have been consumed in settlements as well, they were less popular as food than large mammals, and much less frequent than what their representation in mortuary contexts may suggest. Although subspecies identification could not always be proposed, the bird species represented in the Ribe graves (duck, possibly wader) can be considered wild animals, considering that no domestic fowl is attested (Gotfredsen 2014, 367). It should be stressed, however, that domestic fowl is little represented overall at the emporium (Enghoff 2006b, 177; Kveiborg 2022), and their absence in mortuary contexts should not necessarily be taken as evidence for a preference for wild species. At Ribe’s emporium, cut marks on wing bones of crow and sea-eagle have previously been interpreted as suggesting the use of feathers, perhaps to make arrow vanes or ornaments. Duck wings may have been equally attractive due to their feathers’ shine and bright colours, and it is not beyond reason to imagine that wing tips from teal, for example, may have been turned into dress accessories. Yet, the evidence itself speaks against this usage as the sole explanation: several parts of birds’ bodies could be placed on the pyre, and although they were most often placed there together with young female individuals, they played a role in the mortuary rituals of subadults and adult males as well. Acknowledging the complexity of the rituals may thus be a more fruitful avenue of enquiry than making superficial assumptions about taste and style, prompting a return to the notion of hybridity outlined earlier. The worldview of the pre-Christian North was filled with notions of human-animal hybrids (e.g. Hedeager 2010; 2011, 61–98), and shapeshifters pop-

ulate the Norse literary corpus (e.g. Ellis Davidson 1978). These hybrids often belonged to the sphere of the otherworld but also occur in ritual practices, for example when humans cross-dress in animal costumes and ‘become’ animals in rituals reminiscent of shamanistic practices (Price 2019). Indeed, animals were powerful beings possessing desirable qualities that could be harnessed and exploited for various purposes by the gods themselves but also by humans in various contexts ( Jennbert 2011). Some characters that appear in the Old Norse literary and mythical corpus may also be seen as bird-human hybrids: Völundr using some flying ‘device’ to facilitate his escape and the swan wings and ‘skins’ of the valkyrjur in Vǫlundarqviða (stanza 29; Pro­ logue, stanzas 1–3, trans. Dronke 1997, 243–44), or Freyja lending out her feathered cloak in Þrymskviða (stanza 3, trans. Larrington 2014, 93). Besides the birds depicted flying around human figures on the Oseberg tapestries (Vedeler 2019, 93–95), a larger figure with a beaked head and a short cape ambiguously resembling folded wings stands out (Figs 3.3 and 3.4). Although it is not clearly gendered, its long dress and posture may suggest a female individual (but several forms of transgression, between genders and between species, are possible here, see Vedeler 2019, 39). The scenes depicted on the tapestries, which abound with armed figures dressed like animals, may be communal rituals (Vedeler 2019, 81–95; Deckers and others 2021), and the prominent bird-clad figure may be part of ‘actual dramatic representations’ (Gunnell 1995, 63) — is that how a real-life ‘chooser of the slain’ would have looked? The association of female humans and aquatic birds in cremation rituals in Ribe compares with a small number of finds from Friesland. In this context, it has been suggested that the fairly strikingly patterned wings […] of especially juvenile Dunlins and juvenile Little Stints (i.e. the segments of migrant populations that would have been easiest to catch) could have adorned the dead women to symbolize aerial flight, freedom and the heavenly conditions during afterlife. (Prummel and Piersma 2000, 40–41) Obviously, the selection of these birds may partly be motivated by availability — they staged and/or wintered on the shores of the Wadden Sea a few kilometres from the site (Gotfredsen 2014, 371) —, and evidence for the fuel used for erecting the pyres in Ribe supports the impression of a rather pragmatic exploitation of the resources from the local environment (Croix 2020, 471). But these waterfowls were also animals routinely travelling between land, air, and sea, and seasonally between ‘home’ (from the

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Figure 3.3. Details of the Oseberg tapestries. Procession scene, with birds flying above and between the participants. Drawn by Mary Storm, KHM, CC BY-SA 4.0.

perspective of Ribe’s inhabitants) and foreign lands. The behaviour of these birds may have stricken the imagination, as it has in many cultures (Moreman 2014). The non-human ability to fly without techno­ logical help enables a range of movement indeed beyond the reach of regular human beings. Harnessing this capacity to create an ‘improved’ version of the human dead may not only have transformed them onto­logically — it may well have enabled them to access the beyond. Keeping in mind Ribe’s North Sea ties, verses 80–84 of the Old English poem The Wanderer, preserved in the Exeter Book from the end of the tenth century, comes to mind: Sume wíg fornom, ferede in forðwege; sumne fugel óðbær ofer heánne holm; sumne se hára wulf deáðe gedælde; sumne dreórighleór in eorðscræfe eorl gehýdde (ed. Sweet 1879, 177) (War took off some, carried them on their course hence; one a bird bore over the high sea; one the hoar wolf dealt to death; one his drear-cheeked earl stretched in an earthen trench) (trans. Alexander 2013, 78) The motif of the bird may here be a variation of the motif of the beasts of battle, together with the wolf,

Figure 3.4. Detail of the Oseberg tapestries. The birdheaded figure. Drawn by Sofie Krafft. KHM, CC BY-SA 4.0.

but with the interesting variation that it is not a carrion bird transforming the bodies of the dead by consuming them — this bird carries the dead, and the crossing of a sea appears as a passage (of the body, of the mind?) to the world of the dead facilitated by the bird. Whereas countless interpretations have been offered to explain the diversity of mortuary practices in the pre-Christian North, the age at death and sex/gender of the deceased human does not seem to be the reason why birds needed to be placed on the pyre. Focusing on these criteria would make sense if we assumed that the same set of ‘rules’ applied to all individuals, which were buried next to the emporium. However, some degree of heterogeneity in cultural affinities among the population of

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the site may be expected (Croix and others 2020), and the hybridization of the bodies of the dead in Ribe might reflect the notions and traditions of a particular subgroup in this community — possibly with ties to the North Frisian Islands and Reric/ Gross Strömkendorf. One possibility may be that the practice had something to do with the circumstances or causes of death, one which might have affected women to a larger extent than men or subadults, though not exclusively. This notion as a factor for preferential mortuary practices is rarely addressed, owing to the difficulties in assessing them based on, at times, poorly preserved bone remains. This limitation is even more striking in the case of cremation burials. However, it is not unlikely that these may have had a role to play. Old Norse textual traditions also hint at several realms for the dead, depending on their status but also on the manner of their death. The notion that some people needed some form of magic in the grave, suggested in medi­eval Christian contexts in England (Gilchrist 2008), was not foreign to the pre-Christian mind in the North either. Amber beads in the graves of children and people with poor health may reflect that perceptions of diminished physical capacity could be a factor behind the selection of particular elements of material culture (Mejsholm 2009, 187–94). Some human dead might in themselves not have been in full capacity to become ‘properly’ dead (Fahlander 2014, 244).

Conclusion Whereas the ‘animal turn’ and post-human theory have argued for the need for some distance from anthropocentric discourses in the study of past societies, the analysis of archaeo­logical burials often

remains focused on the human dead present in them. Both in Viking Age Ribe and at a range of contemporary burial sites along the shores of the North and the Baltic Seas, animals could receive their own graves as well as being essential agents of the mortuary process, suggesting that they could act as social ‘persons’ — on equal footing or perhaps with a higher status than some humans who were not perceived as full social ‘persons’ (such as slaves or subadults). How animals participated in mortuary rituals — admittedly, those prompted by the death of humans — seems to have varied according to species, stressing the need for not only animal bone identification but also subspecies determination in osteo­logical analysis of animal bone remains. In the earliest cemetery in Ribe, a detailed analysis of animal and human remains combined with demo­graphic data and details of mortuary practices suggests various roles of the animals. Domestic mammals, such as pigs, may have been used as sources of meat, whereas dogs and birds, especially ducks and other waterfowl, may have facilitated the transformation of the human dead and their transition between different spheres and forms of existence. Either way, they should all be considered essential actors in the ‘proper’ performance of the mortuary rituals. Seeing the cremation deposits in pits or in urns attested in Ribe as the bodies of human-animal hybrids feeds into a growing, renewed understanding of human and non-human categories in the pre-Christian North. These two categories may not have been so different in nature that they could not efficiently be merged, but they were sufficiently so that one carried a potency that the other could not possess. The merging of human and non-human elements here suggests a transgression of categories, through which greater potency could be achieved.

3 . w hat co u ld b i rd s d o fo r t he dead?

Works Cited Primary Sources Alexander, Michael. 2013. The Earliest English Poems, rev. edn (London: Penguin) Dronke, Ursula. 1997. The Poetic Edda, ii: Mytho­logical Poems (Oxford: Clarendon) Larrington, Carolyne. 2014. The Poetic Edda (Oxford: Oxford University Press)

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Møhl, U. 1976. ‘Bestemmelser af knogler fra gravene’, in Thorkild Ramskou, Lindholm Høje Gravpladsen (Copenhagen: Det kgl. nordiske oldskriftselskab), pp. 111–26

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Nielsen, Karen Høilund. 2009. ‘Rituals to Free the Spirit – or What the Cremation Pyre Told’, in Duncan Sayer and Howard Williams (eds), Mortuary Practices and Social Identities in the Middle Ages: Essays in Burial Archaeo­logy in Honour of Heinrich Härke (Exeter: University of Exeter Press), pp. 81–105 Oestigaard, Terje, and Joakim Goldhahn. 2006. ‘From the Dead to the Living: Death as Transactions and Re-negotiations’, Norwegian Archaeo­logical Review, 39.1: 27–48 Oma, Kristin, and Joakim Goldhahn. 2020. ‘Introduction: Human-Animal Relationships from a Long-Term Perspective’, Current Swedish Archaeo­logy, 28.1: 11–22 Peets, Jüri, Raili Allmäe, Liina Maldre, Ragnar Saage, Teresa Tomek, and Lembi Lõugas. 2012. ‘Research Results of the Salme Ship Burials in 2011–2012’, Archaeo­logical Fieldwork in Estonia, 2012: 43–60 Price, Neil. 2010. ‘Passing into Poetry: Viking-Age Mortuary Drama and the Origins of Norse Mytho­logy’, Medi­eval Archaeo­ logy, 54: 123–56 —— . 2019. The Viking Way: Magic and Mind in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxbow) Prummel, Wietske. 1992. ‘Early Medi­eval Dog Burials among the Germanic Tribes’, Helinium, 32.1–2: 132–94 —— . 2001. ‘The Significance of Animals to the Early Medi­eval Frisians in the Northern Coastal Area of the Netherlands: Archaeozoo­logical, Icono­graphic, Historical and Literary Evidence’, Environmental Archaeo­logy, 6: 73–86 Prummel, Wietske, and Theunis Piersma. 2000. ‘Sandpipers as Grave Gifts in the Early Middle Ages’, Wader Study Group Bull, 92: 38–41 Ramskou, Thorkild. 1976. Lindholm Høje Gravpladsen (Copenhagen: Det kgl. nordiske Oldskriftselskab) Ravn, Mads. 1999. ‘Theoretical and Methodo­logical Approaches to Migration Period Burials’, in Martin Rundkvist (ed.), Grave Matters: Eight Studies of First Millennium ad Burials in Crimea, England and Southern Scandinavia, British Archaeo­ logical Reports, International Series, 78 (Oxford: Archaeopress), pp. 41–56 Sigvallius, Berit. 1994. ‘Funeral Pyres: Iron Age Cremations in North Spånga’ (unpublished doctoral dissertation, Stockholm University) Sikora, Maeve. 2003. ‘Diversity in Viking Age Horse Burial: A Comparative Study of Norway, Iceland, Scotland and Ireland’, The Journal of Irish Archaeo­logy, 12/13: 87–109 Sindbæk. Søren M. (ed.). 2022. Ribe – Northern Emporium, i: A High Definition Archaeo­logy (Højbjerg: Jysk Arkæo­logisk Selskab) Sindbæk, Søren M., and Sarah Croix. 2016. ‘Helhest og Himmelhund. Dyrebegravelser på Ribes ældste gravplads’, Skalk, 4: 3–9 Sten, Sabine, and Maria Vretemark. 1988. ‘Storgravsprojektet — osteo­logiska analyser av yngre järnålderns benrika brand­ gravar’, Fornvännen, 83: 145–56 Strehlau, Hannah. 2018. ‘Animals in Burial Contexts. An Investigation of Norse Rituals and Human-Animal Relationships during the Vendel Period and Viking Age in Uppland, Sweden’ (unpublished master’s thesis, Uppsala University) Svanberg, Fredrik. 2003. Death Rituals in South-East Scandinavia, ad 800–1000 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell) Sweet, Henry. 1879. An Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse (Oxford: Clarendon) Søvsø, Morten. 2012. ‘Tidligkristne begravelser ved Ribe Domkirke – Ansgars kirkegård?’, in Peder Gammeltoft and Niels Lund (eds), Beretning fra tredivte tværfaglige vikingesymposium (Copenhagen: Wormianum), pp. 32–54 —— . 2014. ‘Ansgars Kirche in Ribe’, in Rainer-Maria Weiss and Anne Klammt (eds), Mythos Hammaburg: Archäo­logische Entdeckungen zu den Anfängen Hamburgs (Hamburg: Archäo­logisches Museum Hamburg), pp. 245–54 —— . 2016. ‘Ribes ældste gravpladser’, in Jens Ulriksen and Henriette Lyngstrøm (eds), Død og begravet – i vikingetiden (Copenhagen: SAXO-institut), pp. 154–64 Ucko, Peter J. 1969. ‘Ethno­graphy and Archaeo­logical Interpretation of Funerary Remains’, World Archaeo­logy, 1.2: 262–80 Vedeler, Marianne. 2019. The Oseberg Tapestries (Oslo: Scandinavian Academic Press) Vretemark, Maria. 2013. ‘Evidence of Animal Offerings in Iron Age Scandinavia’, in Gunnel Ekroth and Jenny Wallensten (eds), Bones, Behaviour and Belief: The Zooarchaeo­logical Evidence as a Source for Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece and Beyond, Acta Instituti Atheniensis Regni Sueciae, Series in 4o, 55 (Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen), pp. 51–59 Williams, Howard. 2001. ‘An Ideo­logy of Transformation: Cremation Rites and Animal Sacrifice in Early Anglo-Saxon England’, in Neil S. Price (ed.), The Archaeo­logy of Shamanism (London: Routledge), pp. 193–212 —— . 2004. ‘Death Warmed up: The Agency of Bodies and Bones in Early Anglo-Saxon Cremation Rites’, Journal of Material Culture, 9.3: 263–91 —— . 2005. ‘Animals, Ashes & Ancestors’, in Aleksander Pluskowski (ed.), Just Skin and Bones? New Perspectives on HumanAnimal Relations in the Historical Past, British Archaeo­logical Reports, International Series, 1410 (Oxford: Archaeopress), pp. 19–40 —— . 2013. ‘Death, Memory and Material Culture: Catalytic Commemoration and the Cremated Dead’, in Sarah Tarlow and Liv Nilsson Stutz (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeo­logy of Death and Burial (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 195–208

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—— . 2014. ‘A Well-Urned Rest: Cremation and Inhumation in Early Anglo-Saxon England’, in Ian Kuijt, Colin P. Quinn, and Gabriel Cooney (eds), Transformation by Fire: The Archaeo­logy of Cremation in Cultural Context (Tucson: University of Arizona Press), pp. 93–118 Wolf, Michael (with Marcus Gerds). 2015. Gross Strömkendorf – Reric: Die Menschen und ihre Lebensumstände, i (Wiesbaden: Reichert)

Other Sources SJM 348 = Sydvestjyske Museer, journal no. 348 (unpublished excavation documentation) Østergaard, Susanne. 2017. ‘De Dødes By. Begravelserne fra de hedenske begravelsespladser i Ribe – Den osteo­logiske analyse af knoglematerialet’ (unpublished osteo­logical report, Afdeling for Konservering og Naturvidenskab, Moesgård Museum)

Klaudia Karpińska

4. Between Life and Death Waterfowl in Viking Age Funerary Practices Wild and domesticated species of waterfowl were present in and around Viking Age settlements and farms. People would witness some of them (e.g. swans) while conducting their everyday chores and they would hear their calls ‘marking’ the different seasons of the year and the times of the day (e.g. wild geese). They could also be hunted for meat or feathers (e.g. wild ducks). Waterfowl such as domestic geese were also integral parts of the livestock, bred for various purposes (cf. Serjeantson 2009; Kost and Hussain 2019). Some species of these feathered animals played important roles in ritual practices, too, as indicated by recent archaeo­logical and zooarchaeo­logical surveys which have revealed the remains of these birds in Viking Age settlements and graves (Sigvallius 1994; Tyrberg 2002, 216–19; Ericson and Tyrberg 2004; Gotfredsen 2014). Interestingly, one inhumation grave contained the remains of a waterfowl egg (Dove and Wickler 2016, table 1; Jelicic 2017, table 1). Medi­eval literature also highlights the special significance of avifauna in Viking Age societies. Eddic poems, for instance, mention swans in the descriptions of the otherworld (Carstens 2018). So far, however, the meanings of waterbirds in funerary rituals have not been sufficiently investigated. The main aim of this chapter is to discuss aspects of human–waterfowl relations and a series of prob

* This publication is based on a chapter of a PhD thesis exploring the meanings of waterfowl in Viking Age funerary practices. This thesis is currently being prepared at the Museum of Cultural History, University of Oslo (Karpińska in preparation). Some ideas explored in this work were presented during the 3rd International Interdisciplinary Meetings ‘Motifs through the Ages’ in Bytów in 2017 (Karpińska 2017), at a seminar (Kolloquium zur Historischen Archäo­logie) at the Institute of Prehistoric and Protohistoric Archaeo­logy University of Kiel in August 2018, and as a paper ‘In the Air and the Water: Waterbirds in the Viking Age Burial Rituals and Beliefs’ during the conference ‘Animals and Religion – The Joint Annual Conference of the Finnish Society for Human-Animal Studies and the Finnish Society for the Study of Religion’ in April 2021.

lems related to the determination and interpretation of the remains of this avifauna in Scandinavian cremation and inhumation graves dated between ninth and early eleventh centuries. After an initial review of the osteo­logical evidence, what follows is a comparative analysis of archaeo­logical, icono­graphic, and medi­eval written sources.

The Remains of Waterfowl in Funerary Contexts The avifauna this chapter focuses upon belong to the taxonomical bio­logical order Anseriformes (commonly called waterfowl) which consists of three families: Anatidae (i.e. ducks, geese, swans), Anhimidae (i.e. screamers), Anseranatidae (only magpie goose (Anseranas semipalmata) (del Hoyo and others 1992; Johnsgard 2010, xvii, xx–xxiii; Elphick 2019, 13–19; del Hoyo 2020, 69–80).1 Only Anatidae are native to Continental Europe and Scandinavia. Different ducks, geese, and swans feed, breed, moult, and gather in flocks by the lakes, watercourses, fjords, and shorelines of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden (Skov and others 2011). Their appearance and behaviour are varied. In general, the Anatidae have brown, grey, or white plumage which is a feature of both of the sexes (Svensson and others 2017, 14–47). Exceptions are seen among male ducks which have colourful feathers, making them easy to distinguish from females

1 The term ‘water bird’ refers to a wider group of birds associated with water environments. It is applied to the order Anseriformes (i.e. ducks, geese, screamers, swans), all orders of seabirds/ marine birds (e.g. auks, gulls, penguins), as well as the orders Ciconiiformes (i.e. storks), Charadriiformes (e.g. sandpipers), Gaviiformes (i.e. loons/divers), Pelecaniformes (e.g. ibises, herons, pelicans), Phoenicopteriformes (i.e. flamingos), Podicipediformes (i.e. grebes), many species of the order Gruiformes (e.g. cranes, coots), some species of family Alcedinidae (e.g. kingfishers), and family Cinclidae (i.e. dippers) (del Hoyo and others 1992; del Hoyo and others 1996; del Hoyo and others 2001; del Hoyo and others 2005; Svensson and others 2017; Elphick 2019; del Hoyo 2020).

Klaudia Karpińska ([email protected]) is a Doctoral Research Fellow at the Museum of Cultural History, University of Oslo. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 57–80 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132516

FHG

58

kl au di a k a r p i ń s ka

Table 4.1. Viking Age graves with documented bones of birds belonging to the family Anatidae (determined to the species) discovered in Scandinavia. Key: C — cremation grave, I — inhumation grave, F — female, M — male, U — unknown.

No. Location and grave number

Grave Sex of the Waterfowl type deceased

Other species of animals

OLD DENMARK 1

Grave 3, Stengade, Langeland Municipality

I

M

Bones of 3 young greylag geese / domestic goose.

1 horse, bones of young pigs and cattle.

2

Mound LA 44 (Splieth Mound 4), Hedehusum-Süderende, Nordfriesland District

C

F?

Bones of a duck (mallard?).

Bone of sheep/goat.

3

Grave 277, Snubbekorsgård, Høje-Taastrup Municipality

I

M

Bones of 1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 (or more) sheep/goat.

4

Mound A88, Rytterkær, Ledøje-Smørum Municipality

I

M?

1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 chicken, 2 cattle, 1 dog, 1 horse, 1 sheep/goat.

5

Mound LA 43 (Splieth Mound 3), Hedehusum-Süderende, Nordfriesland District

C

M

Bone of a lesser white-fronted goose?

1 small mammal (cat?).

SWEDEN 6

Grave A33943, Rogberga (RAÄ 19), Jönköping Municipality

C

M

Bones of 1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 western capercaillie, 1 bird, 2 dogs, 1 horse, 1 sheep/goat.

7

Grave IV, Tuna, Alsike, Knivsta Municipality

I

U

1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 dog, 1 horse.

8

‘Skopintull’, Hovgården, Adelsön, Ekerö Municipality

C

F, M

9

‘Ingjaldshögen’, Husby, Strängnäs Municipality

C

M

Greylag goose / domestic goose, bird belonging to family Anatidae.

Eurasian eagle-owl, chicken, northern goshawk, cat, cattle, dog, horse, pig, sheep/goat.

10

Grave 13:2/1962, Barshalder, Grötlingbo, Gotland Municipality

I

U

1 common goldeneye.

None.

11

Grave 9S/1966, Barshalder, Grötlingbo, Gotland Municipality

I

U

Bone of common goldeneye.

None.

12

Grave 20/1966, Barshalder, Grötlingbo, Gotland Municipality

I

U

Bone of common goldeneye.

1 pig.

C

M

1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 chicken, 1 northern goshawk, 1 cat, 1 cattle, 1 dog, 1 horse, 1 pig, 1 sheep/goat 1 chicken, 1 bird of prey, 1 cat, 1 cattle, 2 dogs, 1 horse, 1 pig, 2 sheep/goats, 1 European roe deer, 1 fish, 2 phalanges of brown bear.

Mound A22, Karleby (RAÄ 1), 13 Östertälje, Södertälje Municipality

Bone of greylag / domestic goose, 1 chicken, 1 white-tailed eagle, 1 Eurasian eagle-owl, 1 northern bone of Eurasian teal, bone of a goshawk, 1 common crane, 1 cat, 1 cattle, 7 dogs, 3 horses, 2 pigs, bird belonging to family Anatidae. 1 sheep/goat. Bones of European pine marten and wolverine.

14

Mound A1, Valsta (RAÄ 59), Norrsunda, Sigtuna Municipality

C

M

Bones of 1 greylag / domestic goose.

15

Mound A12, Valsta (RAÄ 59), Norrsunda, Sigtuna Municipality

C

M

Bone of greylag / domestic goose. 1 chicken, 1 dog, 1 horse.

16

Mound A50, Valsta (RAÄ 59), Norrsunda, Sigtuna Municipality

C

M

Bone of greylag / domestic goose. 1 dog, 1 horse.

1 greylag / domestic goose, 1 wild duck (Eurasian teal?).

2 chickens, 1 common starling, 1 northern goshawk, 1 Eurasian eagle-owl, 1 cat, 1 cattle, 11 dogs, 7 horses, 1 pig, 4 sheep/goats, 1 northern pike, 1 European perch, 1 common roach, 1 fish (subfamily Coregoninae), phalanx of Eurasian lynx, 1 shell of cowrie (sea snail belonging to family Cypraeidae).

1 greylag / domestic goose.

1 chicken, 1 northern goshawk, 1 Eurasian eagle-owl, bones of carrion crow, 1 cat, 2 cattle, 6 dogs, 6 horses, 1 pig, 2 sheep/goat, 1 northern pike.

17

Mound A3, Arninge (RAÄ 75), Täby Municipality

C

F, M, U (M?), U (M?), U

18

Mound 1, Viby (RAÄ 33), Enköping Municipality

C

M

4. b e t w e e n li f e and death

Notable artefacts

Dating

Literature

59

Museum number

1 sword (Petersen’s type V), 1 axe head (Petersen’s type A), 1 shield boss, 15 iron arrowheads, 2 iron spurs, 2 silver-plated iron stirrups, 1 iron bit, mounts (parts of bridle, harness, or saddle), 1 bone comb, wooden bucket.

10th century

Brøndsted 1936, 149–64; Eisenschmidt 1994, 122–23.

1 ceramic urn, 1 small ceramic pot, 1 antler comb, 1 bone spindle whorl.

Viking Age

Eisenschmidt 2004, 473.

KS 7254

1 iron knife, 1 iron buckle, 1 slate whetstone.

Viking Age

Reedtz Sparrevohn 2013.

TAK 1304x277

1 bronze pin covered with silver, 1 iron shield boss, 1 iron knife, iron mounts of a chest/casket.

Viking Age

Jønsson 1992, 42–43.

1 iron handle.

Viking Age

Eisenschmidt 2004, 473.

?

ad 890–1030 

Artelius and Kristensson 2005, 88.

JM 53 583

1 ornamented bronze arm-ring, 30 tin mounts (buttons? clothing applications?), 1 iron spearhead (Petersen’s type E), 12 iron arrowheads, 1 iron bit, bone combs, 1 hemispherical bone game piece.

About ad 850–900 

Arne 1934, 10–11, 29–30.

SHM 10035

Gold and bronze applications of a costume, a fragment of an unspecified Arabic coin, 1 bronze bucket, 1 bronze pendant with animal ornament, bronze mounts (parts of bridle or harness), multicoloured glass beads, 4 carnelian beads, bone game pieces, combs.

Early 10th century

Rydh 1939, 104–26; Sten 2013, 226–27; Vretemark 2018, 832.

SHM 16171

4 fragments of bright green glass pot ornamented with gold threads (probably a bowl), semispherical bone game pieces, cuboidal bone dices, 1 bone comb (a horse comb?).

9th century

Lindqvist 1936, 22–30, 185–89, 200–01.

SHM 16340

1 fragmentary ornamented brass bowl, 1 mountain crystal bead, 1 limestone spindle whorl.

Viking Age

Rundkvist 2003, 180–81.

SHM 27778

ad 870

Rundkvist 2003, 186–87.

SHM 32181

1 whetstone, 1 ornamented object made of red deer antler.

1 decorated bowl made of brass sheet, 1 penannular copper-alloy brooch, copper-alloy mounts, 1 axe head (Thunmark-Nylén’s type 3), 1 red glass bead, 1 miniature amber axe head.

C160

TAK350C

1 iron knife with fused remains of a leather scabbard, 1 beard-axe-shaped artefact.

Viking Age

Rundkvist 2003, 189.

SHM 32181

Bronze mounts, 1 sword (Petersen’s type H), 1 bent spearhead (Petersen’s type F), 1 fragmentarily preserved iron Thor’s hammer ring, bone comb.

8th–9th centuries

Bennett 1984, 137–39.

SHM 33985

Bronze mounts, glass beads, comb, game pieces, fragments of dices.

ad 800–850 

Andersson 1997a; Andersson 1997b, 7–12.

SHM 34069

Iron nails and rivets, 1 comb.

ad 800–950

Andersson 1997a; Andersson 1997b, 24–25.

SHM 34069

About ad 850–950

Andersson 1997a; Andersson 1997b, 58–59.

SHM 34069

Iron knives, 2 glass beads, 1 comb, fragments of textile. Golden objects, 1 silver Abbasid coin (minted in Baghdad, dated to ad 781/82), 1 silver Abbasid coin (minted in Bagdad, dated to ad 801/02), small bronze and gilded bronze objects, 2 iron knives, gold-foliated glass beads, silver-foliated glass beads, multicoloured glass and opaque beads, 1 garnet, 2 fragmentary bronze-mounted garnets, hemispherical bone game pieces, 1 Vendel-period bone comb, 5 bone combs.

ad 800–900 Hedman 1996, 131–36.

1 gold ring, small silver objects, small bronze objects, fragments of a glass vessel (a cup?), game pieces, comb.

ad 900–1000

Svensson 1983; Sten 2013, 226–27.

SHM 34083

SHM 34810

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beyond the summer season when drakes moult their breeding plumage (del Hoyo 2020, 78–80). The majority of waterfowl are characterized by the loud and deep sounds they make, which can be heard even from a long distance (Svensson and others 2017, 14–45; Elphick 2019, 15). Geese and swans pair only once in their entire life, while ducks mate only for the breeding season (Elphick 2019, 15). However, all of these species live in family-like groups and both females and males take care of their offspring (Hatto 1961, 338; Johnsgard 2010). Some of them, like common goldeneye (Bucephala clangula), are very shy, while others, like the mute swan (Cygnus olor), are not afraid of people and can even be very aggressive when they defend their offspring or territory ( Johnsgard 2010, 29–31, 343–46). Species like greylag goose (Anser anser) and mallard (Anas platyrhynchos), live close to the areas occupied by humans, a feature which makes them easier to attract and domesticate than other waterfowl (Serjeantson 2009, 292–304). It is worthy of note that bones of waterfowl belonging to the same family are hard to distinguish and to ascribe to a particular species (Ericson and Tyrberg 2004, 17–18). A further challenge is to correctly describe the bones belonging to domesticated and wild species. Therefore, in this chapter the remains of greylag geese will be described as belonging to greylag/domestic goose (Anser anser/ Anser anser domesticus). Bones of birds have been documented in a variety of Viking Age cremation and inhumation graves. In the scope of my PhD project at the Museum of Cultural History, University of Oslo, and previous short-time projects, I have studied publications and reports including details concerning over two hundred graves from Denmark, northern Germany, Norway, and Sweden (Karpińska in preparation).2 Furthermore, I have had the opportunity to examine bird bones and eggshells from selected graves, which are part of museum collections in northern Germany and Scandinavia. As a result of these surveys, it has been possible to observe and document the state of preservation of osteo­logical materials as well as to see different tendencies in funerary rituals involving Aves as opposed to specific orders, families, or species. Due to their poor preservation, however, the majority of these remains can be only assigned to the class Aves. In the majority of cases,

2 In 2017, I conducted a project ‘Birds in Viking Age Mortuary Practices’ generously supported by the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD). In 2018, I received a short-term grant for a project ‘Eggs and Bones: Bird Remains in Viking Age Cremation Graves from Sweden’ which was generously supported by the Viking Society for Northern Research.

bones stemming from funerary contexts that can be ascribed to a particular species belong to domestic chickens (Gallus gallus domesticus) and different species of waterbirds (Karpińska in preparation). However, the remains of certain species of waterfowl (order Anseriformes) have been documented only in eighteen graves from Old Denmark and Sweden (Table 4.1).3 In most cases they have been determined as belonging to the greylag/domestic geese, common goldeneye, and Eurasian teal (Anas crecca). The two subsections that follow will discuss these graves and the contexts of the bird bones in more detail.

Bones of Waterfowl in Viking Age Graves in Old Denmark Bones of waterfowl were documented in two cremation graves and three inhumation graves in Old Denmark.4 In the cemetery in Hedehusum-Süderende on Föhr, two mounds contained bones of waterfowl. Grave LA 43 (Table 4.1, no. 5) held the remains of a man (about thirty-five years old), domesticated mammals, a fragment of a mandible of a big bird about the size of a white-fronted goose (Anser erythropus), and various small finds (Eisenschmidt 2004, 473; Karpińska 2018, 117). Regrettably, the skeletal remains and some of the objects discovered in this grave were lost during the Second World War. Therefore, it is not possible to verify if the mandible really belonged to a waterfowl (Eisenschmidt 2004, 30, 33–36). Mound LA 44 (Table 4.1, no. 2) had a cremation layer with a ceramic urn containing ashes of an adult person (probably 3 Some remains of waterfowl from funerary contexts are poorly preserved and can be only assigned to the genus Anser, family Anatidae, or order Anseriformes. They were unearthed in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden (Broberg 1990, 100; Nylén and Schönbäck 1994, 35–38; Sigvallius 1994, 230–34; Eisenschmidt 2004, 473, 499; Wexell 2004; Artelius and Kristensson 2005, 80; Petré 2010, 115–18; Gansum 2018). These graves are: Genus Anser: mound A12297 (Rogberga RAÄ 19, Jönköping Municipality, Sweden), mound A3 and graves A25-F87 and A25F88 (Söderby RAÄ 98, Danmark Municipality, Sweden); Family Anatidae: mound LA 52 (Wenningstedt, Sylt, Nordfriesland District, Germany) and mound 1 (Gokstad, Sandefjord, Sande­ fjord Municipality, Norway); Order Anseriformes: mound A51 (Ärvinge 156, North Spånga, Stockholm Municipality), mounds A23, A34, A44 (Ärvinge 157A, North Spånga, Stockholm Municipality), mound A61 (Ärvinge 160, North Spånga, Stock­ holm Municipality), grave A30/39 (Kymlinge 169, North Spånga, Stockholm Municipality), mounds A64 and A66 (Lunda/Berga RAÄ 34, Lovön, Ekerö Municipality), grave 1-B2 (Lund RAÄ 35, Valbo, Gävle Municipality) and mound A26 (Tuna-Badelunda, Västmanland Municipality). These graves will not be taken into account in the analyses in this chapter. 4 In this chapter the term Old Denmark refers to the areas of present-day Denmark, the state of Schleswig-Holstein in present-day Germany as well as southern Sweden (Skåne county, Blekinge county, Halland county) (cf. Braunmüller 2013, 10–12).

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a woman), several objects, and probably epiphyses of the left and right humeri of a bird (Eisenschmidt 2004, 473). Osteo­logist Hans-Jörg Frisch, who examined these bones in 2000, writes that the bird remains might belong to a wild duck, most likely a mallard. Chamber grave 3 from Stengade (Langeland, Denmark) (Table 4.1, no. 1) was another grave with waterfowl bones. In the northern part of the grave (oriented east–west) lay a skeleton of a man buried in a supine position. Nearby and in the southern part of the chamber were numerous artefacts and bones of pigs and cattle. Close to the remains of these mammals were three tibiotarsi (south-eastern part) and one tibiotarsus (south-western part) of three young greylag/domestic geese (Karpińska 2018, fig. 4). The eastern part of the grave contained a nearly complete skeleton of a horse laid on the left side (Brøndsted 1936, 150–63; Eisenschmidt 1994, 122–23; Karpińska 2018, 121–24). Johannes Brøndsted, who analysed this grave, suggests that parts of birds, cattle, and pigs were placed on the wooden cover/roof of this grave. When the cover decayed, the bones fell into the chamber. According to him, these animals could be sacrifices or parts of the funeral meal offered to the dead during the burial ceremony (Brøndsted 1936, 151). Bones of greylag/domestic goose were also documented in grave 277 located in the south-eastern part of the cemetery in Snubbekorsgård (Sjælland, Denmark). In a simple grave pit (oriented north– south) a twenty-five to thirty-year-old man was buried (Fig. 4.1; Table 4.1, no. 3). His lower jaw incisor Figure 4.1. Grave 277, Snubbekorsgård, Sjælland (Denmark) under excavation. Photo copyright Kroppedal Museum, Taastrup. Used by kind permission.

Figure 4.2. Plan of the third and fourth layers of grave A88, Rytterkær, Sjælland (Denmark). 1. Fragment of a human skull, 2. Metal pin, 3. Mounts of a chest, 4.  Knife, 5. Shield boss, 6. Remains of a wooden object (a bucket?). Drawing by Georg Nyegaard, redrawn by Klaudia Karpińska.

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had several grooves (perhaps originally filled with pigment), suggesting intentional dental modification (Reedtz Sparrevohn 2013, 49–50). Near his left arm lay the front extremity of a sheep/goat, an indeterminate bone (perhaps belonging to a sheep/ goat?), as well as a humerus, an ulna, and a radius of a greylag/domestic goose (Gregersen 2012; Reedtz Sparrevohn 2013, 50). Another grave (A88) with waterfowl remains was discovered in the south-western part of the cemetery in Rytterkær (Sjælland, Denmark). Under a low mound was an oval pit (oriented north-west–southeast) filled with three layers of stones, below which were human bones, animal remains, and several artefacts ( Jønsson 1992, 42; Table 4.1, no. 4). In the north-western part of the grave were poorly preserved human bones, which probably belonged to a man, and several objects ( Jønsson 1992, 42). The middle part of the grave was scattered with bones belonging to cattle. In the southern and south-eastern parts of the pit lay the remains of disarticulated animals (Fig. 4.2): a relatively small horse (a mare?) probably lay on its side and beneath it were the remains of cattle (two specimens) mixed with some bones of sheep/goat (two specimens) and fragments of a wooden object, possibly a bucket (Nyegaard 1990, 1–8; Jønsson 1992, 42). Under the horse and cattle bones and close to the hind part of the dog were the remains of a greylag/domestic goose.5 Among these bones was a fragment of a tibiotarsus of a chicken and four fragments of the diaphyses of an indeterminate bird (Nyegaard 1990, 24). Close to the south-eastern wall of the pit were the remains of a dog, which probably lay with its head towards the south-west (Nyegaard 1990, 8–10). In the Viking Age graves from Old Denmark only the bones of legs or wings of waterfowl have been documented. This situation might be the result of poor soil conditions or exposure to high temperatures during cremation. Long bones of upper and lower extremities are some of the largest and most durable parts of the bird skeleton (Serjeantson 2009, 124–28). None of these remains bear traces of cutting, scraping, or smashing. Such traces could indicate that the animals were killed, plucked, or quartered

5 Bones of wings: one distal part of the left humerus, one proximal part of radius, one fragmentarily preserved diaphysis of an ulna. Bones of legs: one distal epiphysis of the left femur, two fragments of diaphysis of left tibiotarsus, one fragment of the distal part of the left tibiotarsus, one distal epiphysis of the left tarsometatarsus, one distal epiphysis of the right tibiotarsus, one proximal part of the left fibula, one proximal epiphysis of the right tarsometatarsus, one distal epiphysis of the right tarsometatarsus, one fragment of a phalanx (Nyegaard 1990, 10, 22–24).

using sharp tools (e.g. axes, knives) or heavy and blunt objects (e.g. stones) (Serjeantson 2009, 131–36, 140–44). The presence of cut or chop marks, on the other hand, could indicate that the bird was killed to be used as food (e.g. for the dead or to be eaten during the feast) or slaughtered to serve as joints of meat for the dead (Serjeantson 2009, 137–44).

Bones of Waterfowl in Viking Age Graves in Sweden As highlighted in Table 4.1, it appears that Sweden has the largest number of Viking Age graves with the remains of waterfowl. The finds from these graves have been well published and the osteo­logical material has often been subjected to specialist analyses (Sigvallius 1994). Below is a review of their different examples. In the middle part of the cemetery Rogberga (RAÄ 19, Småland, Sweden), a poorly preserved cremation grave A33943 was found. Directly beneath the surface was a flat layer containing the bones of an adult man (twenty-forty years old), the remains of domesticated animals, western capercaillie (Tetrao urogallus), and several small artefacts (Artelius and Kristensson 2005, 88; Table 4.1, no. 6). Among these finds were proximal parts of left carpometacarpus and phalanx of greylag/domestic goose (Artelius and Kristensson 2005, annexe 4). Goose remains were also unearthed in several cremation graves found under huge mounds in Södermanland and Uppland. A cairn named ‘Skopintull’ contained one main urn grave and two secondary cremations (Rydh 1939, 104–13; Table 4.1, no. 8). In the cremation layer of the main grave a bronze bucket with an iron handle containing human ashes and a bun of human hair was discovered. Around this urn were scattered burnt animal bones and artefacts (Rydh 1919; 1939, 104–26; Lund and Arwill-Nordbladh 2016, 424–31). Several years after the first publication of this grave, Sabine Sten and Maria Vretemark conducted osteo­logical analyses of the ashes from ‘Skopintull’ (Sten and Vretemark 1988) and revealed that this grave held the remains of two individuals, a man (over fifty years old) and a woman (thirty–fifty years old). Sten and Vretemark also identified bones of domesticated animals (Table 4.1, no. 8), wild birds, and talons of the European pine marten (Martes martes) and wolverine (Gulo gulo) (Sten and Vretemark 2001; Sten 2013, 226–27). Among these ashes was a fragment of a bone of a greylag/domestic goose, a fragment of a coracoid of a duck (probably Eurasian teal), and a fragment of a bone of a bird belonging to the family Anatidae (Sten and Vretemark 2001,

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194).6 It is noteworthy that in the course of preparing and sorting the finds from this grave for a new exhibition a ceramic pot with a relatively well-preserved shell of a domestic chicken egg inside was discovered (Andersson 2019). It is possible that this pot was part of the main grave and that it was placed together with other artefacts. However, it might also be the case that this urn belonged to a secondary grave which was dug into the mound. Bones of two specimens of waterfowl and numerous animals were also documented in a rich grave named ‘Ingjaldshögen’. Under this huge mound was a cremation grave with numerous artefacts (Table 4.1, no. 9). In the central part of the cremation layer was a stone-framed pit with a ceramic vessel containing burnt human bones (Lindqvist 1936, 27–29). Sten and Vretemark, who re-analysed these bones, write that the ashes in the urn belonged to an adult man. They observe that in the cremation layer lay the remains of wild and domesticated animals, including greylag/domestic goose and unspecified wild duck (Sten and Vretemark 1988, 150).7 Unfortunately, analyses of the bone material have not been completed, so the exact number of specimens of animals is unknown (Sten 2013, 224, 226). Grave A22 located in the central part of a Viking Age cemetery in Karleby also held the remains of a waterfowl (Bennett 1984, 137–39). According to Sten and Vretemark, it was a greylag/domestic goose (Sten and Vretemark 1988, 150). The remains of the bird were in the centre of the mound in a layer containing the cremains of a man (thirteen–thirty-four years old) as well as bones of other animal species and some precious objects (Table 4.1, no. 13). Regrettably, the report and later publications do not specify which goose bones exactly were found in this grave (Bennett 1984). Ashes of waterfowl were also found in a cremation urn from grave A3 discovered in the northern part of the cemetery in Arninge (Table 4.1, no. 17). Under a big round stone setting was a cremation layer with two fragmentarily preserved ceramic urns. In the cremation layer and among the remains of the urns lay ashes of several individuals: a woman (eighteen–



thirty-four years old), a man (more than fifty years old), and three other persons (all between eighteen–thirty-four years old; two of them were probably male — see Hedman 1996, 167). The same ash layer also contained animal bones and numerous objects (Hedman 1996, 131–36, 166–72). Moreover, there were several bones of greylag/domestic goose and probably Eurasian teal (Hedman 1996, 169).8 Small eggshell fragments belonging to an indeterminate species of bird were found in both urns ( Jelicic 2017, 17). The remains of a waterfowl were also documented under a large mound excavated in Viby (RAÄ 33) (Table 4.1, no. 18). The cremation layer contained bones of a man (thirty-five–sixty-four years old), a variety of artefacts, probably burnt and unburnt remains of domestic animals, wild birds, fish, the phalanx of a bear and the phalanx of a lynx, and unspecified bones of greylag/domestic goose (Svensson 1983, 13; Sten 2013, 226–27; Vretemark 2018, 832). It is important to note that the details concerning the exact number of the bones and the species of the animals buried in this grave are not clear and the information above is based on the work of Ericson and Tyrberg (2004, 322) and Sten (2013, 226–27). According to Kenneth Svensson’s thesis (1983, 13), which is the first publication of this grave, under the mound in Viby were burnt bones belonging to the following specimens of animals: one cat, one cattle, six dogs, five horses, one pig, two sheep/goats, one domestic chicken (a hen?), one goose, one goshawk, one eagle-owl, one Atlantic cod (Gadus morhua), a phalanx of a bear, a phalanx of a lynx, and unburnt bones of four specimens (one crow, one domestic chicken (a cock?), one northern pike (Esox lucius), one European perch (Perca fluviatilis)). Vretemark (2018, 832), on the other hand, writes that this grave held the remains of the following animals: cat, cattle, six dogs, five horses, pig, sheep/goat, domestic chicken, goose, goshawk, eagle-owl, and cod. Unfortunately, the complete avian osteo­logical material from Viby was not available for study during my research stay in the Swedish History Museum in 2017.9 Therefore I was unable to verify the number and type of bird bones.

6 During my research stay in Stockholm in 2017, I had the 8 Bones of greylag/domestic goose: two fragments of a opportunity to examine several bags of bird bones discovered in humerus, fragment of a radius, two fragments of a carpo­ ‘Skopintull’. The majority of these remains are not divided into meta­carpus, fragment of a wrist bone, fragment of a coracoid. species and it is impossible to isolate different individuals and Bones of probably Eurasian teal: fragment of a humerus, ascribe them to a particular taxon. Therefore, from the order five fragments of a carpometacarpus, fragment of a coracoid Anseriformes, I was only able to identify the bones of a duck (Hedman 1996, 169). (probably Eurasian teal). 9 During my research stay, I had the opportunity to examine 7 I had the opportunity to examine some of these bones in 2017. only one bag with bird bones. In it are partially burnt bone They are stored in two bags. One of the bags contained only of a goshawk (one talon) and several unburnt bones of a bird goshawk bones. The second bag contained various indeterminate (probably domestic chicken) (one fragment of a vertebra (an bird bones. atlas?), six cervical vertebrae, two thoracic vertebrae, one caudal

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Cremated remains of waterfowl were also unearthed in three graves in the cemetery in Valsta (RAÄ 59) (Andersson 1997a; 1997b). In the northern part of the cemetery was mound A1. Beneath the mound was a central cremation layer where the bones of an adult man, wild and domesticated animals, phalanges of a brown bear (Ursus arctos), and numerous small artefacts were found (Andersson 1997b, 7–10, 104–06, 147–50; Table 4.1, no. 14). Among these finds were proximal parts of the left radius, the distal part of the right radius and the right ulna of greylag/ domestic goose (Andersson 1997b, 149–50). A bone of a greylag/domestic goose was also documented under the tri-radial stone setting A12 located in the north-eastern part of the cemetery. In the cremation layer under the north-western part of the setting were ashes of an adult man and domestic animals, right carpometacarpus of a greylag/domestic goose, and various small objects (Andersson 1997b, 24–25, 107–08, 151; Table 4.1, no. 15). In mound A50, located in the western part of the cemetery, was a cremation layer with the bones of a youth/adult man and domestic animals as well as several artefacts (Andersson 1997b, 58–59, 114, 155; Table 4.1, no. 16). The cremation layer also contained the right humerus of a greylag/domestic goose (Andersson 1997b, 155). A partly damaged inhumation boat grave IV, located in the eastern part of the cemetery in Tuna (Alsike) and oriented north-east–south-west, is one of the few graves with almost completely preserved skeletons of waterfowl (Arne 1934, 10–11, 29–30).10 A human skeleton lay on the left side in the south-eastern part of the grave. The hip bones of this individual were damaged during the construction of a road. Below the feet of the deceased person was a horse skeleton lying on the left side. Underneath the horse’s vertebrae and ribs was a skeleton of a dog. This animal was also laid on the left side (Arne 1934, pl. 25). Below the front part of the dog and the ribs and thoracic vertebrae of the horse were the bones of the wings, legs, and body of a goose (Arne 1934, 11, 30).11 During my research in

vertebra, one unspecified vertebra (thoracic vertebra?), one second digit of a phalanx 1, two ribs, one fragment of a rib, one fragment of a synsacrum, one fragment of a bone (fragment of a pelvis?), one small unspecified bone). 10 During my research in 2018, I noted that the goose bones were not correctly described as part of grave VI b. According to Arne, in grave VI b were ‘Teile eines Vogelskeletts’ (Eng. parts of a bird skeleton), which could not be ascribed to a particular species (Arne 1934, 34). These bones are currently missing in the collection of the Swedish History Museum and they were probably lost after the excavations (Leena Drenzel pers. comm., 22 November 2017). 11 Bones of wings: one proximal epiphysis of the left humerus, one fragmentarily preserved right humerus, one fragmentarily

2018 in the Swedish History Museum, osteo­logist Johnny Karlsson (Historiska) drew my attention to two interesting features of the above-mentioned remains (Fig. 4.3). Firstly, the two proximal epiphyses of the humeri seem to have been cut off. Secondly, medullary bones are clearly preserved on the broken bones (e.g. tibiotarsi). This bone tissue is characteristic of female birds which are about to lay eggs which means that the bird buried in this grave was a female (Serjeantson 2009, 49–50). It is noteworthy that grave IV also contained a range of different artefacts of considerable value scattered among the human and animal bones (Arne 1934, 29–30, pl. 9:1–17). The remains of waterfowl were found only in three graves in a large cemetery with over one hundred graves in Barshalder (RAÄ 44) on Gotland. Among them is grave 13:2/1962 located in the western part of the cemetery and very close to the wall of grave 13/1 (Trotzig 1991, 216, 218–20; Rundkvist 2003, 180–81; Table 4.1, no. 10). In grave 13/2 human bones were not preserved due to unfavourable soil conditions. Only the remains of a coffin, small artefacts, and a fragmentarily preserved ornamented copper-alloy bowl were noted in the grave pit. By the north-western wall of the grave (and close to the sheets of the copper-alloy bowl) bones of a common goldeneye and two hazelnuts were unearthed (Trotzig 1991, 220; Rundkvist 2003, 181).12 A very similar layout was observed in grave 9S discovered in the north-eastern part of the cemetery and wallby-wall with grave 9N (Trotzig 1991, 230; Rundkvist 2003, 186–87; Table 4.1, no. 11). As in the case of grave 13/2, human bones were not preserved. By the north-eastern wall of the grave, inside the decorated copper-alloy bowl, was the right tibiotarsus of a common goldeneye, grape seeds, some grains of two-row hulled barley, grains of wheat, and several apple seeds (Trotzig 1991, 235; Rundkvist 2003, 187). Furthermore, in grave 9S, numerous artefacts were found (Trotzig 1991, 232–36). Another grave (no. 20/1966) with the remains of a waterfowl was discovered in the north-eastern part of the cemepreserved diaphysis (an ulna?), one second digit of the phalanx I. Bones of the body: one cervical vertebra, six fragments of the unspecified vertebrae, one fragment of furcula, one right scapula, one proximal epiphysis of the left coracoid, six fragments of a sternum, one fragment of a rib, three fragments of a synsacrum, two fragments of a pelvis. Bones of legs: one fragmentarily preserved left femur, one right femur, one fragmentarily pre­served left tibiotarsus, one right tibiotarsus, one proximal epiphysis of the left fibula, one proximal epiphysis of the right fibula, one right tarsometatarsus, four unspecified phalanges, two small unspecified bones (phalanges? ribs?). 12 Bones of common goldeneye: cervical vertebra, right scapula, right humerus, and some fragments of the pelvis.

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tery (Table 4.1, no. 12). In a rectangular grave pit, without any preserved human bones, small artefacts were unearthed, some bones of a pig, and the right radius of a common goldeneye (Rundkvist 2003, 189). Unfortunately, the bird bone was documented in the fill of the grave, without precise context, so it could have ended up in this grave by accident. Eggshells belonging to an egg of a waterfowl were documented only in one grave — cist grave 9/1961 (SHM 27739) dated to the late ninth and early tenth centuries and located in the western part of the cemetery in Barshalder. In the southern part of this grave (oriented north–south) stood a wooden coffin with human remains. The deceased individual, probably a woman, was equipped with richly ornamented jewellery (e.g. two copper-alloy animal-head brooches, a copper-alloy disc-on-bow brooch, two silver-mounted gemstone pendants), iron knives, a wooden copper-mounted pot, and a copper-alloy bowl (filled with bones of northern pike (Esox lucius), twenty fragments of hazelnuts, and traces of an organic substance), and other goods (Trotzig 1991, 108–11, 166, 209; Rundkvist 2003, 155). Interestingly, scattered eggshells were found close to the copper-alloy vessel and near the eastern wall of the grave. According to Johannes Lepiksaar, these remains might belong to an egg of a greylag/domestic goose (Trotzig 1991, 209, pl. 11:e; Rundkvist 2003, 155). The graves discussed above contained single bones, fragmentary remains, and whole skeletons belonging to greylag/domestic geese, common goldeneye, or Eurasian teal. Except for graves 13:2, Barshalder (Table 4.1, no. 10) and boat grave IV in Tuna which also contained other body parts of waterfowl, most of the graves only contained bones of wings or feet. In nearly all of the above-mentioned graves, waterfowl bones co-occurred with the remains of several domesticated and wild mammals (one exception is grave 13:2, Barshalder). Furthermore, in the richly equipped graves (e.g. Table 4.1, no. 17), bones of waterfowl were found together with domesticated and wild species of birds (e.g. chickens, birds of prey). Possible cut marks are found only on the two goose humeri from grave IV (Table 4.1, no. 7). They could be associated with the way in which the animal was quartered in the process of preparing it as food and do not necessarily have to represent traces of a sacrificial act (Serjeantson 2009, 130–40). It is also possible that the waterfowl, the remains of which were unearthed in other graves in Sweden, were killed by strangulation or that their throats were cut. This manner of killing would not leave any traces on these animals’ vertebrae.

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Figure 4.3. Bones of a goose discovered in grave IV, Tuna, Sweden. Historiska Museet, Stockholm. Photo by Klaudia Karpińska. Note: fragments of a sternum, pelvis, as well as vertebrae and phalanges are not placed in anatomical order. In the left part of the figure are grouped undetermined fragments of bones (probably parts of long bones and phalanges).

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Between Life and Death – A Comparative Analysis of Graves

more persons of different sexes and ages), other animal bones as well as various artefacts (e.g. mound A3, Table 4.1, no. 17). Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish cremation graves with non-waterfowl remains also included bones and objects in the same configurations (e.g. mound LA 23, Süderende-Monklembergem (KS 20815); mound 4, Myklebostad (B5764); mound A42, Helgö 116 (SHM 30249)) (Shetelig 1912, 191; Sander 1997, 93; Eisenschmidt 2004, 479). Interestingly, in several cases young chickens were the only avifauna that were not burnt on the pyres together with humans, other animals, and objects (e.g. mound 59:3, Klinta (SHM 25840); mound, Gutdalen (B5525)) (Shetelig 1904, 25–27; Schulze 1987, 55–61; Westlye 2019, 66–71; Karpińska in preparation). Instead, they were placed on the ashes (or in the pits) during later phases of the funeral. Fragments of ducks and geese were burnt together with humans and other animals on the same pyre or their parts were laid on a separate pyre (raised especially for fauna) (cf. Watson and Williams 2019, figs 8.1, 8.6). It can be assumed that this manner of dealing with birds during funerals was purely a matter of convenience (e.g. the pyre with the human body was too small to accommodate all the different goods and offerings) or that they were burnt separately in the later stages of the ceremony. The differential treatment of waterfowl could also express their role and importance in the burial ritual: for instance, they could be meat offerings, sacrifices related to specific myths and stories recreated during the funerary drama, etc. (cf. Williams 2006; Price 2010, 135–36). In the graves analysed above, parts of waterfowl always co-occur with the remains of other birds and mammals (Table 4.1). In the majority of the graves, bones of domestic chickens, dogs, and horses are found together (Iregren 1997). Cremation graves with only human and bird bones are found very rarely.13 It is probable that the large number of animals and the diversity of their species demonstrated status and wealth of the dead and/or mourners. It is also likely, however, that birds killed during the funerary ritual had different meanings and reflected ideas associated with various spheres of life. It could be speculated that geese sacrifices were related to daily life (i.e. farm, food, prey, movement) while hawks were killed as symbols of hunting activities and with the qualities associated with the social elite (e.g. courage, prestige, power) (Tyrberg 2002; Carstens 2018;

In the previous sections of this chapter it was shown that the remains of waterfowl were present in various cremation and inhumation graves from Old Denmark and Sweden dating from the ninth to the early eleventh centuries. Specialist analyses reveal that they belong to species which are native and quite common for the areas in which the graves (and artefacts) were found (Ericson and Tyrberg 2004; Skov and others 2011; Svensson and others 2017). Therefore, the birds buried with the dead should not be regarded as exotic curiosities. They would have been witnessed by Viking Age societies on a daily basis during everyday routines or distant travels (cf. Kost and Hussain 2019, 340–42). They would also have been integral parts of the livestock kept in settlements or hunted for a variety of different purposes (i.e. meat, feathers, fat). Furthermore, these animals could be perceived differently by various people — not only as food but also as symbols or persons capable of exercising their own agency (cf. Armstrong Oma 2010; DeMello 2012; Hill 2013; Overton and Hamilakis 2013; Sykes 2015; Boyd 2017). This section explores and compares different relations between humans and waterfowl in funerary rituals and beliefs. Most of the graves analysed above contain bones of wings of ducks or geese (as a rule, each grave contains wings or wing parts of only one bird). Fragmentarily preserved bones of wings of other species of avifauna were also found in numerous cremation graves known from Denmark and Sweden (e.g. grave G8, Ribe (ASR 8/G8); mound A15, Helgö 118 (SHM 30710); mound A43, Valsta (SHM 34069)) (Andersson 1997b, 153–54; Melin and Sigvallius 2001, 113–14; Feveile and Jensen 2006, 70, 73). It is possible that only these parts were placed by the mourners on the pyres. They could convey different meanings and relations between humans and birds and represent food offerings (related to funerary feasts), ‘food gifts’ to the dead, but also pars pro toto sacrifices or hunters’ trophies (and symbols related to the practice of hunting). Alternatively, they could be intended simply as decoration to create a visually appealing burial tableaux (Serjeantson 2009, 186–87; Overton and Hamilakis 2013, 122–23; Vretemark 2013, 52; Toplak 2019, 231). However, we should also take into account the possibility that delicate bones of other parts of the body might not have survived the cremation process or that they decomposed due to 13 For example, human and bird bones (without any other accompanying animals and goods) were documented in mounds poor soil conditions. 12 and 18 (SSM 50106–50107 and SSM 50109) in cemetery 158 Bones of waterfowl were discovered in cremation in Ärvinge as well as in mounds A6 and A10 (SHM 34261) in layers (or urns) mixed with human remains (one or cemetery 6A in Hedvigsdal (Äijä 1988; Sigvallius 1994).

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Vretemark 2018). As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, ducks and geese are birds that live between land, water, and air. Furthermore, some of this avifauna migrate. People could observe their specific behaviour and ascribe some meanings to them. Geese and ducks could be seen as Aves living on the border between known (land) and unknown areas (water, air). Their migrations could be also seen as travels between different realms (possibly the lands of the living and the dead) (cf. Goldhahn 2019; Oehrl 2020). Therefore, it is possible that these birds were placed on pyres because of their relations to liminal spheres such as aquatic areas which might have been considered by Viking Age people as places between the world of the living and the world of the dead (on liminal spheres in the Viking Age see, for instance, Lund 2008; 2009). These birds could be recognized as being able to cross the border between the human world and the otherworld and hence capable of guiding the deceased (cf. Oehrl 2020). Possibly there were also other relations between waterfowl and the dead, which the mourners decided to emphasize in the course of the ceremony by placing these birds on the pyre (e.g. their behaviour or plumage was valued/admired by the deceased during their lifetime). Finally, it should be emphasized that the remains of waterfowl occurred in cremation graves with very diverse furnishings ranging from gaming pieces (mound A1, Table 4.1, no. 14) to jewellery (mound A3, Table 4.1, no. 17) and weaponry (mound A22, Table 4.1, no. 13). A similar pattern can also be observed in Norwegian and Swedish cremation graves (e.g. ‘Bjørkehaugen’ (B6618 and B6688); mound 11, Egge (T20362); mounds in 116 and 118 at Helgö) where the bones of various domesticated and wild birds were found alongside different (and sometimes very rich) goods (Shetelig 1913, 24–26; Sander 1997; Sørheim 1997; Melin and Sigvallius 2001). In view of the above, there appears to be no semantic link between the different categories of objects and birds in cremation graves. The above research has shown that the inhumation graves dated between the ninth and tenth centuries only contained wing or leg bones of geese or common goldeneyes. They were found together with the remains of men or individuals of indeterminate sex. Parts or whole specimens of other wild and domesticated birds (e.g. chickens, black grouse (Tetrao tetrix)) were found in different types of inhumation graves in Norway and Sweden belonging to women and men of varied age (Arne 1934, 39–41; Arbman 1940). Therefore, there is no correlation between the sex and age of the dead and the presence (or lack) of birds in the graves.

Waterfowl remains were variously located within the graves. Usually, they were placed in different parts of the grave pits and often opposite the human remains: close to the walls (Table 4.1, nos 1, 4, 10–11) or in the bow section of the boat (Table 4.1, no. 7). Only in grave 277, Snubbekorsgård (Table 4.1, no. 3) were bird bones found very close to the human skeleton. In grave 3 from Stengade (Table 4.1, no. 1), the leg bones of geese were unearthed together with parts of pigs and cattle (Karpińska 2018, 123). All of these animals were probably food offerings (or pars pro toto sacrifices) placed inside the wooden chamber or on its roof during the funerary ritual (Karpińska 2018, 126–27). In grave 9S (Barshalder), a leg bone of a common goldeneye was found in a copper-alloy bowl together with the remains of food. Similar placement of a bird was observed in grave 13:2 (Barshalder) where several bones of a common goldeneye lay near a bronze vessel containing hazelnuts. Therefore, it is probable that waterfowl remains (or whole birds) placed in graves 9S and 13:2 (Table 4.1, no. 10–11) were parts of an exquisite dish offered to the dead (or deities) during the funeral (cf. Lee 2007). A more problematic situation was observed in grave A88 (Rytterkær) which contained disarticulated remains of cattle and sheep/goat. It is probable that only parts of these animals had been laid in the pit and that they had been intended as pars pro toto sacrifices or meat offerings. Only a horse and a dog were slaughtered and placed in the pit whole. Therefore, these mammals probably had different relations with humans. They could have been lifetime companions, precious gifts, symbols of status, or psychopompoi (Gräslund 2004; Weigand 2008; Gräslund 2014a). The goose skeleton was incomplete (only leg and wing bones are preserved). Therefore, it is challenging to determine if it was sacrificed during the funerary feast, as a meat offering or if it had some other nuanced meaning in the scope of the burial. The occurrence of geese remains in grave IV at Tuna (Table 4.1, no. 7) is intriguing — they were found in the bow of the ship under the horse and dog carcasses. A similar placement of birds was also observed in boat graves XI and XII from Tuna (Arne 1934, pl. 31:a-b). The birds were the first animals to be buried in these graves, either for practical reasons (e.g. Aves are smaller and relatively easier to kill when they are placed in cages or have their extremities tied) or with the intention to demonstrate their symbolic meanings. Interestingly, in some boat graves from Norway and Sweden (i.e. mound A36, Gamla Uppsala; a mound in Årby (SHM 21062); mound 1 in Gokstad (C10384)) different species of birds were the only animals placed on the decks of boats/

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ships (Nicolaysen 1882, 46; Arbman 1940, figs 5–6, 9; otherworld (cf. Western Slavic graves of horses with Nordahl 2001, 94, 96–97). It is probable that this was mutilated extremities, Kajkowski 2016, 140–41, 145; also guided by practical reasoning (mammals were 2018). They may have believed that after crossing the too big to lay them on the boat/ship) but perhaps border between worlds the wings of this bird would birds were buried on boats/ships alongside humans grow back and that the animal would rise back to life because of their special significance and the links (e.g. like the cock rising back from a severed head they shared with them (e.g. they were the precious in book i, chapter 8.14 of Gesta Danorum) (Friisparts of the livestock at farms, mediators between Jensen and Fisher 2015, 65–67). The way in which the bird from grave 277 from worlds). It is also permissible to speculate that they Snubbekorsgård was treated is also very intriguing were placed on the decks because only in this way could they enter the otherworld with the deceased. (Table 4.1, no. 3). Below the leg of a sheep/goat and Compared to other animal species, bird remains are close to the left elbow of the man, were the remains rarely encountered in Viking Age inhumation boat/ of a goose wing. As noted above, Viking Age inhumaship graves, and it is thus uncertain if their occurrence tion graves generally contain different parts of bird 14 in these graves is related to boat/ship symbolism. skeleton in various states of preservation (Table 4.1). The goose remains from boat grave IV at Tuna This case is unique since no other inhumation grave also have two other interesting features. Firstly, they contains only a single wing (Serjeantson 2009, 345).15 belonged to a female who was about to lay eggs. It is possible that this wing was placed in the grave as In the majority of the cremation and inhumation a pars pro toto offering symbolizing the whole bird. graves from Scandinavia, it is impossible to deterBecause it was found together with the leg of a sheep/ mine the avifauna’s sex. The only exceptions are the goat, it could also be interpreted as a food offering or remains of domestic chickens, discovered mainly in a sacrifice to pre-Christian gods, goddesses, supercremation graves, which based on the presence of natural beings, or ancestors. Alternatively, it may the spur have been described as cocks (Sigvallius have been laid in the grave to symbolize flight and 1994, 79; Serjeantson 2009, 47–49). When it comes movement of a bird. It might also be a symbol of proto the organization of the burial ceremony, the sex tection against malevolent and dreadful supernatuof domestic chickens (and other Galliformes) could ral beings or a means to emphasize the occupation be distinguished by the mourners based only on the of the dead as a hunter (cf. Overton and Hamilakis plumage. This is more complicated with geese whose 2013). Maybe also the specific arrangement of this feathers are the same for both sexes ( Johnsgard bird extremity had special meaning in the funerary 2010, 60). We can suppose that the goose placed in ceremony. Bird remains placed close to the human grave IV was most probably chosen randomly from body were also documented in grave 96 (Valsta, farm livestock (or wild gaggle). However, we canSHM 34069). Inside the grave pit was a wooden not completely exclude that it was taken when it was coffin with a woman interred in a prone position. incubating eggs and its sex actually mattered in the Domestic chicken parts were laid very close to her ritual ( Johnsgard 2010, 63). If this was the case, the feet (Andersson 2000). Maybe in both graves birds female goose might have symbolized new life and were placed close to the humans to emphasize some fertility during the burial ceremony. Secondly, the particular relation between them? Perhaps, these proximal epiphyses of both humeri of the goose animals played a part in magic practices intended to show traces of cut marks. This might indicate that ‘protect’ the society against the dangerous dead, who during the funeral both wings of this bird were cut might return to wreak havoc in the world of living off close to the animal’s body. Regrettably, the plan (cf. Gardeła 2013a; 2017)? Or maybe wings served of the grave does not show the exact position of the as some special artefacts (e.g. fans) during the ritugoose remains, so it is unclear if the wings lay sepals conducted by/over the graves (e.g. to spread the arated from the body or in anatomical order (Arne smoke of burning herbs)? 1934, pl. 25). Cutting off the wings deprived the bird of the ability to fly and escape. In a symbolic way this act forced the animal to stay and accompany the dead in the grave chamber (cf. Gardeła 15 It is noteworthy that in grave 84.16/L (483) (‘Pagan Lady’) on 2013b). Maybe the mourners’ intention was to allow St Patrick’s Isle (Isle of Man) pseudomorphs of wing feathers were documented on the long iron rod that lay beside the a flightless bird to join the dead on the way to the

14 On the symbolism of these vessels, see, for instance, Oehrl 2020, 151–60.

deceased (Freke 2002, pl. 23). David Freke suggests that these remains might be part of a goose wing, although it should be emphasized that this is pure speculation since no specialist analyses have been carried out. Freke’s idea was also included in Neil Price’s books (2002, 69, 160–61; 2019, 118, fig. 3.43).

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Figure 4.4. Amber lump from Hedeby, Germany, with a carving of waterfowl. Stiftung Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesmuseen, Schleswig. Photo by Klaudia Karpińska.

Figure 4.5. Antler waterfowl (a duck?) from Birka, Sweden. Historiska Museet, Stockholm. Photo by Klaudia Karpińska.

Figure 4.6. Silver pendant from Hedeby, Germany, in the shape of chair/throne. Stiftung Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesmuseen, Schleswig. Photos by Klaudia Karpińska.

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In the majority of the graves discussed above the remains of geese occurred with skeletons of dogs or horses (Table 4.1). The remains of these mammals are known from numerous cremation and inhumation graves in Viking Age Scandinavia (Braathen 1989; Iregren 1997, 14–15; Pedersen 2014a; 2014b). They are interpreted not only as companions of the dead, gifts, sacrifices, mediators between worlds, or psychopompoi but also as animals strongly associated with hunting (Gräslund 2004; Weigand 2008, 175–97; Gardeła 2012; Gansum 2018, 722–23). Therefore, it is possible that geese, if they were wild species, were placed in these graves as hunting prey (Tyrberg 2002, 228, 230). The egg remains (probably that of a goose) in grave 9/1961 (Barshalder) lay close to a copper-alloy vessel with the remains of plants and northern pike. Eggs in Viking Age graves are usually interpreted as pre-Christian or Christian symbols of rebirth or objects associated with fertility and transformation (Lund and Arwill-Nordbladh 2016, 431; Jelicic 2017, 17, 57–68; Andersson 2019, 105–07). However, in this grave the egg was placed together with fish and plants so it is quite possible that it was actually part of a meal for the dead or food offering for the gods, goddesses, or supernatural beings or ancestors (cf. Kajkowski 2020). This section has shown that waterfowl could have had different symbolism in the scope of Viking Age funerals. They could be viewed not only as a food but also as symbols related to the spheres of life and death. Their way of living between land, water, and air perhaps predestined them to be seen by Viking Age people as species of birds particularly suited for funerary sacrifices. Furthermore, the specific placement of these animals on the pyres or in the grave pits might express some lifetime relations which the dead had with these birds. They could be sacrificed as parts of livestock (which mourners wished to send to the otherworld with the deceased), hunting prey (which might have alluded to hunting and hunt-related activities of the dead or mourners), or avifauna related to some beliefs unknown to us.

Between Reality and Imagination. Waterfowl in Viking Age Icono­graphy and Medi­eval Written Sources

Graham-Campbell 2013).16 Birds or Aves-like creatures can be found in some of the earliest Viking Age ornamental styles (Graham-Campbell 2013, 28–29) as well as on objects from later parts of this period (Gräslund 2014b). Some artefacts portray very ambiguous birds resembling waterfowl. For instance, two pendants from Birka depict birds in antithetic poses (e.g. Drescher and Hauck 1982, 272–73; Vierck 2002, 46, fig. 13:2–3). Although these animals have been compared to swans, they are shown in a very simple manner and bear features which are actually characteristic of completely different species of birds (e.g. orders Columbiformes, Galliformes, Gruiformes). Some longnecked birds are also portrayed on Gotlandic picture stones (e.g. Fröjel, Grötlingbo, Hunninge [4]) (Oehrl 2010, figs 1, 11, 14–15; Oehrl 2019). However, these carvings seem also to connect features of several species of avifauna (e.g. cranes, geese, storks, swans) (Oehrl 2010, figs 5, 14). Ornaments or artefacts, which with some certainty can be identified as depictions of waterfowl, are known from Old Denmark and Sweden. In most instances they have very simple silhouettes and display only very basic features of these birds. This type of decoration can be seen on a small piece of perforated amber from the emporium in Hedeby/ Haithabu (northern Germany) (Ulbricht 1990, 79, pl. 8:20). On the oval amber lump, probably an unfinished pendant, a sitting/swimming waterfowl which resembles a common eider (Somateria mollissima) is engraved (Fig. 4.4). Another find which depicts a bird connected with the water environment has been documented in the emporium in Birka (Sweden), in the area known as the Black Earth (Sw. svarta jorden). This object, which probably served as a toy, is a three-dimensional depiction of a waterfowl (a duck?) made of elk antler and dated to the Viking Age (Roesdahl 1989, 73; Ambrosiani and Erikson 1992, 46). Similar to the carving from Hedeby, this bird has a long beak resembling the avifauna of genus Anas (Fig. 4.5). Several other finds with depictions of waterfowl might be related to pre-Christian beliefs. The first of them is a miniature silver chair/throne pendant (Fig. 4.6) dated to the late ninth–early tenth centuries (Drescher and Hauck 1982, 243–44). It was discovered in the rich grave 497 in the southern cemetery in Hedeby (Arents and Eisenschmidt 2010a; 2010b, 146–50, pls 69–72). The two armrests

Aside from their diverse roles in funerary rituals, waterfowl were also depicted on different kinds of objects dated to the Viking Age (Wilson and Klindt- 16 Bird depictions are very common in decorations of different objects (e.g. weaponry, jewellery, parts of costume) in the Vendel Jensen 1966; Graham-Campbell 1980; Neiß 2012; and Merovingian periods (e.g. Jennbert 2007; Magnus and others 2007; Røstad 2008).

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of this throne are in the shape of mammals (lions? wolves?) with long tails and marked ribs (Drescher and Hauck 1982, 272). Behind each of them sits a long-necked bird with spread/semi-resting, rounded wings (maybe indicating readiness to fly?). The proportions (small heads, long necks, massive bodies) and poses of these birds are very similar to the Aves of genus Cygnus (Svensson and others 2017, 15). In the central part of the artefact is an indentation which might indicate that this find once had an additional part (a human-shaped figurine?) which is now missing (Drescher and Hauck 1982, 240). Human-like figurines are known from analogous miniature thrones discovered in Lejre (a curious depiction combining female and male features) and Nybølle (where the anthropomorphic figure has the features of a human and a bird) (Pesch 2018, figs 1, 4). It is intriguing that all three finds have bird motifs (Hedeby = swans; Lejre = Aves from genus Corvus; Nybølle = bird-like head of the sitting figurine) which could be connected with an unknown deity/supernatural being sitting on a throne. Based on analogies and written sources, the throne from Hedeby has been interpreted as an amulet connected with power, magic practices (seiðr) or the Norse gods (e.g. Óðinn) (Drescher and Hauck 1982, 295; Zeiten 1997, 21–22; Vierck 2002, 57–59; Pesch 2018, 485). The staff from Gävle, probably stemming from a richly equipped grave dated to the tenth century, is another unique find with a depiction of a bird (Brøndsted 1936, 196–97; Gardeła 2016, 334). Viking Age staffs form a distinctive group of artefacts with rich symbolic content. They were probably used during the practice of magic known as seiðr (Price 2002; 2019; Gardeła 2016).17 On the long iron shaft just below the so-called ‘basket handle’ is a copper-alloy mount in the shape of the head of a waterfowl (a duck?) pointing towards the end of the staff with iron pendants attached (Fig. 4.7). The animal appears to be calling, yawning, or swallowing/ spitting out the iron rod. Heads of animals (bears? wolves?) depicted in a similar manner are also part of the icono­graphy of a staff discovered in cremation grave 59:3 from Klinta on Öland, Sweden (Price 2002, 183–84, 326–27; Gardeła 2016, 198, 342–44). Seiðr practices included some elements of shamanism (e.g. spirit travel between worlds, healing) (Price 2002, 64, 275; Gardeła 2016, 12–17, 198, 200). Among the Sámi people, indigenous peoples of Siberia, and Inuit people, who practised shamanism, waterfowl

17 Many Viking Age staffs have certain features in common (e.g. the ‘basket handle’ or decorative mounts) but each staff is essentially unique (cf. Gardeła 2016, 272–347).

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Figure 4.7. Iron staff from Gävle, Sweden, with a bird-shaped mount. National­ museet, Copenhagen. Photos by Leszek Gardeła. Used by kind permission.

Figure 4.8. Stone from Sanda kyrka [I], Gotland, Sweden, with depiction of a bird. Historiska Museet, Stockholm. Photo by Klaudia Karpińska.

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have particular importance as mediators between the worlds and as spirit animals (Hatto 1961, 335–36, 342; Price 2002, 263). Therefore, we can speculate that the owner of the Gävle staff considered the animal depicted on the shaft as a kind of spirit creature which provided supernatural guidance. The last object with a possible depiction of a waterfowl is a picture stone found in Sanda kyrka [I] in Sweden (Fig. 4.8). In the upper part of the carving, just below the runic inscription, three anthropomorphic figures are shown gathering in some kind of building. On the right side is a sitting individual (probably a man) who receives or gives a spear to a figure in the middle (a man?). On the opposite side is an individual in a long dress (woman?) sitting on a block chair (Sw. kubbstol) and holding an oblong object (a staff ?).18 Behind and outside the ‘house’ is a bird stretching its head above the head of the sitting individual. It has features of Aves of genus Cygnus (which have long necks, long flat beaks, relatively short legs and tails). Below this image are three individuals who appear to be walking and holding different weapons. The carving in the upper part of the stone has been interpreted in different ways, for instance as a depiction of Óðinn with a vǫlva receiving offerings in Valhǫll (Price 2019, 124), or as a portrayal of an oath in front of a noble man (Oehrl 2010, 13–14) or as Óðinn welcoming a warrior in Valhǫll (Oehrl 2010, 15–16). Therefore, the long-necked bird has been variously described as being associated with Óðinn, as a psychopomp leading dead to the otherworld, or as a transformed valkyrja (Oehrl 2010, 16–18, 22; 2019, 54; 2020, 145–48).19 However, it is also not excluded that this bird is a messenger (bringing news to the seated individual?) or that it represents some abilities of this person (e.g. the ability to travel between different worlds). We can also speculate that it refers to the ritual (seiðr?) which the seated individual might be performing. As demonstrated above, waterfowl (probable ducks) were some of the most commonly depicted birds in Viking Age icono­graphy. The items that portray these animals were associated with daily life activities or beliefs. The objects discovered in settlement contexts (lump of amber, antler toy) might 18 On so-called ‘block chairs’ see for instance Price 2002, 163–67; 2019, 120–25. 19 Óðinn is usually associated with eagles and ravens. In stanzas 104–10 of Hávamál he transforms into an eagle when he steals the mead of poetry (Dronke 2011, 23–24). He also appears in the shape of an eagle in Skáldskaparmál (Faulkes 1995, 63–64; 1998, 4–5). Two of Óðinn’s ravens, Huginn (ON Thought) and Muninn (ON Memory), are mentioned in stanza 20 of Grímnismál and in Gylfaginning (Faulkes 1995, 32–33; Dronke 2011, 116).

have been created by an artisan who observed them while working in amber/antler — in other words, they may not bear the elaborate symbolism connected with the features of waterfowl. However, the throne pendant, the staff, and the picture stone could have carried additional layers of meaning associated with the Aves they depict. They are conventionally interpreted as items connected with magic, power, and rituals (Drescher and Hauck 1982, 295; Zeiten 1997, 21–22; Vierck 2002, 57–59; Gardeła 2016, 194–201; Pesch 2018, 485). Some features of a duck or swan (appearance? behaviour? calls?) were probably important to the owners of the staff and chair/throne pendant. Maybe the fact that these birds tend to live between land, water, and air was of particular significance? It is not unlikely that they are depictions/ transformations of the gods or supernatural beings. These Aves were animals that humans would see and interact with most often, which might explain why people favoured them over other species of birds. Waterfowl are underrepresented in medi­eval written sources concerning Viking Age Scandinavia. Geese are mentioned in the fourteenth-century Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar, where they are described as animals living on a farm (Guðni Jónsson 1964; Carstens 2018, 806). These birds are also described in chapter 22 of Kormáks saga dated to the thirteenth century. This saga tells the story of a man — Kormákr — who visits Þórdís, a ritual specialist or spákona (Einar Ól. Sveinsson 1939; Haley-Halinski 2021, 95). He asks her to cast some spells to help him with some love problems. Later, Kormákr wakes up in the middle of the night and sees the spákona slaughtering domestic geese; according to Þórdís, sacrificing three geese would help strengthen the spell (Haley-Halinski 2021, 95). Other common birds from the family Anatidae (like ducks) are not mentioned in any Old Norse written sources (Carstens 2018, 806). The only species which appear in several medi­eval texts are swans. These graceful birds are mentioned in descriptions of the otherworld and in connection with certain supernatural beings (Carstens 2018, 806). Two swans are described in Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda from the thirteenth century. In the part of Gylfaginning that describes the tree Yggdrasill and its surroundings, it is mentioned that one of three springs is called Urð’s well (Old Norse Urðar brunni). This pure and sacred spring flows out from the roots of Yggdrasill, the ash tree that forms the axis of the world (Faulkes 1995, 19). Close to this place live three Norns who are responsible for human fate and for watering the sacred ash with the water from Urð’s well (Simek 2007, 342). The liquid of this spring is not only essential for Yggdrasill, but it also serves as nourishment for two

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birds, which according to Snorri are the ancestors of all swans (Faulkes 1995, 19; 2005, 19).20 In Vǫlundarkviða, preserved in a thirteenth-century manu­script known as Codex Regius, white-feathered waterfowl are also associated with the valkyries (Old Icelandic: valkyrjur).21 Three maidens (named Hlaðguðr Svanhvít, Hervǫr Alvítr, and Ǫlrún) fly from the south to the north in the robes made of swan feathers (called hamr).22 Early in the morning they sit on the shore of a lake, take off their clothing, and start to spin linen.23 The maidens, who are vulnerable without their robes, are then spotted by the three heroes of the poem (Egill, Slagfiðr, and Vǫlundr), who seduce and marry them. After seven winters the women fly away to take part in battles and never come back (Dronke 1999, 243–44; Larrington 2014, 98–99). The story presented in the pro­logue of the poem is the only written source linking the valkyries with swans (Egeler 2011, 66–79; Oehrl 2019, 51; 2020, 144–45).24 The way these beings are portrayed in the story brings to mind the behaviour of real swans (e.g. whooper swan (Cygnus cygnus)), which migrate, mate, and are prone to predators when they change their plumage (Hatto 1961, 333; Mathiasson 1991; Dronke 1999, 259; Johnsgard 2010, 39–41). Finally, it should also be mentioned that the nickname of the valkyrja ‘Svanhvít’ (Eng. swan-white) is the only anthroponym known from Old Norse written sources including a reference to a swan (Price 2002, 338–40; 2019, 281–88; Egeler 2011, 68–74). A shapeshifting woman is also mentioned in the legendary saga Hrómundar saga Gripssonar, preserved in a manu­script from the seventeenth century. In chapters 6 and 7, a sorceress Kára who can transform into a swan, gets involved in a conflict with the saga’s protagonist Hrómundr, who eventually kills her in battle (Guðni Jónsson and Bjarni Vilhjálmsson 1944a, 279–82). Swans and geese are the only waterfowl which appear in Old Norse texts. As emphasized above, they are described in very early textual sources and are connected with female beings associated with war and magic. Geese are briefly mentioned in the Icelandic sagas Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar and Kormáks saga 20 ‘Fuglar tveir fœðask í Urðar brunni. Þeir heita svanir, ok af þeim fuglum hefir komit þat fugla kyn er svá heitir’ (Faulkes 2005, 19). 21 On the problems with dating and origin of eddic poems, see Larrington and others 2016. 22 On the three swan maidens motif, see Hatto 1961; Dronke 1999, 258–59, 285–86; Egeler 2011, 66–79. 23 On special aspects of spinning and weaving in Viking Age Scandinavia, see, for instance, Gardeła 2016. 24 In other Old Norse sources these beings can transform into crows/ravens (Vǫlsunga saga, ch. 1) or can speak with a raven (Hrafnsmál) (Kershaw 1922, 76–87; Guðni Jónsson and Bjarni Vilhjálmsson 1944b, 4; Byock 1999, 31, 36).

(ch. 22). Although ducks and geese are nearly absent in the written sources, they appear prominently in Viking Age icono­graphy as well as their bones have been found in graves and settlements (Ericson and Tyrberg 2004, 75–78, 82–84, 95–96; Barrett and others 2007, tables 14.4–14.5). The remains of swans were only found within the context of the remains of houses or harbours in Denmark and Sweden (Ericson and Tyrberg 2004, 70–72; Gotfredsen 2014, table 2). Bones of these birds belong to the species which were killed for meat (or feathers) rather than for ritual purposes (Ericson and Tyrberg 2004, 70–72; Gotfredsen 2014, 371). It is likely, however, that the occurrence of swan remains within settlement sites is unrelated to human activities — they could have been killed by other animals or could have died from natural causes. At the present moment we also do not know if swans were ever buried together with people in the Viking Age. We can speculate that the killing of swans was not approved of or even forbidden (like among some Siberian tribes; see Hatto 1961, 336). The occurrence of swans in Old Norse poems and saga accounts could reflect the saga writers’ observations of the natural world (Hatto 1961, 333, 338; Egeler 2011, 72–73): swans can be frequently encountered in watery areas in Scandinavia. The valkyries could be connected with swans because these animals were particularly suitable for the plot of the story. Swans, like the maidens in Vǫlundarkviða, often sit on the shore and some swan species migrate from one place to another, just like the women travel from their family homes to the homes of their husbands. It is also possible that the remarkable ‘fighting abilities’ of swans were the main reason why they were connected with valkyries as well as with a sorceress, as we can see in Hrómundar saga Gripssonar (cf. Hatto 1961, 342).

Conclusions Various species of waterfowl were encountered on a daily basis by Viking Age societies during work or travel. Analyses conducted in this chapter have shown, however, that only greylag/domestic geese, ducks (i.e. Eurasian teal, common goldeneye), and swans had various relations with humans in the scope of funerary rituals and beliefs in Viking Age Scandinavia (cf. Price 2010; 2014). It has been argued that whole ducks and geese (or their parts) placed in the grave pits or on pyres were related to beliefs associated with liminal spheres (e.g. aquatic areas), hunting, or that they served as elaborate offerings: meals donated by mourners to the gods/goddesses/

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supernatural beings/dead/ancestors (cf. Lee 2007; Oehrl 2010; 2020). It has also been suggested that in some graves (i.e. boat/ship or chamber graves) these birds might express lifetime relations between the deceased and waterfowl. They could be placed in these graves as parts of farm livestock (e.g. to serve the dead as ‘sources’ of eggs, fat, meat), symbols of wealth, or because they were considered significant in other ways. Depictions of swans and ducks in icono­ graphy not only resulted from the aesthetic preferences of Viking Age people but were also connected with magic practices and beliefs. They might be representations of the Norse gods/goddesses or supernatural beings or represent spirit animals capable of crossing the borders between words. This chapter has also shown that swans are the only waterfowl that are given more attention in medi­eval written accounts. In eddic poems and sagas these birds are linked to the otherworld as well as to aspects of war and magic. As we have seen above, however, bones of these white-feathered Aves are absent in funerary contexts. The remains of swans have only been documented scattered close to the harbours or houses and mixed with bones of other animals. Bones from such locations might belong to animals that died of natural causes, were killed by predators, or killed by humans for meat or feathers. Therefore, it is challenging to determine the precise relations between swans and humans in Viking Age rituals and beliefs. In conclusion, this chapter has shown that waterfowl were related to different spheres of Viking Age funerary practices and beliefs. It is important to acknowledge, however, that their symbolism might have varied from region to region in Scandinavia and to bear in mind the fact that it might have changed during the course of time. It can be expected that further comparative studies of the osteo­logical material, icono­graphy, and written sources from different parts of Northern and Central Europe will shed more light on the relations between humans and waterfowl.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski for inviting me to the captivating conference in Bytów and for their valuable remarks on the different versions of this chapter. Hearty thanks also to Jan Bill, Silke Eisenschmidt, Anne Birgitte Gotfredsen, and Otto Uldum for sharing details concerning graves with the remains of waterfowl from Old Denmark and Norway. I would also like to sincerely thank Gunnar Andersson (Historiska), Leena Drenzel (Historiska), Kristian Murphy Gregersen (Zoo­logisk Museum), Oliver Grimm (Zentrum für Baltische und Skandinavische Archäo­logie), Volker Hilberg (Stiftung Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesmuseen), Johnny Karlsson (Historiska), Ulrich Schmölcke (Zentrum für Baltische und Skandinavische Archäo­ logie), and Sanna Stahre (Historiska) for giving me the opportunity to study artefacts, bones, and eggshells from Denmark, northern Germany, and Sweden. Special thanks to Jens H. Jønsson, Georg Nyegaard, and Lotte Reedtz Sparrevohn for details concerning graves A88 (Rytterkær) and 277 (Snubbekorsgård), and for kindly allowing me to publish figures of these graves. I would also like to thank Melissa Hocking-Lorenz for revising and correcting my English. In particular, I would like to thank Hallvard Bruvoll, Jan Cutajar, Thierry Ford, Zanette Tsigaridas Glørstad, Astrid Kristine Tvedte Kristoffersen, Thorbjørn Nordbø, Lorenza La Rosa, Apostolos Tsiouvalas, and the anonymous reviewers for their valuable comments on the different drafts of this paper.

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A Handbook to Eddic Poetry: Myths and Legends of Early Scandinavia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Lee, Christina. 2007. Feasting the Dead: Food and Drink in Anglo-Saxon Burial Rituals (Woodbridge: Boydell) Lindqvist, Sune. 1936. Uppsala högar och Ottarshögen (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand) Lund, Julie. 2008. ‘Banks, Borders and Bodies of Water in a Viking Age Mentality’, Journal of Wetland Archaeo­logy, 8: 53–72

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—— . 2009. ‘Åsted og vadested. Deponeringer, genstandsbiografier og rumlig strukturering som kilde til vikingetidens kognitive landskaber’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Oslo) Lund, Julie, and Elisabeth Arwill-Nordbladh. 2016. ‘Divergent Ways of Relating to the Past in the Viking Age’, European Journal of Archaeo­logy, 19: 415–38 Magnus, Bente, Asger Jorn, and Gérard Franceschi (eds). 2007. Bird, Beast and Man in Nordic Iron Age Art, Nordic Iron Age Art, 2 (Co­logne: König) Mathiasson, Sven. 1991. ‘Eurasian Whooper Swan Cygnus cygnus Migration with Particular Reference to Birds Wintering in Southern Sweden’, Wildfowl Special Issue, 1: 201–08 Melin, Julie, and Berit Sigvallius. 2001. Excavations at Helgö XIV: Cemetery 118 and Building Group 7 and Cemetery 115 (Stockholm: Kungl. vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien) Neiß, Michael. 2012. ‘Vikingatidens djurornamentik som materiellt ankare?’, Arkæo­logisk forum, 27: 7–12 Nicolaysen, Nicolay. 1882. Langskibet fra Gokstad ved Sandefjord (Kristiania: Cammermeyer) Nordahl, Else. 2001. Båtgravar i Gamla Uppsala: Spår av vikingatida högreståndsmiljö, AUN, 29 (Uppsala: Department of Archaeo­logy and Ancient History) Nyegaard, Georg. 1990. Dyreknoglerne fra Rytterkær-Gravpladsen, Zooarkæo­logisk rapport (Copenhagen: Zoo­logisk museum) Nylén, Erik, and Bengt Schönbäck. 1994. Tuna i Badelunda: Guld, kvinnor, båtar, Västerås kulturnämnds skriftserie, 30 (Västerås: Almqvist & Wiksell) Oehrl, Sigmund. 2010. ‘Ornithomorphe Psychopompoi im Bildprogramm der gotländischen Bildsteine’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 14: 1–37 —— . 2019. Die Bildsteine Gotlands: Probleme und neue Wege ihrer Dokumentation, Lesung und Deutung, Studia archaeo­logiae medii aevi, 3 (Friedberg: Likias) —— . 2020. ‘Die Jenseitsreise auf den Bildsteinen Gotlands’, in Matthias Egeler and Wilhelm Heizmann (eds), Between the Worlds: Contexts, Sources, and Analogues of Scandinavian Otherworld Journeys, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 118 (Berlin: De Gruyter), pp. 117–84 Overton, Nick J., and Yannis Hamilakis. 2013. ‘A Manifesto for a Social Zooarchaeo­logy. Swans and Other Beings in the Mesolithic’, Archaeo­logical Dialogues, 20: 111–36 Pedersen, Anne. 2014a. Dead Warriors in Living Memory: A Study of Weapon and Equestrian Burials in Viking-Age Denmark, ad 800–1000, i: Text, Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeo­logy and History, 20.1 (Copenhagen: University Press of Southern Denmark and the National Museum of Denmark) —— . 2014b. Dead Warriors in Living Memory: A Study of Weapon and Equestrian Burials in Viking-Age Denmark, ad 800–1000, ii: Catalogue, Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeo­logy and History, 20.1 (Copenhagen: University Press of Southern Denmark) Pesch, Alexandra. 2018. ‘Götterthrone und ein gefährlicher Stuhl: Bemerkungen zum “Odin aus Lejre”’, in Alessia Bauer and Alexandra Pesch (eds), Hvanndalir: Beiträge zur europäischen Altertumskunde und mediävistischen Literaturwissenschaft; Festschrift für Wilhelm Heizmann (Berlin: De Gruyter), pp. 463–96 Petré, Bo. 2010. Arkeo­logiska underökningar på fornlämning raä 34, Lunda/Berga, Lovö sn, Uppland: Gravfält från vikingatid, äldre järnålder och yngre bronsålder samt boplatslämningar från bronsålder, Lovö Archaeo­logical Reports and Studies, 9 (Stockholm: Department of Archaeo­logy and Classical Studies Stockholm University) Price, Neil S. 2002. The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia, AUN, 31 (Uppsala: Department of Archaeo­logy and Ancient History, Uppsala University) —— . 2010. ‘Passing into Poetry: Viking-Age Mortuary Drama and the Origins of Norse Mytho­logy’, Medi­eval Archaeo­logy, 54: 123–56 —— . 2014. ‘Nine Paces from Hel: Time and Motion in Old Norse Ritual Performance’, World Archaeo­logy, 46: 178–91 —— . 2019. The Viking Way: Magic and Mind in Late Iron Age Scandinavia (Oxford: Oxbow) Reedtz Sparrevohn, Lotte. 2013. ‘Gravgods, ritualer og svenske forbindelser’, in Henriette Lyngstrøm and Lone G. Thomsen (eds), Vikingetid i Danmark (Copenhagen: Forhistorisk arkæo­logi, SAXO-instituttet på Københavns Universitet), pp. 47–50 Roesdahl, Else. 1989. Vikingernes verden: Vikingeme hjemme og ude (Copenhagen: Gyldendal) Rundkvist, Martin. 2003. Barshalder, i: A Cemetery in Grötlingbo and Fide Parishes, Gotland, Sweden, c. ad 1–1100: Excavation and Finds 1826–1971, Stockholm Archaeo­logical Reports, 40 (Stockholm: Department of Archaeo­logy, University of Stockholm) Rydh, Hanna. 1919. ‘Ett förhistorisk fynd av människohår från Adelsö’, in Sune Ambrosiani, Sune Lindqvist, and Birger Nerman (eds), Studier tillägnade Oscar Almgren 9.11.1919 (Stockholm: Svenska tekno­logföreningens förlag), pp. 237–42 —— . 1939. Förhistoriska undersökningar på Adelsö (Stockholm: Kungl. vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien) Røstad, Ingunn Marit. 2008. ‘Fugl eller fisk? En liten fugleformet spenne fra merovingertid’, Viking, 2008: 103–14

4. b e t w e e n li f e and death

Sander, Birgitta. 1997. Excavations at Helgö, xiii: Cemetery 116 (Stockholm: Kungl. vitterhets historie och antikvitets akademien) Schulze, Hella. 1987. ‘Köpings socken’, in Margareta Beskow Sjöberg (ed.), Ölands järnåldersgravfält I (Stockholm: Riksantikvarieämbetet, Statens historiska museer), pp. 21–138 Serjeantson, Dale. 2009. Birds, Cambridge Manuals in Archaeo­logy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Shetelig, Haakon. 1904. ‘Fortegnelse over de til Bergens museum i aarene 1898–1900 indkomne sager ældre end reformationen’, Bergens Museums Aarbog, 1904: 1–60 —— . 1912. Vestlandske graver fra jernaldern, Bergen Museums Skrifter, ny række, 2.1 (Bergen: A/S John Griegs boktrykkeri) —— . 1913. ‘Fortegnelse over de til Bergens Museum i 1912 indkommne saker ældre end reformationen’, Oldtiden, 3: 1–53 Sigvallius, Berit. 1994. Funeral Pyres: Iron Age Cremations in North Spånga, Theses and Papers in Osteo­logy, 1 (Stockholm: Osteo­logical Research Laboratory) Simek, Rudolf. 2007. Dictionary of Northern Mytho­logy (Cambridge: Brewer) Skov, Henrik, Stefan Heinänen, Ramūnas Žydelis, Jochen Bellebaum, Szymon Bzoma, Mindaugas Dagys, Jan Durinck, Stefan Garthe, Gennady Grishanov, Martti Hario, Jan Jacob Kieckbusch, Jan Kube, Andres Kuresoo, Kjell Larsson, Leho Luigujoe, Włodzimierz Meissner, Hans W. Nehls, Leif Nilsson, Ib Krag Petersen, Markku Mikkola Roos, Stefan Pihl, Nicole Sonntag, Andy Stock, Antra Stipniece, and Johannes Wahl. 2011. Waterbird Populations and Pressures in the Baltic Sea (Copenhagen: Nordic Council of Ministers) Sten, Sabine. 2013. ‘Sacrificed Animals in Swedish Late Iron Age Monumental Mound Burials’, in Gunnel Ekroth and Jenny Wallensten (eds), Bones, Behaviour and Belief: The Zooarchaeo­logical Evidence as a Source for Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece and Beyond, Acta Instituti Atheniensis Regni Sueciae, Series in 4o, 55 (Stockholm: Svenska institutet i Athen), pp. 223–31 Sten, Sabine, and Maria Vretemark. 1988. ‘Storgravsprojektet – osteo­logiska analyser av yngre järnålderns benrika brandgravar’, Fornvännen, 83: 145–56 —— . 2001. ‘Skopintull – nya rön om en gammal grav’, in Bente Magnus (ed.), Vi får tacka Lamm, The Museum of National Antiquities, Stockholm Studies, 10 (Stockholm: Statens historiska museum), pp. 191–98 Svensson, Kenneth. 1983. ‘Vibyhögen: fornl. 33, Kalmar sn., Uppland – dess forskningshistoriska, rumsliga, näringsekonomiska och sociala sammanhang’ (unpublished seminar essay, Stockholm University) Svensson, Lars, Killian Mullarney, and Dan Zetterström. 2017. Der Kosmos Vogelführer: Alle Arten Europas, Nordafrikas und Vorderasiens (Stuttgart: Kosmos) Sykes, Naomi. 2015. Beastly Questions: Animal Answers to Archaeo­logical Issues (London: Bloomsbury) Sørheim, Helge. 1997. ‘En høvdings gård – en høvdings grav. En vikingtids båtgrav på Egge i Steinkjer, Nord-Trøndelag’, Gunneria, 72: 1–89 Toplak, Matthias. 2019. ‘The Warrior and the Cat. A Reevaluation of the Role of Domestic Cats in Viking Age Scandinavia’, Current Swedish Archaeo­logy, 27: 115–47 Trotzig, Gustaf. 1991. Craftsmanship and Function: A Study of Metal Vessels Found in Viking Age Tombs on the Island of Gotland, The Museum of National Antiquities/Stockholm Mono­graphs, 1 (Stockholm: Statens historiska museum) Tyrberg, Tommy. 2002. ‘The Archaeo­logical Record of Domesticated and Tamed Birds in Sweden’, Acta zoo­logica cracoviensia, 45: 215–31 Ulbricht, Ingrid. 1990. ‘Bernsteinverarbeitung in Haithabu’, in Kurt Schietzel (ed.), Das archäo­logische Fundmaterial, v, Berichte über die Ausgrabungen in Haithabu, 27 (Neumünster: Wachholtz), pp. 65–126 Vierck, Hayo. 2002. ‘Zwei Amulettbilder als Zeugnisse des ausgehenden Heidentums in Haithabu’, in Kurt Schietzel (ed.), Das archäo­logische Fundmaterial, vii, Berichte über die Ausgrabungen in Haithabu, 34 (Neumünster: Wachholtz), pp. 9–67 Vretemark, Maria. 2013. ‘Evidence of Animal Offerings in Iron Age Scandinavia’, in Gunnel Ekroth and Jenny Wallensten (eds), Bones, Behaviour and Belief: The Zooarchaeo­logical Evidence as a Source for Ritual Practice in Ancient Greece and Beyond, Acta Instituti Atheniensis Regni Sueciae, Series in 4o, 55 (Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen), pp. 51–59 —— . 2018. ‘Birds of Prey as Evidence for Falconry in Swedish Burials and Settlements (550–1500 ad)’, in Karl-Heinz Gersmann and Oliver Grimm (eds), Raptor and Human: Falconry and Bird Symbolism throughout the Millennia on a Global Scale, Advanced Studies on the Archaeo­logy and History of Hunting, 1.1–1.4 (Kiel: Wachholtz), pp. 827–39 Watson, Aaron, and Howard Williams. 2019. ‘Envisioning Cremation: Art and Archaeo­logy’, in Howard Williams, Benedict Wills-Eve, and Jennifer Osborne (eds), The Public Archaeo­logy of Death (Sheffield: Equinox), pp. 113–32 Weigand, Martina Elisabeth. 2008. Die Pferde der Wikingerzeit: Herkunft, Typendifferenzierung und kulturelle Bedeutung des frühmittelalterlichen Pferdes in Nordwesteuropa, Schriften zur Kulturgeschichte, 9 (Hamburg: Kovač) Westlye, Julie Berge. 2019. ‘“Den Sterke Kvinnen”: Fra husfrue til volve. En kritisk studie av kjønn, status og magi med utgangspunkt i graver med stav fra yngre jernalder på Vestlandet’ (unpublished master’s thesis, University of Bergen)

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Harriet J. Evans Tang and Keith Ruiter

5. Exploring Animals as Agents and Objects in Early Medi­eval Iceland and Scandinavia This chapter offers new explorations of animal– human relationships, specifically but not limited to the human–horse relationship in Viking Age and medi­eval Scandinavian evidence.1 Working between literary and legal texts, as well as mortuary archaeo­ logy, it asks a key question of these sources: How did medi­eval Scandinavians conceive of their relationships with certain animals, especially the horse? Taking a posthumanist perspective, the analysis here suggests that animals could occupy a complicated conceptual and legal space that, while not quite ‘human’, was attributed with its own intricate understanding and expression of personhood. This non-human personhood, when explored in transdisciplinary ways, reveals that, much like humans, animals can be both agent and object in medi­eval networks and mindscapes, making this fertile ground for further inquiry. Despite the broader turn to Things in the human sciences (e.g. Hodder 2014), scholarship on Old Norse texts has decidedly focused on the human side of human–non-human relationships. Actor Network Theory would suggest this leaves our understanding of these relationships incomplete, as the relational



1 For the purposes of this paper we are using something of a non-standard definition of ‘early medi­eval’ to describe a broad sweep of time from the Scandinavian Iron Age to the Scandinavian medi­eval period (i.e. roughly from the sixth to thirteenth centuries) that accounts for the varieties of evidence and methods being brought together here. Such non-standard periodizations have proven to be highly successful in other recent interdisciplinary efforts (e.g. Judith Jesch’s (2015) ‘long, broad Viking Age’) by offering a broader view of evidence that might otherwise be impossible using more conventional periodizations.

networks formed between human and non-human entities should be thought of as multidirectional, multiscalar, and deeply entangled (Hodder 2014).2 Indeed, human and non-human actors can be seen in these theoretical terms as co-constituted. From this perspective, when it comes to human–animal relationships, the overwhelming focus that has been directed to human blurring of the human–animal boundary is problematic. This interest in humans slipping into the animal realm, especially in regards to shapeshifting or — potentially — berserksgangr, is understandable, but it all too often reimposes, rather than reconsiders, outmoded conceptual and categorical binaries such as nature and culture.3 2 A handful of exceptions, such as the work of Lisbeth H. Torfing (2016) and Csete Katona (2014) have made use of Actor Network Theory to enlightening effect with regards to human– Thing relations. 3 For the fullest and most authoritative recent work on berserkir and berserksgangr, including the animalistic elements associated with this state in literary contexts, see Dale (2012; 2014), though other recent studies include Samson (2011) and the subsequent translation into German (2020). Of comparative note for the present paper is the curious case of the berserkir brothers, Halli and Leiknir, in Eyrbyggja saga who are described through animalistic equivalence when introduced by the compiler of the saga: ‘ok váru þá eigi í mannligu eðil, er þeir váru reiðir, ok fóru galnir sem hundar’ (Eyrbyggja saga, ch. 61) — ‘and once they had worked themselves up into a frenzy, they were wholly unlike human beings, storming about like mad dogs’ (Eyrbyggja saga, trans. Hermann Pálsson and Edwards 1973, 68–69). This may at first seem to be a fairly formulaic or stock description of berserkir, who often function as background antagonists in the Íslendingasǫgur, but on closer inspection the brothers do not display any of this animalistic behaviour while in Iceland, and instead use their berserksgangr for, quite literally, constructive purposes (Ruiter 2020, 176–79).

Harriet Jean Evans Tang ([email protected]) is a Postdoctoral Research Associate in the Department of Archaeo­ logy at Durham University and a Research Associate at the University of York’s Centre for Medi­eval Studies. Acknowledgment and thanks are due to the Leverhulme Trust for support of the Cohabiting with Vikings Project (grant RPG-2019-258) within which this work has been completed. Keith Ruiter ([email protected]) is Senior Lecturer in History at the University of Suffolk and Honorary Assistant Professor at the University of Nottingham’s Centre for the Study of the Viking Age. This work was conducted during a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Postdoctoral Research Fellowship (grant 756-2021-0499) at the Université de Montréal. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 81–101 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132517

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In contrast, it is only very recently that scholars have begun to consider the ways in which animals in these texts can be considered as moving into the range of human activity, emotions, and personality (e.g. Bourns 2018; Evans Tang 2022). While not every animal in the Icelandic sagas or Scandinavian laws is depicted as capable of blurring the human– animal boundary, a large number of them, particularly domestic animals, are given the potential to do so (as evidenced by the various legal regulations around their status and behaviour, explored below), or described explicitly in terms of human social or emotional action. The sagas in particular show a plausibility to this blurring as embraced by some medi­eval Icelandic storytellers. This forces us to challenge our anthropocentric preconceptions about how animals act in human stories and human lives, exploring different models of agency and personhood that can help us to better understand these cultural productions, and the relationships described within them, on their own terms. In this chapter, we explore three distinct categories of evidence: literature, archaeo­logy, and legal texts. While the textual evidence explored here is preserved in manu­scripts ultimately dating to the twelfth to fourteenth centuries, the texts analysed — namely: eddic poetry, sagas focusing on events in the Viking Age past, and early legal texts — have a complex history stretching back into the Viking Age ‘in a variety of ways that need to be unpicked’ ( Jesch 2021, 7). In the following sections we aim to engage in some of that unpicking with a view to open a wider evidentiary dialogue that cuts across time and space to better demonstrate the complexity of human–animal relationships in this broad cultural context. As will be seen, literary evidence provides the imagined or conceivable possibilities of human–animal relationships; law demonstrates the conceptual limits of animal action and responsibility; and archaeo­logical evidence allows for the consideration of the remnants of actual animal entanglement — both physical and conceptual — with humans (whether domestic, agricultural, or symbolic through ritual acts). The discussion in this chapter aims, through this interdisciplinary approach, to highlight how interrelated these categories may be. Recent studies in both archaeo­logy and pre-Christian Nordic religions have suggested that the boundaries between animals and humans were considered more fluid in the pre-Christian period in Scandinavia, particularly with regards to horses ( Jennbert 2002, 118; Hedeager 2004, 234; Sundkvist 2004; Loumand 2006; Þóra Pétursdóttir 2007, 73; Hedeager 2011; Jennbert 2011; Rúnar Leifsson 2012; Armstrong Oma

2016, 180).4 Such ambiguity in the idea of the horse as a creature capable of blurring what is considered the ‘animal’ into what is considered the ‘human’ might be seen in the representations of specific horses in later stories, notably Sleipnir in the Eddas, Grani in the Sigurðr stories, and Freyfaxi in Hrafnkels saga — figures who are responsive to, and affective upon the social practices of the human (or human-like) characters in their texts. With regards to the material application of such ideas, burials from Viking Age Iceland in particular suggest that the designation of horses as grave goods in human burials is perhaps an oversimplification,5 and it may be the case that at least some horses in these burial contexts can be considered as persons in their own right: deserving, or at least considered suitable for, inclusion within the same normative social practices through which human persons are buried and remembered (Þóra Pétursdóttir 2007, 74).6 As a call to think about animals differently, this article will first discuss two examples of human-like horses who possess what could be called agentive personhood in Norse myth and heroic tradition, before considering animal-human entanglements evidenced in mortuary activity, especially highlighting cases in which animals appear to have been recognized as actors in their own right within the com-

4 The consideration of horses and other animals as subjects in burial practice, as considered in this chapter, also forms part of ongoing discussions in the Study of Religion (for example, Peterson 2016). 5 See Toplak (this volume) for a discussion of some of the various possibilities for horses in burials as symbols and grave goods. 6 While Rúnar Leifsson, in his thesis ‘Ritual Animal Killing and Burial Customs in Viking Age Iceland’ (2018), argues that horses in Icelandic pre-Christian burials can certainly be interpreted as violent sacrifices — and therefore the individual personhood of the horses may have mattered less in some cases compared to the general function of the animal in rituals — Rúnar does allow that in many cases, especially of horses seemingly buried alone, there may be something else at work. He notes that, in many cases of stand-alone Icelandic horse graves, the skulls are too fragmented by post-depositional processes to determine if poleaxing was the cause of death, as is seen in the ritual killing of bulls at Hofstaðir (Lucas and McGovern 2007), but even the bulls at Hofstaðir are actors in the networks of the region, interpreted by Lucas and McGovern to be at the centre of ritual activity to vent social tension. Of particular note for our purposes here is the burial ground at Hrífunes where at least two horses were buried without associated human burials. These horses had grave furnishings of their own, including what appears to be riding gear, and were the subject of their own distinct mortuary practices including a rectangular stone setting (burial I) and possibly perimortem decapitation and atypical, back-down placement of the body (burial IV) (Rúnar Leifsson 2018, 224–27). Being subject to such practices themselves makes the consideration of animal agency and even personhood an important exercise.

5. e x p lo r i n g an i m al s as ag e nt s and o b ject s i n e arly me d i e­ val i ce land and scandinav ia

plex physical and conceptual networks invoked by burial practices. We will then examine the intricate legal relations between animals and humans in both the medi­eval Icelandic law-book known as Grágás and provincial Scandinavian laws. The final part of the chapter will then examine the horse Freyfaxi from Hrafnkels saga Freysgoða, the preeminent example of an ambiguous animal-human figure from the Íslendingasǫgur, in which the boundary between animal and human appears to be blurred by both animal action and human reaction. We will put forward three different readings of this horse in light of the social and physical contexts outlined in this chapter.

Horses, Humans, and Para-animality In mytho­logical and legendary narratives, we find animals, and particularly horses, depicted as liminal figures, between animal and para-animal companion, and often vital to the operation of para-animal social action. Here we introduce the term para-animal — defined as ‘adjacent to animal’ or ‘an extended category of animality’, not ‘beyond-animal’ — for some very key reasons. First, by centring the animal in this termino­logy we are attempting to step back from anthropocentric models. Furthermore, by defining the non-animal in these terms of relation rather than opposition or negation, we hope to move beyond the specific linguistic hierarchies and dualisms of those models which dominate historical discourse. For example, in the lexical usage of the conventional categorization of ‘human’ vs. ‘animal’, human is the ‘us’ or the norm, while animal is constructed in opposition to this norm as the ‘them’, or the Other — despite the fact that humans are, of course, a subcategory of animal. Relatedly, and of vital importance to mytho­logical and legendary narratives especially, is the inherent flexibility of this term. Just as the category animal can be, and indeed has been, used to encompass a wide range of diverse and heterogeneous life forms from single cell organisms to intensely social and intelligent species, para-animal can be used in social, cultural, and historical studies to encompass the categories of human (e.g. many of the characters of the heroic eddic material) and more-than-human (e.g. the beings of the mytho­logical eddic material), both of whom form complex enmeshments with animals.7 In this

7 Other scholars in various areas of Human–Animal Studies have grappled with issues of termino­logy, particularly around the human–animal divide (see Shapiro 2020 for a particularly helpful review of this issue and its wider context). While there is no consensus yet on these matters, Lisa Kemmerer (2006, especially 10 and 12–13) has helpfully suggested the term anymal as an act of

new termino­logical framework, we view the category of animal as inclusive of animal, human, and morethan-human beings, while the category of para-animal is used to specifically acknowledge the necessary distinctions between human and more-thanhuman beings and other forms of animal beings in such a way as to encourage more productive relational thinking. However, as will be seen throughout this chapter, through an interrogation of animal personhood in a range of medi­eval Scandinavian evidence, there are hints that horses especially can be both humanized and even more-than-humanized under certain social and narrato­logical circumstances. Considering the complex ways in which animals can be narrato­ logically and conceptually shifted beyond the human (in the conventional human–animal dualistic sense) in many religions and other systems of knowledge (e.g. Kemmerer 2011), we hope that our contribution of the concept of para-animality can provide a frame to facilitate richer social, cultural, and historical investigations of the personhood of and relationships with and between animals. Furthermore, this framework invites comparison with and consideration of other onto­logies than those that dominate Eurocentric humanistic discourses.

Horses in Myth and Legends A well-known example of an animal who approaches the realm of para-animality through complex enmeshments with those around them is the horse Sleipnir. According to the medi­eval Icelandic poet, historian, and mytho­grapher Snorri Sturluson, Sleipnir was conceived and born from Loki in horse form, and is therefore seen in this medi­eval context as both a member of the community of the Æsir and vital to some of their social interactions. Although the precise details of Sleipnir’s conception by Loki are unattested elsewhere, it is notable that Snorri considered this a legitimate story to create or embellish, presumably alongside his knowledge of Sleipnir’s appearances in the eddic poetry as a useful horse in transporting characters between realms (Simek 1993, 293–94).8 A second well-known example from ‘verbal activism’ to increase awareness and dialogue surrounding the political and moral situation of ‘any animal who does not happen to be the species that I am’. However, such a term is not, to our minds, especially helpful in historical inquiries where frames of reference, as we demonstrate below, are culturally and chrono­logically contingent. 8 Sleipnir as a product of a union between Loki and the stallion Svaðilfari more generally is referenced only once outside Gylfaginning (in Hyndluljóð, st. 40, a poem which is itself only

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eddic poetry and legendary sagas is Grani, Sigurðr’s equine companion and descendent of Sleipnir in the Vǫlsung cycle, who transports Sigurðr’s wealth, is vital in Sigurðr’s wooing of Brynhildr, and is a figure with whom Guðrún shares her grief at the hero’s death. We will explore the peculiar para-animality of each of these horses in turn. The mytho­logical horse, Sleipnir, mentioned in both eddic poetry and Snorra Edda, is described as the best of horses (Faulkes 1982, 17). In Gylfaginning, he is birthed by Loki after Loki has taken the form of a mare to distract the stallion in the story about the building of the walls of Ásgarðr (Faulkes 1982, 34–35). While he is born of the kin group of morethan-human deities, Sleipnir can more rightly be said to be a combination of animal and para-animal parentage. Furthermore, he is the product of a solution to a problem: Loki’s distraction of the stallion, Svaðilfæri, causes the jǫtunn-builder to fail to build the wall in the set number of days, and thus forfeit his prize of Freyja, the sun, and the moon (Faulkes 1982, 34–35). Sleipnir’s conception therefore foreshadows his role as an eminently useful horse to the Æsir. While Loki may be more famous for the children he fathers on the giantess Angrboða ( Jǫrmungandr, Fenrir, and Hel) than as the mother of Sleipnir, these other children are the instruments of the gods’ eventual destruction, standing in direct contrast to Sleipnir (Faulkes 1982, 27, 53–54). They are destructive, useful only for disrupting Æsir society; and are bound, tolerated only when they stay in their prescribed spheres (the ocean, Fenrir’s bonds, and Niflheim, respectively). Sleipnir, on the other hand, is vitally useful for the society of the Æsir, and is able to permeate the boundaries between worlds (Loumand 2006, 133). In both Snorra Edda and eddic tradition, Sleipnir is used to cross geo­ graphical and metaphysical boundaries (Faulkes 1982, 46; Baldrs draumar in Jónas Kristjánsson and Vésteinn Ólason 2014a, 2). But despite being Loki’s son, Sleipnir is not referred to as such; instead, he is consistently referred to as Óðinn’s horse (Faulkes 1982, 17, 34, 46). Such a description suggests that Loki was understood in poetic tradition to have given his son to Óðinn. This gift not only provides Óðinn with a superlatively talented horse, but more spe-

cifically with the means to extend the survival and high status of the society of the Æsir. The exchange of Sleipnir as a gift is also useful for Loki himself, as it enables him to reassert his productive position in this group in which he holds a precarious role.9 Unfortunately, other than the story of his conception, and brief mentions in eddic poetry as enabling persons to travel to different realms, Sleipnir appears little in extant Norse poetic and literary traditions; and features only in skaldic poetry as a member of groups of famous horses (presumably compiled to provide poets with data with which to construct kennings), and as a placeholder for ‘horse’ in such kennings. His presence in kennings for ships and gallows emphasizes his mediatory role between worlds (land/sea, dead/alive): however, this is a role that can be ascribed to all horses that provide swift and transformative methods of travel to their para-animal partners.10 Grani, the horse of Sigurðr Fáfnisbani in eddic and saga tradition, is such an animal. Likewise depicted as the most useful of animals, Grani is, according to Vǫlsunga saga, descended from Sleipnir, and Sigurðr is assured ‘hann verðr hverjum hesti betri’ (he will become better than every horse; Finch 1965, 24).11 This horse accompanies Sigurðr on his greatest adventures, and is vital for his success as a hero. Without Grani, Sigurðr would not have been able to transport (and subsequently enjoy) Fáfnir’s gold, referred to as the hliðfarm Grana (the burden of Grani; Oddrúnargrátr in Jónas Kristjánsson and Vésteinn Ólason 2014f, 21), nor ride through the circle of fire disguised as Gunnarr to win Brynhildr (Vǫlsunga saga, ch. 29; Finch 1965). The placement of Sigurðr on Grani’s back indicates his wealth and renowned exploits in the eddic poems, and the hero

9 Loki’s precarity has been suggested as a result of his mixed parentage as the offspring of a male giant and (perhaps) a member of the Ásynjurnar, which Clunies Ross (1994, 101) has suggested is an unnatural pairing as opposed to the more acceptable male Ás–female giant pairing that produced figures such as Þórr. His role as (arguably) the main troublemaker for the Æsir also places him in a negative social position, although Allison Wolf (2020) and many others (for example, Davidson 1993; Bonnetain 2013; and de Vries 1970 [1935–1937]) have explored Loki’s status as a trickster or mediatory figure. As a mediatory figure, his actions can be seen as having neither a positive nor negative impact, instead balancing themselves out and moving things forward (Schjødt 1981; Bonnetain 2013; for an overview of scholarship on Loki, see Schjødt 2020). In this view, preserved in its entirety in the fourteenth-century Flateyjarbók Loki’s birthing of Sleipnir is simply a counteraction necessitated manu­script), which provides no details of the conception or by Loki getting the Æsir into trouble in the first place by the nature of Svaðilfari (Hyndluljóð in Jónas Kristjánsson and persuading them to take the builder up on his terms. Vésteinn Ólason 2014d, 467). Lokasenna (sts 23 and 33) refers to Loki having borne children, which may be a further reference to 10 For the use of Sleipnir in a kenning for the gallows, see Marold 2012; for ship see Marold 2017a; 2017b, and for inclusion in lists of the conception and birth of Sleipnir, although the specifics are horses, see Gurevich 2017a; 2017b. not included in either case (Lokasenna in Jónas Kristjánsson and 11 All translations are the authors’ own unless otherwise specified. Vésteinn Ólason 2014e, 413–14).

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and horse are almost always together in these texts. Even once Sigurðr has been killed, in all but one of the poems of the Sigurðr cycle his death is reported alongside the fate of Grani, or Grani’s reaction to the killing.12 While Grani’s relationship to Sigurðr is presented as a productive partnership in which he provides a valuable service, like Sleipnir to the Æsir, in some cases an emotional attachment is also indicated between the two. In Guðrúnarkviða II, Guðrún describes how: Gekk ek grátandi við Grana rœða, úrughlýra, jó frák spjalla; hnipnaði Grani þá, drap í gras hǫfði, jór þat vissi eigendr né lifðut (Guðrúnarkviða II in Jónas Kristjánsson and Vésteinn Ólason 2014c, 353)

(I went weeping to converse with Grani; wetcheeked, I asked the horse for news; downcast, Grani let his head hang down into the grass, the horse knew that his master was not living.) In these lines, not only is there a communicative relationship between Guðrún and Grani, but an emotional one between Grani and Sigurðr, represented by Grani’s mourning of his fallen para-animal partner. The same emotional depiction is found in Brot af Sigurðarkviðu: ‘gnapir æ grár jór | yfir gram dauðum’ (the grey horse bows his head always over the dead prince; Brot af Sigurðarkviðu in Jónas Kristjánsson and Vésteinn Ólason 2014b, 325). In both cases, the death of Sigurðr elicits a physical diminishment of the horse through the bowing of the head, as if one cannot continue without the other. In these stories of both Grani and Sleipnir, the entwining of horse and non-horse figures produces positive, co-constituting partnerships, and particularly in the case of Grani, provides a poetic subject suitable for an emotional connection. Late Viking Age icono­graphy also suggests a close relationship between Grani, the treasure of Fáfnir, and Sigurðr’s method of becoming a hero, for example on the eleventh-century Ramsund carving (Sö 101) and eleventh-century Gök stone (Sö 327). The inclusion of Grani on these stones reinforces the role of the horse in the story, as bearing both Sigurðr and the fateful treasure through which he claims his place in society. In some traditions at

least, Grani is as important to the conveyance of the idea of ‘Sigurðr the hero’ as the slaying of Fáfnir or the roasting of the heart — and the legendary currency and value of such relationships may offer one possible insight to mixed burials involving horses and humans.13

Animals and Atypical Burials We have established that certain horses and certain anthropomorphic characters could be perceived in some literary traditions to have the capacity to form complex emotional, collaborative, and co-constituting relationships. This can be explored further by turning to archaeo­logical evidence, namely graves, wherein humans and animals often appear in relation with one another.14 In particular, the corpus of so-called ‘atypical burials’ across Iceland and mainland Scandinavia provides an especially helpful means by which the entanglement of animals and para-animals can be further explored.15 This approach has several benefits. First, burials are complex assemblages of actions, ideas, agents, and objects that work together to mediate the relationships between living and dead community members. In this context, the perception of animals — specifically horses — as agents in relational networks with para-animals can be helpfully expanded.16 Second, by limiting our scope to those burials considered to be atypical in some way, we

13 Toplak (this volume) suggests that the equestrian burials in Viking Age Gotland may be linked to a desire to reinforce a particular identity among certain groups especially associated with a common ancestor, and it might be speculated that the stories at the root of these efforts similarly presupposed the value of the human–horse relationship in building human prestige. 14 Note that, for this section, where we are discussing real, not imagined or narrative humans, we revert to the term ‘human’ in order to emphasize the humanity of these past people regardless of status. We will use ‘para-animal’ only in cases where both ‘human’ and ‘more-than-human’ beings or agencies are being discussed. When we return to discussing written evidence below, we will resume our use of ‘para-animal’ as our preferred term. 15 For an overview of burial with horses in Scandinavia, see Toplak (this volume). 16 Things and items that are more commonly thought of as objects today were seemingly also imbued with a sense of agency, animacy, and even personhood based on a variety of evidence. Recent and especially exciting endeavours to further explore the breadth of medi­eval ideas of personhood in non-human entities include Julie Lund’s (2017) work on animated objects, Sara Ann Knutson’s (2020) study of agentive and misbehaving objects in the mytho­logical sources, and Christina Fredengren’s (2016) interdisciplinary rumination on early beliefs about the personhood and more-than-human nature of water. For a thoughtful critique of various aspects of posthumanist approaches and object-oriented onto­logies, see Eriksen and Kay 2022. 12 Sigurðarkviða in skamma is the one poem in which we do not see this.

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can narrow our view to focus on those cases which are not easily accounted for in current interpretive models of how these relationships were structured, giving room for new ideas to take root. Finally, given long traditions of considering animals as subhuman or Other in this cultural context, atypical burials offer especially fruitful ground for comparison, since common interpretations of various types of atypical graves include the burial of slaves, transgressors, and magical practitioners.17 Against this backdrop, we can think more broadly about the status of horses before comparing the picture arising from other evidence sets. Before turning to some selected examples, however, it should be noted that atypical burial is not especially straightforward in Viking Age Scandinavian archaeo­logical evidence. The sheer variety of mortuary practices across Scandinavia alone over this period is substantial and scholars such as Svanberg (2003) have highlighted clear evidence of distinct regional and local variation in praxis. This does make the identification of atypical burials exceedingly difficult; however, scholars like Gardeła (2013a; 2017) and Ruiter and Ashby (2018), building on earlier work by Thäte (2007, 266–67), have pointed to features such as weighting and stoning, decapitation, prone burial, and other practices — especially in combination with one another — as potentially significant for identifying graves that stand out from surrounding normative mortuary practices. For our purposes here, we are especially interested in considering graves that deviate from the norm of animals being located in the foot of the grave with space between the animal and the human in the grave cut.18 To begin, we first turn to the late Iron Age and the very beginning of our chrono­logy with the recently highlighted Jarlsberg I longhouse in Vestfold, Norway,

which was burned down in the first half of the seventh century (Grindkåsa 2012; Eriksen 2019, 197–200). Marianne Hem Eriksen convincingly demonstrates a complex and intriguing enmeshment between the living, the dead, and the house by pointing to the possibly intentional burning of the house, as well as the complicated mortuary activity that followed (Eriksen 2019, 197–99). Interred along the central axis of the house was an individual with what have been called male-gendered objects including a sword, shield, and three knives (Grindkåsa 2012, 99). Eriksen, noting the location of the burial and the later erection of several burial mounds in and around the dwelling space of the house and the absence of activity around the byre section, speculates the individual may have been interred near the high-seat and could be conceivably interpreted as the leader of the household. She points to the conscious placement of the burial, the likely intentional burning of the house, the abandonment of the settlement site, and the later mortuary landscape established by the wider community as a clear example of the way that ‘the intimate relationality between certain kinds of persons and the social entity of the house’ are tightly bound up in each other (Eriksen 2019, 199). However, in establishing this interpretation, a detail is overlooked which is key to our focus here. While Eriksen is right to point out that the dwelling space — the human or para-animal realm of the longhouse — is indeed centred in the mortuary practices of the site, the interred individual is not alone in the grave. Eriksen briefly mentions that the severed head of a horse is also included in the assemblage and found in close proximity to the individual, but the animal does not feature in her interpretation of the relational network of the site. Admittedly, the horse is not directly pertinent to Eriksen’s focus in her treatment of the site, and the assumption that horses are, first and foremost, grave goods is widely attested;19 however, for us, this leaves the picture somewhat unresolved.20 This is because the entan-

17 For an especially helpful comparison of atypical burials and their interpretations in the broad regions of contemporary England, Scandinavia, and Poland, see Gardeła 2017. 18 This tendency for animals to be located at the foot of the grave, some distance from the interred human, is broadly reflected across Scandinavia and its Viking Age diaspora. It can be seen 19 While recent studies have done a great deal to include horses ubiquitously across the chamber graves at Birka (Shenk 2002), in more active ways within the interpretations of the rituals in the single case where the horse’s position in the grave was within Viking Age funerals (e.g. Rúnar Leifsson 2018; and noted in attested Scottish examples (Cooke 2016), widely across Nistelberger and others 2019; Raffield 2019a, 825; Sulas and the Icelandic evidence (Rúnar Leifsson 2018), in Norwegian others 2022; Toplak this volume), in the vast majority of cases graves like that at Gausel (Børsheim and Soltvedt 2002, 202), and these animals are still conceptualized and even overtly referred Danish graves, like the recently re-examined Fregerslev II (Sulas to as ‘grave goods’ (e.g. Nistelberger and others 2019, 115, 120) or and others 2022). This list is representative, not exhaustive. This socio-religious symbols (for discussion, see Toplak this volume). normative positioning of horses in graves is so widely occurring The few exceptions, where horses are treated as agents or social that Sikora (2003/2004, 90) provides it as the benchmark spatial persons in their own right are few and far between (e.g. Þóra relationship between horse and human in Viking Age graves in Pétursdóttir 2007; Armstrong Oma 2010; 2018; Ratican 2019a; her comparative study of the phenomenon. For a detailed recent Mazza 2020; Eriksen and Kay 2022). treatment of the placement and occurrence of animals — not 20 Eriksen investigates these connections elsewhere. Together just horses — in Viking Age graves, see Ratican 2019a, 175–215. with Kay (Eriksen and Kay 2022) she has recently explored

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Figure 5.1. Artistic reconstruction of grave A505 in Trekroner-Grydehøj in Sjælland, Denmark. Illustration by Mirosław Kuźma. Copyright Leszek Gardeła and Mirosław Kuźma.

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glements being brought into focus through the rituals at Jarlsberg extend beyond just ‘peoples’ and houses’ bio­graphies’ (Eriksen 2019, 199). Rather, while the byre of the house is not included in the mortuary activities, at least one horse is brought into intimate relationship with the individual interred in the ‘rich bio­graphical trajectory’ of the site (Eriksen 2019, 197). In light of the para-animal potential of horses in legendary and mytho­logical narratives, the bio­ graphical trajectory of the site could, it seems, be richer if we consider the inclusion of the horse in greater detail. Grindkåsa (2012, 85) notes that only the teeth of the horse were preserved and that these were fragmentary; however, based on the positioning of the teeth, it was possible to discern that the muzzle of the horse’s head faced the north, towards the byre section of the house and the horse’s head had been placed against the right side of the individual. A stone, interpreted to be amuletic, had been placed at the neck of the horse’s head, the meaning of which is unclear, though a ritualistic interpretation has been put forward and the liminal and psychopompic nature of mytho­logical horses in later medi­eval Old Norse-Icelandic texts is discussed in the interpretation (Grindkåsa 2012, 88).21 However, the placement of the horse is significant: the animal both with and apart from its companion in the grave; and the horse’s position alongside the individual in the grave but facing the byre of the house the late Iron Age and Viking Age more-than-human onto­ logical relationships between communities, animals, houses, and items — here swords — through the lens of grief and grievability. Of central concern for Eriksen and Kay is the issue that posthumanist approaches encourage onto­logical openness, but that is offset by the critical concern that the relationality revealed by these approaches does not disrupt hegemonic power structures. Certain categories of persons — be they human, or otherwise — were disposable to other categories of persons. Eriksen and Kay (2022, 10) use their critique to call for greater ethical commitment to give ‘a voice to marginalized and invisible populations of our histories’, and to recognize ‘that while swords, horses and halls could be grievable, some humans were not’. We endeavour to do some of that work here. 21 Grindkåsa (2012, 88) suggests that the placement of the stone was likely part of the rituals of the funeral and could stand in place of the missing body of the horse, as well as offer protection to both horse and rider on their journey to the realm of the dead. It should be noted, however, that the placement of the ‘amuletic’ stone and the position of the horse’s head next to the body of the individual lack other direct parallels and our readings of horses like Sleipnir above suggest that the reading of the horse as a grave good or simple means of psychopompic travel may be an oversimplification. Ratican (2019a, 191–215) also ably demonstrates that partiality of animal, or indeed human, remains in graves does not inherently divorce those remains from their conceptual wholeness, which complicates the interpretation of the stone as a stand-in for the horse’s body.

might hint at something like the liminal, transitionary, and enmeshed para-animality encountered in the cases of Sleipnir and Grani. Adding to the picture, more can be said of the entanglement of animals with a human body turning to the richly furnished and complex grave A505 from the burial ground at Trekroner-Grydehøj in Sjælland, Denmark (Ulriksen 2011; 2018; Gardeła 2017, 183–88). In the ninth century, a woman, aged twenty-five–thirty, had been laid in a comparatively deep pit, along with an assemblage of objects including a box with metal fittings, a bucket, three knives, and a curious copper-alloy object with an iron tip, interpreted as possibly being a ritual tool or staff for the magical practice of seiðr (Ulriksen 2011, 175, 178, 193, 217; 2018, 231–33; Gardeła 2016, 84–88; 2017, 183–84). However, like the grave at Jarlsberg, here too, animals are in an intimate relationship with the body of the deceased person within the same burial pit. A horse was placed partially covering the left side of the woman and a bisected dog was laid at her feet (Fig. 5.1). What is evident here is the entanglement of animal and human bodies in this grave. In the complicated web of associations and references being made by the people responsible for the mortuary practices that led to grave A505, the human and the animal are compressed, juxtaposed, and set in direct contact with each other. Not one, but several animals are brought into the human space of the grave and the equine body in particular is physically and perhaps conceptually overlaying the human body. The complexity of this burial has been commented on in a range of ways, especially in discussions of magical practice (Ulriksen 2011, 175, 178, 193, 217; 2018; Gardeła 2016, 84–88; 2017, 183–84), and indeed horses, magic, and shapeshifting do appear to have some bearing on each other in the mytho­graphic texts discussed above. However, this grave is most interesting in the present discussion because it is not unique in the ways in which it brings the human and the horse into close physical and conceptual association. The grave at Jarlsberg, discussed above, similarly demonstrates at least a portion of an equine body set directly alongside an interred individual and also exhibits a potentially magical or ritualistic element by way of the amulet stone. Burial II at Dalvík (Brimnes) in Iceland also brings these same elements together, albeit somewhat differently. The grave consists of a young horse partially overlaying a middle-aged man’s feet and Rúnar Leifsson (2018, 118–19) has argued with strong evidence that the horse had been ritually killed, decapitated, and its head finally placed atop its body.

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The broad temporal and spatial spread between gled, either physically or conceptually, and the secthese examples (from pre-Viking Age Norway to ond in which a horse is buried without a human ninth-century Zealand, to late Viking Age Iceland), companion. as well as the contextualizing medi­eval Icelandic litWhat is clear from Icelandic burials including erary sources, make direct comparisons and conhorses, is that they exhibit a diverse morpho­logy. clusions difficult.22 However, we can pause here to Horses are found in burials of both single and multiconsider some intermediary possibilities based on ple persons, and recent research by Claire F. Ratican the evidence consulted so far. In medi­eval texts, (2019b, 19–20) has highlighted the statistically signifhorses have been seen to operate as animal or even icant 15.97 per cent occurrence rate of the inclusion para-animal actors in networks; even persons in of horses associated with human burial in Icelandic their own rights. Grani, for example, is inextricably burials.23 A 2019 study by Nistelberger and others has entangled with Sigurðr as his constant companion shown these horses were predominantly male (either and the bearer of the treasure (‘Grani’s burden’) on stallions or geldings), which provides an interesting which Sigurðr’s reputation rests — and even with parallel with our textual sources in which male horses Sigurðr’s wife Guðrún with whom Grani mourns. are significantly overrepresented: it seems that male It is possible that uncommonly close relational ties horses, for riding and fighting, were highly prized, such as these, between animal and para-animal perbut expendable or, conversely, especially valued for sons, could manifest archaeo­logically with horses these funerary practices. It should be noted that the and humans being placed in direct contact with each horses in these burials were often bridled and sadother. Nonetheless, given the overwhelming domdled (Rúnar Leifsson 2018, 254–60), and Armstrong inance of horses being interred at the narrow ends Oma (2018) has suggested such equipment acted as a of grave cuts, especially in the foot of the grave, the binder between humans and horses, being a method dramatic chrono­logical distance between the medi­ of interspecies communication and a symbol of the eval Icelandic sources and the Iron Age archaeo­ horse’s ability to act and emote within human socielogical material, as well as the psychopompic nature ty.24 The involvement of riding equipment also highof horses like Sleipnir in these sources (representing lights the intense experience of interspecies learning a rather different kind of agency in relational netthat must take place between human and horse in works), no firm answers can be put forward here. order to become an effective riding unit. On the These examples do, however, suffice in suggestmost basic level, riding requires the animal to learn ing a potential sustained enmeshment of humans to respond to the body of its rider, and the rider and horses in the mortuary rituals of Scandinavian must learn to understand the horse (Maurstad and peoples from the late Iron Age to the late Viking others 2013; Armstrong Oma 2018). The inclusion Age that is remembered in later medi­eval sources. of such binders within graves enforces the primacy Though this enmeshment seems to manifest differof the human–horse relationship, and the concepently in time and place, intimate spatial relationships tual possibility of their para-animal participation between horses and humans in the grave, as well as within human society. echoes of ritualistic or magical practices — not just Given the complicated interrelationships between sacrifice, which continues to dominate current dishumans and horses pointed to above, it is clear that a course (e.g. Sulas and others 2022; Toplak, this volrethinking of the automatic categorization of horses ume; Rúnar Leifsson 2018) — provide archaeo­logical as grave goods, furnishings, or objects in an assemcorrelates to similar conceptual overlaps evident in Old Norse-Icelandic textual sources. Encouragingly, a close association of the human and the equine is 23 Of the 313 Icelandic burials included in Ratican’s study (2019a, 57; 2019b, 19–20), forty-four contained horses associated with something we find particularly in Icelandic graves single burials and six with multiple burials, although these could — and Þóra Pétursdóttir (2007, 72–75) has argued include two, or on one occasion even three horses in the grave (Ratican 2019a, 57; 2019b, 19–20). for the intentional entanglement of para-animals and animals in certain graves from a pre-Christian 24 It is possible that the deposition of bridled horses in graves indicates participation in pre-depositional rites such as drawing Icelandic context. Viking Age Iceland had two kinds the dead to the grave site, or having been ridden in a funerary of graves involving horses: the first in which a human procession (Bill 2016, 151; Hedenstierna-Jonson and Ljungkvist and equine body are assumed to have been entan2021, 240). We would add that this mode of communication 22 Though suggestions about animal agency and the associations between animals and certain categories of humans discussed by Eriksen and Kay (2022) and Ratican (2019a, 177–215) seem particularly strong.

and participation in rituals invoking more-than-human agency through ritual activity means that Armstrong Oma’s theory of binders can be extended further to facilitate social discourse between animal and para-animal beings, though we primarily see this equipment as facilitation of blurring the horse into the para-animal realm itself.

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blage is long overdue.25 Their presence in burials may be more agentive than has previously been acknowledged in the majority of cases. We do not mean to suggest that horses have not been considered as active participants in funerary rituals. Examples highlighted above clearly demonstrate the horse’s funerary ability to communicate status or identity, act as psychopomp, and even cement social relationships amongst the community. However, based on the emerging picture from our analysis here, we suggest the agency of these animals should be considered further — we should consider their inclusion amongst the community, not just in service to the community. Caution is, of course, warranted in considerations of such broad and diverse evidence; however, given the fact that scholarship often has no qualms viewing multiple horses buried together in close contact as conceptually the same for interpretive purposes, while offering important warnings about viewing multiple burials of humans in overly reductive ways, it behoves us to fully consider the ramifications of humans and horses being overlaid, juxtaposed, and treated in similar ways to one another in the grave, as well as instances in which horses seem to have been buried without evidence for any human remains at all.26 The number of graves from tenth-century Iceland where the interred individuals at the centre of the mortuary practices are equine is a small sample, but nonetheless intriguing. Nine horse graves are identified by Kristján Eldjárn, and two more are added to the corpus by Þóra Pétursdóttir (Kristján Eldjárn 1984, 7–8; Þóra Pétursdóttir 2009, 28; 2007, 34–35, 56–57, 75). Particularly worth noting is the presence

of item assemblages in some of these horse burials, including saddles and bridles, but also nails in some cases (Kristján Eldjárn 1984, 7–8; Þóra Pétursdóttir 2009, 28; 2007, 34–35, 56–57, 75; Zugaiar 2012, 84, 94, 97). These horses, as suggested by Þóra Pétursdóttir (2007, 75) in her MA thesis on the material culture of Icelandic burials, can be seen as operating within human–animal networks of relations: not just economic, prestige, or symbolic networks, but bio­ graphical networks of companionship and loyalty, even partnership. The inclusion of saddles and bridles in such graves also highlights the relationships of these animals with humans through Armstrong Oma’s (2018) concept of binders. These horses appear to be buried in a similar way to human figures, including the raising of stone settings and other markers, strongly suggesting that at least some of these animals might have been considered animal- or even para-animal-persons, rather than objects. However, the diversity of horse graves does not stop there. In Iceland we also find the disarticulation and mixing of horse bodies, instances in which the horses’ heads were cut off (perimortem as well as postmortem but pre-deposition) and the decapitated heads placed in a variety of positions (for example, the burials at Hrífunes Kt-155.4, and Brimnes, Dalvík Kt-89.2, -89.12–13) (Kristján Eldjárn 2000, 163–70; 199–200; 246; 308–11; Þóra Pétursdóttir 2007, 34; Rúnar Leifsson 2018). In the wider context of Viking Age burials, these graves are atypical in every sense of the word and have some resonances with the atypical human burials that have been discussed in terms of apotropaism, bondage or status, and punishment (cf. Zachrisson 2003; 2014; Gardeła 2013a; 2013b; 2017; Ruiter and Ashby 2018). The positioning of equine bodies near or upon the feet of associated interred humans, the inclusion of disarticulated equine bodies, the decapitation and placement of equine crania in the grave, and their atypical placement at, for example, Hrífunes burial IV are all comparable with praxis enacted also on human bodies in the corpus of Viking Age atypical burials from across the Scandinavian diaspora. It would appear that here, too, we may be seeing evidence for the practical manifestations of a conceptual overlap of equine and human persons, or at least certain categories of human persons, such as slaves.27 The prevailing picture of Scandinavian societies in the Viking Age suggests that personhood and bondage or ownership were not necessarily mutually exclu-

25 This call for rethinking the status and agency of animals in the interpretations of Viking Age graves has recently been made by a small group of scholars including Ratican (2019a) and Eriksen and Key (2022). 26 For a particularly interesting possible model of human–animal relationships in the Viking Age, see Ratican’s (2019a, 212–15) idea of human-animal cyborgs. On the warnings about reductive interpretation of personhood and agency in multiple burial, see especially Ratican (2019a; 2019b), but also the recent revelation through DNA analysis that the two individuals in the Gerdrup grave, long thought to be a murderer and his victim or a powerful woman and a sacrificed slave, were in fact mother and son, buried together (Wenande 2020). For a fuller discussion of the grave, its history, and its possible relationship to Old Norse Icelandic sources, see Ruiter 2018, 255–57. Such exercises in considering different models and manifestations of personhood are all the more important in light of present decolonizing efforts, especially in the area of Indigenous legal revitalization where concepts of personhood are often understood very differently between colonizers and Indigenous peoples. As an example, see 27 This interpretation closely resembles some of the ideas raised by the recent decision in New Zealand to grant legal personality to Eriksen and Kay (2022) in their recent discussion of post-human the Whanganui River (Te Awa Tupua (Whanganui River Claims feminist and grievability approaches to Viking Age more-thanSettlement) Act 2017, section 14). human onto­logical relationships.

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sive social categories (e.g. Brink 2008; 2012; 2021). Owning an animal- or para-animal-person did not, seemingly, automatically reduce their personhood in this social context; however, it must be said that this in no way reduced the significant hardships and sufferings of many, if not the vast majority of, bonded persons in Viking Age societies.28 It could be suggested then that this treatment of equine bodies in burials signifies an implied relationship of servitude between the human and animal in these graves based on the interpretation of graves like the Birka Elkman, Bj 129 A/B (Holmquist-Olausson 1990).29 Or perhaps we might see here some sort of real-life Freyfaxi and Hrafnkell (the disruptive horse-human partnership in Hrafnkels saga Freysgoða discussed below), where horses as para-animal persons are ‘punished’ and buried with their respective partners, especially given the placement of decapitated heads in other burial contexts in Scandinavia (Gardeła 2013b; Ruiter and Ashby 2018).30 One thing that is clear by consulting the range of archaeo­logical evidence for horse burials in particular, is that in the complex rituals and practices that resulted in these burials, the concepts of ‘human’ and the ‘equine’ are placed in intimate relationship with each other — a relationship that challenges reductive anthropocentric interpretations of ‘personhood’, and should encourage us to think more carefully about the full range of entanglements between animal and para-animal bio­graphical networks and the many conceptual connections between them.31

Laws Considering these entanglements in a broader way — including the possibility that some of these horse graves might represent ‘punished’, enslaved, or bonded animal persons — necessitates turning to a wider range of evidence, namely the laws of medi­eval Iceland and mainland Scandinavia. Doing so can help to establish the conceptual limits of animal personhood, agency, and relationships from a normative and legalistic perspective. Animals in the Scandinavian Provincial Laws

As with the evidence sets surveyed above, the space afforded to this chapter does not allow for a detailed exploration, but a survey of the medi­eval provincial laws of Scandinavia reveals a number of provisions that draw thought-provoking parallels and connections between animals and various categories of para-animal persons in a variety of contexts. For example, alongside the archaeo­logical evidence discussed above, it is interesting to note that, in the þiuvabalker section of Äldre Västgötalagen (Schlyter and Collín 1827), the concept of hemafǫder — ‘born at home’ — is used to establish validity in disputed ownership cases of not only domesticated animals like horses, but slaves as well (Love and others 2020, 148). By comparison, wild and predatory animals like bears and wolves are considered by Gulatingsloven to be in a perpetual state of útlagr — both outlawed and outside the law — drawing further conceptual comparisons between them and transgressive categories of humans like the vargr.32 However, the comparisons and connections run deeper still. For example, the rights and responsibilities around ownership of unfree persons and domestic animals are equated in a variety of provisions, including what to do if a slave or an animal is found on another person’s property or in the wild, and the rights and responsibilities of each party in the event that animals or slaves are responsible for damages or death.33 Yet, it should be noted that ani-

28 For detailed articulations of Viking Age slavery and slave experiences based on comparative and interdisciplinary research, see Brink 2021 and Raffield 2019b. Further considerations of the legal status of slaves and animals are considered in the following section. 29 Holmquist-Olausson (1990, 181) suggests that this burial is likely the grave of a man and a sacrificed slave based on a number of features including the ritual-like deposition of an elk antler next to the man buried in a supine position in the grave, the twisted and decapitated nature of the body overlaying the first man’s legs, and the modification of the weaponry in the grave which, taken together, may suggest a ritual in response to a traumatic event. 30 Rúnar Leifsson (2018) has argued for the widespread poleaxing and bleeding of the horses in Icelandic burials, followed by 32 Vargr, literally meaning ‘wolf ’, is an outlawry term that is post mortem decapitation and special placement of the heads. ascribed to especially reprehensible categories of criminally However, in his reassessment of the Icelandic material, he transgressive individuals including murderers and arsonists. The also identifies horse burials, like Hrífunes burial IV, where the transgressiveness of these actions seems to confer an element of interred was likely to have been killed by decapitation rather than monstrous para-animality on the perpetrators. For more on this the more common method of poleaxing. The conscious decision term, see Jacoby 1974; Riisøy 2014; Ruiter 2019. to go against the grain of such a widespread practice necessitates 33 See, for example, the Manhælghis balkær section of a broader consideration of what other mortuary practices, and Västmannalagen (Schlyter and Collín 1841) for a number of their subjects, might be referred to through this decapitation. equivalencies drawn between domestic animals and unfree 31 For a recent and especially thoughtful exploration of expanded people, or provision 147 of Gulatingsloven (Keyser and Munch personhood and multiple burial based, in part, on this archaeo­ 1846b) which lays out the procedure required when animals logical material, see Ratican 2019a, 279–92. injure others. Interestingly, while Gulatingsloven situates bears

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mals and slaves are not identical in these laws. Fines often differ somewhat between the two and, in some cases, animals are given even more legal protections than unfree persons, such as is demonstrated in Frostatingsloven (Keyser and Munch 1846a) where maiming horses can result in additional fines for ‘evil intent’, ǫfundarbót, where the same is not applied to slaves (Larson 1935, 360). Furthermore, domestic animals are also considered as agents within human legal structures in Västmannalagen (Schlyter and Collín 1841). For example, in the Bygninga balkær section of the law a sort of compensation list is outlined where animal damages are categorized and set in a hierarchy of harms and related punishments as is done with human injuries elsewhere in the provincial laws: if an ox kills a cow, the law calls for half compensation, but if a cow kills an ox, no compensation can be claimed. Other provisions, such as can be found in the Manhælghis balkær section of the law, indicate that a domestic animal is more liable for damage than even a human minor or someone determined to be legally insane — suggesting perhaps that some domestic animals are considered more legally culpable and agentive than certain categories of humans for their actions. These observations, that certain animals seem to have had more legal agency and personality than a range of categories of other persons, resonate with Eriksen and Kay’s (2022) observations that posthumanist approaches can lead to unsettling revelations about the onto­ logical relationality in past societies. Animals in Grágás

Similarly, in Icelandic law some animals are assigned a certain level of legal culpability and capacity for action.34 On account of their role in the operation and survival of Icelandic society, it is hardly surprising that domestic animals were legally protected members of the Icelandic farm: for example, if a person were to harm a sheep in any way they would immediately forfeit their legal immunity (Finsen 1879, 374). However, the interest in animals in Grágás goes and wolves outside the law, domestic animals are clearly very much within it, as, when a domestic animal is responsible for an injury, the injured party is to demand the animal in the presence of witnesses and the owner must bind the animal and hand it over to the prosecuting party for justice, not unlike what the law requires in cases where a slave has caused injury. 34 Such laws, recorded largely in thirteenth-century manu­scripts, are chrono­logically somewhat between the burials discussed above, and the sagas discussed below, and provide a medium through which to consider evolving and continuous ideas of animal personhood.

beyond that of protection, appearing to treat certain animals as figures not just with agency to defy laws, jump fences, or respond to human provocation, but as figures with inter-agency. Many of these animals have legal immunity to lose, just like men, and were considered capable of directing their own actions — and perhaps being responsible for them. Grágás records a series of remarkable laws about animals, especially horses, dogs, and pigs. The laws about pigs are not necessarily interesting because of what a pig is considered capable of doing (rooting up fields), but because of the description of how men should respond to such actions. A man has the right, Grágás tells us, to kill any pig without a ring in its snout trespassing on his land. However, once the animal has been killed, the man ‘scal hylia þar hræ sva at þar falle eigi á dýr ne fuglar oc gera orð þeim er svín á’ (Finsen 1852b, 121–22; ‘must cover the body so that it falls not to animals or birds, and send word to those who own the pig’). This follows almost exactly the advice given to men who kill other men, who should ‘hylia hræ […] sva at hvarke æte fuglar ne dýr’ (Finsen 1852a, 154; ‘cover the body, so that it is eatable by neither birds nor animals’), and then send word to witnesses to alert them of the killing (Dennis and others 1980, 142–43). This similarity between the treatment of dead pigs and dead men suggests a less stable boundary than we might have otherwise assumed between the two legal actors; and the same is found when the law-books discuss legal immunity. The list of beings who possess legal immunity include free men and domestic animals. Indeed, domestic animals who were capable of killing men, such as bulls (if three winters or older), would lose their legal immunity for doing so, effectively becoming outlaws, and therefore legal entities that men could kill without incurring penalties (Finsen 1852b, 188; Dennis and others 2000, 203).35 The bulls become ‘o heilagr við averkom þegar hann viðr a monnom’ (Finsen 1852b, 188; ‘without security with regards to wounds as soon as he injures a man’); heilagr is the space within which para-animal (and animal in this case) life is sacrosanct (Kanerva 2015, 65). A further legal similarity between men and bulls is found in the stipulation that if a bull kills a man, ‘þa varðar slict sem hundr bane manne’ (Finsen 1852b, 188; ‘then it becomes such as a dog killing a man’), that is to say víg sǫk, a manslaughter case, just as a human killing another. 35 In an episode from Eyrbyggja saga, in which a bull kills a man, it is interesting to note that the animal effectively outlaws himself by leaving the farm and throwing himself into a body of water (Evans Tang 2022, 205–06).

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While dogs have both legal immunity to fortherefore, to refer again to Armstrong Oma (2018)’s feit, and act like men in killing humans, their legal binders, unbound horses may have been considered status is slightly more complex than that afforded as figures outside of the law, like the wild animals to other domestic animals. Dogs do not intrinsiof Gulatingsloven highlighted above. cally possess legal immunity themselves. They are Horses are also presented as capable of independonly transformed into legal actors with immunity by ent action in certain non-legal Old Norse texts, for being correctly leashed by a human (Finsen 1852b, example in Landnámabók, where missing horses are 187). While a dog killing a man is presented as a described as turning away from human society, rather manslaughter case then, the denial of automatic than sheep which are actively stolen by human figlegal immunity suggests that if a canine is blurred ures ( Jakob Benediktsson 1968, 114, 202). The agency into the para-animal conceptual space, it is only of horses is emphasized: they actively become lost, under very specific circumstances, and reliant on or refuse human control. Nonetheless, the preshuman participation. It is perhaps the case that the entation of animal agency varies between texts, potential wildness of unleashed dogs makes them as the same missing-horse episodes are described uneasy partners in a farming society, and therefore in both Eyrbyggja saga (Einar Ól. Sveinsson and restricts their easy assimilation into legal society in Matthías Þórðarson 1935, 33–34), and Hrómundar þáttr medi­eval Iceland. If we further apply the concept halta (Einar Ól. Sveinsson 1939, 308), but only the of binders proposed by Armstrong Oma (2018) in Hrómundar þáttr halta episode, like Landnámabók, relation to horses (and discussed above as such), it uses the verb hverfa (to turn away from), giving can be suggested that leashes and collars required the horses an active role in their disappearance. for the canine inclusion into legal society might act Depictions of animal agency evidently depended on in a similar way to the horse equipment proposed the perception or preferences of individual scribes or compilers. as binders between equine figures and their riders. Unfortunately, leashes and collars are not indicated in the Icelandic burials including dogs — at least as Hrafnkels saga Freysgoða analysed so far. It is worth noting that evidence of collars and leashes are found in Vendel-Period and Elsewhere in the Íslendingasögur, strange instances Viking-Age graves elsewhere in Scandinavia (for of animal agency, liminal statuses, and close relaexample, the boat burials at Vendel and Valsgärde), tionships with humans and other para-animal beings and so the seeming absence in Icelandic contexts abound. From the close but destructive relationmay be the result of preservation conditions or excaships between men and bulls in Eyrbyggja saga and vation methods, rather than evidence of a lack of a Brandkrossa þáttr, to the para-animal companions tradition (Gräslund 2004; Strehlau 2018; Nichols and teachers: Sámr the dog in Brennu-Njáls saga and 2021). Such equipment may also have been made Kengála the mare in Grettis saga, there is no shortage of leather alone, rather than the metal collars and of examples (Evans Tang 2021; 2022).36 As with the rings of the Scandinavian burials. previous evidence sets presented above, we do not Finally, horses seem to possess a distinct legal stahave the space here to explore all of these, or even tus in these laws, and to be ascribed inter-agency in all those just involving horses, but when thinking associating with humans. The most notable examof the legal status of animals, and their death and ple of this is found in the provisions on stray horses burial, Freyfaxi, the beloved horse of Hrafnkell in in Grágás, in which horses are described as meeting Hrafnkels saga is perhaps the perfect example of an with humans. The section begins with: ‘ef hross kømr ambiguous animal; and anthropocentric models of at manne a obygðom’ (Finsen 1852b, 65; ‘if a horse personhood have proven insufficient in clarifying comes upon a man in the wilderness’), placing the the events surrounding his actions (and how he is horse securely as the subject of the clause and the acted upon).37 The rest of this chapter will briefly instigator of the encounter: legal actors, capable of and legally entitled to act for themselves. Indeed, a man is only obliged to tether a stray horse that is 36 See also: Bourns (2021) for a discussion of the complex beisltamt (Finsen 1852b, 65; ‘used to the bridle’), suginterrelationships between animals, humans, and environments gesting that horses untamed to the bridle were underin Old Norse literature outside of the Íslendingasögur. stood to have greater freedoms in medi­eval Iceland, 37 Studies of Hrafnkels saga, often failing to consider Freyfaxi’s individual personhood when discussing his actions in the saga, and permitted to roam across the landscape withhave typically placed him solely within folkloric motifs or preout forfeiting their legal immunity. Perhaps these Christian belief systems, attributing his actions to supernatural horses, like free men, were permitted to choose their or divine agency (for example: Liestøl 1945; Condren 1973; allegiance; or perhaps these non-bridle-tamed, and Johansen 1995; Jón Hnefill Aðalsteinsson 1998; Sayers 2007;

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outline these events before presenting three different interpretations of Freyfaxi’s death, demonstrating how the consideration of the above context can lead us to approach this animal–para-animal interaction with a specific view of events in the saga. It should first be noted that Freyfaxi is presented to the saga audience as both a horse and more than a horse. Hrafnkels saga describes how Hrafnkell has such a great love for his horse that he refers to it as a great treasure,38 and vows that ‘hann skyldi þeim manni at bana verða, sem honum riði án hans vilja’ ( Jón Jóhannesson 1950, 100; ‘he would be obliged to kill that man, who rode him without his consent’). However, whose consent is required here is ambiguous — it could be Freyr (the saga states that Hrafnkell gives the god a share in the horse), Hrafnkell, or Freyfaxi himself. The saga author has Hrafnkell refer to Freyfaxi as both garpr (bold one) and fóstri (foster-kin), ascribing both human-like valour, and a kin-relationship to the animal. Based on these descriptions, it is helpful to think about Freyfaxi as an actor in a network between Hrafnkell and Freyr as a living representation of the covenant or partnership between the two, possessing both personality and personhood. To briefly summarize the pertinent events, when Hrafnkell’s shepherd, Einarr, requires a horse to look for some sheep, Freyfaxi is the only horse who does not shy away from him. Not wanting the sheep to remain unfound, Einarr disregards Hrafnkell’s warning not to ride Freyfaxi, and instead rides Freyfaxi all day, after which the horse, sweaty and angry, rolls around in the dirt, runs to Hrafnkell’s house, and ‘reports’ the unauthorized riding:

dyrrnar ok sér Freyfaxa mjǫk ókræsiligan. Hon sagði Hrafnkeli, at Freyfaxi var fyrir durum úti, mjǫk óþokkuligr. ‘Hvat mun garprinn vilja, er hann er heim kominn?’ segir Hrafnkell. ‘Eigi mun þat góðu gegna.’ Síðan gekk hann út ok sér Freyfaxa ok mælti við hann: ‘Illa þykki mér, at þú ert þann veg til gǫrr, fóstri minn, en heima hafðir þú vit þitt, er þú sagðir mér til, ok skal þessa hefnt verða. Far þú til liðs þíns.’ En hann gekk þegar upp eptir dalnum til stóðs sins. ( Jón Jóhannesson 1950, 103–04)39 (He [the horse] turned himself around some twelve times, and after that he rose up neighing greatly. Then he took off running down the path […] he was so angry, that Einarr was not able to catch him. The horse ran down into the valley and stopped at no place, before he came to Aðalból. At that moment, Hrafnkell was sat at a table and the horse neighed loudly when he came in front of the door. Hrafnkell said to a woman, who served him at the table, that she should go to the door, because a horse neighed, — ‘and it seemed to me likely to be the neighing of Freyfaxi.’ She went to the door and saw Freyfaxi in a very poor state. She said to Hrafnkell, that Freyfaxi was outside the door, greatly ill-favoured (dirty).40 ‘What will the bold one want, that he has come home?’ said Hrafnkell. ‘It will signify nothing good.’ Then he went outside and saw Freyfaxi and said to him: ‘Bad it seems to me, that you have been treated in this way, my foster-kin; but you have your reason at home when you told this to me, and this shall be avenged. Go now to your followers.’

Hann veltisk nǫkkurum tólf sinnum, ok eptir þat setr hann upp hnegg mikit. Síðan tekr hann á mikilli rás ofan eptir gǫtunum. […] hann var svá styggr, at Einarr komsk hvergi í nándir honum. Hestrinn hleypr ofan eptir dalnum ok nemr eigi 39 That Freyfaxi rolls around ‘twelve times’ may have a deeper significance; twelve certainly seems to be a symbolic number in stað, fyrri en hann kemr á Aðalból. Þá sat Hrafnkell the Old Norse world, both in sagas (e.g. twelve sorcerers, twelve yfir borðum. Ok er hestrinn kemr fyrir dyrr, hnegberserkir, twelve men dead from sorcery) and legal prescriptions gjaði hann þá hátt. Hrafnkell mælti við eina konu, (e.g. the required panel of twelve). See Price 2002 for the magical associations and Dennis and others 1980 for medi­eval Icelandic þá sem þjónaði fyrir borðinu, at hon skyldi fara legal procedure according to Grágás. til duranna, því at hross hneggjaði, – ‘ok þótti 40 An episode in Saxo Grammaticus Gesta Danorum describes mér líkt vera gnegg Freyfaxa.’ Hon gengr fram í Kuusela 2015). In Hrafnkel or the Ambiguities: Hard Cases, Hard Choices, Miller (2017) recognizes Freyfaxi’s behaviour as intentional, and even legally-minded, but even here his agentive behaviour is not wholly his own, linked as it is with divine action in Miller’s (2017, 68–69) discussion. 38 This language does not inherently diminish the personhood of Freyfaxi, as there are a range of examples of parents valuing their children, especially daughters in similar terms (e.g. Víga-Styrr in Eyrbyggja saga).

the practice of hippomancy amongst the Rugians, a Western Slavic tribe (Saxo XIV). Not only is the horse used in the divination ritual designated as the horse of the god, and exclusively for handling and riding by the priest of this deity, but a curious description of the condition of the horse is also noted: each morning the horse is found covered in mud (Saxo in Christiansen 1980, 496; see Sikora in this volume for further notes on such rituals). The muddying of Freyfaxi here, alongside his attribution to Freyr, might echo something of a memory of similar practice, but the closer links between Freyfaxi’s actions, legal procedure, and communication with Hrafnkell are more pertinent to this current paper.

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And he went from there up into the valley to his stud-mares.) Following this, Hrafnkell is as good as his word to the horse, and kills Einarr. This killing is pursued by Einarr’s relations and ultimately results in Hrafnkell losing his property in the district, and in particular losing his horses to his enemies, who then ‘judge’ and execute Freyfaxi: Þjóstarssynir létu senda eptir Freyfaxa ok liði hans ok kváðusk vilja sjá gripi þessa, er svá gengu miklar sǫgur af. Þá váru hrossin heim leidd. Þeir brœðr líta á hrossin. Þorgeirr mælti: ‘Þessi hross lítask mér þǫrf búinu. Er þat mitt ráð, at þau vinni slíkt, er þau megu, til gagnsmuna, þangat til er þau megu eigi betri en aðrir hestar, heldr því verri, at margt illt hefir af honum hlotizk. Vil ek eigi, at fleiri víg hljótisk af honum en áðr hafa af honum orðit. Mun þat nú makligt, at sá taki við honum, er hann á.’ Þeir leiða nú hestinn ofan eptir vellinum. Einn hamarr stendr niðr við ána, en fyrir framan hylr djúpr. Þar leiða þeir nú hestinn fram á hamarinn. Þjóstarssynir drógu fat eitt á hǫfuð hestinum, taka síðan hávar stengr ok hrinda hestinum af fram, binda stein við hálsinn ok týndu honum svá. ( Jón Jóhannesson 1950, 123–24) (The Þjóstarssons sent for Freyfaxi and his followers and said amongst themselves they wanted to see this treasure, about whom were told such great stories. Then the horses were led home. The brothers looked at the horses. Þorgeirr said: ‘These horses look to me necessary to use at the farmstead. It is my advice that they work such that they are able, as useful things, until they are not able to be better than other horses; in comparison that other is worse, and much ill has come from him. I do not wish that more killings should result from him as they have done. It will now be proper, that the one who owns him [i.e. Freyr] should take him.’ They led the horse down out of the field. A certain cliff stood down by the river, and in front of it was a deep pool. They led the horse forwards to the cliff. The Þjóstarssons pulled a piece of clothing over the head of the horse, and then took long poles and pushed the horse forwards from them, bound a stone against his neck, and he lost his life in this way.) We can see here that Freyfaxi is found wanting when assessed by the Þjóstarssons. If this assessment were to be based on the utility of the horses, it might be suggested that Freyfaxi should have been kept, after all, the saga has emphasized how excellent he is for

riding — one of the three most valuable types of horse, as explicated by Grágás (Finsen 1852b, 194). Einarr selected Freyfaxi to ride solely because he was the least shy and most approachable horse among the herd: ‘Ok er hann kom til hrossanna, þá elti hann þau, ok váru þau nú skjǫrr, er aldri váru vǫn at ganga undan manni, nema Freyfaxi einn. Hann var svá kyrr sem hann væri grafinn niðr’ ( Jón Jóhannesson 1950, 103) (And when he came to the horses, he pursued them, and they were now shy, those who were not accustomed to being ridden, except Freyfaxi alone. He was so quiet as if he were rooted in the ground). The timid, unapproachable nature of the stud mares, unused to being ridden or worked, would, one would suspect, make them useless for farm work, and stands in stark contrast to Freyfaxi’s excellence in being ridden. While this interaction has been perceived as Freyfaxi provoking Einarr into riding him (Miller 2017) — an act which itself would imply agency and perhaps even personhood — it may simply reflect Freyfaxi’s nature and familiarity with humans. In which case, the Þjóstarssons had something other than utility in mind when they sentenced Freyfaxi to death. There are three ways to read these events and understand Freyfaxi’s actions and eventual demise. On first reading of the saga, we see that Freyfaxi is given a role to play within a human feud. In these episodes, someone (either Freyr, Hrafnkell, or Freyfaxi, or some combination thereof ) is wronged, and Hrafnkell avenges this wrong by killing Einarr. Freyfaxi is then killed in response to the killing of Einarr. In this view, it is not so much Freyfaxi’s actions that have merited his death but his close association or entanglement — fóstri — with Hrafnkell. In this reading, it is intriguing that Freyfaxi is considered to possess enough personhood to be a suitable figure to kill as part of the ‘rules’ of para-animal feud. Freyfaxi even appears to be judged by the Þjóstarssons at a homefield-court, and judged the most suitable of the horses to be killed, with the other horses being acquitted (if we stick to our legal language) and put to work. From this perspective, his death is perhaps an attempt to restore the balance of the social economics of the episode. However, this interpretation may be taken further and, rather than just a victim of the feud that Hrafnkell triggers, Freyfaxi may be seen as the instigator himself. He appears to offer consent for Einarr to ride him, and then, as Miller suggests, rolls around to coat himself with dirt, travels to Aðalból, and effectively registers his displeasure at having been over-ridden, causing Hrafnkell to take revenge (Miller 2017, 69). In this interpretation, Freyfaxi is actively engaging with the para-animal

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social networks in which he is entangled to draw on Hrafnkell’s self-expressed kinship relations with him to cause injury to Einarr. Nonetheless, there is a yet additional possibility to consider: Freyfaxi is not only presented as a plausible actor in human feud cycles and an instigator of human social action, but also as a para-animal figure himself, aware of and engaging with human legal structures. Freyfaxi’s actions after Einarr’s dismounting are the correct procedure following the receipt of an injury and the pursuit of a legal case. As Hrafnkell’s fóstri, Freyfaxi is behaving in a legally expected and correct way in that he reports his ‘injury’ to Hrafnkell, the head of the household and the local goði. In his capacity as principal in the case, Hrafnkell then proceeds with a quasi-legal solution to the ‘dispute’ at hand. Hrafnkell’s actions can be considered as potentially out of step with legal expectations, but Freyfaxi appears to have behaved in line with legal requirements based on chapter 94 of the Vígslóði (Treatment of Homicide) section in the Konungsbók manu­ script of Grágás (Dennis and others 1980, 158). Like a responsible member of society, Freyfaxi returns to the head of his household and attempts to gather support for his cause. In this interpretation then, it is Hrafnkell, who, in line with his overbearing nature, causes all the trouble. Hrafnkell, as he had vowed to do, takes the law into his own hands, as he has done for previous wrongdoings.41 Nonetheless, the blurring of animal and para-animal in Freyfaxi’s actions through the use of legal and social structures is less than positively received by the wider community depicted in the saga. The way in which Freyfaxi’s death is depicted, suggests similarities with killings of other transgressive figures (such as disruptive magic-users) in the sagas, as his method of execution involves the leading of the person to be killed from the homeplace and killing on a cliff with a textile item over their head. Similar methods are used in Eyrbyggja saga (ch. 20) and Laxdœla saga (ch. 38) to remove transgressive elements from society. It could be speculated that Freyfaxi’s entanglement between the animal (his stud mares) and the para-animal — both human (Hrafnkell) and more-than-human (Freyr) — makes him a particularly ambiguous actor who was perceived as needing to be dealt with in ways similar to magical practitioners who likewise blur these boundaries. What is clear is that the compiler of the saga held both a belief in the capabilities of animals to perform and enact what we could 41 Hrafnkels saga (ch. 2) suggests Hrafnkell always dealt unfairly with men outside of his district, and in chapter 7, Hrafnkell him­self emphasizes his habit of never paying compensation for killings.

consider as ‘human’ social roles, and, based on the societal reaction presented in the episode, a belief in the undesirability or disruption of such blurring. Here again we see a juxtaposition of elements relating to supernatural power, animal–para-animal blurring, and especially the animal personhood of the horse, a juxtaposition that appears to consistently manifest in both textual and archaeo­logical evidence.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that the close association and blurring of domestic animal and para-animal persons is a feature that occurs across archaeo­ logical, legal, and literary sources from the Viking Age and medi­eval North, particularly in respect to horses — and such blurring may be rooted in ideas of cross-species exchanges of knowledge and learning. Certain domestic animals, as creatures with whom Viking Age Scandinavians and medi­eval Icelanders would have interacted on a daily basis, are likely to have formed affective relationships with their human partners, and especially close, working contact with these animals would have undoubtedly enabled, indeed required, such exchanges. As highlighted above in our discussion of Armstrong Oma’s theory of binders, the horse is a prime example of an animal involved in interspecies learning. Through riding, the horse offers the rider the opportunity to become something else, a human-with-animal, and the human offers the horse the opportunity to become an ambiguous animal, an animal-with-human (Despret 2004), or even a para-animal. The human and the animal collaborate to become a single effective unit, but this relationship, co-created in training and riding, seemingly remained once the equestrian equipment was removed based on the evidence surveyed here. In our examples discussed above, the perception of animals possessing legal understanding and legal personality could have developed through the practice of such interspecies learning, as well as the understandings in our texts of horses committing acts of grieving, provocation, and social responsibility evidently learned from their human partners. Being with horses enables such ideas about them. The close relationships required for this learning to take place would also have enforced strong bonds between the human and horse, co-creating personal and familial bio­ graphies and identities that encouraged their inclusion within para-animal mortuary practices — as sacrifices or symbols, yes, but seemingly also as categories of persons in their own rights — cementing, creating, or recreating memories of collabora-

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tive relationships. Such cross-species blurring challenges anthropocentric methods of interpretation that have dominated these studies and enables us to read material, whether textual or archaeo­logical, in a way that centres animals, explores potential beliefs in their capabilities and agentive natures across our time period, and opens new avenues for richer discussions of personhood today.

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Mazza, Selene. 2020. ‘New Land, Old Customs? Viking-Age Graves with Animal Remains from Scotland’, Scandia: Journal of Medi­eval Norse Studies, 3: 261–94 Miller, William Ian. 2017. Hrafnkel or the Ambiguities: Hard Cases, Hard Choices (Oxford: Oxford University Press) Nichols, Christopher. 2021. ‘Domestic Dog Skeletons at Valsgärde Cemetery, Uppland, Sweden: Quantification and Morpho­ logical Reconstruction’, Journal of Archaeo­logical Science: Reports, 36 Pedersen, Anne. 2021. ‘Equestrian Burial in Viking-Age Denmark’, in Merethe Schifter Bagge (ed.), Horse and Rider in the Late Viking Age: Equestrian Burial in Perspective (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press), pp. 129–40 Peterson, Anna. 2016. ‘Religious Studies and the Animal Turn’, History of Religions, 56.2: 232–45 Price, Neil S. 2002. The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia (Uppsala: Department of Archaeo­logy and Ancient History, Uppsala University) Raffield, Ben. 2019a. ‘Playing Vikings. Militarism, Hegemonic Masculinities, and Childhood Enculturation in Viking Age Scandinavia’, Current Anthropo­logy, 60.6: 813–35 —— . 2019b. ‘The Slave Markets of the Viking World: Comparative Perspectives on an “Invisible” Archaeo­logy’, Slavery and Abolition, 40.4: 682–705 Ratican, Claire F. 2019a. ‘The Other Body: Persons in Viking Age Multiple Burials in Scandinavia and the Western Diaspora’, i (unpublished doctoral thesis, Cambridge University) —— . 2019b. ‘The Other Body: Persons in Viking Age Multiple Burials in Scandinavia and the Western Diaspora’, ii (unpublished doctoral thesis, Cambridge University) Riisøy, Anne Irene. 2014. ‘Outlawry: From Western Norway to England’, in Stefan Brink and Lisa Collinson (eds), New Approaches to Early Scandinavian Law, Acta Scandinavica, 3 (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 101–29 Ruiter, Keith. 2018. ‘Mannjafnaðr: A Study of Normativity, Transgression, and Social Pragmatism in Medi­eval Scandinavia’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Aberdeen) —— . 2019. ‘A Deviant Word Hoard: A Study of Non-Normative Terms in Early Medi­eval Scandinavia’, in Jakub Morawiec, Aleksandra Jochymek, and Grzegorz Bartusik (eds), Social Norms in Medi­eval Scandinavia, Beyond Medi­eval Europe (Leeds: ARC Humanities Press), pp. 201–12 —— . 2020. ‘Berserks Behaving Badly: Manipulating Normative Expectations in Eyrbyggja saga’, in Roland Scheel (ed.), Narrating Law and Laws of Narration in Medi­eval Scandinavia, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 117 (Berlin: De Gruyter), pp. 171–84 Ruiter, Keith, and Steven P. Ashby. 2018. ‘Different Strokes: Judicial Violence in Viking-Age England and Scandinavia’, Viking and Medi­eval Scandinavia, 14: 153–84 Rúnar Leifsson. 2012. ‘Evolving Traditions: Horse Slaughter as Part of Viking Burial Customs in Iceland’, in Aleksander Pluskowski (ed.), The Ritual Killing and Burial of Animals: European Perspectives (Oxford: Oxbow), pp. 184–94 —— . 2018. ‘Ritual Animal Killing and Burial Customs in Viking Age Iceland’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Iceland) —— . 2021. ‘Horse Killing and Burial in Viking-Age Iceland’, in Anne Pedersen and Merethe Schifter Bagge (eds), Horse and Rider in the Late Viking Age: Equestrian Burial in Perspective (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press), pp. 261–70 Samson, Vincent. 2011. Les Berserkir: les guerriers-fauves dans la Scandinavie ancienne, de l’Âge de Vendel aux Vikings (vie-xie siècle) (Villeneuve-d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion) —— . 2020. Die Berserker: Die Tierkrieger des Nordens von der Vendel- bis zur Wikingerzeit, trans. by Anne Hoffman (Berlin: De Gruyter) Sayers, William. 2007. ‘Ethics or Pragmatics; Fate or Chance; Heathen, Christian, or Godless World? (Hrafnkels saga)’, Scandinavian Studies, 79: 385–404 Schjødt, Jens Peter. 1981. ‘Om Loke endnu engang’, Arkiv för nordisk filo­logi, 96: 49–86 —— . 2020. ‘Loki’, in Jens Peter Schjødt, John Lindow, and Anders Andrén (eds), The Pre-Christian Religions of the North: History and Structures (Turnhout: Brepols), pp. 1247–71 Shapiro, Kenneth. 2020. ‘Human-Animal Studies: Remembering the Past, Celebrating the Present, Troubling the Future’, Society & Animals, 28.7: 797–833 Shenk, Peter. 2002. ‘To Valhalla by Horseback? Horse Burial in Scandinavia during the Viking Age’ (unpublished master’s thesis, University of Oslo) Sikora, Maeve. 2003. ‘Diversity in Viking Age Horse Burial: A Comparative Study of Norway, Iceland, Scotland and Ireland’, The Journal of Irish Archaeo­logy, 12/13: 87–109 Simek, Rudolf. 1993. Dictionary of Northern Mytho­logy (Cambridge: Brewer) Strehlau, Hannah. 2018. ‘Animals in Burial Contexts: An Investigation of Norse Rituals and Human-Animal Relationships during the Vendel Period and Viking Age in Uppland, Sweden’ (unpublished master’s thesis, Uppsala Universitet)

5. e x p lo r i n g an i m al s as ag e nt s and o b ject s i n e arly me d i e­ val i ce land and scandinav ia

Sulas, Federica, Merethe Schifter Bagge, Renée Enevold, Loïc Harrault, Søren Munch Kristiansen, Thomas Ljungberg, Karen B. Milek, Peter Hambro Mikkelsen, Peter Mose Jensen, Vana Orfanou, Welmoed A. Out, Marta Portillo, and Søren Michael Sindbæk. 2022. ‘Revealing the Invisible Dead: Integrated Bio-geoarchaeo­logical Profiling Exposes Human and Animal Remains in a Seemingly “Empty” Viking-Age Burial’, Journal of Archaeo­logical Science, 141: 1–16 Sundkvist, Anneli. 2004. ‘Herding Horses: A Model of Prehistoric Horsemanship in Scandinavia – and Elsewhere?’, in Barbro Santillo Frizell (ed.), Pecus: Man and Animal in Antiquity (Rome: Swedish Institute in Rome), pp. 241–49 Svanberg, Fredrik. 2003. Death Rituals in South-East Scandinavia ad 800–1000: Decolonizing the Viking Age, ii, Acta archaeo­ logica Lundensia Series in 4o, 24 (Lund: Almqvist & Wiksell) Torfing, Lisbeth. 2016. ‘Genstandsnavne, genstandsliv. En biografisk undersøgelse af navngivne genstande i norrøn kultur’ (unpublished doctoral thesis, Aarhus Universitet) Ulriksen, Jens. 2011. ‘Spor af begravelseritualer i jordfæstegrave i vikingetidens Danmark’, KUML, 2011: 161–245 —— . 2018. ‘A Völva’s Grave at Roskilde, Denmark’, Offa: Berichte und Mitteilungen zur Urgeschichte, Frühgeschichte und Mittelalterarchäo­logi, 71/72: 229–40 Wenande, Christian. 2020. ‘DNA Testing Sheds Light on Old Viking Murder Mystery’, CPH Post, 6 October 2020 [accessed 10 October 2022] Wolf, Allison. 2020. ‘The Liminality of Loki’, Scandinavian-Canadian Journal / Études scandinaves au Canada, 27: 106–13 Zachrisson, Torun. 2003. ‘De osynliggjorda – om trälar i arkeo­logisk forskning’, in Thomas Lindkvist and Janken Myrdal (eds), Ofria i agrarsamhället från vikingatid till medeltid, Skrifter om skogs- och landbrukshistoria, 17 (Stockholm: Nordiska museet), pp. 88–102 —— . 2014. ‘Trälar fanns – att synliggöra ofria 550–1220 e.Kr. i Sverige’, in Anne Carlie (ed.), Att befolka det förflutna: Fem artiklar om hur vi kan synliggöra människan och hennes handlingar i arkeo­logiskt material (Stockholm: Riksantikvarieämbetet), pp. 72–91 Þóra Pétursdóttir. 2007. ‘“Deyr fé, deyja frændr”. Re-animating Mortuary Remains from Viking Age Iceland’ (unpublished master’s thesis, University of Tromsø) —— . 2009. ‘Icelandic Viking Age Graves: Lack in Material – Lack of Interpretation?’, Archaeo­logia Islandica, 7: 22–40

Other Sources Te Awa Tupua (Whanganui River Claims Settlement) Act 2017, New Zealand Ministry of Justice, 20 March 2017 [accessed 10 October 2022]

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6. Horse Burials on Viking Age Gotland Between Mounted Warriors and Totemic Animals Introduction — Gotland Is Different Lying in the Baltic Sea around 90 km east of the Swedish mainland, the island of Gotland — nowadays a Swedish province — must be regarded as cultural area of its own, clearly separated from Scandinavia while being the central bridgehead to the eastern Baltic. The society of Viking Age Gotland cultivated a distinct identity which is reflected in particular dress accessories such as animal-head brooches (Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 19) or belts with ornamental tassels or lamellar styled mounts (Geijer and Arbman 1940; Ģinters 1981, 16–19; Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 147), as well as depicted on the unique picture stones (Lindqvist 1941–1942; Nylén and Lamm 1978; Karnell 2012; Oehrl 2019) and in distinctive burial rites. The most striking aspect is the absence of ship burials (Andrén 1993, 43–46; Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 579),1 which is especially remarkable as the island is literally dotted with more than four hundred ship settings from the Bronze Age (Wehlin 2013). In contrast, ships are the central image on many picture stones, probably reflecting the common belief surrounding ships as vessels for the journey into the afterlife (Oehrl 2019, 288) and therefore substituting for ship burials or ship settings (Andrén 1989, 306–09; 1993, 43–46). A similar but less distinct peculiarity in the Gotlandic burial rite is the discrepancy between the depiction of riders or mounted warriors on Gotlandic picture stones, often armed with shield and spear,2 and the low number of burials with horses on Gotland.

1 Rydh’s 1931 interpretation of several hollows as Viking Age boat graves on the island of Stora Karlsö, 6 km west of Gotland, has been dismissed by most scholars. See Thunmark-Nylén 2000, 134. 2 e.g. Lärbro Tängelgårda I (shield); Lokrume K:a (shield); Stenkyrka Lillbjärs I (shield and spear); Stenkyrka Lillbjärs III (shield); Halla Broa III (shield and spear); Buttle Änge I (shield); Klinte Hunninge I (shield and spear); Garda Bote (spear).

Equestrian Burials and Burials with Horses in Viking Age Society The common termino­logy for graves with horses or riding equipment seems to be insufficient or even misleading when discussing Viking Age Gotland. It anticipates an interpretation of the symbolic meaning in the same way as the term ‘warrior grave’ for burials with weapons intermingles both concrete and symbolic functions of weapons as well as the differentiation between burials as intentionally created ‘tableaux’ and actual reality. According to Braathen (1989, 5) and Pedersen (2014), equestrian burials are defined as burials with spurs and/or stirrups, regardless of the presence of horses. As both groups of artefacts are absent in Viking Age graves on Gotland (see below), this termino­logy is inapplicable for the present study. An expanded definition of equestrian burials which includes all burials with every kind of horse-related artefact would insinuate a homogeneity that cannot be deduced from the material. Bridles or horse combs are first of all referring to the animal or the associated symbolism, not principally or exclusively to the aspect of riding or locomotion. Because of this termino­ logical vagueness, the term equestrian burial will be replaced by more concrete definitions such as horse burials, burials with horse bones, and burials with horse-related artefacts. ‘Horse-related artefacts’ in turn is used as a superordinate concept for general equipment for horses (bits, fittings and mounts for bridles, horse combs, crampons) as well as for special riding equipment (stirrups, spurs, and saddle mounts) and fittings for draught animals (horse-collar crests and mounts for horse harnesses and hooks or rivets for wagons).3

3 See Sundkvist 2001, 9–35.

Matthias S. Toplak ([email protected]) is a Postdoctoral Researcher and head of the Viking Museum Haithabu, Schleswig-Holstein State Museums Foundation Schloss Gottorf. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 103–126 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132518

FHG

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Figure 6.1. Chamber grave Bj 752 B in Birka; equestrian burial at the cemetery of Hemlanden 1C, equipped with sword, spear, shield, as well as a horse and horse-related artefacts such as a bridle-bit, spurs, and stirrups. After Arbman 1940, 1943, 273, fig. 221.

assemblages with riding equipment and weapons suitable for mounted combat — but not necessarily with a horse (Pedersen 2011, 52) — reflecting the ideal of the equestrian warrior.4 These ryttergraver appeared especially in the tenth century in Denmark (MüllerWille 1972, 161–62; Stoumann 2009; Pedersen 2014; Lemm 2016), reflecting social and political changes and were interpreted as representing mounted warriors with military obligations towards an emerging state (Pedersen 1997a, 171; 1997b, 132–33; 2011, 59–61; 2014, 240).5 A similar development can be observed in the tenth century in Vestfold in Norway (Braathen 1989; Grøtberg 2007, 40), in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries on the Sambian Peninsula (Shiroukhov 2013, 251), in the tenth and eleventh centuries in the Piast state and Pomerania (Gardeła and others 2019a; Gardeła and others 2019b; Sikora, this volume). A discrete proto-urban dimension of this trend is the tenth century in Birka where such graves are associated with the establishment of the so-called Garrison (Holmquist 2016, 29) and an emerging class of warriors (Androshchuk 2009, 97; see also Hedenstierna-Jonson 2006). Such graves might have belonged to the royal hirð (Duczko 2000, 21; Sundkvist 2001, 198) and were buried in some of the outstanding chamber graves (Fig. 6.1). Even though this distinct association of horses with the sphere of male martial activities dominates the perception of horse burials, the overall picture is much more nuanced. Beside the presence of a large number of horses in high-status graves such as the famous ship burials of Oseberg, Gokstad, Tune, or Borre (Brøgger and others 1917, 222; Brøgger and Shetelig 1951, 82; Shenk 2002, 57) or the boat burials of Vendel and Valsgärde (Gräslund 1980, 42; Lundström 1980a; 1980b; Sundkvist 2001), horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts are common grave goods in male- as well as in female-gendered graves and even in average burials (Sikora 2003–2004, 87), at least from the Viking Age onwards (see Iregren 1972, 79; Gräslund 1980, 43; Meling 2000; Leifsson 2018, 54–55).6

Burials with horses, horse bones, and horse-related equipment are known from the entire Viking world (Müller-Wille  1972; 1977; Braathen  1989; Pedersen  1997a; 1997b; 2014; Shenk  2002; Sikora 2003–2004; Loumand 2006; Leifsson 2012b; 2018; Stelter 2013; Simonsson and Lihammer 2015; Sikora, this volume). However, the focus of research was mainly on impressive burials of male-gendered

4 See especially the impressive works of Erik Nylén 1972–1973; 1980–1982. 5 Interestingly, around a third of these mounted warriors were buried in older grave mounds, see Pedersen 2006, 348. This might have been intended as a construction of continuity, literally ‘inscribing’ the deceased into local history. This association with local history and traditions should thereby provide the deceased, their families, and probably also the local authorities with legitimacy and status. See Fahlander 2016 and Toplak 2018, 80–83; 2020; 2023. 6 One of the first graves with horse and horse-related artefacts in Scandinavia is the burial mound at Högom, dating to the late fifth or early sixth century. See Ramqvist 1992.

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In late Iron Age Norway, the distribution of horses and riding equipment in burials ranges regionally between just a few per cent in Nordland to more than 60 per cent in Vestfold, with most of those burials dating to the Viking Age (Leifsson 2018, 53–54).7 Among those Viking Age burials with horses, the distribution between the sexes — based on grave goods — is almost equal (Leifsson 2018, 55). Furthermore, investigations of the graves in Vestland showed that around 18 per cent of all female-gendered and 25 per cent of all male-gendered burials contained bits, which might be regarded as further indication for the presence of horses (Eldjárn and Friðriksson 2016, 310–11), as the example of the cemetery of Gulli in Vestfold shows. With one exception,8 riding equipment was only found in graves with a horse (Gjerpe 2005). However, as some Danish ryttergraver (Pedersen 2014, 177, table 6.2) as well as a few chamber burials from Birka 9 attest, bits or other riding equipment as grave goods do not necessarily require horses. In Kaupang, horses appear in 19 per cent of all graves, and according to the grave goods more often in female than in male burials (in 28 per cent of all female-gendered and 18 per cent of all male-gendered burials) (Leifsson 2018, 44–45). Closer investigation of burials with horses in Viking Age Norway illustrates that — in contrast to the preceding Migration and Vendel periods (Engström 1994; Meling 2000, 85–103; Leifsson 2018, 56) — the traditional association of horses with masculinity and warfare is far too simplistic,10 even though the classical ryttergraver also existed in the Norwegian Viking Age (Braathen 1989; Grøtberg 2007, 40). In Iceland, horses are a frequent element in burials and appear in 41 per cent of all currently known graves from the Viking Age (Leifsson 2018, 229; Nistelberger and others 2019) with a nearly equal distribution between the sexes (33 per cent of all female-gendered burials to 40 per cent of all male-gendered burials) (Leifsson 2018, 303). The horses are often equipped with bits and artefacts or

fragments that might be interpreted as the remains of saddles, while spurs and stirrups are completely lacking (Leifsson 2018, 254–59).11 In contrast to many equestrian burials in Norway and especially the ryttergraver, weapons are rare in the Icelandic graves with horses (Leifsson 2018, 24): they are often limited to axes or spears and are less standardized than the armament of the Danish ryttergraver or the ‘warrior’ burials in Birka’s chamber graves (Sikora 2003–2004, 94). This extensive occurrence of horses in graves of male- and female-gendered individuals and the low proportion of weapons manifest a distinctly different symbolic function of horses in the burial ceremonies of Viking Age Iceland (Loumand 2006, 131). This overview of the current state of research clearly illustrates that horse burials and horse-related artefacts as well as their relation to each other in burial contexts vary over space and time in the Viking world.

The Gotlandic Material — Some Source-critical Remarks An exhaustive analysis of all graves with horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts currently remains difficult to conduct due to the only sporadic investigations of the bone material, especially from cremation burials. The actual number of graves with horse bones — cremated or uncremated — is expected to be much higher. The large number of cremation burials further complicates the identification of horse-related artefacts, especially when damaged by fire. Therefore, the certain identification of e.g. mounts for bridles or horse harnesses is sometimes ambiguous. Moreover, a larger number of horse-related artefacts comes from stray finds, collected by farmers in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century and are without trustworthy documentation. These assemblages are marked in the catalogue supplementing this chapter (see Appendix) by square brackets, while graves with doubtful horse-related artefacts are marked by question marks. The present study is based on the comprehensive catalogue by Lena Thunmark-Nylén (2000; 2006, 320–37) as well as new research based on excavation reports and entries in the database of the Statens Historiska Museum.12

7 c. 7 per cent of burials with horses in Viking Age Norway as given by Sikora 2003–2004, 88 seems to be far too low. See also Leifsson 2018, 35, 53–54. 8 In grave S400 at Gulli, a presumably male individual was buried with weapons and horse-related artefacts such as a several bridles and horse-collar crests. Because of the bad preservation of bones, it cannot be ruled out that at least parts of a horse — e.g. horse teeth — were deposited together with the horse-related artefacts. See Gjerpe 2005, 38–45. 11 On the significance of spurs and stirrups in mounted combat, see 9 e.g. Bj. 628, Bj. 644, or Bj. 736. Nylén 1972–1973; 1980–1982; 1986. 10 e.g. the female burial C22541 from Nordre Kjølen, Norway. See 12 ‘Sök i samlingarna’ Gardeła 2018. [accessed 21 November 2019].

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Horses and Horse Bones in Burials on Gotland Based on a new survey of published and unpublished sources (see Appendix), sixty-two alleged graves with horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts have been identified on Gotland, of which twenty-one assemblages are questionable, being mostly plough-finds from modern times and not from excavated contexts. A rough dating of the finds13 shows that the custom of burying the dead with horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts lasts throughout the entire Viking Age. The oldest graves date to the late Vendel period or early Viking Age (period VII:5/VIII:1 according to Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 692)14 and the youngest ones to the late Viking Age (period VIII:4). Reliable chrono­logical patterns of development of this burial rite could not be detected. Of these sixty-two graves, thirty-one were cremation burials (50 per cent), mostly with horse-related artefacts (81 per cent), while horse bones could be identified in thirteen of these cremation graves (42 per cent). In three cremation burials, uncremated horse bones were found while horse-related artefacts were missing. In one case (Go 58) this might result from recent disturbance, but in the two other graves (Go 50, Go 53), an uncremated single horse tooth has to be regarded as an intentional grave good, as the frequent appearance of single horse teeth in other early medi­eval and Viking Age graves indicates (Müller-Wille 1972, 132; Gräslund 1980, 60; Shenk 2002, 75; Sikora 2003–2004, 90). Except for two uncertain burials ([Go 24], Go 60?), all twenty-three inhumations contained either entire horse skeletons (48 per cent) or uncremated horse bones (48 per cent) and in thirteen of these twenty-three graves (57 per cent) horse-related artefacts were found as well. Horse-related artefacts appear in forty-six of all sixty-two graves (74 per cent), more than half (54 per cent) were cremation burials. Given the current state of research, it appears that horse bones were absent in twenty-seven graves with horse-related artefacts. These graves were either cremation burials (67 per cent) where no osteo­logical analyses of the bone material have been conducted so far or disturbed inhumations15 and stray finds. 13 The finds were dated according to Thunmark-Nylén 2006. See also Toplak 2016, 41–42. 14 A grave with an uncremated horse tooth was radiocarbon-dated to the second half or the end of the eighth century (Go 35, Ire, Hellvi parish, grave 351 (SHM 20826:351); ad 660–(685–775)– 870), see Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 684. 15 Except for grave 1/1869 from Östra begravningsplatsen, Visby (cat. no. 60?) where the identification of a comb as a horse comb

The most common horse-related artefacts were bits; they were found in twenty graves and appeared in ten out of eleven graves with entire horse skeletons. Horse combs were found in seventeen graves, often as the only horse-related artefact and as fragments in cremation burials without clear evidence of horse bones. Other artefacts related to riding or draught animals such as spurs, stirrups, horse crampons, or horse collar crests are rare or completely missing. Horse collar crests were found in two graves, a disturbed inhumation and a cremation in which a large number of nails and rivets indicate a burial in a cart body (Go 1). A single spur was found in two graves (see Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 324, 334). In one case ([Go 24]), the dating of the grave is doubtful as it might be older than the Viking Age. The location of the other grave with a single spur ([Go 58]) is unknown and no reliable documentation exists. Stirrups or horse crampons are lacking in Viking Age graves on Gotland in contrast to the graves from Birka (Forsåker 1986). Mounts which might belong to bridles or horse harnesses are known from several burials, even though their interpretation as part of horse equipment is not always entirely certain. In several graves these mounts were found together with bits, proof of their identification as bridle or harness mounts. In some cremation burials, single fire-deformed mounts are the only horse-related artefacts, thus complicating the interpretation of these graves. Complete horse harnesses with bits and sets of mounts — in one grave (Go 18) together with the potential remains of a saddle — were found in six graves, together with one or two horses. As osteo­logical analyses are almost in all cases missing, the sexing of the deceased is based on the grave goods. Half of all sixty-two graves seem to be secure or alleged burials of males, while only eight female-gendered burials and five double burials could be identified. Entire horse skeletons appeared in nine male-gendered and two female-gendered burials always with a bit, except for one inexpertly excavated male-gendered burial ([Go 24]). Bits were found in four of the eight female-gendered burials, while complete harnesses with bits and mounts are known only from male-gendered burials. In three female-gendered burials and a double burial large numbers of rivets and nails indicate the presence of a cart body. In a fifth grave, a male-gendered cremation burial, rivets and nails might stem from ship or boat planks that were either used as firewood for the pyre (Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 540) or actually as pars pro toto for a vessel which would be the only evidence is not entirely certain.

6. ho rse b u ri als o n vi k i ng age g otland 107

for boat burials on Gotland. The only horse-related artefact in this grave is a doubtful horse comb, in contrast to the bits, harness mounts and horse collar crests in the other burials with rivets and nails. Unlike Norway and Iceland, where horses or horse-related artefacts appeared almost equally in male- and female-gendered burials, horses or horse-related artefacts in Viking Age burials on Gotland were not exclusively but at least mainly associated with males. In contrast, horses as mounts seem to have been limited to male-gendered burials. Interestingly, no distinction was made between adults and children. In one grave in the cemetery of Ire, a young child, probably a girl, was buried together with an infant and a bitted horse, probably in a cart body (Go 36). In three other graves, young children were buried with horses, and one of these graves was equipped with weapons (Go 38).

1

2 3

4 5

Horse Burials — The Gotlandic Evidence Currently, articulated horse skeletons are known from eleven Viking Age inhumation graves from Gotland, among them two double burials. Two of these graves are uncertain features, one was found during construction work in the middle of the nineteenth century and was unprofessionally recovered ([Go 24]), the other one ([Go 61]) was documented and excavated by Gabriel Gustafson in 1874, but the documentation is missing and the original location of the Figure 6.2. Distribution of horse burials on Gotland; 1: [Go 24], Austers, Hangvar grave is unknown (Thunmark-Nylén 2000, 942–43). parish — 2: Go 34, 36–38, Ire, Hellvi parish — 3: Go 47, Slite torg, Othem parish Two more graves (Go 20, Go 34) were robbed and — 4: Go 54, Gällungs, Väskinde parish — 5: Go 18–20, Broa, Halla parish. Map by one was disturbed by a later burial (Go 47). Matthias Toplak, based on data from Google Maps. Interestingly, all graves with entire horse skeletons were located in the northern part of Gotland (Fig. 6.2), with two foci in Ire, Hellvi parish (four One of the horse burials was radiocarbon-dated (Go graves), and Broa, Halla parish (three graves). Burials 18 from Broa)16 to the early Viking Age (Thunmarkwith horse bones or horse-related artefacts are known Nylén 2006, 684) (Fig. 6.3). All other burials with from both the Migration period and the Vendel period horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts from on Gotland (Nerman 1935; 1969, 1975) and pre-ViBroa are considerably younger (tenth/eleventh cenking Age cremation burials with horses were quite turies), being either contemporary or within one common in southern Gotland — e.g. in Barshalder or two generations. The large chrono­logical gap of (Rundkvist 2003a; 2003b, 47, 59). This significant several generations between this first burial and the alteration in the utilization of horses in the burial reappearance of the horse symbolism is striking. rite from the early Viking Age onwards in the form The situation at Ire is slightly more nuanced.17 of a limitation of the custom of inhumations with Single horse bones and horse-related artefacts already horses to the northern part of Gotland seems to appear in the oldest graves in section 1:1 (early Viking reflect a restricted socio-political or cultic pattern. As inhumations with horses were common in mainland Scandinavia, for example in Uppland, Sweden, the 16 Go 18, Broa, Halla parish, grave 1 (SHM 11106:1/SHM 10796A); situation in northern Gotland might reflect external ad 680–(680–810)–890 [human] und ad 720–750 + 770– influences, perhaps from the mainland. Regrettably, (770–900)–980 [dog], probably first half of the eighth century, precise dating, which could provide hints regarding see Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 684. the development of this burial rite, is not possible. 17 On the cemetery of Ire, see Stenberger 1942; 1961; ThunmarkNylén 2006, 599–608.

1 08 matthia s  s. to p l ak Figure 6.3. Grave goods from grave 1 in Broa, Halla sn (cat. no. 18); sword hilt, amber bar for a lyre, bridle-bit, and gilded bridle mounts, which define the Broa style as an early Viking Age art style. Gabriel Hildebrand/ SHM CC BY 2.5 SE.

Age, ninth century), while all horse burials are more or less contemporary, dating to the Middle Viking Age (tenth/eleventh centuries). In the later Gotlandic Viking Age (twelfth century) burials with horse symbolism are absent at Ire. All horse burials are located close to each other between sections 2:2 and 3 (Fig. 6.4), except for one grave (Go 36) that was apparently dug between the older burials in the western area of section 2:1 (Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 603). It seems obvious that those individuals buried with horses represent not only a chrono­logical but also a socially homogeneous group. Also, three of the remaining horse burials ([Go 24], Go 47, Go 54) can be dated to the Middle Viking Age (period VIII:2/3–3), while the fourth one ([Go 61]) provides no secure dating. While at least some graves with horse bones or horse-related artefacts date to the later Viking Age, horse burials are currently lacking in the later Gotlandic Viking Age (twelfth century). Absolutely striking is the distribution of age and sex. Based on the artefactual material, nine graves can be identified as the burials of males (82 per cent) and only two graves are the burials of females, both from Ire (Go 34, Go 36). Therefore, the situation of the sex ratio resembles the chamber burials at Birka which were heavily dominated by male-gendered individFigure 6.4. Distribution of burials with horses, horse bones or horse-related artefacts in the cemetery of Ire, Hellvi parish; 1: burials with horses (graves 230B, 375, 497, 505) — 2: burials with horse-related artefacts but without evidence for horse bones (graves 174b, 186, 210, 212, 223, 225A) — 3: burials with horse bones (215, 217b, 351). Type 1 burials are marked with a square; type 2 burials are marked with a diamond; type 3 burials are marked with a dot. After Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 604, fig. III:55:3, reworked by Matthias Toplak.

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Figure 6.5. Grave 230B in Ire, Hellvi parish (cat. no. Go 34); burial of a female in the body of a cart next to a bitted horse. After Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 323, fig. III:37:3.

uals,18 and differs from the almost balanced gender distribution in Norway or Iceland. Furthermore, in an exceptionally high number of four graves (36 per cent) children were buried. A male-gendered adult and a child were buried together with two horses in a grave in Broa (Go 20) that was probably reopened/ robbed in the Middle Ages (Thunmark-Nylén 2000, 329–30). The exact age and sex of the younger individual remain uncertain, and it is equally unknown if one of the horses was intended for the child or if both horses were associated with the adult. The three other burials of children with horses are from the cemetery of Ire, so that only one out of four horse burials at Ire is the grave of an adult. One of the children’s graves from Ire is a double burial of a young child of three–four years of age, probably a girl, and an infant (Go 36). The position of the children and the horse as well as the large number of iron rivets and nails in the grave indicate that the children were buried in a cart body behind a bitted and harnessed horse. A similar arrangement can be found in the only horse burial of a female-gendered adult at Ire (Go 34, Fig. 6.5) (Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 323). Female burials in cart bodies are known especially from Denmark and northern Germany (Roesdahl 1978; Gräslund 1980, 24; Müller-Wille 1985; Staecker 2002) and women in wagons appear on Gotlandic picture stones19 as well as on the Oseberg tapestry (Shenk 2002, 35–37). The two other children’s burials with horses from Ire are the graves of two older individuals of approximately eleven and twelve–thirteen years of age 18 Among eighteen chamber graves with horses at Birka, only one was the burial of a female (Bj. 965), three graves were double burials (Bj. 735, 750, 834) and in Bj. 581 a bio­logical female was buried with full weapon equipment and male dress, see Hedenstierna-Jonson and others 2017; Price and others 2019. 19 e.g. the picture stone from Barshaldershed, Norrkvie 6/63, Grötlingbo parish, see Oehrl 2019, fig. 23e.

a b

Figure 6.6 (a & b). Grave 497 in Ire, Hellvi parish (cat. no. Go 37); burial of an infant aged approximately eleven years with a horse and a dog. After Stenberger 1961, 13, fig. 13 and 25, fig. 19.

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Figure 6.7a. Grave 505 in Ire, Hellvi parish (cat. no. Go 38); burial of an infant of approximately twelve–thirteen years of age equipped with a sword, two spears, horse-related artefacts, and a horse and a dog. After Stenberger 1942, 29, fig. 3.

contained weapons (41 per cent), in half of these twenty-one burials the weapon was an axe. Spears appeared in five or six graves (24–29 per cent) and swords in three or four graves (14–19 per cent).22 The horse burials contained more weapons (55 per cent) and while axes were completely absent, the most common weapon was the sword in four graves (36 per cent), followed by spears in three graves (27 per cent). With the exception of the robbed double burial at Broa (Go 20) and one burial of a child from Ire (Go 37) with an amber axe, all male-gendered horse burials contained weapons. In the unique chamber grave from Slite (Go 47, Fig. 6.8; see Toplak 2016, 237) the scabbard chape of a battle knife was the only militaristic artefact found, and which might be intrusive due to disturbances by a later burial and modern construction work. Shields were missing (or have not survived) in the horse burials on Gotland, a striking contrast to the chamber graves at Birka, where shields were found in nearly all male-gendered burials with horses (92 per cent). However, shield bosses and metal fragments that might be interpreted as shield rims appear in six cremation burials with horse bones or horse-related artefacts. Weapons were thus found significantly more often in graves with horses than in graves with horse-related artefacts. Moreover, the percentage of swords was higher in graves with horses, which could indicate a higher social status of these burials. Also, the frequency of dogs in graves differs between both categories of burials. Dog bones or entire skeletons appeared in sixteen of the sixty-two graves (26 per cent). Except for one unsecure case, all these burials contained either entire horse skeletons or horse bones. Dogs were thus always combined with horses.23 These discrepancies in the distribution of weapons as well as in the appearance of dogs in graves indicate the presence of two distinct social

(Go 37, Go 38), both being buried with a bitted horse and a dog. While one of the children (Go 37, Fig. 6.6a/b) was equipped solely with a large knife and an amber axe (Trotzig 1969, 26) which might have been intended as symbolic armament,20 the other individual (Go 38, Fig. 6.7a/b) was equipped with a sword and two spears.21 Except for the missing shield, this equipment correlates with the typical armament of a mounted warrior as defined by Sundkvist (2001, 196). In addition to this burial from Ire, the weapon combination of sword and spear was only found in one other horse burial on Gotland, an unprofessionally excavated grave at Austers ([Go 24]). Weapons appear in a total of twenty-six graves (42 per cent), though distinct discrepancies between horse burials and burials with single horse bones and 22 Weapons were missing from the assemblage at Prästgården, Levide parish ([Go 41]), but several spears and fragments of horse-related artefacts are apparent. Less than half of swords were found at the same spot earlier, perhaps originating the fifty-one graves without entire horse skeletons from one or several graves that were ploughed away. See 20 See Makarov 1992; Edberg 1999; 2006 and Kucypera and Wadyl 2011 for a discussion of the function of miniature axes. 21 See also Lundholm 1947, 208; Stenberger 1942; Toplak 2017, 131; 2018, 70–71.

Thunmark-Nylén 2000, 503–04. 23 While dogs were completely missing in the chamber graves with horses from Birka, the combination of horses and dogs is quite common in early medi­eval and Viking Age graves. See Müller-Wille 1972, 136, 186; Gräslund 1980, 42; Shenk 2002, 31, 44; Leifsson 2018, 276.

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Figure 6.7b. Artistic reconstruction of grave 505 in Ire, Hellvi parish. Illustration by Mirosław Kuźma. Copyright Matthias Toplak and Mirosław Kuźma. After Staecker and Toplak 2019, fig. 11.

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Figure 6.9. Grave 8/1973 in Gällungs, Väskinde parish (cat. no. Go 54); burial of a male aligned with a horse. After Lundgren 1975, 144, fig. 1.

Figure 6.8. Grave 1952A in Slite, Othem parish (cat. no. Go 47); chamber burial of a male with a horse and a dog (RAÄ/ATA, Stockholm).

contained a bit, supplemented in three graves by mounts for a bridle. Larger iron buckles in some graves might have been parts of girths for holding saddlecloths or saddles entirely made from organic material (Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 332). Furthermore, possible remains of a saddle were found in a cremation burial (Go 9?, see Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 332) and in the famous horse burial at Broa (Go 18). Here, even the ‘riding position’ of the male-gendered deceased across the bitted horse indicates the presence of a saddle, though it remains unclear if both of the deceased’s legs were lying over the horse’s back or if the man was actually buried in such a way as to imitate the act of ‘riding’.24 This form of burial of human and horse in a ‘dynamic situation’ can also be seen in two female-gendered burials at Ire (Go 34, Go 36), where the bitted and harnessed horses were lying in front of a cart body as if they were pulling a wagon. In three other horse burials (Go 37, Go 38, Go 47) the horses were lying on the right side of the deceased, in a fourth grave, the burial of

groups behind these two divergent burial rites and the use of the horse symbolism. Equally striking is the distribution of horse combs that appear only in 29 per cent of all sixty-two burials but in all six horse burials with weap- 24 A standing position of horses imbedded in supporting clay is ons. Furthermore, all these horse burials, except for known from burials at Borre and Tune in Norway, see Brøgger and others 1917, 222 and Brøgger and Shetelig 1951, 82. the unreliable assemblage of Austers ([Go 24]),

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a presumed male individual with filed teeth (Go 54, Fig. 6.9),25 the horse was deposited at the deceased person’s feet (see Lundgren 1975). Platforms at one end of the grave, as in the case of chamber graves at Birka, are missing on Gotland. Compared with the standardized burials with horses in Birka’s chamber graves, the horse burials on Gotland are much more diverse and complex.

Horse Symbolism in Viking Age Burials on Gotland The graves with horses or horse-related artefacts on Gotland can be divided into three categories which with regard to source criticism (see above) remain equivocal: 1. Inhumations in which the deceased was buried with one or two often bitted horses and horse-related artefacts. The majority of these graves were the burials of male-gendered individuals, often with weapons. Compared with the low number of known children’s burials from Gotland and in contrast to horse burials in the rest of the Viking world, a surprising number of children were given horse burials. 2. Graves in which the association with the symbolic meaning of horse was expressed through horse bones and/or horse-related artefacts. Many of these graves were cremation burials which hampers our possibilities to explain if — by analogy to the horse burials of category 1 — entire horses were cremated with the deceased.26 Since horse bones could be identified in some cremation burials, it seems plausible that in all cremation burials with horse-related artefacts at least single horse bones were deposited on the pyre. 3. Graves — mostly inhumations — in which a single horse bone, often a single uncremated horse tooth, was the only expression of horse symbolism.27

Horses in Life and Death The horse was deeply integrated into Viking Age society, as a means of transport, work, and communication in everyday life as well as a highly significant symbol of rank, status, and legitimacy.28 Riding was not only about locomotion but also an expression of nobility and social standing, culminating in the equestrian warrior as a member of a martial elite (Pedersen 1997b; 2014; Sundkvist 2001; Fern 2012; Sikora, this volume). Horse symbolism was also embedded in cosmo­logical and mytho­logical beliefs and cultural traditions, and thus charged with ideas of nobility, fertility, and divine ancestry (Sundkvist 2001; 2002, 224–40; Loumand 2006; Jennbert 2011; Leifsson 2012b, 191; Stelter 2013, 24–31; Evans Tang and Ruiter, this volume).29 Through these social and mytho­logical associations, the horse and its symbolism present an important marker of identity of certain (in)groups in Viking Age Scandinavia, which define themselves e.g. by a common ancestry or origin, their beliefs, or their social status (see e.g. Raffield and others 2016). Therefore, the horse symbolism could be actively instrumentalized to link a certain group identity with advantageous associations — wealth, status, land ownership, origin — and to manipulate the external perception of this social identity (see Jones 1996; 1997; Jenkins 2000 for the question of identity). At the same time and according to Bourdieu’s (1983; 1985) theory of social capital, the employment of this symbolism as a marker of social distinction could be used to present or construct affiliation with a certain group to gain benefit from the group’s prestige (see Toplak 2019a for the construction and perception of social identity). This symbolism could be evoked in everyday life by riding, depictions of horses and riders in ornamentation (Bond and Worley 2006, 89), or by the ritual consumption of horse meat (Loumand 2006, 131; Stelter 2013, 49–50).30 Furthermore, and crucial for the understanding of horses and horse symbolism in graves, the imagery associated with horses could be instrumentalized in the burial ceremony through the ritual killing of horses and/or the deposition of horses, horse parts, or horse-related artefacts as grave goods (Leifsson 2012b, 190; see also Bertašius 2012).

25 See Ahlström Arcini 2018, 77; Toplak and Kerk in preparation. 26 According to Sigvallius 1994, 28, the expected average quantity of cremated bones for an adult individual is around 3 l or 2–2.5 kg. The large quantity of cremated bones — up to 6000–7500 g — in several cremation burials where horse bones could be identified indicates that an entire horse was cremated on the pyre (e.g. Go 8, Go 30). Furthermore, it can be speculated if horse bones can be found in other cremation burials with similarly 28 See e.g. Lidén and others 1998; Götherström 2001; 2002. large quantities of cremated bones, as in the case of Go 2, [Go 29 On the question of animal agency and a symmetrical approach 4] or in grave 220A (GF C 9285:31–36a) from Ire. See also towards human–animal relations, see Toplak 2019b, 214–15 with Thunmark-Nylén 2006, 538. further references. 27 Interestingly, two of these burials with single horse bones from 30 For archaeo­logical evidence for the ritual and profane Ire (Go 35) and Slite (Go 44) were the graves of men with filed consumption of horse meat, see Loumand 2006, 131; Nilsson teeth. See Mortágua 2006; Toplak 2015; 2016; Radon 2019. 2009, 86; Stelter 2013, 49–50; Nistelberger and others 2019, 120.

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The Ritual Killing of Horses as an Act of Communication As a public ceremony, the burial serves as a means of communication on two levels. Firstly, rituals are a way for humans to communicate with higher powers (Steinsland 2005, 29) and are therefore of highest importance for the collective cultic-religious identity (Gansum 2004, 226). Secondly, this discursive level of rituals also exists within the social community. Through references to cosmo­l ogicalmytho­logical beliefs, religious rules, or local traditions, rituals can manipulate the social discourse and can be utilized as a medium for exclusion or inclusion (Williams 2006, 3–5, 11) and for the presentation or construction of social identities within certain communities (Bourdieu 1996, 27–28, see also Goffmann 1972, 255–56 and Tajfel 1975; 1982, 102). This form of ritual communication is dependent on the form of expression and its perception and interpretation by the local community (Barret 1991, 1), based on their social, cultural, and religious conventions and traditions (Cullen 1996, 133).31 Therefore, the use of the horse as symbol in the communicative situation of a burial can refer to a large variance of meanings, depending on the religious, cultural, and social perception and value of horses. It can present a socio-political contextualization of the deceased and their relatives’ identity as members of a local elite based on the association of horses with nobility and power as well as a ritual reference to a collective identity, defined by a common divine ancestor or mytho­logical-cosmo­logical beliefs in which horses play an important role. All these aspects can be interwoven. At the same time, the ritual killing of horses as a public and bloody act during the burial can be regarded as a form of a social catharsis (Lucas and McGovern 2007; Leifsson 2018, 321–22), which — based on Girard’s ([1979] 2013) theory of sacrifice as a metaphorical form of scapegoating — can serve to settle social conflicts as a legitimate form of violence in a society fraught with tensions (Bloch 1992). Furthermore, the dramatic aspect of the ritual killing of animals, of blood and violence (Price 2010; 2014) and the public perception of this sensory overload (Staecker and others 2018, 63–69) must be understood as an important mnemonic element. This experience anchors the burial ceremony and the social discourse that was communicated through its rituals in the society’s collective memory, thus trans-

31 See also Brück 1999 for the question of rituals.

forming the memory of the burial to a formative element of local traditions and collective identities (Williams 2006, 20–22; Toplak 2020; in preparation). The importance of the public ritual killing of horses was highlighted by Leifsson (2012b; 2018) in his investigations of Icelandic burials. His osteo­ logical analyses showed not only that it was not the individual animal that was crucial for the rite of horse burials but the symbol ‘horse’ (Leifsson 2018, 313). In many cases the cause of death of the animals illustrates furthermore that the ritual killing of these animals as a bloody spectacle was of highest importance for the burial (see Lucas and McGovern 2007). A large number of horses in Icelandic burials were killed by throat-cutting or decapitation, resulting in excessive bloodshed (Leifsson 2012b, 186; 2018, 265–69). The horses in the ship grave of Oseberg were decapitated as well, either after first being stunned by poleaxing or as a result of post mortem dismemberment (Brøgger and others 1917, 64, 82; Shenk 2002, 32), similar to the horses in the Norwegian cemeteries of Gausel or Bikjholberget at Kaupang (Sikora 2003–2004, 90). The bloody slaughter of horses is also mentioned in Ahmad ibn Fadlān’s famous account of the funeral of a Rus chieftain at the banks of the Volga. According to his report, two horses were forced to run until they were in a lather and were then chopped into pieces and thrown on board the funeral ship, similar to the situation at Oseberg (Lunde and Stone 2012, 51; Shenk 2002, 31–32). In many instances, horse skulls show only signs of poleaxing while evidence for throat-cutting or decapitation is not detectable in the bone material as, for instance, in grave III from Stengade on Langeland, where the horse was killed in the grave pit (Brønsted 1936, 154) or in the ship grave of Gokstad (Brøgger and others 1917, 64, 82; Shenk 2002, 44). However, it is assumed that poleaxing was only intended to stun the animal while the actual cause of death was bleeding by throat-cutting, stabbing, or decapitation. The importance of horse blood in rituals is also mentioned in chapter 14 of Hákonar saga góða in Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla, where the participants of a religious ceremony are sprinkled with horse blood (Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson 1941). Therefore, it seems necessary to distinguish between two possibly overlapping but essentially separate spheres. One sphere is the ritual action that takes place during the burial ceremony in the form of the ritual killing of an animal.32 The crucial fac 32 For the differentiation between ‘ritual killing’ and ‘sacrifice’, see Leifsson 2018, 3–4 or Toplak 2019b, 215–16. See also Carter 2003 and Morris 2012.

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tor here is not the end result — a dead animal that can be deposited in the grave — but the action as a public and bloody ritual (see especially Lucas and McGovern 2007; Price 2010; 2014; Leifsson 2018, 26–27; Staecker and others 2018, 65–68; Toplak 2020; in preparation). The second sphere is the function of animals as grave goods, which presumably results from a ritual killing but which does not require a bloody or public slaughter. Here, the crucial factor is the meaning of the animal as a grave good for the deceased, e.g. as equipment for the afterlife.33 In most instances both spheres will have been interwoven and the ritual killing of horses and the deposition of the carcass — perhaps even in a ‘dynamic’ i.e. lively position such as the ‘riding position’ in Broa (Go 18) — was understood as a holistic ritual. Nevertheless, it is important to be aware of a potential separation between both spheres in order to contextualize differences in the utilization of horse symbolism in burials. Osteo­logical analyses revealing the cause of death of the horses from Gotlandic graves are still absent, but even here it can be assumed that the horses were killed in a bloody ceremony, perhaps stunned by poleaxing and killed by bleeding or decapitation. In contrast to the Danish ryttergraver or some chamber graves from Birka which contained horse-related artefacts but no horses,34 it seems plausible that in all Gotlandic graves with horses or horse-related artefacts animals were actually killed and deposited in the grave or on the pyre, either as entire carcasses or dismembered parts. The unifying factor in the use of the symbolism of horses in Viking Age burials on Gotland is therefore the ritual and ostentatious killing of horses. Furthermore, it can be surmised that horses were far more often ritually killed during funeral ceremonies than the archaeo­logical record suggests, as the carcasses might have been consumed during sacrificial meals and/or disposed of away from the cemetery, e.g. at a cult place. This might be a plausible explanation for graves with uncremated horse teeth (see Klindt-Jensen 1968, 145; Gräslund 1969, 140–41; 1980, 60–61; MüllerWille 1972, 182).

33 For possible meanings of grave goods, see Toplak 2016, 18–20; 2017, 128–30. 34 It cannot be ruled out that even in the case of the ryttergraver horses were ritually killed during the funeral but simply not deposited in the grave. For a cross-cultural comparison, see also Ekroth and Wallensten 2013.

Discussion Due to the multitude of potential and under certain circumstances even overlapping levels of meaning and the enormous variation in the use of horse symbolism in burials within the Viking world (Gjessing 1943; Shenk 2002; Jennbert 2011; Sikora 2003–2004, 90; Leifsson 2012b; 2018, 185; Stelter 2013; Cooke 2016) as well as within such a small-scale cultural area as Viking Age Gotland, it is difficult to find a homogeneous explanatory approach to the deposition of horses, horse bones, or horse-related artefacts in graves (Andrén 2005, 123; Andrén and others 2006, 13–14). Numerous interpretations of the symbolism of horses in graves have been suggested so far and, with few exceptions (see e.g. Leifsson 2018, 317–18), these have been restricted to monocausal explanations, oscillating between two extremes, namely a profane perception of the horse as favourite animal or a religious interpretation as a psychopomp, a conductor of souls to the afterworld (Leifsson 2018, 10, 33–34). Based on the obvious importance of horses as symbols of nobility, status, and as sacred animals in the Old Norse cult (Nielsen 1996, 100–01; Sundqvist 2002, 224–40; Henriksson 2003, 18; Simek 2006, 335–36; Nilsson 2009; Stelter 2013, 24–28)35 ordinary explanations — such as sustenance for the deceased or as favourite animal36 — appear far too simplistic.37 The theory that horses in burials were intended as offerings to the Vanir, as suggested by Ellis Davidson (1982, 79), reflects the obvious importance of horses in Old Norse mytho­logy and cult, but lacks an explanation as to why horse-related artefacts and riding equipment were also of such great significance in the world of the living and the dead. On the basis of the enormous importance of horses as a means of transport in the Viking world they may have had a cultic role as psychopomps, as beings that are able to cross the liminal threshold between the worlds and to guide the soul of the deceased into the otherworld (Loumand 2006, 133; Stelter 2013, 29–30, 35).38 This ability might be reflected in the eight-legged horse — Óðinn’s steed Sleipnir ( Jennbert 2011, 153)39 — which is 35 Interestingly, horse bones are rare in Lejre and Frösö. See Christensen 1991, 184; Magnell and Iregren 2010, 228. 36 See Leifsson 2018, 313, 316–17. 37 For possible criteria for the selection of horses for the ritual killing, see Sundkvist 2001, 67; Shenk 2002, 71–72; Stylegar 2006; 2014; Leifsson 2012a, 73; 2012b, 186; 2018, 261–63; Nistelberger and others 2019. 38 See also Einarsdóttir 2013. 39 An alternative explanation for the eight legs is the depiction of the animal’s speed, see Simek 2006, 388, or a special gait, the tölt.

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depicted on at least two Gotlandic picture stones ations after the first horse burial.41 This reference 40 (Heizmann 2015, 95; Oehrl 2019, 45; 2020, 127). to this first horse burial in the Broa cemetery might An aspect supporting this theory of horses as limihave been intended as an ostentatious demonstration of affiliation with certain ancestors and, thus, nal animals and ‘dynamic mediators’ (Schjødt 2003, as legitimization of social status or claims to ruler431) is that horses in late medi­eval Iceland were relatively wild, grazing between cultivated land and ship (Williams 2006, 20–22; 2007; 2010; 2013; Price wilderness, and living on the threshold between the 2010; see also Leifsson 2018, 323). A similar social domesticated sphere of the farm (Miðgarðr) and the explanation can be put forward for the larger prowilderness (Útgarðr) (Hastrup 1985, 147–52; 1990, portion of children’s burials with horses at Ire. The 254; Loumand 2006, 132). Furthermore, the frequent use of horse symbolism could demonstrate the spedepiction of horses on Gotlandic picture stones, cific social identity of the children and their families, perhaps defined by a common ancestry, while which must be regarded in the context of journeys to the afterworld (Oehrl 2019, 47–60; 2020), indiat the same time evoking the imagined social-politcates that horses had a certain position as intermeical roles which the mourners had hoped the children would one day play (Williams 2006, 41; 2016; diaries between the worlds and as liminal beings. Toplak 2017, 131; 2018, 70–71; 2020). However, this interpretation is not sufficient on its own to explain why horse symbolism is so rare in This collective identity presented or constructed Viking Age graves on Gotland and furthermore priby means of horses as symbols does not necessarily marily associated with men. refer to a regional origin (as in Iceland), but might Another religious-cultic interpretation of horses also be the expression of a common descent from can be discussed with reference to some contempomythical ancestors, as incarnated in the horse as a rary sources in which horses appear as a necessary kind of totemic animal,42 or of the affiliation with a means of transport for the journey to the otherworld certain cult, represented by horses as being of mytho­ and the (male) deceased’s entrance to Valhöll or as logical-cosmo­logical importance, e.g. in the creation a mount in the afterlife. The arrival of a fallen warmyth. The best-known example certainly is the legrior on horseback in Valhöll is mentioned in Old endary descent of the royal dynasty of the Ynglings. Norse skaldic poetry — e.g. in Eyvindr Skáldaspillir According to the skaldic poem Ynglingatal, dating to Finsson’s Hákonarmál from the second half of the the ninth/tenth century (Simek and Pálsson 2007, tenth century (Simek and Pálsson 2007, 149) — and 433), the kings of the Ynglings in late Iron Age Svea might also be depicted on some Gotlandic picture society descend directly from the Old Norse fertility stones (Oehrl 2019, 47–50). Again, this interpretagod Freyr who is strongly connected with the horse tion does not explain why only few individuals — as symbol of fertility and royal sovereignty.43 Thus, and in single instances even females — were buried horses play an important part in divination rituals among the Svear as symbols of divine descent and with horses. A very interesting theory has been brought forroyal power (Sundqvist 2002, 225–40) and might have ward by Leifsson (2012b; 2018) concerning the been regarded as identification symbols of the Svea Icelandic burials with horses. According to him, elite. This special importance of horses as totemic horses were used as symbols by a certain group of or spiritual animals for certain groups might at the landowning families (Leifsson 2018, 303–04, 323–24), same time result in the belief of horses as essential demonstrating a commingling of social status as a psychopomps, leading to an overlap of several symlandowning elite and being of common descent, bolic meanings. namely from the first settlers from Norway, who took Furthermore, it must be taken into considerapossession of the pastureland during the Landnám. tion that the difference between inhumations and This explanation might also be valid for burials with cremation burials might also reflect a different use horses in the Norse colonies in Scotland, Ireland, or and contextualization of horse symbolism, as is seen on Orkney (see Sikora 2003–2004, 93; Cooke 2016, 11), again with reference to the settlers of Norse oriPedersen 2006 for the reuse of older grave mounds for some gin. A compelling argument for this theory could be 41 See of the Danish ryttergraver and Toplak 2018, 80–83; 2020; 2023 for the chrono­logical gap between the horse burials at the reuse of older burials as sociotopo­graphical resource. Broa and the reuse of this funeral rite some gener- 42 See Insoll 2011 for a general introduction to totemism and Frog

See Jennbert 2011, 153. 40 Älskog Tjängvide I and Ardre Kyrka VIII.

2020, 92–93 for a short but rather critical discussion of the concept of totemism for Viking Age Scandinavia. 43 According to Hedeager 1999, horses as totemic animals of a warrior elite might even be traced back to an Odinic cult with shamanistic features, see also Sundqvist 2002, 236–37; cf. Frog 2020, 92–94.

6. ho rse b u ri als o n vi k i ng age g otland

in Anglo-Saxon England. While horses in inhumations were exclusively limited to male-gendered individuals, often equipped with weapons (Bond and Worley 2006, 92), they also appeared frequently in cremation burials of males, females, and even infants. This indicates that two divergent associations of horse symbolism existed within a single cultural area, on the one hand referring to the mounted warrior as part of an equestrian elite and on the other hand to the horse as a totemic-species emblem of a particular social group, defined by a common ancestry (Fern 2005, 46; 2007, 99–102; 2012, 168–70, 173). As a result, the collective cremation of humans and horses and the deposition of the intermingled ashes might have been intended as an act of transformation of human and animal and thus as the construction of a new identity. This ‘ideo­logy of transformation’ (Williams 2001; 2005) is probably rooted in beliefs of the descent from one or several mythical ancestors that are associated with a particular totemic animal (Williams 2001, 206–07; Fern 2012, 173).44 In contrast to the inhumations with horses or graves with single horse bones, this interpretative approach to cremation burials as an ‘ideo­logy of transformation’ points towards a far more spiritual, more or less eschato­logical symbolism of horses. This leads to the assumption that these two divergent burial rites with horse symbolism reflect two separate social groups in the Gotlandic Viking Age, both using the horse as a central symbol of their identity. This interpretation is further supported by the significant differences in the distribution of weapons and dogs in cremation burials and inhumations. The horse symbolism in inhumations might be dominated by the classical interpretation of horses as an expression of power, nobility, and status and as a reference to the affiliation with a (landowning?) elite, based on the dominance of armed males in the Gotlandic horse burials as with their parallels from Anglo-Saxon England. However, a cultic significance of horses for this group, e.g. as psychopomps, cannot be ruled out. In contrast to the Danish ryttergraver, it was not the presentation of the deceased as a rider through the deposition of riding equipment but the presence of the actual animal — or at least of single horse bones or teeth — that was of crucial importance, as typical riding equipment such as spurs or stirrups are lacking in the horse burials on Gotland. This indicates that the animal itself might have had a certain cultic function.

44 Cf. the practice of replacing human jaws with animal jaws in two Viking Age burials, see Hem Eriksen 2020, 8, 11.

Following the theory of Williams (2001; 2005), the horse would have been of highest importance as a totemic animal for the identity of the social group that was responsible for the cremation burials because of its association with mythical and perhaps divine ancestors. Common to both groups, however, was the importance of the actual animal and of the ritual killing of horses during the funeral ceremony, which highlights the significance of the bloody slaughter as a social catharsis and, at the same time, as a medium of communication between the relatives of the deceased and the social community. As the analysis of Viking Age burials with horses on Gotland has shown, the ritual killing of horses during burials must be regarded as a multidimensional and multifunctional element in the funerary context, in which cultic as well as social layers of significance might overlap. These killings and the use of horses as symbols serve as a social catharsis, and as a presentation, consolidation, or construction of a collective identity by referring to local traditions, origin, or descent as well as to mytho­logy or cosmo­logy. Furthermore, they are a means for contextualizing the deceased and the relatives within a religious as well as socio-political frame of reference by presenting a certain identity. According to Leifsson (2018, 323), burials with horses are a ‘vehicle to legitimise status and authority as well as a way to consolidate social identity’.

Acknowledgements The present article was prepared in the Collaborative Research Center SFB 1070 Resource Cultures, funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG). I would like to express my gratitude to Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski for giving me the possibility to contribute to this volume as well as for their important and valuable comments and remarks on the first draft of this manu­script. Further thanks go to the anonymous reviewer for valuable notes and additions. I would also like to thank Jennifer Gechter-Jones for language revision of the text. Furthermore, I am very grateful for the valuable information about the bio­logical aspects of the killing of horses that were kindly provided by Dr med. vet. Stephan Lübke. The article is dedicated to Professor Erik Nylén (1918–2017), one of the leading archaeo­logists of the Gotlandic Iron Age, and — as a former Rittmeister and cavalry officer during the Second World War — trained in mounted combat.

117

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Appendix: Catalogue of graves with horses, horse bones or horse-related artefacts from Viking-Age Gotland Grave Burial Inventory no. no. Rite

Sex

Horse

Weapons

Horse-related Artefacts

crem.

f

?

 

horse collar crest, rivets/nails (cart body?)

SHM 23161:6

crem.

m

?

 

horse comb

huge number of cremated bones, indication of horse?

2

GF C 10038: 8–17, 35

crem.

?

?

 

horse comb

Vendel or Viking period?

Laxare, Boge sn

6

GF C 10038:29–34

crem.

m

?

spear, axe

bridle-bit

partially disturbed, huge number of cremated bones, indication of horse?

Go 5

Laxare, Boge sn

7

GF C 10038:37–52

crem.

m

?

shield rims, arrow heads

bridle-bit

huge number of cremated bones, indication of horse?

[Go 6?]

Smiss, Eke sn

?

SHM 4078

?

?

 

 

bridle-bit?

assemblage of several artefacts, not from excavated context, destroyed grave or hoard?

Go 7

Mangsarve, Ekeby sn

5

SHM 22619:5

crem.

?

crem.

 

horse comb

Go 8

Mangsarve, Ekeby sn

7

SHM 22619:7

crem.

m?

crem.

shield rim?, arrow head

horse comb

double grave man/woman, cremated dog bones

Go 9?

Mangsarve, Ekeby sn

13

SHM 22619:13

crem.

m?

crem.

shield rim?

saddle mounts?

cremated dog bones

[Go 10]

Bäcks, Endre sn

?

SHM 2685

inhum.

m/f

uncrem.

spear, axe

 

stray find without trustworthy documentation, probably destroyed double burial

[Go 11]

Kvie, Endre sn

?

SHM 2593

inhum.

m/f

uncrem.

axes

bridle-bit, bridle mounts, horse comb?

stray find without trustworthy documentation, probably several destroyed burials

[Go 12]

Etelhems annex, Etelhem sn

?

SHM 15520

crem.?

m?

?

 

bridle mounts

inexpertly excavated burial

[Go 13]

Fröjel

?

SHM 8001

inhum.

?

uncrem.

 

 

stray find without trustworthy documentation, probably several destroyed burials

[Go 14?]

Bottarve, Fröjel sn

 

SHN 14885

?

?

 

axes

bridle mounts?

stray find without trustworthy documentation, probably several destroyed burials, but no bones mentioned

Go 15

Barshalder, Grötlingbo sn

10a/1960

no inv. no.

crem.

m?

crem.

 

Go 16

Barshalder, Grötlingbo sn

18/1966 SHM 32181:18

crem.

m

crem.

 

bridle mounts

cremated dog bones

[Go 17?]

Gannarve, Hall sn

?

?

 

weapon knife?, axe

horse comb

stray find without trustworthy documentation

Cat. no.

Cemetery

Go 1

Anningåkre, Alskog sn

2/1973

no inv. no.

Go 2

Gute, Bäl sn

6

Go 3

Laxare, Boge sn

[Go 4]

 

GF C 6132:34

Go 18

Broa, Halla sn

1

SHM 11106:1 inhum. (SHM 10796A)

m

2?

sword, arrow heads?

Go 19

Broa, Halla sn

2

SHM 11106:2 inhum. (SHM 10796B)

m

2

sword, weapon knife

Comments

man buried in a riding position, bridle-bit, bridle stallion and dog skeleton and mounts, horse bones from a second horse? comb, saddle 14C-dated to ad 680–(680–810)– mounts? 890 [human]/ad 720–750 + 770– (770–900)–980 [dog] bridle-bits, bridle mounts, horse comb

dog skeleton

6. ho rse b u ri als o n vi k i ng age g otland

Cat. no.

Cemetery

Grave Burial Inventory no. no. Rite

Sex

Horse

119

Weapons

Horse-related Artefacts

Comments double grave of a man and an infant with two horses and two dogs, robbed in antiquity but originally as rich as Go 17 and Go 18?

Go 20

Broa, Halla sn

7

SHM 11106:7

inhum.

m

2

 

bridle-bit, bridle mounts, horse comb

[Go 21]

Broa, Halla sn

 

SHM 11939b

?

?

 

axe

bridle-bit

stray find without trustworthy documentation, probably destroyed burial

[Go 22]

Broa, Halla sn

 

SHM 13861

crem.?

f

?

 

bridle-bit

inexpertly excavated burial

Go 23

Broa, Halla sn

5

SHM 19853:5

inhum.

m

uncrem.

axe

 

[Go 24]

Austers, Hangvar sn

?

GF C 1033/ SHM 2309/2283

inhum.

m

1

sword, spear, weapon knife

horse comb

inexpertly excavated burial, no trustworthy documentation, burial of a male with a horse, weapon, armoury(?) and a picture stone

8

SHM 8062:8

?

?

 

 

spur

Vendel or Viking period?

[Go 25] Bjärs, Hejnum sn Go 26?

Ire, Hellvi sn

174b (51)

SHM 20550:174b

crem.

m

?

sword, spear, arrow head

bridle mounts?

Go 27

Ire, Hellvi sn

186 (49)

SHM 20550:186

crem.

f

?

 

bridle-bit

Go 28?

Ire, Hellvi sn

210 (102)

GF C 9322:98–118

crem.

m

?

axe

horse comb?, rivets/nails

Go 29?

Ire, Hellvi sn

212 (111)

GF C 9322:122–139a

crem.

m

?

 

cart hook/ fittings?

Go 30

Ire, Hellvi sn

215 (110)

SHM 22917:215

crem.

m/f

crem.

weapon knife

bridle mounts, whip shaft?, rivets/nails

cremated bones from human, horse, dog and bear, rivets/ nails from cart body or from burned ship planks?

Go 31?

Ire, Hellvi sn

217b

SHM 20550:217b

crem.

?

crem.

 

bridle mounts?

cremated bones from horse and dog and uncremated horse tooth

Go 32?

Ire, Hellvi sn

223

SHM 20550:223

crem.

m

?

shield rims

cart hook/ fittings?

Go 33

Ire, Hellvi sn

225A (127)

GF C 9285:40–50

crem.

m

?

 

bridle-bit

Go 34

Ire, Hellvi sn

230B (132)

GF C inhum. 9322:221–236a

f

1

 

bridle-bit, rivets/nails

Go 35

Ire, Hellvi sn

351

SHM 20826:351

inhum.

m

uncrem.

sword

Go 36

Ire, Hellvi sn

375 (63)

SHM 20826:375

inhum.

f

1

 

Go 37

Ire, Hellvi sn

497 (108)

GF C inhum. 9322:279–295a

m

1

Go 38

Ire, Hellvi sn

505 (113)

[Go 39]

Enbjänne, Hogrän sn

[Go 40]

Takstens, Lärbro sn

 

rivets/nails from cart body or from burned ship planks?

grave robbed, burial in a cart body behind a bitted horse dog skeleton, filed teeth, 14C-dated to ad 660– (685–775)–870

bridle-bit, rivets/ burial of a young child (3–4 years) nails and a neonatus in a cart body bridle-bit, bridle mounts, horse comb

child (boy?, ~11 years) with horse and dog

GF C 9285:125–40

inhum.

m

1

sword, spears

bridle-bit, bridle mounts, horse comb

child (boy?, 12–13 years) with horse and dog

SHM 24301

crem.?

?

?

 

horse collar crest

stray find together with several other artefacts, destroyed cremation burial?

SHM 969

?

?

 

 

bridle-bit

stray find together with several other artefacts next to stone setting, destroyed grave?

1 20 matthia s  s. to p l ak

Grave Burial Inventory no. no. Rite

Sex

Horse

Weapons

Horse-related Artefacts

Comments

m?

 

sword?, spears?

bridle mounts

stray find together with several other artefacts, destroyed cremation burial?

f?

uncrem.

 

 

burial in an older Iron Age cemetery, uncremated bones from horse and dog

crem.

m

?

swords, spears, shield boss, arrow heads

bridle-bit

disturbed cremation burial

SHM 15752

inhum.

m

uncrem.

 

 

filed teeth

SHM 15752

inhum.

f

uncrem.

 

 

Slite, Othem sn 25/1944

SHM 23248:25

inhum.

m

uncrem.

weapon knife

 

uncremated bones from horse, pig, and bird in the filling, leftovers from sacrificial meals?

Go 47

Slite, Othem sn

1952A

SHM 24629A-B

inhum.

m

1

weapon knife?

bridle-bit, horse comb

chamber grave with horse and dog, disturbed by a later burial

Go 48

Hallvards, Silte sn

9

SHM 22087:9 inhum.

m

uncrem.

axe

 

uncremated horse tooth

[Go 49]

Gervide, Sjonhem sn

 

SHM 5265

crem.?

m?

?

weapon knife?, shield boss

horse comb

inexpertly excavated burial

Go 50

Stymnes, Sproge sn

 

SHM 8909

crem.

f

uncrem.

 

 

uncremated horse tooth

[Go 51]

Björkome, Väskinde sn

 

SHM 32295

?

?

 

spear, axe

horse comb

inexpertly excavated burial, no trustworthy documentation, probably from destroyed burial

[Go 52?]

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

1/1973

SHM 32391:1

crem.

m/f

?

 

bridle mounts?

destroyed double grave

Go 53

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

7/1973

SHM 32391:7

crem.

m/f? uncrem.

 

 

double grave man/woman?, uncremated horse tooth

Go 54

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

8/1973

SHM 32391:8

inhum.

m

1

spear, weapon knife

bridle-bit, horse comb

burial of a man in line with a bitted horse, no indications of a cart body, fragment of an infant’s skull inventoried in the SHM’s database

Go 55?

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

3/2012

no inv. no.

crem.

?

crem.?

 

 

cremated bones of horse or cattle

Go 56

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

4/2012

no inv. no.

crem.

?

crem.

Go 57

Gällungs, Väskinde sn

5/2012

no inv. no.

crem.

m?

crem.

 

bridle mounts?

double burial?

Go 58

Ammor, Västergarn sn

1/1994

SHM 24765

crem.

?

uncrem.

 

 

uncremated bones of horse, cattle, sheep, pig, and dog

Go 59

Gustavsvik, Visby

24

SHM 10950:24 inhum.

?

uncrem.

 

 

Go 60?

Östra begravnings­ 1/1869 platsen, Visby

?

?

 

horse comb?

Cat. no.

Cemetery

[Go 41]

Prästgården, Levide sn

Go 42

Pejnarve, Levide sn

[Go 43]

Smiss, När sn

1923

SHM 17444

Go 44

Slite, Othem sn

1

Go 45

Slite, Othem sn

3

Go 46

[Go 61]

unknown

[Go 62]

unknown

 

SHM 20156

?

25/1957 SHM 26714:25 inhum. (3/1956)

SHM 4239:1

inhum.

GF C Dep. 842 (+ GF C Dep. inhum. 603, 850?)  

no inv. no.

crem.

m

1

 

bridle-bit, spur

unique antler bridle-bit, only evidence for a spur in a Viking Age grave on Gotland, findspot unknown, no trustworthy documentation

?

?

 

bridle mounts

 

6. ho rse b u ri als o n vi k i ng age g otland

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Secondary Works Ahlström Arcini, Caroline. 2018. The Viking Age: A Time of Many Faces (Oxford: Oxbow) Andrén, Anders. 1989. ‘Dörrar till förgångna myter. En tolkning av de gotländska bildstenerna’, in Anders Andrén (ed.), Medeltidens födelse: Symposier på Krapperups borg (Lund: Gyllenstiernska Krapperupsstiftelsen), pp. 287–319 —— . 1993. ‘Doors to the Other Worlds. Scandinavian Death Rituals in Gotlandic Perspectives’, Journal of European Archaeo­ logy, 1: 33–56 —— . 2005. ‘Behind Heathendom. Archaeo­logical Studies of Old Norse Religion’, Scottish Archaeo­logical Journal, 27.2: 105–38 Andrén, Anders, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere. 2006. ‘Old Norse Religion. Some Problems and Prospects’, in Anders Andrén, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere (eds), Old Norse Religion in Long-Term Perspectives: Origins, Changes and Interactions; An International Conference in Lund, Sweden, June 3–7, 2004, Vägar till Midgård, 8 (Lund: Nordic Academic Press), pp. 11–15 Androshchuk, Fedir. 2009. ‘Vikings and Farmers. Some Remarks on the Social Interpretations of Swords and LongDistance Contacts during the Viking Age’, in Lena Holmquist Olausson and Michael Olausson (eds), The Martial Society: Aspects of Warriors, Fortifications and Social Change in Scandinavia, Theses and Papers in Archaeo­logy, B, 11 (Stockholm: Archaeo­logical Research Laboratory, University of Stockholm), pp. 93–104 Arbman, Holger. 1940, 1943. Birka, i: Die Gräber (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell) Barret, John C. 1991. ‘Towards an Archaeo­logy of Ritual’, in Paul Garwood (ed.), Sacred and Profane: Proceedings of a Con­ ference on Archaeo­logy, Ritual and Religion, Oxford, 1989, Oxford University Committee for Archaeo­logy Mono­graph, 32 (Oxford: Oxbow), pp. 1–9 Bertašius, Mindaugas. 2012. ‘Horse Burials as Public Ritual. Lithuanian Perspectives’, in Aleksander Pluskowski (ed.), The Ritual Killing and Burial of Animals: European Perspectives (Oxford: Oxbow), pp. 61–75 Bloch, Maurice. 1992. Prey into Hunter: The Politics of Religious Experience, The Lewis Henry Morgan Lectures, 1984 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Bond, Julie, and Fay L. Worley. 2006. ‘Companions in Death. The Roles of Animals in Anglo-Saxon and Viking Cremation Rituals in Britain’, in Rebecca Gowland and Christopher Knüsel (eds), Social Archaeo­logy of Funerary Remains (Oxford: Oxbow), pp. 89–98 Bourdieu, Pierre. 1983. ‘Ökonomisches Kapital, kulturelles Kapital, soziales Kapital’, in Reinhard Kreckel (ed.), Soziale Ungleichheiten, Soziale Welt, 2 (Göttingen: Schwartz), pp. 183–98 —— . 1985. Sozialer Raum und ‘Klassen’: Leçon sur la leçon, Zwei Vorlesungen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp) —— . 1996. ‘Ritualer som innstiftende handlinger’, in Pierre Bourdieu (ed.), Symbolsk makt: Artikler i utvalg (Oslo: Pax), pp. 27–37 Braathen, Helge. 1989. Ryttergraver: Politiske strukturer i eldre rikssamlingstid (Oslo: Universitetets oldsaksamling) Brøgger, Anton Wilhelm, Hjalmar Falk, and Haakon Shetelig. 1917. Osebergfundet, i (Kristiania: Universitetets oldsaksamling) Brøgger, Anton Wilhelm, and Haakon Shetelig. 1951. The Viking Ships: Their Ancestry and Evolution (Oslo: Dreyer) Brønsted, Johannes. 1936. ‘Danish Inhumation Graves of the Viking Age. A Survey’, Acta archaeo­logica, 7: 81–228 Brück, Joanna. 1999. ‘Ritual and Rationality. Some Problems of Interpretation in European Archaeo­logy’, European Journal of Archaeo­logy, 2.3: 313–44 Carter, Jeffrey (ed.). 2003. Understanding Religious Sacrifice: A Reader, Controversies in the Study of Religion (London: Continuum) Christensen, Tom. 1991. ‘Lejre beyond Legend—The Archaeo­logical Evidence’, Journal of Danish Archaeo­logy, 10.1: 163–85 Cooke, Siobhan. 2016. ‘Trading Identities. Alternative Interpretations of Viking Horse Remains in Scotland. A Pierowall Perspective’, Papers from the Institute of Archaeo­logy, 26.1: 1–15 Cullen, Ben Sandford. 1996. Contagious Ideas: On Evolution, Culture, Archaeo­logy, and Cultural Virus Theory (Oxford: Oxbow) Davidson, Hilda Roderick Ellis. 1982. Scandinavian Mytho­logy (London: Hamlyn) Duczko, Władysław. 2000. ‘Continuity and Transformation. The Tenth Century ad in Sweden’, in Przemysław Urbańczyk (ed.), The Neighbours of Poland in the 10th Century (Warsaw: Institute of Archaeo­logy and Ethno­logy, Polish Academy of Sciences), pp. 7–36

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Gullbekk (eds), Human Sacrifice and Value: Revisiting the Limits of Sacred Violence from an Archaeo­logical and Anthropo­logical Perspective (London: Routledge) Toplak, Matthias S., and Lukas Kerk. in preparation. ‘Body Modification on Viking Age Gotland – Filed Teeth and Artificially Modified Skulls as Embodiment of Social Identities’ Trotzig, Gustav. 1969. ‘Gegensätze zwischen Heidentum und Christentum im archäo­logischen Material des 11. Jahrhunderts auf Gotland’, in Sven Ekdahl (ed.), Kirche und Gesellschaft im Ostseeraum und im Norden vor der Mitte des 13. Jahrhunderts, Visby-Symposiet för Historiska Vetenskaper 1967, Acta Visbyensia, 3 (Visby: Gotlands Fornsal), pp. 21–30 Wadyl, Sławomir, and Paweł Kucypera. 2011. ‘Early Medi­eval Miniature Axes of Makarov’s Type 2 in the Baltic Sea Region’, Archaeo­logia Lituana, 12: 122–30 Wehlin, Joakim. 2013. Östersjöns skeppssättningar: Monument och mötesplatser under yngre bronsålder, GOTARC Serie B. Gothenburg Archaeo­logical Theses, 59 (Göteborg: University of Göteborg) Williams, Howard M. R. 2001. ‘An Ideo­logy of Transformation. Cremation Rites and Animal Sacrifice in Early Anglo-Saxon England’, in Neil S. Price (ed.), The Archaeo­logy of Shamanism (London: Routledge), pp. 193–212 —— . 2005. ‘Animals, Ashes & Ancestors’, in Aleksander Pluskowski (ed.), Just Skin and Bones? New Perspectives on HumanAnimal Relations in the Historical Past, British Archaeo­logical Reports, International Series, 1410 (Oxford: Archaeopress), pp. 19–40 —— . 2006. Death and Memory in Early Medi­eval Britain, Cambridge Studies in Archaeo­logy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) —— . 2007. ‘The Emotive Force of Early Medi­eval Mortuary Practices’, Archaeo­logical Review from Cambridge, 22.1: 107–23 —— . 2010. ‘At the Funeral’, in Martin Carver, Alex Sanmark, and Sarah Semple (eds), Signals of Belief in Early England: AngloSaxon Paganism Revisited (Havertown: Oxbow), pp. 67–82 —— . 2013. ‘Death, Memory, and Material Culture: Catalytic Commemoration and the Cremated Dead’, in Sarah Tarlow, and Liv N. Stutz (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeo­logy of Death and Burial, Oxford Handbooks in Archaeo­logy (Oxford: Oxford University Press), pp. 195–208 —— . 2016. ‘Viking Mortuary Citations’, European Journal of Archaeo­logy, 19.3: 400–14

Jerzy Sikora

7. Horses and Burial Rites in the Early Piast State and Pomerania Introduction: Written Sources Horses undoubtedly played an important role in the beliefs and religious practices of the early medi­eval Western Slavs. Sources from the period between the tenth and the twelfth centuries provide us with much information illuminating hippomantic practices of this Slavic group, which still adhered to pre-Christian beliefs. The oldest such description can be found in the work of Thietmar, the bishop of Merseburg, who described a divination ritual performed in a temple/ sacred grove in Rethra-Radogoszcz, which involved leading a horse over crossed spears stuck into the ground. Depending on whether the horse touched the spears, the enterprise in question was to succeed or not (Thietmari Merseburgensis Episcopi Chronicon, vi. 23, 24, pp. 303–04). An analogous description, but more than a century later, can be found in the life of St Otto of Bamberg written by the monk of Prüfening (S. Ottonis episcopi Babenbergensis Vita Prieflingensis, 42). The description was connected with Szczecin and concerned a military expedition. Once again, a horse was led over spears. Additional details were provided by an author of a different vita, i.e. Herbord, who added that a particularly large fat black horse was not used for any other purposes than divination and that it was taken care of by a specially appointed priest (Herbordi dialogus de vita S. Ottonis episcopi Babenbergensis, 123). A similar description, this time concerning Arkona, was written by Saxo Grammaticus. In a Rugian sacred town, in a complex of buildings of the temple of Svantovit (Svantevith), there was a separate stable for a horse; this time the animal was white. This horse was also used for divination, being led over crossed spears. Saxo, however, gives us some additional details affording us an insight into the Rugian belief system. The horse was supposed to be the property and mount of a deity. Proof of these supernatural contacts between the animal and the divine sphere was to be the fact that in the morning the horse was found in the sta-

ble all muddy and tired. Moreover, in the temple, apart from the deity’s sword, horse equipment was kept (Saxonis Gesta Danorum, xiv. 39. 3, p. 823). As noted by Marcin Henryk Gapski (2014, 35), an interesting supplement to these surprisingly unanimous (though varying in details) texts is a custom described in Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae concerning a different territory, a different ethnic group, and a slightly later period. In thirteenth-century Latvia, the local Balts performed a divination ritual using a horse and spears stacked into the ground to decide the life or death of a Christian missionary, Theodoric, accused of causing a drought (Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, 4–5). In this case, we should remember that the description was less ethno­graphic and more hagio­ graphic and its aim was to prove the special blessing received by Theodoric thanks to his fervent prayers — the ritual was repeated twice and indicated that the missionary was to be released. Horses could also play a certain role in funerary practices, although textual sources confirming a direct use of horses in such rites are rather scant. We have some accounts of Arabic authors that seem remarkably consistent in this respect. An Arabic historian Abū al-Ḥasan ʿAlī al-Masʿūdī, in his work Muruj adh-Dhahab from 947, reported that as-Saqāliba, meaning Slavs who lived in the land of the Khazars, ‘burn their dead with their mounts, equipment, and ornaments’ (Lewicki 1955, 150–51). The same author made further references to the Western Slavs he called Serbin, who were also supposed to burn their dead, and in the case of dead kings or chieftains they apparently burnt horses as well (their own or those that had belonged to the dead; Lewicki 1955, 150–51). Analogous information was provided by Al-Bakrī’s in his work Kitāb al-Masālik wa-l-Mamālik (The Book of Routes and Kingdoms), citing an account provided by a merchant of Jewish descent Ibrâhîm ibn Ya’qûb al-Tartushi (Switat 2018), who

Jerzy Sikora ([email protected]) is Professor in the Institute of Archaeo­logy at the University of Łódź. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 127–158 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132519

FHG

1 28 je r zy s i ko r a

claimed that Sernin burnt their dead, and when their chieftains died, they also burnt horses (cf. Lewicki 1955, 151). In both cases they most probably meant Polabian Serbs although it cannot be excluded that the name Sernin was used to describe a larger group of the Western Slavs (Lewicki 1955, 151–52 even suggested that it specifically referred to Poles). As we will see further below, archaeo­logical evidence of such a custom is rather scant, at least in the territory of Poland. Other written sources describing horse burials mostly concern neighbouring areas, starting with a famous description of the funeral of a Rus chieftain, written by an Arabic diplomat and traveller Ahmad ibn Fadlān. The people gathered at the funeral and orchestrating its different parts were probably of mixed ethnic descent but the leading role was played by Scandinavians (Montgomery 2000). One should also mention here Wulfstan’s account from an Old English version of Orosius’s work, written by King Alfred. It concerns people described as Ests, who lived in the territory called Witland, essentially Old Prussians. The account mentions obligatory cremation of the dead (regardless of their descent/language) together ‘with his weapons and clothing’ (Alfred, Paulus Orosius, Hist. adv. pag., 17; cf. Panfil 2015). A significant role in the funeral ceremony was supposed to be played by horses, which served as means of transport for the participants of unique ‘competitions’, the aim of which was to win some goods that had belonged to the dead but were not burnt on the pyre or spent on the organization of the funeral ceremony. Even though we do not know of any such accounts of funeral ceremonies from the territory of Poland, there is a mention of a similar race in the chronicle of the Bishop of Kraków Wincenty called Kadłubek (Magistri Vincentii, Chronica Polonorum, 25). In this chronicler’s narrative, the ‘inheritance’ is the whole country, which, after the death of Lestek I, was conflict-ridden. All disputes were to be resolved by a horse race, which, after many disturbances, was ultimately won by a pedestrian(!) competitor (Banaszkiewicz 1998, 155–224; Gapski 2014, 49–50). It is worth adding that we know of numerous horse burials in the territories inhabited by the Old Prussians, dating back to the Migration period and the so-called Olsztyn Group (Kontny and others 2011; Rudnicki 2020), but also from later sites, including the so-called Aschenplätze, from the period between the tenth/elev- enth century and the thirteenth century, where frequently unburnt horse remains and cremated human remains (mostly men’s) were buried (Wróblewski 2006; Shiroukhov 2012). This brief overview of written sources indicates a relatively high significance of horses, both

in pre-Christian cult practices of the Western Slavs, at least from the tenth century onwards, and probably also in their beliefs (as recently highlighted in a number of works of Kamil Kajkowski 2016; 2018; 2019). Knowledge of the role of the horse in the eschato­ logical context is much more limited and basically consists of three mentions of these animals being burnt with the dead and comparative material concerning neighbouring lands and peoples. There are very few mytho­logical or ethno­graphic accounts, particularly compared with later and more content-rich Germanic and Norse sources (see Evans Tang and Ruiter in this volume), and they say little about the role of horses in the beliefs and funerary practices in the pre-Christian period. More information has been provided by archaeo­logical research but it is of a rather fragmentary character.

Horses in Pre-Christian Burial Rites Horse bones are occasionally found in Slavic cremation burials in the territory of Poland, such as a burial mound in the town of Cecele (eastern Poland, Podlaskie Voivodeship; Zoll-Adamikowa 1975, 62; also known under a different name: Klukowo, cf. Dzik 2015a, 82–84; 2015b, 156–57; Niemczak 2019, 176) and two burial mounds in Horodyszcze (eastern Poland, Lubelskie Voivodeship; Kalaga 2006, 34, table 7, 47, table 23, 136–38).1 Considering the present state of research, the find from Chodlik (eastern Poland, Lubelskie Voivodeship), not yet fully published, is totally unique. In mounds no. 1 and no. 20, dated to the period from the eighth to the ninth centuries, burnt human and horse remains were found. In the first of the mounds, an adult man was buried, and in the other — a juvenile male and a woman. In both cases, human and animal remains were accompanied by metal elements of horse equipment including buckles, strap distributors, and ferrules bearing characteristics which their discoverer, Łukasz Miechowicz (2015, 185–87; 2018, 44–46), associates with nomadic and Carolingian cultures. The finds from Chodlik are unique on account of the abundance of the registered grave goods, and particularly, considering their state of preservation, goods burnt together with the dead or a horse. 1 Most of the published results of research conducted in early medi­eval burial grounds in the territory of Poland do not contain any results of archaeozoo­logical analyses, and it can be assumed that in many cases such analyses were not carried out. For example, when discussing the issues of depositing animal remains in burial grounds in an interfluve between the Bug and the lower Narew, M. Dzik (2015b, 156–57) lists seven sites, but archaeozoo­logical analyses have only been conduced for three of these sites.

7. h o rse s and b u ri al ri t e s i n t he e arly pi ast stat e and pomerania 12 9

The vast majority of pre-Christian cremation burials from the territory of today’s Poland and Pomerania contain no other finds than burnt human bones or, sporadically, bones of other animals and fragments of broken pottery (Kostrzewski 1960; Zoll-Adamikowa 1975; 1979; Gardeła 2017, 38–41). In this context, apart from Chodlik, one should mention a characteristic group of cremation barrow burials from south-eastern Poland (Lubelskie Voivodeship), where items connected with horse riding were discovered: Husynne (Żurowski and Mikołajczyk 1955, 254), Lipsk-Polesie (Drewko 1954, 308–09; Borkowski and Brzeziński 2021), and Mokre (Gajewski 1983, 297–99). These mounds contained various types of spurs with hook ends bent inside dated to a long period between the middle of the seventh (which seems overly optimistic) and the ninth centuries or even the first half of the tenth century (Żak 1959, 79; Żak and Maćkowiak-Kotkowska 1988, 31, 71; Hoczyk-Siwkowa 1999, 20; cf. comments of Kotowicz 2005, 165). In Mokre, a spur was supposedly found in an animal burrow Figure 7.1. Horses in pre-Christian burial places in Poland from the seventh to the eleventh dug into the mound. Analyses of this spec- centuries: 1. Unburned horse remains in human cremation burials; 2. Burned horse remains imen indicate it had been burnt, which was in human cremation burials; 3. Spurs and riding equipment in human cremation burials. interpreted as proof of cremation implying that the item had been on a pyre along with the period of practising the cremation rite (which preburied person. In the case of the remaining two sites, vailed until the first quarter of the eleventh century) spurs were actually found during archaeo­logical are the finds from Ryczyn (southern Poland, Lower research, but researchers who worked in Husynne Silesian Voivodeship) where a so-called ‘boat-like’ thought they had been redeposited from older laystructure was excavated in the embankment area of ers (Żurowski and Mikołajczyk 1955, 253–56). A difthe local stronghold (Moździoch and Przysiężnaferent opinion was expressed by M. Florek (2008, Pizarska 2008, 241–42). The structure lay on a layer 282–84), who believes that the mound in Husynne of clay, 4–5 cm thick, and consisted of arched ‘planks’ was not a cremation mound from the pre-Christian and frames tied to them, resembling a fragment of period but a small motte-and-bailey timber castle a clinker boat. Below, there were numerous bones from the late Middle Ages. According to him, the of calves, sheep, goats, pigs, dogs, birds, fish, and mound served as a foundation of a residential buildhorses. Among the bones, fragments of pottery were ing with a sunken floor occupied by a blacksmith’s also excavated. The whole find was interpreted as workshop (Florek 2008, 284). In his view, the presa cult deposit. A few small artificial mounds with ence of an early medi­eval spur in a later medi­eval hearths were supposedly found in the area. They motte’s mound results from damaging older settleare interpreted as cremation pyres, which is why ment layers during the construction of the castle. they are linked to the funerary sphere and have been Also mound 2 in Białka (eastern Poland, Lubelskie included in this chapter. This peculiar sacrificial and Voivodeship), where a horseshoe was supposedly burial complex was probably established immedidiscovered, is compared with this group of finds ately after Mieszko I (c. 930–25 May 992) had been (Rejniewicz 1985, 118; see also: Kotowicz 2005, 165–66; baptized in 966, an act which led to the ‘official’ but Grochecki 2012, 234–35). not necessarily actual Christianization of his domain Separate, still not fully published and probabetween the last quarter of the tenth century and bly unrepresentative examples of the presence of the middle of the eleventh century (Moździoch and horse remains in funerary rites from the end of the Przysiężna-Pizarska 2008, 243–44).

1 3 0 je r zy s i ko r a

Figure 7.2. Horse skeletons and scattered horse bones in inhumation cemeteries from the tenth to the twelfth centuries: 1. Scattered horse bones; 2. Horse burials.

Elements of horse-riding equipment and horse remains found in the so-called Old Magyar burials from Przemyśl (south-eastern Poland, Podkarpackie Voivodeship) should be considered non-representative for the topic discussed here. A small burial ground discovered in the 1970s included sixteen graves, with three male burials containing horse remains — skulls and leg bones arranged anatomically, although incomplete — as well as weapons and horse equipment (Koperski and Parczewski 1978; Koperski 1985; 2003; 2010). Both the burials and grave goods — weapons, ornaments, and horse-riding equipment — closely correspond with so-called Old Magyar burials from the Pannonian and Transylvanian Basins from the Conquest period dated between the end of the ninth and the middle of the tenth centuries (e.g. Gáll 2010; Langó 2005; Türk 2014). At the same time, they are considerably different from local funerary rites. Therefore, they probably ought to be seen as the burials of immigrant groups, specifically the presence of a small group of Hungarians (Fig. 7.1). Apart from the above-mentioned Magyar burials from Przemyśl, the finds of horse remains and items connected with horse riding in burials dated to the pre-Piast, i.e. pre-Christian, period are definitely

scarce. At the same time, it is worth emphasizing that our state of knowledge of funerary rites of the period is far from satisfactory. We know of only a small number of burial sites, and there are so few of them in northern, western, and central areas of Poland that the leading researcher in this field described this territory as a ‘burial-less area’ (ZollAdamikowa 1988, 188, 196–97). Everything thus seems to suggest that the role of horses and elements of horse equipment, including spurs, was rather marginal in Western Slavic funerary rites and mostly limited to eastern and south-eastern parts of today’s Poland, a territory more readily exposed to cultural influences from nomadic areas. It should be emphasized that pre-Christian mortuary customs, practised from the seventh century to approximately the middle of the tenth century in a large area of Western Slavic lands including Poland, were highly egalitarian. In this context, the image offered by archaeo­ logical research seems to confirm the opinion expressed c. 930 by an Arabic writer of Aramaic descent ibn Wahshiyya, who claimed that Slavic rites included cremation and were the same for both princes and ordinary people (Lewicki 1955, 150). Isolated examples from south-eastern Poland, where this principle does not seem to have been applied so rigorously (as seen in the unusual burials from Chodlik), do not considerably change the general picture of Western Slavic ritual behaviour, which apparently blurred social divisions.

Horses and Inhumation Burial Rites The situation changed at the end of the tenth century, a time when inhumations first appeared and gradually grew in popularity, which was clearly an effect of the ‘official’ conversion to Christianity, initiated by Duke Mieszko I and his court in 966 (cf. discussion on the chrono­logy of the oldest inhumation burials based on radiocarbon-dating — Sikora 2015a). Most probably, the spread of the new form of burying the dead, promoted by the Church and secular authorities, was a lengthy process, as indicated by the already mentioned finds from Ryczyn, with cremations ultimately ceasing to be performed in the most distant and remote areas (mostly eastern Poland and Pomerania) in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Paradoxically, the introduction of inhumation not only radically changed the way bodies of the dead were treated but also led to a rapid

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increase in the amount of goods deposited in graves. While in the earlier period graves without any goods other than fragments of pottery (or whole vessels) prevailed, with ornaments, tools, and weapon elements put into graves sporadically, from the end of the tenth century to the twelfth century, and in some areas even to the thirteenth century, furnished burial became a relatively common phenomenon. In burial grounds from this period, usually 40–50 per cent (and in some cases even more than 70 per cent) of graves included all kinds of goods: from small everyday items, such as knives and fire strikers, through ornaments (particularly temple rings, bead necklaces, rings, and bracelets), to weapon and horse equipment elements as well as vessels made of wood (buckets) and copper alloy (mostly bowls) (Chudziak and Stawska 2006, 145; Wadyl 2019a, 95). There was also a significant increase in the number of horse burials and other finds connected with horses. These phenomena, which now affected a much larger area, included: 1. Horse burials understood as nearly complete skeletons in anatomical position; 2. Incomplete deposits of horse bones, which were not arranged anatomically and placed in separate pits or within human graves; 3. Elements of horse-riding equipment (spurs) and sets of horse equipment (i.e. combinations of bits, cheekpieces, strap distributors, stirrups, and buckles) buried with the dead (in practice, almost exclusively with male individuals).

Horse Burials Horse burials in separate pits found in human cemeteries near human burials, with complete or nearly complete skeletons in anatomical position, are relatively rare, which is why it is possible to list virtually all of them in this paper (Fig. 7.2). The earliest horse deposit found during professional archaeo­logical research was the one from the burial ground at site 22 in Dziekanowice (Greater Poland Voivodeship; Wrzesińska and Wrzesiński 1998). This site plays a fundamental role in the Polish archaeo­logy of the early Middle Ages as it is one of the largest explored burial grounds from this period in the country (Wrzesiński 2019, 13–15). Its size seems to result to a large extent from its location as part of a settlement complex of Ostrów Lednicki, which was one of the most important seats of Piast rulers. The central element of this complex was a vast stronghold with a stone residential and sacral architecture on an island on Lednica Lake. In the tenth century, there were two wooden bridges leading to the

Figure 7.3. Dziekanowice. Horse burial. Redrawn after Wrzesińska and Wrzesiński 1998.

island. Around it, numerous open settlements have been identified, along with at least one more inhumation cemetery (site 2 in Dziekanowice). So far, 1665 graves have been explored during excavations at site 22 (Wrzesiński 2016; 2019). Their chrono­logy has been established using both traditional archaeo­ logical analysis, including the numismatic method (coins were found in 128 graves), and radiocarbon-dating (Wrzesiński 2016, 80–86). The results indicate that the beginnings of the burial ground date back to the end of the tenth century and that it was still used in the twelfth century or even later. The aforementioned horse burial was discovered in 1992 (Fig. 7.3). The skeleton was buried in a regular four-sided pit, on the side, and was covered with two large glacial erratics. It belonged to a male horse, fifteen–eighteen years old and 142 cm high at the withers. Thus, it was a large horse considering the context of early medi­eval Poland. The grave pit with the skeleton was later disturbed when the pit of grave 21/92 was dug, which partially damaged and dislocated the skull bones (Wrzesińska and Wrzesiński 1998). According to Daniel Makowiecki and Marzena Makowiecka (1998), the archaeozoo­logists examining the skeleton, the characteristic wear of pre-molar crowns may indicate that the horse was used as a mount, with the wear resulting from using a bit. As the skeleton had coffin bones removed, they suggested that hoof walls had been removed to recover horseshoes when the animal was already dead (see comments below).

131

1 3 2 je r zy s i ko r a Table 7.1. Dziekanowice, site 22. The chrono­logical model for the horse burial and grave 21/92 based on radiocarbon-dating.

Unmodelled (bc/ad) from

to

%

from

to

%

841

1160

68.3

685

1357

95.4

813

1148

68.3

728

1210

95.4

Boundary Start 2

788

1029

68.3

700

1160

95.4

99.3

Boundary End 1

724

984

68.3

665

1096

95.4

99.3

683

940

68.3

644

1092

95.4

662

937

68.3

434

1119

95.4

Name

from

to

%

from

to

Indices Amodel = 90.4 Aoverall = 93.1

Modelled (bc/ad) %

Boundary End 2 R_Date 21/92

667

987

68.3

540

1208

95.4

Acomb

A

L

P

C 95.9

92.9

99.2

Phase 2

R_Date Horse

773

1119

68.3

667

1201

95.4

97.3

99.1

Phase 1 Boundary Start 1

96.3

Sequence

Figure 7.4. Dziekanowice. Chrono­logical model of human grave 21/92 and horse burial.

As the strati­graphic structure of the burial, disturbed by many modern pits, aroused doubts among researchers working in Dziekanowice, they decided to perform radiocarbon analyses. Collagen from the horse skeleton and from human grave 21/92 was dated. Scintillation dating resulted with wide chrono­ logical frames and does not meet today’s standards that have been raised due to the common use of the AMS technique. Still, dates can be used to create a Sequence model in OxCal software based on a calibration curve IntCal 20 (Reimer and others 2020), and this made it possible to slightly narrow down the chrono­logical scope. Considering the dating of the whole site, it should be assumed that the horse was buried at the end of the tenth or in the eleventh century. The superimposed human grave should

probably be dated to the period from the eleventh to the twelfth centuries (Fig. 7.4). In Jordanów (western Poland, Lubuskie Voi­ vodeship), research was carried out in an inhumation burial ground generally dated to the twelfth century. The site fell out of use in c. 1230, when a Cistercian monastery was founded in nearby ParadyżGościkowo and a new cemetery was established there. A total of ‘approximately 100’ funerary features were identified in Jordanów (Osypińska and Osypiński 2012, 249). A few of them included animal remains that were intentional deposits. These were the remains of livestock (sheep/goats, cattle, and, in one of the cases, a fox tooth). Apart from them, a horse interred in anatomical position was discovered — this is a grave that draws particular attention in the present study. Based on the published archaeozoo­logical analysis, it was most probably a seven-year-old male low horse, tarpan-like, approx. 138–39 cm high at the withers (Osypińska and Osypiński 2012, 251–56). Horses of this type were popular in early medi­eval Poland. However, over time, they were replaced with sturdier breeds that were able to carry heavily armoured warriors (Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2020, 359–60; see discussion in Makowiecki 2018, 343–45). Interestingly, also in the case of this animal, just like in Dziekanowice, coffin bones were missing. Osypińska and Osypiński criticized the earlier interpretation given by Makowiecki and Makowiecka, according to which this was a result of an attempt to recover horseshoes. They rightly pointed out that horseshoes are usually replaced many times over a horse’s lifetime and it is not necessary to remove hooves to do that but only to remove nails, a process which a skilled blacksmith could complete in only a couple of minutes (Osypińska and Osypiński

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2012, 257). They believe that in both cases — in Jordanów and Dziekanowice — the real intention may have been to remove the pelt or to perform a different ‘extra-utilitarian’ activity. This explanation seems convincing. In Górzyca (western Poland, Lubuskie Voivo­ deship), in a small inhumation cemetery with only twenty graves dated by its discoverers to a slightly earlier period of the tenth and eleventh centuries, an intentional horse burial was also found. In this case, what raises doubts is the proposed early chrono­logy of the burial ground. The recovered artefacts, such as a copper coin dated to the second quarter of the eleventh century and considered a forgery, temple rings2 of thin copper-alloy wire representing type III according to Musianowicz (1948/1949) and variant A according to Kóčka-Krenz (1993), and structures, such as the remains of stone grave kerbs and wooden coffins, do not provide any solid source basis for such early chrono­logy and may be dated even to the twelfth century as well. In any case, a horse was placed in a pit in a different way than the ones in Dziekanowice and Jordanów, on its back, with legs upwards. Nothing in this case indicates that its hooves were removed (Socha 2013, 39–40; 2014, 46–47). Three horse deposits were registered during research in the burial ground in Kałdus (northern Poland, Kuyavian-Pomeranian Voivodeship), with only one that can be considered complete. They were discovered at site 4 dated to a period between the fourth quarter of the tenth and late twelfth century or early thirteenth century, which includes 492 burials. However, it should be noted that it was one of at least three burial grounds at a settlement complex in Kałdus, which also consisted of open settlements, a hillfort, and remnants of a stone church building. The burial described as 880/03 was an oval pit, with a funnel-like cross-section, containing a complete skeleton of a thirteen-year-old stallion, lying on its back, with legs upwards. Thus, its position was analogous to the one in the Górzyca burial. The horse was rather small, tarpan-like, 127.8 cm high at the withers. The pit also contained bones of another horse, 142.4 cm high at the withers (Bojarski and others 2010, 603; Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2010, 159). The pit with horse remains was located at the edge of human grave 383/03. It was a burial of a mature man, lying along a north-east–south

2 Temple rings were commonly used female ornaments usually made of copper alloys or silver and occasionally even gold. They were worn on the head, near the temples. A large variety of such ornaments are known from the period between the eighth to the thirteenth centuries and some specimens even date to the beginning of the fourteenth century (see Kóčka-Krenz 1993).

Figure 7.5. Pień. The calibration curve for dating grave 70 (a horse burial).

west axis on his right side, with slightly bent limbs. The burial did not include any goods (Bojarski and others 2010, 566). It is not clear whether the animal deposit was connected with this grave or if the fact that they were adjacent to each other was a coincidence and the intention was to bury them on the periphery of the burial ground. A horse burial was also found in a unique, small but elite, burial ground in Pień (northern Poland, Kuyavian-Pomeranian Voivodeship). A horse skeleton was deposited in a rather regular, octagonal pit, measuring approx. 250 × 250 cm. Details of the pit fill allowed researchers to suggest that ‘perhaps it is a grave structure referring to the chamber graves discovered at this site earlier’ (Drozd and others 2011, 516; Błaszczyk and others 2020, 351–52; Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2020). The skeleton was lying on the left side, with hooves most probably hobbled. The bones did not look damaged. It was a skeleton of a young stallion aged 2.5 years, about 132.9 cm high at the withers, so it was a small horse (Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2020, 359). Apart from the bones, the grave contained no goods (Drozd and others 2011, 516–17). It is worth adding that this early medi­ eval burial ground is dated to the end of the tenth century or the beginning of the eleventh century and that it only consisted of ten burials (Fig. 7.5). All without exception were classified as chamber graves, with three being graves of adults and the remaining of children. All of the graves were furnished, and in the case of six of them it can be said that the goods were exceptionally lavish (in terms of their number, diversity, and materials — Drozd and others 2009; 2011).

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A horse deposit was also found during research in the Cloth Hall in the Old Town in Kraków (southern Poland, Lesser Poland Voivodeship). It was excavated only fragmentarily, so it is unclear whether it was a pragmatic deposit of a dead animal, an offering, a ritual animal burial, or a part of a larger grave complex in which a human burial would be found next to the horse skeleton. It was discovered approx. 10 m away from a fully excavated human burial, also found under Kraków Cloth Hall. The dating of both deposits was determined based on strati­graphy and pottery analyses to the period between the end of the eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth century (Zaitz 2010, 258). It can be assumed that both burials were connected with an extensive cemetery in the southern and south-eastern sections of today’s Main Square (Głowa 2010). When publishing this find, Emil and Michał Zaitz (2010, 258–61) gathered information about previously discovered animal burials in the neighbouring area. Those worth mentioning include: • The deposit from Rakowice near Kraków discovered in 1928, which consisted of a human skeleton, a horse skeleton, a sword, two axe heads, a spur, two horseshoes, four knives, three drilling bits, and harness elements. Based on the sword and the spur the burial was dated to the fourteenth century. However, it is not certain whether the objects listed were actually connected with the skeletons found (Zaitz and Zaitz 2010, 258–59). • In 1938, a horse skeleton was supposedly found along with human bones in the Wawel Royal Castle. It was discovered by chance during construction work. The find complex apparently included a whetstone. Again, the relationship between the bones and the whetstone is unknown and their early medi­eval chrono­logy, surmised by Rudolf Jamka, is uncertain (Zaitz and Zaitz 2010, 259). • In the 1950s, a human skeleton and a horse skull were found during research in a crypt of the Church of Piotr Skarga in Grodzka Street. Apparently, there was an iron sickle nearby. The complex was sometimes linked by researchers to Pannonian Avars. However, in the context of the find, Emil and Michał Zaitz believe that it cannot be said with absolute certainty that the human bones came from the same period as the horse skull (Zaitz and Zaitz 2010, 259). At the end of the 1950s, a horse burial was found in the village of Kijany (known also as Kijany-Kolonia; eastern Poland, Lubelskie Voivodeship) during research into local mounds. In a strongly levelled mound 1,

with the preserved height of approx. 1 m and a diameter of 22 m, ‘bones of a large animal’ were deposited, supposedly of a horse (which means that no archaeozoo­logical analysis had been performed before publication). It was buried in the central part of the barrow, and to south of it, at the foot of the mound, two human skeletons were found: one of an adult and one of a child. They were buried in supine position, along the east–west axis, with skulls towards the west. Under the skeletons, there were small pieces of charcoal in the ground. Near the skull of the adult, there was a vessel which, based on the description and the drawing included in the publication, could be dated to the period between the second half of the tenth century and the eleventh century. An iron knife was also found in the mound (Gajewski and Gurba 1960, 84–86, 89). It is difficult to discern the remains of the alleged horse on the cross-section and the grave plan. The mound itself seems to be at least a two-stage structure. Its discoverers believed that initially there was a small mound with only human remains, and then an embankment was added to cover the ‘horse’ skeleton, which was deposited slightly above the human remains. Everything seems to suggest that the animal was buried later. Even if this was indeed the case, its chrono­logy can be entirely different from the chrono­logy of the human remains, which most probably corresponds with the already mentioned vessel. A different opinion on this was expressed by Maria Miśkiewicz (2010, 131), who suggested that both burials came from the same period as she was unable to imagine why such an animal deposit could be made later, along with adding soil to the mound (cf. Grochecki 2012, 234). Considering that even the species of the animal remains from Kijany is uncertain, it is difficult to draw any conclusions about this find. Information about the find from Gromice in Masovia (Masovian Voivodeship) is even more limited. The burial ground with graves with stone kerbs, typical of the eleventh and twelfth centuries in this part of the Piast state, ‘apart from six human skeletons (and a child)’ also contained a horse skeleton and artefacts such as a sword ‘decorated with all kinds of coats of arms, a silver earring [temple pendant/temple ring — J. S.’s note], an iron spur of knights of old, and other small items’. The discovery was made in the 1930s by accident, during road construction work (N. N. 1935, 3; Kordala 2006, 237).

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Incomplete Horse Skeletons and Bones In or Near Human Graves Horse bones found in human grave pits or in separate pits located near human burials form a category we know relatively little about. This may to a large extent result from the lack of archaeozoo­ logical analyses of animal remains found in funerary contexts and from the fact that in the past such finds were ignored as researchers mostly focused on human graves and grave goods, and the basic research questions concerned the issues of chrono­ logy and typo­logy. Two deposits of incomplete horse skeletons were found during research in Kałdus. Feature 908/03 included an incomplete skeleton of an adult horse, aged more than 3.5 years. The horse was 127.3 cm high (Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2010, 159; Bojarski and others 2010, 603). Most probably, the feature was a part of a larger grave pit which also included a burial of a young person of unidentified sex (grave 401/03) (Bojarski and others 2010, 572–73, 603; Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2010, 159). The other feature, 75/00, also included an incomplete skeleton of a c. thirteen– fifteen-year-old male horse lying on the right side. Signs of weathering and dog teeth marks indicate that the skeleton was exposed to weather, which may mean that the horse remained unburied for some time (Bojarski and others 2010, 602–03; Makowiecki and Makowiecka 2010, 159–62). Incomplete horse remains were identified in grave 35 in cemetery in Ciepłe (northern Poland, Pomeranian Voivodeship). They included ribs and fragments of a femur, most probably of a horse. Daniel Makowiecki, who analysed the animal remains from this burial ground, apparently considered them

residual materials, deposited later in the fill of the grave pit, only treating pig remains as intentionally buried (a grave offering), with the remains of marten paws probably being remnants of a fur, i.e. elements of clothing (Makowiecki 2019, 290–91). Grave 35 belonged to a man of mature or senile age, buried in a wooden chamber, with rich grave goods including weapons, such as a sword and a spear, and riding equipment (Ratajczyk and Wadyl 2019, 591–92). Horse remains were also identified in the Niewiarowo-Sochy (eastern Poland, Podlaskie Voivodeship) burial ground. It is a burial ground with graves with stone kerbs and cobbles, typical of Masovia and Podlasie (cf. Kordala 2006; Dzik 2014; 2015a; 2015b). Horse remains were found in the following graves: • 10: a burial of an adult individual of unidentified sex; it included two fragments of a femur and two fragments of a horse tooth (the third molar belonged to a horse aged approx. five years), • 15: a burial of an adult individual of unidentified sex; it included fragments of horse teeth, • 16: no data about the buried individual; it included a horse tarsus (Niemczak 2019; Stanaszek 2019, 220–21). The grave pits also included fragments of clay vessels. Additionally, grave 10 included a fire striker near the pelvis, while grave 16 contained a temple ring, four glass beads, and four nails, most probably from the decomposed coffin (Musianowicz 1955, 253–55). Information about deposits of horse and cattle bones come from a burial ground in Śródka in Poznań (Greater Poland Voivodeship). This site has

Figure 7.6. Ostrowite. Grave 77. A. Plan of the grave: 1. Iron key; 2. Silver necklace; 3. Horse coffin bone; 4. Iron knife in a copper-alloy sheath fitting; 5. Silver needle case; 6. Amber pendant. B. Close-up of the silver necklace and the amber pendant in situ; C. The base of amber pedant featuring a cross directly after extraction from the grave.

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Figure 7.7. Ostrowite. Plan of trenches D100, G10, and J10 with scattered horse and cattle remains in pits surrounding grave 77 and 3D models of those features. Human grave pits marked in black, pits with animal bones marked in grey.

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Figure 7.8. Ostrowite. Plans of grave 35 and related features.

not been published yet, so we only have a popular science book by Ewa and Paweł Pawlak (2015, 64) briefly mentioning these finds. They supposedly came from ‘a considerable part of a skeleton’ and were deposited ‘over a few graves or directly next to them’ in the westernmost part of the burial ground (Pawlak and Pawlak 2015, 64, 69, fig. 65). Other horse bones come from a burial ground in Ostrowite (northern Poland, Pomeranian Voivodeship), which was in use between the middle of the eleventh and the beginning of the fourteenth centuries within an extensive settlement complex on Ostrowite Lake in the southern part of eastern Pomerania (Sikora 2015b; Sikora and others 2017b). Horse remains were identified there in several contexts. A particularly interesting and instructive example is grave 77 and its surroundings. An adult woman (approx. thirty–forty years) was buried along the east–west axis with the skull directed towards the west, which perhaps is a departure from ‘classical’ Christian norms but was common between the eleventh and twelfth centuries in Poland and Pomerania. She was buried with a set of goods indicating a relatively high status. Near the pectoral girdle and on the chest, there was a silver-plated chain with a large amber pendant (Fig. 7.6). The pendant had a bucket-like shape, and a sign of a cross within a circle (the so-called Celtic cross) was carved on its slightly convex bottom surface. In the grave, at the pelvis, there

was also a knife with a partially preserved sheath with copper-alloy fittings and a copper-alloy needle case. Between the lower limbs of the human skeleton there were horse limb bones (a hoof ). Around the grave pit, from the north and the west, 2 to 4 m away, there were shallow, amorphous, basin-like pits with numerous cattle and horse bones, including a fully preserved skull and limbs in anatomical position. A trace of an analogous pit, most probably redeposited, was also found approx. 4.1 m to the south, in an area that was destroyed in the twentieth century by an extensive drainage channel. Paradoxically, out of eighty burials excavated in this burial ground, this is the only one containing an item bearing most probably Christian symbols. At the same time, the burial contains traces of a custom that would be difficult to reconcile with Christian eschato­logical beliefs. It is not certain whether the pits containing horse bones, located around the grave (Fig. 7.7), are connected with it in functional and chrono­logical terms (they included pottery material the chrono­logy of which corresponded with the burial). However, it is very likely. Another example is grave 35 from Ostrowite. It is a rather unusual burial of an individual of unidentified sex and age. In a deep grave pit, with northeast–south-west orientation, which is atypical of the burial ground, a skeleton was found in supine position, with no grave goods (Fig. 7.8). Long limb

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Human Burials with Elements of Horse-Riding Equipment

Figure 7.9. Graves with horse-riding equipment from the tenth and the eleventh centuries.

bones: the humerus, the ulna, and the radius were arranged in a way suggesting that the dead had been buried with the arms bent at the elbows and resting on the torso. No grave goods were found by the skeleton. After the grave pit had been filled in, an irregular hearth pit was dug in its southern part, measuring 1.0 × 1.73 m, with its longer axis at right angles to the longer axis of the grave pit. The pit, apart from many charcoal pieces and sand mixed with ash, contained considerably burnt glacial erratics, fragments of pottery, and a poorly preserved horse skull, of which mostly teeth remain today. In a later period, the upper parts of both structures were destroyed when a large oval pit was dug there. These are not the only burials at the site with horse bones. Such bones were also found in grave 23 (an adult man) and in grave 41 (a juvenile person).3 However, in these cases they might have been (re)deposited by accident.



3 An oral account provided by Prof. D. Makowiecki from the Institute of Archaeo­logy of the Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń, who performed the archaeozoo­logical analysis.

The presence of horse equipment in early medi­eval graves in the territory of the Piast state and Pomerania is rare and restricted to male burials (Fig. 7.9) (for more on horse-riding equipment, see Gardeła and Kajkowski in this volume). One should certainly mention burials from two sites in Ciepłe (Pomeranian Voivodeship) and Lutomiersk (Central Poland, Łódzkie Voivodeship). In Ciepłe, such elements were found in four graves, dated, according to Sławomir Wadyl (2019b, 373–74), to the beginning of the eleventh century, out of a total of sixty-three burials deposited there until the first half of the twelfth century. In Lutomiersk, these were seven graves out of a total of 133 burials (which is probably not an accurate count as the area of the burial ground was destroyed; initially, there could have been approx. 150 burials). They come from the earliest phases of the cemetery, which was used between the end of the tenth century and the second half of the eleventh century or the middle of the twelfth century (on chrono­logy of the site: Nadolski and others 1959; Grygiel 2014; Sikora in press; general new interpretations: Gardeła 2019a, 246–54; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021; Gardeła and others 2019a; 2019b; 2019c). In both locations, these were male burials, with extremely rich grave goods including weapons and all kinds of other items, such as vessels (copper-alloy bowls and/or wooden buckets with metal fittings), knives, fire strikers, and silver coins. In a single case (grave 35 from Ciepłe), a clay vessel was identified. In two cases (graves V/1900 and 43 from Ciepłe), there were scales and weights. In three cases (graves 42 and 43 from Ciepłe, grave 1/1940 from Lutomiersk), there were whetstones, in the latest literature reinterpreted as touchstones ( Ježek 2013; 2017). Three graves (35, 42, and 43 from Ciepłe) also included animal bones that could be the remains of deposited carcasses. In the case of graves from Ciepłe, the dead were interred in large wooden chambers. In Lutomiersk, graves were also larger than standard grave pits from this period, reaching a considerable size (e.g. grave 10: 250 cm in width, 430 cm in length), which corresponded to the standard size of chamber graves. However, no traces of wooden chamber structures were found (or identified), only kerbs and cobbles. Horse equipment discovered in other early medi­ eval graves in the territory of today’s Poland arouses

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some doubts. Fragments of two iron bars considered to be severely damaged remnants of stirrups were discovered in 1924 in an inhumation grave in Barwino in western Pomerania (Western Pomeranian Voivodeship). They were found along with a sword, a copper-alloy bowl, and a ring (Eggers 1939; Beck 1969, 9, Taf. 1.1; 2.7; 3.12; 7.39; Pollex 2010, 625–26). However, according to Andrzej Janowski, these artefacts should rather be treated as remnants of a fire striker as they are too delicate to serve as stirrups ( Janowski 2014, 58). In 1973, during a field survey in Żarnów in Central Poland (Łódzkie Voivodeship), a pit was excavated, which contained small fragments of bones of an unidentified species (Fig. 7.10). The pit also included a wooden bucket with iron fittings, a pair of stirrups, D-shaped buckles (connected with stirrups), scissors, and an arched fire striker (Sikora 2013, 46–48; Sikora and others 2017a, 260–62). Although this fea-

Figure 7.10. Żarnów. Alleged grave 1/1973. Plan and grave goods.

ture was initially interpreted as a storage pit or a cenotaph (Filipowicz and Lechowicz 2013, 64 n. 12), after subsequent analysis and the latest field research in 2012, during which an early medi­eval grave with an extremely poorly preserved skeleton was discovered nearby, it should be assumed that it was actually a burial. This interpretation is further supported by handwritten supplementary notes to the research report mentioning the occurrence of small bone fragments within the feature (Sikora and others 2017a, 276–77). All this suggests that local ground conditions caused the skeleton to nearly decompose, and the damage was completed by later activity, including deep tillage. We have even less certain information about the find from Tyniec Mały in Silesia (Lower Silesian

1 4 0 je r zy s i ko r a

Figure 7.11. Graves with spurs from the tenth to the twelfth centuries.

Voivodeship). At the beginning of the twentieth century, in a burial ground explored repeatedly in 1872–1874, 1878, 1893, 1896–1897, and 1928, a stirrup was found, probably from a damaged burial (Wachowski 1975, 131–36, fig. 30). However, it should be emphasized that it was found without any context, so it cannot be said with absolute certainty that the artefact had originally been deposited in a grave pit. Another find with no clear context comes from the village of Górki (north-western Poland, Lubuskie Voivodeship). A set of stirrups of a type characteristic of the tenth century and the first half of the eleventh century is now in the collection of the Archaeo­logical Museum in Poznań. According to Witold Świętosławski (1990, 94), the artefact most probably came from a grave context. Considering the fact that Górki is located approx. 2.3 km away from a stronghold and a settlement in Santok, which used to be an important centre on the border between Pomerania and Greater Poland (Zamelska-Monczak 2019), it is highly probable that there used to be a burial ground there, with graves containing horse-riding equipment.4



4 The data of the Polish Archaeo­logical Record (also known as AZP: Archeo­logiczne Zdjęcie Polski) does not contain

It was much more frequent to deposit spurs in graves than to deposit more or less complete sets of horse equipment (Fig. 7.11). Spurs are also found almost exclusively in osteo­logically determined male graves. Such burials have been identified at forty-four sites in Poland, some of which, unfortunately, were accidentally discovered and excavated by amateurs. Spurs were normally placed at the feet of the dead and usually they were attached to (put on) the feet or placed near them. The dead would be typically given a set of two spurs, but in some cases only one spur was found, usually at the left lower limb. According to some scholars, it cannot be excluded that these persons used a single spur for riding (cf. Kościelecki 2000, 68–69). Spurs were sometimes deposited in chamber graves, graves with stone kerbs or cobbles, and in simple grave pits, both with and without coffins (Fig. 7.12 and Fig. 7.13). Grave goods from burials with spurs also differ considerably. Apart from the already mentioned burials from Ciepłe and Lutomiersk, opulent in terms of deposited artefacts, there is also a clear group of similar graves, though usually containing no elements of horse equipment, in most cases dated to the eleventh century. One can mention grave 609 from the burial ground in Czersk (Central Poland, Masovian Voivodeship; Błaszczyk and Stanaszek 2016), containing a sword, a spearhead, two copper-alloy bowls, a bucket, a golden ring, and a fragment of a chain, as well as burials from graves with stone kerbs and cobbles from Grzebsk, Końskie, and Pokrzywnica Wielka, which also contained swords, axe heads, spearheads, buckets, and/or copper-alloy bowls (Gąssowski 1950; Rauhut 1971; Kordala 2006). However, there are many graves that seem to be in contrast with this group, for instance burials from the cemetery in Markowice in Kuyavia (Figs 7.14 and 7.15). This burial ground was discovered during rescue research connected with the construction of a new road. It included as many as 248 medi­eval burials dated to the period from the end of the tenth century to the thirteenth century. Among them were three graves with spurs. Grave 85, apart from a set of spurs and related buckles for leather information about the burial ground in Górki. It only lists the burial ground in Czechów, known from archival research, and the one in Gorzów Wielkopolski subject to rescue excavations (Sinkowski 2019, 365). Another burial ground dated to the end of the tenth century or the eleventh century was located in Santok itself, on the Castle Hill, in a place later occupied by a hillfort (Zamelska-Monczak 2019, 389).

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straps, contained a wooden bucket and an iron knife. The goods were deposited in a large pit measuring 144 × 272 cm. The situation of graves 125 and 125A is a bit more complicated as they are superimposed. Grave 125 was located higher and an adult man was buried in it. The man was given a Hilczerówna’s type I/I spur (a rust-coloured mark of the second spur that had eroded completely was found), typical particularly of the second half of the tenth century and the first half of the eleventh century. Below, there was burial 125A, also of a man, of juvenile or adult age, along with Hilczerówna’s type I/I spurs, a knife in a sheath with characteristic, snake-like bronze fittings, a buckle, and an artefact interpreted as a belt fitting/ornament. The authors of the Figure 7.12. Graves with horse harness. Comparison of grave assemblages: study on the material from Markowice 1. Chamber graves; 2. Graves with stone kerbs and/or cobbles. thought that this could have been a multilayered burial, with both bodies deposited at the same time (Błaszczyk and others 2016, 31). This is not entirely obvious, however, and it is equally possible that the grave was reopened to ‘add’ another person to an earlier burial. This seems to be confirmed by the radiocarbon analysis. While the calibrated dating scope for burial 125A (with a probability of 95.4 per cent) was between ad 884 and 1013, for burial 125 it was between ad 1049 and 1270. Statistical calculations and Bayesian chrono­ logical modelling for the site showed that, considering these dates, it is highly improbable (approx. 0.00001) that these burials took place at the same time. It should be assumed that grave 125A was dug at the end of the tenth century, while grave 125 was dug about half a century later. It was not unusual to place so few items in graves. Analogously equipped graves, which apart from spurs contained only knives, were found in Gołuń Figure 7.13. Graves with spurs. Comparison of grave (grave 40, Greater Poland Voivodeship; Andrałojć assemblages: 1. Chamber graves; 2. Graves with stone 5 2015, 50, 89–91) and Santok (Lubuskie Voivideship; kerbs and/or cobbles; 3. Graves in standard pits. 6 Michalak and Sinkowski 2017) in Greater Poland and in Lewino in eastern Pomerania (grave K1,



5 In grave 40 in Gołuń also buckles with matching spur straps were identified. Apart from grave 40, spurs were also found in grave 16, where they were deposited along with a wooden bucket with iron fittings (Andrałojć 2015, 32–33). 6 The find in Santok was made during a rescue survey. The grave contained a knife and a single spur with a buckle. However, the authors of the publication of the find suspect that the grave originally contained another spur which was mechanically removed by a backhoe (Michalak and Sinkowski 2017, 135). In 1925, another grave with a spur was supposedly discovered nearby.

Pomeranian Voivodeship; Ziółkowski 2017, 346–49). This does not mean, however, that these burials should be called ‘poor’. One should remember that labels of ‘wealth’ and ‘poverty’ used by archaeo­ logists when describing early medi­eval burials are subjective and anachronistic. They usually do not consider unpreserved elements made of organic materials (Williams 2006, 38).

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Figure 7.14. Markowice. Graves 125 and 125 A. Plans and grave goods.

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Discussion The significance of horse burials has been a subject of discussion proposing different explanations, from linking this custom to the ethnic background, through references to religion and transition from ‘pagan’ religions to Christianity, to such issues as prestige, power relations, and manifestation of social status. It seems that these proposals should be critically analysed. The burial from Gromice was considered by Kordala (2006, 237) ‘a relic of a foreign burial rite, perhaps from the Scandinavian culture, the Baltic culture, or the culture of steppe peoples’. In the narrative created by this researcher, this was another of a series of arguments that were to prove the Scandinavian or Varangian and Rus origin of a group of burials with stone kerbs and cobbles, mostly characteristic of Masovia. I have already presented a critique of this idea in other publications, referring to the cultural-historical paradigm represented by Kordala, the theory of ethnic studies in archaeo­logy, and expressed my critical thoughts about alleged Scandinavian or Rus ethnic attributions with regard to the origin of selected artefacts found in those graves. Closer analyses revealed that even those items have little to do with Scandinavia or Rus (cf. Sikora 2013a; 2013b). There is no reason to assume any of those graves was of foreign origin. Thus, I agree with researchers who believe that the phenomenon of horse burials in Western Slavic burial grounds was local, even if rare (Kajkowski and Kuczkowski 2011; Drozd and others 2011, 517, 519; Kajkowski 2016; 2018). It is worth adding that the few eleventh- and twelfth-century horse burials from the territory of early medi­eval Poland were not isolated cases. Analogous examples are known from other Western Slavic territories where they are found in very similar historical, political, and social contexts of early stages of Christianization and the introduction of inhumation. Analogous horse burial finds in separate, individual grave pits (even despite a different arrangement of bones in anatomical position) are known from, for example, the burial ground in Olomouc-Nemilany in the Czech Republic dated to the period from the end of the ninth to the middle of the tenth centuries. Three graves with bones of stallions and mares were found in the central (neighbouring graves H35 and H36) and eastern parts of the burial ground (grave H38) including, among others, burials with weaponry and spurs (Přichystalová and others 2014, 57–61). At the Mikulčice-Klášteřisko site, remnants of a wooden structure were discovered, interpreted as a cult building and compared with the building from Gross Raden. Around it, from about

Figure 7.15. Markowice. A chrono­logical model of the cemetery.

the middle of the ninth century, an inhumation burial ground developed and was still used in the tenth century after the building had been destroyed. It also contained burials with martial equipment (mostly axes and hammer-axes, spearheads, and arrows) and spurs. Three horse burials were found there as well (Klanica 1985, 475–76). Moreover, horse burials were found at Pohansko near Břeclav. Near a complex of buildings interpreted as a magnate’s court, there were structures believed to be successive cult buildings: a pre-Christian pagan building, a church built during the peak of Great Moravian statehood, and another pagan sanctuary erected after state (and church?) structures had collapsed. The last one had a small inhumation burial ground where two horse burials were identified (Dostál 1975, 101–12; Macháček and Pleterski 2000, 12, 14). In the whole settlement complex of Břeclav-Pohansko, during many years of research, other horse burials were found in different contexts at the sites of Žiarové pohrebisko, Lesná škôlka, Lesný hrúd, and in a southern bailey of the stronghold. They were found both near

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human burials and away from them, in the context of settlement traces (Přichystalová 2013). A different example is a small burial ground in the town of Krčmaň – Za hatí, including only three human burials and one horse burial (Tajer 2001). Horse burials have also been found in the territory of today’s eastern Germany, which in the early Middle Ages was inhabited by the Western Slavs. Three such burials were registered in the tenth-century Oechlitz (Saalekreis, Sachsen-Anhalt) burial ground. One of them, grave 14, was connected with later human burials successively added to it: grave 17 (most probably of a young man) and children’s graves 29 and 32 (Müller 2013, 134–35). Apart from these examples, the site included two other burials: 15 and 62, adjacent to one another, not connected directly with human burials. Müller believes that horse burials were rather typical of the Germanic tradition, from the Roman period to the Carolingian and Ottonian periods (Lemm 2021), and argues that in the Slavic milieu (apart from Oechlitz, he also mentions burial grounds in Leubingen and Dieskau, and in Saalekreis) they occurred in the region of contacts with Germanic communities, west of the Saale (Müller 2013, cf. Müller-Wille 1970/71, 158). The above Great Moravian and Polish examples indicate that, though rare, horse burials were also present in Western Slavic environments, including territories located far from dense Germanic settlements. The Scandinavian tradition of horse burials frequently connected them with human burials, which was mentioned by the already cited account of ibn Fadlān (Montgomery 2000). Indeed, horse skeletons or their parts are quite often found within human burials, usually those that could be regarded as reflections of aristocratic traditions, spectacular examples of which are ship burials which Władysław Duczko (2004, 148) described as ‘regular mass killings’: in Norwegian Oseberg (dendrochrono­logical dating of the burial chamber to ad 934) and Gokstad (the burial chamber dated to ad 900–905) fifteen and thirteen horses respectively, and in Danish Ladby (dated to c. ad 925–950) eleven (cf. Gjessing 1943, 59; dating as cited in Bonde and Christensen 1993; Sørensen 2001). Ninth-century and tenth-century horse burials in the Swedish settlement of Birka were mostly connected with chamber graves in which representatives of the probably multi-ethnic aristocratic elite of the centre were buried. In a total of twenty such burials, horses (one or two) were usually placed at the feet of the dead on separate platforms connected with the wooden structure of the burial chamber. Many of these graves included riding equipment and weaponry (Gräslund 1981, 39–43; Hedenstierna-Jonson

and Ljungkvist 2021). Slightly younger, partly from the same period as the Polish examples, are human burials with a horse or horses (usually not more than two) from the territory of Denmark, recently analysed by Anne Pedersen (2014, 176–87; 2021; Eisenschmidt 2021). Many of them are also chamber graves. Horse skeletons were usually found inside the chambers, at the feet of the dead or along one of the longer sides of the structure (for a broader Scandinavian, in this case specifically Gotlandic context, see Toplak in this volume). Analogous examples can be found in the territory of Kyivan Rus, where horse burials were parts of chamber graves (Михайлов 2016, 61–65). These burials should be linked to the multi-ethnic group of the Rus people, among whom a significant role was played by Scandinavians. Considering the custom of burying horses, one cannot exclude the influence of nomadic cultures that were relatively frequently encountered in Eastern Europe (Langó and others 2008; Türk 2014; Daim 2021). Horse burials known from the territory of early Piast Poland are unlike most of the Scandinavian examples, as well Rus, or nomadic ones. Except for a single case of feature 908/03 from Kałdus, with an uncertain relationship to the human grave (something the researchers of this site openly admit), these are all isolated pits with horse remains, which are not directly connected with human burials. They rather resemble customs known from the Merovingian, Carolingian, and Ottonian cultures (Müller-Wille 1970–1971; Paust and Karl 2018), as well as the already mentioned other Western Slavic examples and some burial customs from Baltic territories (Müller-Wille 1970–1971, 176–80; Zinoviev 2011; Shiroukhov 2012; Bliujienė and others 2017). They should be treated either as a local innovation in burial rites or, just like the whole group of funerary rituals connected with inhumation, as a borrowing from the territory of Czech and Moravia and Ottonian Germany. In academic literature, the phenomenon of horse burials is frequently explained in terms of their links with pre-Christian beliefs. With regard to Polish and Pomeranian or, more generally, Western Slavic material, this was the direction of Kamil Kajkowski’s deliberations (2016; 2018; 2019). Another explanation concerns consumption practices associated with the funeral and the time after the funeral (Kajkowski and Kuczkowski 2011; Kuczkowski and Kajkowski 2012). Funeral feasts (wakes or so-called triznas) and cyclical commemorative rituals, during which the dead was remembered, constituted important elements of social life in the Middle Ages and are well confirmed by textual sources. In Slavic folklore they were not limited to the day of the funeral but, on account of the belief that the process of

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transition from the world of the living to the world of the dead took a long time, they were repeated over a few or even a couple dozen days following the funeral (the Russian cороковины took place forty days after death — cf. Fisher 1921, 375–90; Biegeleisen 1930, 284–85). According to an account provided by another Arabic author, Ibn Rosteh, the people known as as-Saqlabija (a term referring to the Slavs): ‘A year after death take twenty jugs of mead, [sometimes] fewer, [sometimes] more, and go with them to that hill [i.e. the grave]. There, the family of the dead gathers, eating and drinking, and then they depart’ (Lewicki 1952–1953, 125; translation by Jerzy Sikora). We have folklore information about such a custom called Роковини (anniversary) from the area near Czernichów (Biegeleisen 1930, 285). Performance of such rites to commemorate the dead, called Forefathers’ Eve, All Souls’ Day, or Russian поминки, is confirmed in the folklore of virtually all Slavic lands (Biegeleisen 1930, 294–303, 306–12). Evidence of similar customs can survive as pits with numerous post-consumption horse and cattle bones such as those discovered, for example, in Ostrowite. Most probably, horse bones found in human graves are remnants of pagan eschato­logical beliefs unknown to us, perhaps already influenced by Christian eschato­logy in the period in question, which made it necessary to change the way people were buried from cremation to inhumation. Whether they were offerings to the dead (cf. Kajkowski and Kuczkowski 2011; Kuczkowski and Kajkowski 2012) or acts connected with other beliefs remains obscure, considering the present state of knowledge. However, it cannot be excluded that Christianity in a way specified the beliefs concerning the further fate of the dead by introducing a strong belief in the future resurrection (cf. Kajkowski 2018, 141–43). In certain situations, it could be an additional factor making people deposit elements of carcasses, including those of horses, in human graves, a custom which, apart from eastern Poland, is unknown to us from any earlier period. It is also worth devoting some space to issues connected with emphasizing the status, prestige, and authority of the dead by depositing horse burials (horses were expensive animals not everyone could afford) or elements of horse-riding equipment including spurs and other riding equipment. As Halsall (1995, 109, 266) pointed out: ‘killing of a horse must have been an important display of prestige’. He noticed that in the Merovingian region of Metz he analysed, the further from the main centre, where conflicts could be resolved by secular and religious authorities, the greater the tendency to compete also through ‘lavish funerary displays’, which

involved including in burial rites elements of weaponry, horse-riding equipment, eating and drinking vessels (buckets, bronze bowls), and scales indicating control of trade (Halsall 1995, 260). In analysing the spatial distribution of these elements and horse burials in the area of Poland from the period between the tenth century and the twelfth century, no such regularity can be identified. Apart from places of lesser significance, such as Jordanowo and Lutomiersk, there are local trade, craft, and power centres, such as Ostrowite and Ciepłe, as well as centres of provincial government, such as Kałdus, and even ‘capitals’, such as Dziekanowice, Kraków, and Poznań. We have little data that would allow us to explore the system of values of early medi­eval inhabitants of the Piast state or determine what, in their opinion, could be a form of expression of one’s economic and social status. Still, careful analysis of written and archaeo­logical sources may help us understand the world of aspirations of the elites in this state. What seems important in this case is the idealized image of the reign of Bolesław I the Brave (967–1025) found in the Chronicle of Gallus Anonymus. The author of Gesta principum Polonorum definitely was not a representative of the local elites. According to historians, he came from Gaul ( Jasiński 2008, 14), Germany (Fried 2010; Wenta 2011), or Venice ( Jasiński 2008; Eder 2015). Whatever his origin truly was, he probably expressed a vision of a perfect world shared by at least a part of the court circles during the reign of Bolesław III the Wrymouth (1086–1138). According to Jacek Banaszkiewicz (2018, 279–93, 322–26), Gallus Anonymus based this nearly mythical description of the ‘Golden Age’ on biblical models, referring to the reign of the greatest monarch of the Old Testament, i.e. Solomon, mostly from the First Book of Kings. Thus, Gallus’s description, just like the ancient original, served as a point of reference, a mythical model, and a source of historical pride of the community, but also an unattainable goal for his contemporaries. This is how he constructed their dreams and expressed aspirations, also with regard to material culture. So what did an ideal duke’s court look like according to Gallus Anonymus? What were the indicators of status among representatives of the Piast elite? Gallus’s narrative mentions clothes made of expensive fabrics instead of linen and wool, and skins and precious furs with golden fringes,7 golden chains for dignitaries and even knights, golden crowns, neck7 ‘Every knight and every lady of the court wore robes instead of garments of linen or wool, nor did they wear in his court any precious furs, however new, without robes and orphrey’ (Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 34–36).

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laces, armlets, golden fringes, and jewels for women. Everything weighed so much that women had to be supported (by servants?)8 when carrying such riches on their bodies. Apart from garments and ornaments, material aspirations of the elites were well reflected in the descriptions of expensive tableware, including golden and silver dishes instead of wooden ones as well as textiles used to decorate the table (tablecloths, doilies), to adorn the hall (curtains, carpets, tapestries), and for hygienic purposes during feasts or ritualized ablutions (towels).9 While many elements of the description of the splendour of Bolesław’s court closely correspond with biblical accounts, others are virtually absent. For example, Gallus wrote: ‘Aurum enim eius tempore commune quasi argentum ab omnibus habebatur, argentum vero vile quasi pro stramine tenebatur’ (For gold in his days was held by all to be as common as silver, and silver deemed as little worth as straw) (Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 36–37), while i Kings 10. 21 reads: ‘Moreover, all the vessels […], were of gold: and all the furniture of the house of the forest of Libanus was of most pure



gold: there was no silver, nor was any account made of it in the days of Solomon’,10 and i Kings 10. 27: ‘And he made silver to be as plentiful in Jerusalem as stones: and cedars to be as common as sycamores which grow in the plains’. When in Gallus’s chronicle Emperor Otto, amazed by Bolesław’s might, exclaims: ‘Per coronam imperii mei, maiora sunt que video, quam fama percepi’ (By the crown of my empire, the things I behold are greater than I had been led to believe) (Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 36–37), in i Kings 10. 5–6 the Queen of Sheba ‘said to the king: The report is true, which I heard in my own country, concerning thy words, and concerning thy wisdom. And I did not believe them that told me, till I came myself, and saw with my own eyes’. The passage related to Bolesław’s armed troops describes the number of garrison members in each of the main strongholds of the country, giving two categories of warriors: loricati milites and clipeatorum militum. The first should be understood as elite mounted and armoured knights, the second as more common shield-bearing infantry. In Bolesław the Great’s Golden Age elite loricati warriors outnumbered common shield-bearers from the age of Bolesław III Wrymouth. In the legendary Bolesław’s reign warriors of the second category were as numerous as all inhabitants of the country of his distant descendant. This corresponds with a passage about the strength of Solomon’s army: ‘And Solomon gathered together chariots and horsemen, and he had a thousand four hundred chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen: and he bestowed them in fenced cities, and with the king in Jerusalem’ (i Kings 10. 26). One should note a significant difference between the biblical original and the medi­eval work. One of the most important assets of the court of King Solomon were horses. Solomon brought them from Egypt and Kue (i Kings 10. 28) and equipped his army with them (i Kings 10. 26). However, they are nearly absent from Gallus’s description of the Golden Age. He even fails to mention ‘cavalrymen’ as a category of elite warriors, using the term loricati milites, translated into English as ‘mailed knights’, which draws attention to their expensive combat equipment and not their means of transport. Apparently, in this narrative there is no place for horses in the system of values connected with prestige, wealth, and power described in the mytho­logized account of ‘the Golden Age’.

8 ‘Eius namque tempore non solum comites, verum eciam quique nobiles torques aureas immensi ponderis baiolabant, tanta superfluitate pecunie redundabant. Mulieres vero curiales coronis aureis, monilibus, murenulis, brachialibus, aurifrisiis et gemmis ita onuste procedebant, quod ni sustentarentur ab aliis, pondus metalli sustinere non valebant’ (In Bolesław’s time not only comites, but all the nobles used to wear enormously heavy gold necklaces, for they had money in such abundance and excess. The women of the court wore golden crowns, necklaces, chains, bracelets, gold brocade, and jewels, so heavy that without others to support them they were unable to walk under the weight of the metal) (Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 56–58). 9 ‘Finito namque convivio pincernas et dapiferos vasa aurea et argentea, nulla enim lignea ibi habebantur, cyphos videlicet et cuppas, lances et scutellas et cornua de mensis omnibus trium dierum congregare precepit et imperatori pro honore, non pro principali munere presentavit. A camerariis vero pallia extensa et cortinas, tapetia, strata, mantilia, manuteria et quecumque servicio presentata fuerunt, iussit similiter congregare et in cameram imperatoris comportare. Insuper etiam alia plura dedit vasa, scilicet aurea et argentea diversi operis, pallia vero diversi coloris, ornamenta generis ignoti, lapides preciosos et huiusmodi tot et tanta presentavit’ (For at the end of the feast he ordered the waiters and the cupbearers to gather the gold and silver vessels — for there was nothing made of wood there — from all three days’ courses, that is, the cups and goblets, the bowls and plates and the drinking-horns, and he presented them to the emperor as a token of honour, and not as a princely tribute. His servants were likewise told to collect the wall-hangings and the coverlets, the carpets and tablecloths and napkins and everything that had been provided for their needs and take them to the emperor’s quarters. In addition he presented many other vessels, of gold and silver and of diverse workmanship, and robes of 10 Here and in following places the English text follows The Douayvarious hues and ornaments never seen before, precious stones’ Rheims Bible, which is a translation of the Latin Vulgate [accessed on 5 January 2021].

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Horses only gained significance in Gallus’s descriptions of military events. In his narratives of battles and military parades, those led by Bolesław I the Brave and, mostly, Bolesław  III Wrymouth, horses are mentioned but rather as side notes. Apart from isolated cases, battle narratives describe the duke and his soldiers fighting on horseback or travelling on horses. Even if we find a description of a duke fighting on foot, just like during the siege of Alba (unknown location, probably Białogard in Pomerania), the whole passage seems to be predominantly devoted to emphasizing his courage in the face of the enemy. He is brave and victorious, even fighting without a horse. Thus, the horse as an animal does not strictly belong to the sphere connected with power and prestige, but it belongs to it indirectly, thanks to its connection with a social group involved in military activity. Of course, in the context of early medi­eval politics, this group is related to or even identified with the power-wielding elites. In both narrative sources and the mentality of medi­eval people, horses were animals with complex meanings. They were sometimes associated with war; they could be the links between humans and deities, as indicated by texts describing Slavic hippomantic practices mentioned at the beginning of this chapter; they were obviously means of transport, but according to Gapski (2014, 56–58) sometimes they were also perceived negatively or at least ambivalently. As he notes, in the biblical tradition, horses could be symbols of hubris and lust (e.g. Jeremiah 5. 8; Ezekiel 23. 20), just like in the classical ancient tradition (e.g. in Aristotle’s works). This motif was also found by Gapski in medi­eval narratives, such as the life of St Adalbert. In the context of these accounts, one should consider the archaeo­logical sources discussed above. There is no doubt that in these cases horse burials were not related to graves (Kajkowski 2018, 141–42), the creators of which wanted to particularly emphasize the military affiliation of the dead.

Figure 7.16. Dziekanowice. A simplified plan of the cemetery: 1. Horse burial; 2. Human burials; 3. An outline of chamber graves with surrounding quadrilateral ditches; 4. Trenches according to Wrzesiński 2016; 5. Trenches according to Wrzesińska and Wrzesiński 1998.

Figure 7.17. Kałdus. A simplified plan of the cemetery: 1. Human burials; 2. Horse burials; 3. An outline of chamber graves with surrounding quadrilateral ditches.

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Figure 7.18. Kraków, Rynek Główny. A simplified plan of the cemetery: 1. Horse burial; 2. Human burials; 3. Oversized grave pits (chamber or chamber-like graves?) and relics of surrounding ditches; 4. An outline of the present-day Market Hall (Sukiennice); 5. An outline of the medi­eval Market Hall building; 6. 1940s fire tank relics.

Unlike the burials from Birka and the Danish and Rus ones, they did not constitute parts of impressive chamber graves, in which many grave goods, including weaponry, were deposited. Apart from a single problematic example from Kałdus, they seem to have been isolated features, separated from human burials. In one case — in the burial ground in Pień — it seems that a horse burial was connected not with the military sphere but with prestige and social status. This small cemetery, consisting only of elite chamber burials, most of which contained rich grave goods, included only one grave with weaponry (a ceremonial axe head decorated with silver — Janowski 2010; Błaszczyk 2020, 133–35). It seems that the organizers of these funerals, closely related to a small, aristocratic family, wanted to emphasize the social, political, and economic status of the buried people. They were less concerned with highlighting their relationships with the social group of warriors. The burial of a horse in a polygonal chamber grave, different from human graves, was probably a way to manifest their status and aspirations. In the case of the graves

from Kałdus (Fig. 7.17), Dziekanowice (Fig. 7.16), and the Kraków Cloth Hall (Fig. 7.18), horse graves seem to have been located at the edge of the burial area, far from the richest burials that were most magnificent in structural terms. In Jordanów and Górzyca, no such extravagant and ostentatiously elite graves were registered. In some of these burial grounds, researchers found traces of atypical treatment of the remains, such as attempts to skin the animal or bury it on its back, with legs upwards. Of course, in such cases it seems that the connection between a horse burial and the broadly understood sphere of symbolic practices is clear. However, it is impossible to say whether these practices were only reminiscences of pagan customs (where horses were significant in, for example, divination, as confirmed by written sources) or ‘Christianized’ and in this way syncretic. One should remember that in the neighbouring territories of the Reich and Bohemia, which had been converted much earlier, horse burials still occurred in the eleventh century or even later. This may mean that representatives of the Church either tolerated this practice or their opinion about it was not decisive. There is a strong connection with the military sphere in the case of human graves (these are only male burials) in which elements of horse equipment and spurs were deposited. Typically, these artefacts were accompanied by weapons such as swords, axe heads, and spearheads. The very tradition of burials with horse-riding equipment definitely was not a local idea. It was completely absent from local funerary traditions, except for a few cases from the south-eastern territory of Poland. There is no doubt that it is an expression of external influence, just like the whole group of funerary customs connected with inhumation. According to Michał Kara (2016, 481–84), funerary practices adapted in the Piast state at the end of the tenth century were influenced by the Danubian territory, which, in organizational terms, formed a part of the Bavarian Church. What seemed to have been of particular significance in this case were the practices typical of the tenth-century Czech and Slovak territories. Indeed, burials with elements of horse-riding equipment, mostly spurs, were practised in the territory of Great Moravia from the period between the ninth century and the beginning of the tenth century (cf. Hanuliak 2004,

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205–08; Robak 169–70) and Premyslid Bohemia from the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries (Profantová 2013). They appeared as a result of strong cultural influences of the Carolingian Empire. However, it cannot be excluded that in the Piast state spurs were deposited in graves also because of direct contacts with the eastern territory of Ottonian Germany and, perhaps, Scandinavia (cf. Kara 2016, 483). In Scandinavia, the custom of depositing elements of horse equipment and traditions connected with elite burials were much more common and complex, while the elites of the Piast state definitely maintained all kinds of contacts with the Scandinavian elites, however, their scale and character have not been fully explored yet (Prinke 2004; Morawiec 2010; 2019; Sikorski 2019; Urbańczyk 2019; from an archaeo­ logical point of view: Sikora 2013; Gardeła 2019a; 2019b; 2020). Regardless of the origin of inspirations and models, in the end it was the representatives of local elites (even if they were partly of foreign descent, which seems to be suggested by the latest results of isotope and genetic analyses from Ciepłe — Wadyl 2019c, 490–91) who decided which elements out of available non-material means (the words spoken, rituals, and public behaviours) and material means (the form of the grave, grave goods and offerings, the arrangement of the body, and possibly the presence of other elements) would fully express what they wanted to be ‘remembered’ about the dead (Williams 2006). It seems that in the context of a gradually Christianized society and rejection of previous funerary norms, the deposition of spurs, along with strictly martial elements, such as offensive weapons, gained the greatest recognition as a form of emphasizing military aspects of the (re) constructed identity of the dead, their family, and social class. There is no doubt that customs borrowed from the outside were modified locally, such as the different orientation of the head towards the east or west crystallized in the eleventh century, which was not commonly known in neighbouring areas, except for Pomerania (the so-called H8 funerary area according to Zoll-Adamikowa 1988). One cannot forget about significant differences compared with Scandinavian and Rus customs. Apart from the already mentioned lack of connection between horse and human burials (which in neither of these regions was obligatory, even in the case of elite burials), the graves completely lacked defensive armour (shields, helmets, armour), and there was also a lack of wagon-body burials, and only sporadic use of burial mounds (cf. Janowski 2015). Considering the lack of material remains of any deep local traditions connected with elite burials, drawing on foreign customs could have been desir-

able from the perspective of representatives of the aristocracy and the developing knighthood. In the context of a new state structure, when one’s virtues, mostly tested on the battlefield, could determine one’s career or the fall of the whole family, conveying an appropriate message thanks to a number of mnemonic techniques used during the funeral must have been of enormous significance for the (re) construction of the social order after the death of a member of an aspiring family. The fact that deep religious, social, and political transformations connected with the development of the Piast state and conversion to a new religion (which involved equally deep changes in the mortuary practises) took place at the same time seems to indicate that these two factors were connected. Thus, a change in the way the dead were buried should be considered to a large extent a result of Christian influences. In such a context, it should not come as a surprise that horse burials did not become very popular. Lack of deeply rooted local traditions in this respect and, despite tolerance for such customs in the West until the Ottonian period, certain incompatibility with Christian eschato­logical beliefs definitely contributed to the fact that burials of this kind were relatively rare. At the same time, the role of the message about the relationships of the dead with horse riding and, most probably, also the social group of riders/warriors, was well played by spurs and other elements of equestrian equipment. They became a pars pro toto of more complex burials with a horse (horses). It is also worth noting that despite the general opinion among Polish scholars, the custom of depositing goods in graves was not ‘pagan’ and it did not contradict Christian eschato­logy or practices. It was typical of many European societies that encountered Christianity in the Middle Ages and usually continued for a few centuries following Christianization (e.g. Härke 2014; in the Polish literature also: Zoll-Adamikowa 1988; Leciejewicz 1997; Rębkowski 2007, 95).

Conclusions Archaeo­logical sources seem to suggest that both during the pre-Piast period and in the Piast state, despite a relatively important role played by horses in the system of traditional beliefs and despite their relationships with the military sphere, they were not widely represented in funerary rituals. Relatively few horse graves registered in burial grounds from the period between the end of the tenth and the twelfth centuries, usually located at the edge of the burial area (Kajkowski 2016, 146–47) and sometimes bearing traces of special treatment interpreted as skinning,

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constituted a rare form of funerary rites, which is still not clear to us. Their presence in both peripheral settlements and political, administrative, and religious centres seems to indicate that this custom was tolerated by both secular and church authorities. At the same time, it remained uncommon and probably extremely rare. The presence of horse bones along with the remains of other animals (cattle, pigs), in both grave pits and accompanying structures, seems to confirm the existence of customs connected with feasting at graves, which are well documented by written sources and later ethno­graphic observations. The feasts took place both during and after the funeral, thus becoming interesting material evidence of social interactions of medi­eval people both with the living and the dead. After the Christian form of burial had been adopted, it became much more common to equip the dead with items connected with horse riding, typically spurs. In grave assemblages, they can be elements of rich sets including weaponry, every-

day items, and vessels (copper-alloy, wooden, and clay), or even be the only (usually along with a knife) grave goods. In the Polish scholarly literature, they are clearly identified with representatives of armed horsemen — warriors (frequently with an adjective ‘professional’) and are most probably the remnants of a ritual message, a techno­logy of remembrance (Williams 2006, 3), which the mourners used to manifest the social identity of the dead, their relationship with a social group, and not necessarily personal experience of armed forces (Sikora 2014).

Acknowledgements Research in Ostrowite in the years 2016–2020 was funded by the National Science Centre (UMO-2015/ 19/B/HS3/02124). I would like to thank Krzysztof Błaszczyk and Anna Nierychlewska for information and unpublished material concerning research conducted at the site in Markowice.

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Ossolińskich) Wadyl, Sławomir. 2019a. ‘Uwagi wstępne’, in Sławomir Wadyl (ed.), Ciepłe: Elitarna nekropola wczesnośredniowieczna na Pomorzu Wschodnim (Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku), pp. 95–104 —— . 2019b. ‘Chrono­logia cmentarzyska’, in Sławomir Wadyl (ed.), Ciepłe: Elitarna nekropola wczesnośredniowieczna na Pomorzu Wschodnim (Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku), pp. 361–75 —— . 2019c. ‘Cmentarzysko na tle środkowo- i północnoeuropejskim’, in Sławomir Wadyl (ed.), Ciepłe: Elitarna nekropola wczesnośredniowieczna na Pomorzu Wschodnim (Gdańsk: Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku), pp. 463–91 Wenta, Jarosław. 2011. Kronika tzw. Galla Anonima: Historyczne (monastyczne i genealogiczne) oraz geograficzne konteksty powstania (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika) Williams, Howard. 2006. Death and Memory in Early Medi­eval Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Wróblewski, Wojciech. 2006. ‘Aschenplätze – the Forgotten Burial Rituals of the Old Prussians’, Archaeo­logia Lituana, 7: 221–34 Wrzesiński, Jacek. 2016. ‘Archeo­logia dziekanowickich grobów z monetami’, in Jacek Wrzesiński (ed.), Nummus bonum fragile est: Groby z monetami wczesnośredniowiecznego cmentarzyska w Dziekanowicach, i (Lednica: Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy), pp. 13–106

157

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—— . 2019. ‘Biżuteria pochowanych w grobach cmentarzyska w Dziekanowicach’, in Jacek Wrzesiński (ed.), Groby z biżuterią wczesnośredniowiecznego cmentarzyska w Dziekanowicach, i, Biblioteka Studiów Lednickich, 39, Seria B1 Fontes (Lednica: Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy), pp. 13–91 Wrzesińska, Anna, and Jacek Wrzesiński. 1998. ‘Grób konia z Dziekanowic’, Studia Lednickie, 5: 103–15 Zaitz, Michał, and Emil Zaitz. 2010. ‘Domniemany pochówek konia z Sukiennic’, Zeszyty Naukowe Muzeum Historycznego Miasta Krakowa Krzysztofory, 28: 255–64 Zamelska-Monczak, Kinga. 2019. ‘Santok we wczesnym średniowieczu – regni custodia et clavis’, in Kinga ZamelskaMonczak (ed.), Santok strażnica i klucz Królestwa Polskiego: Wyniki badań z lat 1958–1965 (Warsaw: Instytut Archeo­logii i Etno­logii Polskiej Akademii Nauk), pp. 384–91 Zinoviev, Andrei V. 2011. ‘Horse Burials of Samland, Natangen and Adjacent Areas in Context of Antique and Medi­eval Symbolic Culture’, Archaeo­logia Lituana, 12: 25–35 Ziółkowski, Mariusz, Jan Szymański, and Maciej Sobczyk. 2017. ‘Cmentarzysko kurhanowe w Lewinie: przyczynek do dyskusji na temat wczesnośredniowiecznych obrządków pogrzebowych’, in Mirosław Fudziński, Witold Świętosławski, and Wojciech Chudziak (eds), Pradoliny pomorskich rzek: Kontakty kulturowe i handlowe społeczeństw w pradziejach i wczesnym średniowieczu (Gdańsk: Stara Szuflada), pp. 341–61 Zoll-Adamikowa, Helena. 1975. Wczesnośredniowieczne cmentarzyska ciałopalne Słowian na terenie Polski, i: Źródła (Wrocław: Instytut Historii Kultury Materialnej Polskiej Akademii Nauk) —— . 1979. Wczesnośredniowieczne cmentarzyska ciałopalne Słowian na terenie Polski, ii: Analiza (Wrocław: Instytut Historii Kultury Materialnej Polskiej Akademii Nauk) —— . 1988. ‘Przyczyny i formy recepcji rytuały szkieletowego u Słowian nadbałtyckich we wczesnym średniowieczu’, Przegląd Archeo­logiczny, 35: 183–229 Żak, Jan. 1959. Najstarsze ostrogi zachodniosłowiańskie: Wczesnośredniowieczne ostrogi o zaczepach haczykowato zagiętych do wnętrza (Warsaw: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich) Żak, Jan, and Lidia Maćkowiak-Kotkowska. 1988. Studia nad uzbrojeniem środkowoeuropejskim VI–X wieku: Zachodniobałtyjskie i słowiańskie ostrogi o zaczepach haczykowato zagiętych do wnętrza (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe UAM w Poznaniu) Żurowski, Kazimierz, and Gabriela Mikołajczyk. 1955. ‘Sprawozdanie z badań kurhanu we wsi Husynne w pow. hrubieszowskim w 1954 roku’, Sprawozdania Archeo­logiczne, 1: 251–67

Other Sources Błaszczyk, Krzysztof, Jakub Śliwiński, Anna Nierychlewska, and Paweł Zawilski. 2016. Opracowanie wyników ratowniczych badań archeo­logicznych przeprowadzonych na stanowisku nr 12 w Markowicach (gm. Strzelno, pow. mogileński, AZP 46–40/168, Inwestycja: budowa obwodnicy Inowrocławia) (Łódź, Firma Archeo­logiczna ‘Artefakt’ Krzysztof Błaszczyk) — excavation report in the form of a typescript in the archives of the archaeo­logical contractor: Firma Archeo­logiczna ‘Artefakt’ Krzysztof Błaszczyk

Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski

8. Riders on the Storm Decorative Horse Bridles in the Early Piast State and Pomerania Textual and archaeo­logical sources from the Middle Ages leave no doubt that the Western Slavs held horses as well as those who rode them in very high esteem (e.g. Rajewski 1975; Gapski 2014; Danielewski 2015; Szymczak 2018; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and others 2019; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a; 2021b; see also Sikora in this volume). To own a horse was a privilege which brought a sense of prestige but at the same time required great responsibility as well as substantial and continuous economic input. At the very least, horses needed to be fed with grass, hay, and water, groomed, and given safe and dry shelter. Companionship of other animals was also necessary in order to ensure their well-being. Not everyone could meet all these basic requirements and thus horses were probably more commonly seen in the homesteads of people who belonged to the social elite or bred and kept on specific farms rather than among commoners who would have been unable to afford and maintain them. In the early medi­eval period, the most common horse breed in the Western Slavic area resembled what is today known as konik polski or simply konik which measures approximately 130–40 cm at the withers and weighs 350–400 kg (cf. Danielewski 2015). The konik has a strong build, deep chest, thick mane, and excellent hooves (Fig. 8.1). Known for its good health, sight, and hearing as well as hardy temperament, the konik also possesses the special ability to walk on wet and unstable ground, which makes it a valuable mount and travel companion when journeying through difficult terrain (Żak 1959a, 58). Its coat is usually blue dun (in Polish myszowaty) but it can also be brown or black. Based on surviving textual and archaeo­logical evidence, we may surmise that in the early medi­eval period horses were predominantly used for travel but in some instances they would also be employed in martial and religious contexts (Rajewski 1975;

Figure 8.1. Western Slavic rider on a konik polski as interpreted by Bartosz Ligocki from Drużyna Konna Pancerna X. Photo courtesy of Kaja Szewczyk Jōra Photo Tales.

Kajkowski 2018 and references therein). It is challenging to determine whether or to what extent they were used as pack or draught animals; it seems more likely that for work in the field and other agricultural purposes cattle was preferred. Although in the tenth and eleventh centuries conflicts were typically fought on foot, horsemen were occasionally present on the battlefield (e.g. Żak 1957; Malinowski 2005; Gardeła and others 2019). Such heavily armed and expertly trained individuals, whom the twelfth-century chronicler Gallus Anonymous calls loricati (Knoll and Schaer 2003), would have certainly stood out from the crowd, evoking a mixture of awe, respect, and fear. Elite riders probably did not form large units, however, and to claim that cavalry was a standard component of early medi­eval Western Slavic armies would be an overstatement.

Leszek Gardeła ([email protected]) is Senior Researcher at the National Museum of Denmark. Kamil Kajkowski ([email protected]) is Senior Curator at the West Cassubian Museum in Bytów. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 159–192 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132520

FHG

1 60 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

For the most part, the equestrian equipment employed by horsemen in the tenth and eleventh centuries in the Western Slavic area was similar to that used elsewhere in Central, Western, and Northern Europe (e.g. Braathen 1989; Pedersen 2014; Pedersen and Schifter Bagge 2021). The complete Western Slavic rider’s set included spurs, stirrups, as well as a bridle and saddle (e.g. Nadolski 1954; Hilczerówna 1956; Nowakowska-Cwetsch 1986; Świętosławski 1990; Kaźmierczak 2014; Gardeła and others 2019). While some riders could probably do without some of these pieces of equipment (e.g. spurs or stirrups), the bridle — even in the most rudimentary form — was absolutely essential as it made it possible to direct the animal. Despite their fundamental importance, bridles and bridle parts continue to remain surprisingly understudied in Polish early medi­eval archaeo­logy. Until recently, scholarly attention was afforded primarily to spurs and stirrups, i.e. equestrian equipment worn on the feet and attached to the saddle which is found fairly often and in virtually all kinds of contexts, including graves, settlements, and strongholds. The preoccupation with these artefact categories resulted in the development of local classification systems (for spurs, see Hilczerówna 1956; Żak 1959a; for stirrups, see Nowakowska-Cwetsch 1986 and Świętosławski 1990) which are now considered as very useful aids in settlement studies and in determining site chrono­logies. Although in some regards outdated — mainly due to the exponential growth of the find corpus over the last several decades — the studies of Hilczerówna, Żak, and Świętosławski are widely cited to this day. However, no typo­logies of Western Slavic bridles or bridle parts have been created so far, and the existing classification of iron horse bits developed by Andrzej Nadolski in 1954 is very rudimentary and fails to embrace the diversity of the currently known body of material. The goal of the present study is to remedy this situation and draw more attention to bridles and bridle parts from the Piast state and Pomerania as well as to explore their non-utilitarian meanings.

A Brief History of Research on Horse Bridles from the Piast State and Pomerania Although nineteenth- and twentieth-century Polish scholars had been well aware of the existence and importance of horse bridles in early medi­eval Poland (e.g. Kostrzewski 1939, 121; 1949, 311), until the late 1940s no one devoted much attention to this group of artefacts. Gradual changes came shortly after the

1949 (re)excavations of a tenth-eleventh century cemetery in Lutomiersk in Central Poland which led to the discovery of two graves furnished with elaborate bridles ( Jażdżewski 1951). Grave 5, a cremation, included four copper-alloy strap distributors, each of which was adorned with three animal heads (Fig. 8.2). Grave 10 on the other hand, which held the remains of an inhumed individual, contained two cross-shaped copper-alloy distributors, one cross-shaped iron item probably also serving the role of a distributor, as well as an iron horse bit with two copper-alloy cheekpieces (Fig. 8.3). Each of these graves also included a spearhead and lavishly decorated, albeit fragmentarily preserved, zoomorphic spurs (Fig. 8.4). At the moment of their discovery, the contents and overall composition of the two Lutomiersk graves seemed so rich and unique in the local context that the excavators felt compelled to interpret them as belonging to immigrants. The zoomorphic decoration of the bridles as well as the unusual spurs (which at that point were (mis)interpreted as ‘decorative saddle mounts’; see Jażdżewski 1951) led to the contention that the deceased had come from Rus or even farther afield in Eastern Europe or Asia. These are the main reasons why for a very long time the Lutomiersk bridles were not taken into consideration in discussions of Western Slavic riding equipment — alongside the zoomorphic spurs, they were seen not as local products but as imports from Eastern or North-Eastern Europe (e.g. Wachowski 2001; 2006; Wołoszyn 2010, 312–13, 315, 332–33; Grygiel 2014a; contra Gardeła 2018; 2019a; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a; 2021b). Until the late 1950s, a similar unfortunate fate was shared by another richly equipped equestrian grave which had been found in 1900 in Ciepłe in eastern Pomerania (Fig. 8.5). From the moment of its discovery until the middle of the twentieth century, the Ciepłe grave — containing a sword, a spearhead, a set of spurs and stirrups as well as parts of a bridle with intricately ornamented zoomorphic cheekpieces — was conventionally seen as the grave of a Scandinavian Viking (La Baume 1926; 1940). The extraordinarily rich décor of the grave goods, lacking direct analogies in the Western Slavic world, justified this contention. This approach was additionally fuelled by the uncritical and sometimes politically motivated tendency to interpret early medi­eval weapon graves in Central Europe as belonging to Vikings.1

1 On ‘Viking’ archaeo­logy in pre- and post-WWII Poland, see Gardeła 2019b; 2020.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm

Figure 8.2. Copper-alloy strap distributors from grave 5 in Lutomiersk (a–d). Photos courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi. Artistic reconstruction of the bridle (e) by Mirosław Kuźma. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

161

1 62 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

Figure 8.3. Copper-alloy (a–b) and iron (c) strap distributors and two cheekpieces (e–f) from grave 10 in Lutomiersk. Photos courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­ logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi. Artistic reconstruction of the bridle (d) by Mirosław Kuźma. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm 163

Figure 8.4. Zoomorphic spurs: a–b — Lutomiersk graves 5 and 10. Photos courtesy of Muzeum Archeologiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi; c — Ciepłe grave 42/2009. Photo courtesy of Muzeum Archeologiczne w Gdańsku; d — Cerkiewnik grave 7. Photo by Leszek Gardeła; e — Unspecified location in Ukraine. Photo edited by Leszek Gardeła. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

1 64 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

Figure 8.5. The contents of grave 5 in Ciepłe. Reproduced after La Baume 1926.

In 1957, shortly before the release of his foundational mono­graph on early medi­eval spurs, Jan Żak published an article in which he attempted a comprehensive reassessment of the funerary assemblage from Ciepłe. His work was both thorough and groundbreaking, leading to the dismissal of all former opinions on the Scandinavian provenance of the deceased. Instead of viewing the weapons and equestrian equipment from Ciepłe as diagnostically Scandinavian or ‘Viking’, Żak showed convincingly that their specific ornamental features corresponded with Western Slavic artistic conventions. Żak’s reassessment was met with applause (e.g. Roszko 1974, 87–88; Hensel 1987, 681; ChoińskaBochdan 1990, 80–81; Leciejewicz 1993, 58) but in the 1990s and early 2000s his arguments were disputed in a series of studies by Michał Kara (1998; 2001) who reverted to the original ‘Scandinavian Viking’

idea. Leszek Gardeła’s (2019a) most recent reassessment of the finds from Ciepłe, however, has shown the fallacy of Kara’s claims, demonstrating that in light of current knowledge of Western Slavic elite material culture (Gardeła 2019a; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a; see also Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Söderberg 2019; Michalak and Gardeła 2020), Żak’s arguments from the 1950s, although in some regards admittedly intuitive, were not only ahead of his time but also absolutely sound (e.g. Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a; see also Górewicz 2020). Apart from his contribution to the debate surrounding the Ciepłe grave, Żak (1952; 1955; 1959a, 59–60) touched upon early medi­eval horse equipment on a couple of other occasions in his career. In one of his papers from the 1950s (Żak 1952), he focused his attention on two antler specimens found in Milicz and Gniezno in Poland, both of which are T-shaped and profusely decorated with carved intersecting lines and truncated triangles. Using comparative evidence from Hungary, the Czech Republic, and Rus, Żak dismissed their former interpretation as decorative saddle mounts and instead put forward the hypothesis that they were worn on the horse’s chest and helped divide the straps of the horse collar. Nearly seventy years later, this idea still seems plausible but must remain tentative until similar items are found in well-dated and more evocative contexts, ideally together with other elements of riding equipment. Relatively little was said about horse bridles in the Western Slavic area after the release of Żak’s studies, although decorative bridle fittings made of iron and copper alloy were occasionally found as a result of excavations of tenth–thirteenth-century strongholds, for example at Bruszczewo (Brzostowicz 2002, 62, 78), Czerchów (Chmielowska 1989, fig. 47), Dąbrówka (Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335, 337), Grzybowo, Oleszno (Kaźmierczak and Chudziak 2019, 122, 126), Ostrów Lednicki (Górecki 2001, 115–16; 2011, 30–31; Kaszubkiewicz and others 2002, 38; Górecki, Kujawa, and Wyrwa 2016, 44), Ostrów Tumski in Poznań (Malinowska 1961, 54; and in the nearby settlement at Poznań Śródka — Pawlak and Pawlak 2015) and Turowo (Krzyszowski and Krause 1998). Openwork strap distributors, similar to the ones from grave 5 in Lutomiersk, were discovered in Giecz (Krysztofiak 2016; Janowski, Kaczmarek, and Stryniak 2019, 353), Chmielno (Ratajczyk 2018, 53), Tum Łęczyca (Poklewski-Koziełł 2003, 62), and other places in Poland as well as in Germany, Denmark, Ukraine, and Russia (e.g. Paddenberg 2012; Toropov 2014). It is worthy of note that in the tenth and eleventh centuries most of the above-mentioned Polish

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm 165

Figure 8.6. Variants of cross-shaped strap distributors discovered in the area of the Piast state and Pomerania. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

sites fell within the remit of the emerging Piast state. Some of them, such as Grzybowo, Ostrów Lednicki, and Poznań Ostrów Tumski, played important roles as centres of local and supralocal power. The presence of decorative horse bridle parts in these strongholds implies that their garrisons included riders who could afford expensive equipment or that people of high standing visited these places as travellers, warriors, envoys, political advisors, and the like. All these finds will be investigated in more detail in the sections that follow. It is remarkable that after the 1949 Lutomiersk excavations more than half a century had to pass until another inhumation grave with an elaborate bridle was found in Poland. As a result of a new excavation campaign in the aforementioned cemetery in Ciepłe, Zdzisława Ratajczyk discovered three lavishly equipped chamber graves, one of which — labelled as grave 35 — held the remains of a man interred with a bridle with four iron cross-shaped fittings with silver and copper inlay (Ratajczyk 2013). The deceased was surrounded by an array of luxurious items such as a sword, a spear, a set of spurs, stirrups, as well as other goods all probably attesting to his elite status. The preservation of the bridle parts was good enough to allow for its tentative reconstruction (Gardeła and others 2019) which will be discussed further below.

As shown above, over the last one hundred years or so the corpus of early medi­eval bridles and bridle parts from the Piast state and Pomerania has grown substantially, which necessitates a more holistic approach to this important body of evidence. What follows, therefore, is a detailed presentation of this corpus together with the first ever attempt to create a typo-chrono­logical classification system.

Decorative Strap Distributors in the Piast State and Pomerania As a result of our survey of academic literature and museum collections in Poland, we have identified thirty-seven early medi­eval strap distributors which originally formed part of horse bridles. The role of these items was manifold. First and foremost, they enabled connecting, separating, and/or adjusting the leather straps of the bridle on the horse’s head. The elaborate and costly decoration of some of the specimens, however, leads to the assumption that they also had other functions, for instance as markers of social status, group affiliation, and religious belief. It is also permissible to speculate that in some cases decorative bridles amplified the animals’ uniqueness or endowed them with a new sense of identity or even personhood (cf. Fowler 2004; Resi 2013; Armstrong Oma 2018). The greatest accumulation of early medi­eval strap distributors is noted in Greater Poland and Pomerania, with only a few specimens in the regions of Silesia and Lesser Poland. One should avoid attrib-

1 66 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki Table 8.1. Cross-shaped strap distributors from Poland (Type 1).

No. Location

Context

Material

1.

Bruszczewo, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold Iron

2.

Ciepłe, woj. pomorskie (4 identical specimens)

Grave

3.

Czerchów, woj. łódzkie

Stronghold Iron

4. Czermno, woj. lubelskie

Type and variant Measurements

References

Type 1, variant 3 Width: c. 4.5 cm

Brzostowicz 2002, 62, 78; Gardeła and others 2019, 72; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

Iron with silver inlays Type 1, variant 4 Width: 4 cm and copper rivets

Stronghold Copper alloy

Gardeła and others 2019, 70–74

Type 1, variant 3 ?

Chmielowska 1989, fig. 47; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

Type 1, variant 1 ?

Wołoszyn 2013

5.

Dąbrówka, woj. wielkopolskie Stronghold Iron

Type 1, variant 3 Fragmentarily Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335, 337 preserved artefact. Original width: c. 6 cm

6.

Dziekanowice, woj. wielkopolskie

Grave fill

Type 1, variant 5 Width: 33 mm Height: 42 mm

Janowski 2016, 214–15, 218; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

7.

Gniezno, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold Iron with silver inlay(?)

Type 1, variant 4a ?

Kostrzewski 1939, 121; Gardeła and others 2019, 72

8.

Gostyń, woj. dolnośląskie

Stronghold Iron

Type 1, variant 3 ?

Langenheim 1993, 119–20; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

9.

Grodziszcze, woj. dolnośląskie Stronghold Iron with silver inlay

Type 1, variant 4 ?

Unpublished

10. Grzybowo. woj. wielkopolskie Stronghold Iron

Type 1, variant 3 ?

Unpublished

11. Lutomiersk, woj. łódzkie (2 identical specimens)

Grave (10)

Type 1, variant 1 (1) 44 × 40 mm (2) 41 × 40 mm

Jażdżewski 1951; Grygiel 2014a; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

12. Oleszno, woj. zachodnio­ pomorskie (2 specimens)

Stronghold Iron with copper inlay

Type 1, variant 4 Width: c. 4 cm

Kaźmierczak and Chudziak 2019, 122, 126

13. Ostrów Lednicki, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold Copper alloy

Type 1, variant 2 Width: c. 4 cm

Górecki 2001, 115–16; 2011, 30–31; Górecki, Kujawa, and Wyrwa 2016, 44; Kaszubkiewicz and others 2002, 38; Gardeła and others 2019, 72

14. Ostrów Lednicki, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold Copper alloy

Type 1, variant 2 ?

Kaszubkiewicz and others 2002, 38; Gardeła and others 2019, 72

15. Ostrów Tumski (Poznań), woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold Iron

Type 1, variant 3 Surviving width: 5.5 cm

Malinowska 1961, 54; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

16. Poznań Śródka, woj. wielkopolskie

Settlement

Iron

Type 1, variant 3 ?

Pawlak and Pawlak 2015; 2019, 335

17. Stargard, woj. zachodniopomorskie

Stray find

Copper alloy

Type 1, variant 5 Surviving width: 30, 38 mm. Surviving height: 21, 54 mm

Janowski 2016; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

18. Turowo, woj. zachodniopomorskie

Settlement

Iron

Type 1, variant 4 ?

Krzyszowski and Krause 1998; Pawlak and Pawlak 2019, 335

Copper alloy

Copper alloy

uting too much meaning to this specific geo­graphical patterning as it may simply reflect the varying intensity of archaeo­logical excavations in different parts of the country. It is noteworthy, however, that Greater Poland formed the heart of the Piast domain, and that in the tenth and eleventh centuries it was probably the wealthiest part of the realm governed by Duke Mieszko I and his son Bolesław the Brave (e.g. Labuda 2002; Zakrzewski 2006; Urbańczyk 2012; 2017 with further references). Although at the pres-

ent moment it is challenging to determine where exactly the most elaborate bridles were produced, Greater Poland doubtlessly had all the necessary resources, facilities, and manpower. The tables below provide lists of all early medi­ eval strap distributors discovered in Poland and include information on their measurements as well as extensive biblio­graphies (Tables 8.1–8.2). What follows is an attempt at their first classification as well as a discussion of their functional aspects and

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm 167 Table 8.2. Openwork strap distributors from Poland (Type 2).

No. Location 1.

Context

Chmielno, woj. pomorskie

Material

Type and variant Measurements

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 4 Diameter: 2.9 cm

References Lepówna 2017, 18–19, 22; Ratajczyk 2018, 53; Ostasz 2019

2.

Czermno, woj. lubelskie

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 4 ?

Unpublished

3.

Czermno, woj. lubelskie

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 4 ?

Unpublished

4. Giecz, woj. wielkopolskie (2 identical specimens)

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 1

c. 30 × 28 mm

Krysztofiak 2016, 149–50; Janowski, Kaczmarek, and Stryniak 2019, 353

5.

Janów Pomorski/Truso, woj. warmińsko- Settlement mazurskie (2 identical specimens)

Copper alloy Type 2, variant 5 (1) Diameter: 3.3 cm (2) Diameter: 3.1 cm

Jagodziński 2009; 2010, 193–98; 2012; Gardeła 2014, 115–17, 137

6.

Lutomiersk, woj. łódzkie (4 identical specimens)

Grave (5)

Copper alloy Type 2, variant 1

(1) 3.0 × 3.1 cm (2) 3.0 × 3.1 cm (3) 2.9 × 3.1 cm (4) 2.8 × 3.0 cm

Jażdżewski 1951; Grygiel 2014a, 698–99, 709; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019

?

Grygiel 2014b, 224

7.

Tum Łęczyca, woj. łódzkie

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 1

8.

Tum Łęczyca, woj. łódzkie

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 2 Diameter: c. 3.5 cm

Poklewski-Koziełł 2003, 62

9.

Tum Łęczyca, woj. łodzkie

Stronghold Copper alloy Type 2, variant 3 Diameter: c. 3.4 cm

Poklewski-Koziełł 2003, 62

Table 8.3. Copper-alloy cheekpieces from Poland.

No. Location

Context

Type

Measurements

References

1.

Ciepłe, woj. pomorskie

Grave (V)

Type 2

?

La Baume 1926; 1940; Gardeła 2019a, 207–10

2.

Giecz, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold

Type 1

?

Krysztofiak 2011; Gardeła 2019a, 208–09; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a

3.

Giecz, woj. wielkopolskie

Gardeła 2019a, 208

Stronghold

Type 2

?

4. Kałdus, woj. kujawsko-pomorskie

Settlement site

Type 2

Surviving length: c. 2.5 cm Chudziak 2003, 118–19

5.

Kruszwica, woj. kujawsko-pomorskie

Settlement site

Type 2

Length: 4.7 cm

Hensel-Moszczyńska 1983, 178, 196

6.

Lutomiersk, woj. łódzkie (2 identical specimens)

Grave (10)

Type 1

Length: 8.4 cm

Jażdżewski 1951; Nadolski 1959, 63; Grygiel 2014a, 699, 715

7.

Ostrów Lednicki, woj. wielkopolskie

Stronghold

Type 1

Length: 5.31 cm Width: 2.47 cm

Banaszak and Tabaka 2017

8.

Santok, woj. lubuskie

Stronghold

Type 2

Length: c. 4.3 cm Width: c. 2.2 cm

Zamelska-Monczak 2019

analogies beyond the borders of the Piast state. The finds that make up the corpus have been divided into two broad groups, 1. Cross-shaped strap distributors and 2. Openwork strap distributors, each of which comprises several variants (Fig. 8.6). Type 1: Cross-Shaped Strap Distributors

As many as twenty-three cross-shaped strap distributors are known from the area of present-day Poland. The majority of the specimens have been recorded within or in the vicinity of strongholds and can be dated between the late tenth and eleventh centu-

ries. Some examples, however, may be of a younger date, possibly from the period between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but this is currently difficult to ascertain. As noted above, of all early medi­ eval graves from Poland known to date only two included cross-shaped strap distributors (Ciepłe 35 and Lutomiersk 10), which implies that in this part of the Western Slavic world the custom of burying the dead with decorative bridles was extremely rare. Graves furnished with bridles or bridle parts adorned with cross-shaped distributors are recorded much more frequently in Scandinavia and Rus. Some of the best-known examples from Denmark and

1 68 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

p­ resent-day Germany are the graves from Fregerslev, Thumby-Bienebek, Quern-Scheersberg, and Velds (e.g. Brøndsted 1936; Pedersen 2014; Bagge 2015; 2018; see also the various contributions in Pedersen and Schifter Bagge 2021). In Denmark different variants of cross-shaped strap distributors have also been recorded outside of the burial context, mainly as a result of amateur metal-detecting.2 Cross-shaped strap distributors discovered in Poland are usually made of iron or copper alloy and are c. 4–5 cm wide. The former category occasionally has inlaid decorations in non-ferrous metals, mainly silver and copper alloy. Most of the specimens were originally attached to leather straps or pads by means of iron or non-ferrous rivets (in the case of Ciepłe, several copper rivets have survived — see Gardeła and others 2019). The majority of cross-shaped strap distributors were attached to leather straps or pads with four rivets pierced through the cross’s arms or, as in the case of the finds from Lutomiersk, through special protruding eyelets at the end of each arm. The iron strap distributor from Bruszczewo is exceptional since it has as many as eight iron rivets: four in the centre and one in each of the four arms. The specimen from Gniezno appears to have also had a rivet in the centre. Closer analysis of the find corpus has led to the identification of five distinct variants of cross-shaped strap distributors (Figs 8.7, 8.8). While some of the specimens appear to have been one-off products, others (e.g. Variant 1) were definitely manufactured in larger numbers and probably intended for a very specific group of people: • Variant 1: Copper-alloy strap distributors with the arms decorated with trilobe or palmette-like motifs. Each of the arms has an additional protruding eyelet allowing the distributor to be riveted to a leather strap or pad. The central part of the distributor carries a cross-like motif placed inside a circle. The edges of the distributor are raised and contoured. In Poland distributors belonging to Variant 1 are known from Czermno (one specimen) and Lutomiersk (grave 10; two specimens). • Variant 2: Copper-alloy strap distributors with undecorated surfaces. In Poland distributors belonging to Variant 2 are known only from Ostrów Lednicki (two different specimens).



2 For the most up-to-date list of distributors decorated in the Borre and Jellinge styles from Denmark and present-day Germany, see Bagge 2018. Other types of strap distributors from Denmark are included in online databases such as Detektor Danmark and DIME.

• Variant 3: Iron strap distributors devoid of decoration. The terminals of the arms are angular. Each of the arms has a rivet hole. In some cases, the distributors have a raised ‘boss’ in the centre. In Poland distributors belonging to Variant 3 are known from Bruszczewo (one specimen), Czerchów (one specimen), Dąbrówka (one specimen), Gostyń (one specimen), Ostrów Tumski in Poznań (one specimen), and Poznań-Śródka (one specimen) • Variant 4: Iron strap distributors with non-ferrous inlays. The central part carries an inlaid square-shaped motif. The terminals of the arms are angular and each of the arms has a rivet hole. In Poland distributors belonging to Variant 4 are known from Ciepłe (four specimens), Czermno (one specimen), Oleszno (two specimens), and Turowo (one specimen). • Variant 4a: Iron strap distributors with grooved line ornaments on the arms and silver inlay. The only specimen representing this variant is known from Gniezno. • Variant 5: Eastern European (Rus) copper-alloy strap distributors. The central part is raised and carries a cross motif surrounded by small dots. Three of the arms are square-shaped and adorned with grooved s-shaped motifs. The fourth arm is tongue-shaped and adorned in a similar fashion. In Poland distributors belonging to Variant 5 are known from Dziekanowice (one specimen) and Stargard (one specimen). As highlighted above, two of the five variants of cross-shaped distributors have been found in funerary contexts together with bits and cheekpieces (grave 10 from Lutomiersk and grave 35 from Ciepłe), which allows us to speculate on the overall appearance of the bridles they were part of. The bridle from grave 10 in Lutomiersk had two identical cross-shaped strap distributors. They were probably placed on either side of the horse’s head at the junction of the leather browband/throatlatch and cheekpiece/headpiece. The purpose of the slightly larger cross-shaped item made of iron, also found in the same grave, is unclear (see Fig. 8.3c). Several scholars have speculated that it served the role of a brow mount (Nadolski and others 1959; Grygiel 2014a). Alternatively, it could have perhaps served as a kind of ‘pad’ placed underneath the copper-alloy strap distributors to strengthen them and prevent them from breaking. Each of the leather cheekstraps of the Lutomiersk bridle was fastened to copper-­alloy cheekpieces (see below). The reins were attached to the rings of the iron bit. Figures 8.3 and 8.9 illustrate two tentative reconstructions of the bridle.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm 169

Figure 8.7. Selection of crossshaped strap distributors made of iron and copper alloy: a, d — Ostrów Lednicki. Photo courtesy of Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy; b — Turowo. Redrawn after Krzyszowski and Krause 1998; c — Bruszczewo. Redrawn after Brzostowicz 2002. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

1 70 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

Figure 8.8. Selection of crossshaped strap distributors made of iron: a — Grzybowo. Courtesy of Rezerwat Archeologiczny Gród w Grzybowie; b — Gniezno. Redrawn after Kostrzewski 1939; c — Ostrów Tumski. Redrawn after Malinowska 1961; d — Poznań Śródka. After Pawlak and Pawlak 2015; e — Dąbrówka. After Pawlak and Pawlak 2019. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm

It is noteworthy that the functional replica, commissioned by Leszek Gardeła from Tomasz Czyszczoń in 2020, lacks the iron cross-shaped mount/pad. Furthermore, unlike in the artistic reconstructions drawn by Konrad Jażdżewski and Mirosław Kuźma, the distributors are not riveted to the straps but to two leather pads, enabling the rider to quickly adjust the bridle to the size of the horse’s head. It is uncertain if this is how (some) cross-shaped strap distributors were intended to be used, but this solution would have given them not only a decorative but also a very practical role to play. The bridle from grave 35 in Ciepłe consisted of four identical cross-shaped distributors (Gardeła and others 2019) (Fig. 8.10). They were placed on each side of the horse’s head in pairs: one at the junction of the leather browband/throatlatch and cheekpiece/headpiece and one at the junction of the noseband and cheekpiece. The Ciepłe bridle also had three decorative strap ends made of iron with silver inlay (Fig. 8.11). It is challenging to determine where exactly the cross-shaped strap distributors from Lutomiersk and Ciepłe were produced. Let us recall, however, that in the former case, they were found as part of a ‘set’ together with zoomorphic spurs which conveyed profound messages associated with Slavic pre-Christian religion (Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; see also the Introduction to this volume) as well as with copper-alloy cheekpieces decorated in a manner characteristic of Western Slavic art (see below). Another noteworthy detail is that the strap distributors and the cheekpieces from this grave carry identical trilobe palmette motifs in this way ‘citing’ each other (see Fig. 8.3). In light of this evidence, as well as in view of its evocative wider context, it is justified to speculate that the cross-shaped strap distributors of the ‘Lutomiersk variant’ were designed and manufactured somewhere in the Piast state, perhaps even in the same workshop that produced all of the other copper-alloy items that make up the assemblage of grave 10. The cross-shaped distributors from grave 35 in Ciepłe may also have been produced in the Western Slavic area, although the arguments in support of this theory are not as strong as in the case of the Lutomiersk finds. The overall shape of the Ciepłe distributors, especially their angular arms, is reminiscent of other distributors found elsewhere in the area of Poland, the main difference being their expensive and techno­logically advanced non-ferrous inlay. An almost identical cross-shaped distributor, also with silver inlay, has recently been found in Babke in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Germany — an area dominated by Western Slavic settlement — which

Figure 8.9. Reconstruction of the bridle from grave 10 in Lutomiersk. Replica commissioned by Leszek Gardeła from Tomasz Czyszczoń (Montanus Historical Jewellery). Photos by Tomasz Czyszczoń and Leszek Gardeła.

provides further support for the hypothesis of the Slavic provenance of these items (Ulrich 2016, 28). Except for strap distributors of Variant 5 — which, as previously argued by Andrzej Janowski (2016), most likely originate from Rus — the provenance of the remaining Variants 2–4 is, at least at the present moment, impossible to determine. They may have been local products or foreign imports. In the absence of direct analogies, both options are equally plausible. Type 2: Openwork Strap Distributors

Fourteen openwork strap distributors are known from the area of present-day Poland. They come from a variety of contexts, mainly strongholds and settlement sites. So far, the only grave furnished with a complete set of such items — four in total and probably representing the remains of a complete bridle — was found in Lutomiersk (grave 5) (Fig. 8.2). Compared to other places in Europe, openwork strap distributors thus appear to have been relatively rare in the Piast state and the broader area that makes up the territory of present-day Poland. A number of specimens, albeit in most cases stylistically different from those found in Poland, are known from Germany, Iceland (Kristján Eldjárn

171

1 72 le s ze k ga r de ła an d kam i l kaj kow s ki

Figure 8.10. Four iron strap distributors from grave 35 in Ciepłe. Photos courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku and Sławomir Wadyl. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm

and Adolf Friðriksson 2000, 314–16), the Isle of Man (Bersu and Wilson 1966, 74–75), Scandinavia (especially Denmark, mainland Sweden, and Gotland), and Rus. They were used predominantly as parts of horse bridles but occasionally also as sword strap distributors, as evidenced by the ‘spoked’ specimen from Cronk Moar (Bersu and Wilson 1966, 74–75). All openwork strap distributors from Poland are made of copper alloy and — with one exception — seem to be adorned with head motifs. The details of the heads are so stylized that, apart from the specimens from Giecz, Lutomiersk, and Tum Łęczyca, it is uncertain if they were meant to represent humans or animals (real or fantastic), although the animal interpretation is generally favoured by scholars, including the present authors. Five different variants can be isolated (Fig. 8.12): • Variant 1: Round copper-alloy distributors with three head motifs. In Poland distributors belonging to this variant are known from Giecz (two specimens), Lutomiersk (four specimens), and Tum Łęczyca (one specimen). • Variant 2: Round copper-alloy strap distributors with a cross motif in the centre and with heads placed at the terminals of the cross’s arms. The central part of the distributor is raised and double contoured. The only distributor belonging to this variant is known from Tum Łęczyca. • Variant 3: Round copper-alloy strap distributors with spokes and without animal head motifs. The only distributor belonging to this variant is known from Tum Łęczyca. • Variant 4: Oval and triangular copper-alloy strap distributors with head motifs. In Poland distributors belonging to this variant are known from Chmielno (one specimen), Czermno (two specimens), and Giecz (one specimen). • Variant 5: Round Scandinavian-style copper-­ alloy distributors with three head motifs and an openwork triquetra motif in the centre. In Poland distributors belonging to this variant are known from Truso/Janów Pomorski (two specimens). The four identical copper-alloy distributors from grave 5 in Lutomiersk, representing Variant 1, were first published in 1951 by Konrad Jażdżewski. At the time of writing, he considered them unique and did not know any close analogies to them. In an attempt to explain their provenance (and the origin of the people they belonged to), Jażdżewski (1951) went as far as to suggest that the stylistic inspirations that led to their creation stemmed from western Siberia where similar items were produced in the period between the eighth and tenth centuries. In his view,

Figure 8.11. Three iron strap fittings from grave 35 in Ciepłe. Photos courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Gdańsku and Sławomir Wadyl. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

the three heads shown on the Lutomiersk distributors represented the heads of bears. In a mono­graph summarizing the results of the Lutomiersk excavations published eight years later, Andrzej Nadolski (1959, 64) essentially repeated Jażdżewski’s claims but also added a footnote mentioning a roughly similar find from a much closer Central European location at Gotha-Sundhausen in Thüringen, Germany. Regrettably, the precise archaeo­logical context of the German distributor is unknown and the poor quality of the published image obscures its interpretation (Fig. 8.13h). Nevertheless, having personally examined the Gotha-Sundhausen specimen, Nadolski claimed that the heads on this find are more stylized than those from Lutomiersk and that the similarities are only superficial. He also speculated that the Gotha-Sundhausen find arrived in Germany together with Hungarian nomads. This line of reasoning implies that Nadolski, just like his predecessor ( Jażdżewski 1951), was convinced about the non-Slavic or even non-European provenance of the Lutomiersk strap distributors. The trend among Polish archaeo­logists and historians to interpret the Lutomiersk finds as foreign imports continued for the next fifty years or so. In 2004 and 2010, Marcin Wołoszyn returned to the debate surrounding their icono­graphic features and provenance, providing some brief albeit refreshing remarks. He appears to have agreed with Jażdżewski’s interpretation that they portrayed the heads of bears and identified an analogous arte-

173

Figure 8.12. Selection of openwork strap distributors made of copper alloy: a, b, k — Giecz. Photos by Leszek Gardeła; c — Tum Łęczyca. Courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi; d, j — Unspecified location, possibly in Germany; e — Unspecified location in Ukraine; f — Unspecified location in Ukraine; g — Sebbersund, Denmark. Photo by Leszek Gardeła; h — Gotha-Sundhausen, Germany. Redrawn after Nadolski 1959; i — Chmielno. After Ratajczyk 2018; l — Tum Łęczyca. Courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

8. ri d e rs o n t h e s torm

fact at Sachnovka in the Kyiv province in Ukraine (Chanenko and Chanenko 1902), which — in his view — strengthened the idea of the distributors’ eastern origin (Wołoszyn 2010, 320). Regrettably, the item from Sachnovka was found before 1902 and nothing is known about its immediate context. Additionally, in his discussion Wołoszyn (2010, 312–13) noted that in some regards the decoration of the Lutomiersk distributors resembled the animal motifs adorning penannular brooches from mainland Sweden, Gotland, Latvia, and Old Denmark (Hedeby). Upon closer inspection, however, these finds are only superficially similar and in actuality represent completely different stylistic conventions. Very much the same interpretative path was taken four years later by Ryszard Grygiel (2014a, 698–99) in his reassessment of selected finds from the Lutomiersk cemetery. His work, however, was heavily biased and uncritically postulated a Rus/ Varangian origin of the deceased (and the goods that accompanied them, especially the zoomorphic spurs) buried in graves 5 and 10, a view which, as we know today, is ungrounded (e.g. Gardeła 2018; 2019a; Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; see also a critique of Grygiel’s views in Sikora 2019, 45–46). In discussing the problems surrounding the ethnic identification of the individuals buried in high-­ status weapon graves in Poland, Jerzy Sikora (2019 and pers. comm. 2021) has recently pointed out to a number of other analogies to the Lutomiersk distributors, all of which come from (mostly illegal) amateur ‘excavations’ in Russia and Ukraine. With some exceptions, the Eastern European finds have only been published online on metal detectorist pages (Fig. 8.12e–f ). Sikora refrains from formulating definitive opinions regarding these distributors’ provenance. In the latest comprehensive study of the origin, distribution, and symbolism of zoomorphic spurs from Lutomiersk, Ciepłe, and other sites, Leszek Gardeła, Kamil Kajkowski, and Zdzisława Ratajczyk (2019, 70–71) have put forward a new hypothesis suggesting a Western Slavic origin of Variant 1 openwork strap distributors. They draw attention to several close analogies other scholars have missed — e.g. from Germany and Denmark (an unpublished find from Sebbersund in Jylland) — and show that the find distribution is not as ‘eastern’ as some researchers have previously thought. The identification of the zoomorphic motifs as the heads of bears has also been put to question, and Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk (2019) argue instead that they belong to cattle, animals of great symbolic significance in the Western Slavic world which were frequently represented in Slavic art, especially on metal items, and

often in a group of three. These ideas will be elaborated further below. The strap distributor from the stronghold of Tum Łęczyca, representing Variant 2, has not received much attention from scholars. It was discovered within a cultural layer at the stronghold’s courtyard (Poklewski-Koziełł 2003, 62). Grygiel considers it a foreign import but in the absence of any direct analogies one must remain open to the possibility that it is actually of local origin. Another unique distributor from Tum Łęczyca, found within the stronghold’s wall (Poklewski-Koziełł 2003, 62) and representing Variant 3, has likewise been interpreted by Grygiel as a foreign import even though no direct analogies are known. The stylistic features of the heads that adorn it — which are in many regards similar to those seen on Variant 1 distributors — permit the assumption that it is a local product. The triangular distributors from Chmielno, Czermno, and Giecz which represent Variant 4 may also have been produced in the Western Slavic cultural milieu. This interpretation is supported by the fact that the heads shown on the Chmielno specimen, with their large eyes and long noses or beaks, are remarkably similar to the animal-head motif on the strap ends of the zoomorphic spurs from Ciepłe and Lutomiersk (Fig. 8.12i), which — as highlighted above — are certainly of Western Slavic manufacture. As regards the two Variant 5 strap distributors from Truso, there are no doubts whatsoever about their Scandinavian origin ( Jagodziński 2009; 2010, 193–98; 2012; Gardeła 2014, 115–17, 137). This is attested not only by their immediate context — the site of Truso serving as an important port of trade with a marked Scandinavian presence — but also by the triquetra motif they carry, which was characteristic of Scandinavian art and extremely rarely appeared on items from the Western Slavic area (e.g. Zamelska-Monczak 2019a, 205).

Decorative Cheekpieces in the Piast State and Pomerania In the sections above, we have pointed out that of all the elements of equestrian equipment discovered in Poland, horse bits remain remarkably understudied and often treated in a cursory manner in publications on Western Slavic warfare (e.g. Kostrzewski 1949, 311–12; Nadolski 1954; Nowakowski 1991, 108–09; 2005, 119–21). The same can be said about a distinct group of items that are closely related to them, namely: cheekpieces. The main purpose of the cheekpiece — which can be made of iron, copper alloy, bone, or antler

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ted that he had been unable to find any close analogies to them. After more than sixty years (in the course of which much confusion and controversy had arisen with regard to the Lutomiersk finds), a similar item was discovered in Giecz (Krysztofiak 2011), one of the core strongholds of the Piasts in Greater Poland.4 The Giecz specimen is larger than the Lutomiersk cheekpieces and the decoration of its surface is more detailed. Although only half of the artefact survives today, the complete ornament can be reconstructed without difficulty (Fig. 8.13b). The design originally consisted of two snake- or dragon-like animals with short wings and tripart tails. The animals were shown in antithetic poses with their tails intertwined in the top part of the cheekpiece. In the top part of the artefact, directly under the perforation for the leather strap — which is flanked by two animal heads, possibly representing birds — one may also notice a trilobe motif which brings to mind an analogous motif from the Lutomiersk cheekpieces. When the Giecz specimen was first published in 2011 in a brochure presenting the latest finds from the site, the cheekpiece was wrongly interpreted as a Scandinavian-style decorative mount for a bag (Krysztofiak 2011). The caption in the permanent exhibition at the Archaeo­logical Reserve in Giecz — where the find is on permanent display — said that the artefact was manufactured in Rus. Recently, Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski (Gardeła 2019a; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a) have challenged these views and argued that the Giecz cheekpiece is of Western Slavic manufacture and that its ornamental features not only closely correspond with the décor of the cheekpieces from Lutomiersk (albeit representing a more elaborate variant of the same idea) but also with ‘emblematic’ zoomorphic imagery of Western Slavic kaptorgas (e.g. from Biskupin in Poland and Klecany in the Czech Republic — cf. Zawol 2015; 2018; Profantová and Šilhová 2010) and stirrups (Velds, Denmark — cf. Pedersen 2014; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021b) (Fig. 8.14). Gardeła and Kajkowski have also argued that the snake-like creature may be a representation of Żmij, a supernatural being from Slavic mytho­logy. These ideas will be further elaborated in the section below. A copper-alloy cheekpiece from Ostrów Lednicki can also be regarded as representing the same type (Fig. 8.13c). Although it is fragmentarily preserved,

— is to ensure the bit stays in place in the horse’s mouth. They also enable connecting the leather straps of the bridle with the bit. In addition to their purely practical purpose, cheekpieces (especially those carrying lavish decorations) can serve as markers of status, identity, and affiliation with a particular social group (e.g. Gardeła 2019a; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a). In some instances, they also have the capacity to convey religious meanings, as will be detailed further below. While iron bits are frequently encountered in the early medi­eval archaeo­logical record in Poland and in virtually all kinds of contexts ranging from settlements to strongholds and graves (e.g. Świątkiewicz 2002, 89–90; Strzyż 2006, 125–31; Kaźmierczak 2014; Gardeła and others 2019), cheekpieces are incomparably rare artefacts. In the present study we will concentrate our attention only on those specimens that have been cast in copper alloy, leaving aside the examples made of iron and known inter alia from places like Ciepłe and Lutomiersk (i.e. specimens from graves 1/1940, 2/1940, 5 and one indeterminate specimen excavated in 1940) as well as those made of organic materials (e.g. Żaki 1974, 288). Bits with iron cheekpieces have been discussed in detail in one of our previous articles (Gardeła and others 2019). So far, only nine copper-alloy cheekpieces have been found in the area of present-day Poland (Table 8.3). Except for the aforementioned specimens from grave 10 in Lutomiersk, they all come from strongholds. It is important to note that the places of their discovery, including Giecz, Kałdus, Kruszwica, Ostrów Lednicki, and Santok, were not only situated within the remit of the Piast state but also served the role of local or supra-local centres of power (e.g. Hensel and Broniewska 1961; Chudziak 2003b, 118–19; Kara and others 2016; Kurnatowska and Wyrwa 2016; Zamelska-Monczak 2019b). The copper-alloy cheekpieces from Lutomiersk are identical and carry a schematic albeit very interesting ornament: a trilobe or palmette motif in the centre flanked by two winged snakes in antithetic poses. When these items were first published, scholars were convinced about their eastern provenance ( Jażdżewski 1951). Andrzej Nadolski (1959, 63) boldly claimed that their style is ‘typical of tenth-eleventh century eastern Europe (from the Dnieper to the Urals) and this is where their production site should be sought’.3 At the same time, however, he admit

3 ‘Styl, w jakim wykonano te wąsy, jest znów typowy dla Europy wschodniej (od Dniepru po Ural) w X–XI w. i tam też trzeba szukać miejsca produkcji takich wędzideł’ — Nadolski 1959, 63.

4 It is noteworthy that over the last twenty years archaeo­logical excavations in Giecz have yielded a substantial corpus of artefacts decorated with zoomorphic motifs and of great significance for the study of Western Slavic art and pagan beliefs. Regrettably, many of them still remain unpublished.

Figure 8.13. Selection of copper-alloy cheekpieces from the Piast state and Pomerania: a — Lutomiersk. Photo courtesy of Muzeum Archeo­logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi; b – Giecz. Photo by Leszek Gardeła; c — Ostrów Lednicki. Photo courtesy of Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy; d — Giecz. Photo by Leszek Gardeła; e — Kruszwica. Redrawn after Hensel-Moszczyńska 1983; f — Santok. Photo courtesy of Kinga Zamelska-Monczak; g — Ciepłe. Redrawn after La Baume 1926. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

Figure 8.14. Serpentine motifs on different categories of Western Slavic objects: a–b — stirrup from Velds, Denmark. Photo by Leszek Gardeła. Drawing after Pedersen 2014; c — stirrup from Ostrów Lednicki, Poland. Photo courtesy of Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy; d — kaptorga from Klecany, Czech Republic. Photo courtesy of Nad’a Profantová; e — kaptorga from Biskupin, Poland. Photo courtesy of Magdalena Zawol and Muzeum Archeo­logiczne w Biskupinie. Figure by Leszek Gardeła.

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on its surface one can notice a wing, a leg, and a tripart tail of a fantastic animal. The lower part of the cheekpiece takes the form of a relatively thick bar with a terminal shaped like an animal head, perhaps that of a snake. In a recently published ­analysis of this item Arkadiusz Banaszak and Danuta Tabaka (2017) have impressionistically argued that the Ostrów Lednicki cheekpiece is of Rus provenance (in this way mimicking the old ideas on zoomorphic objects proposed by Jażdżewski, Nadolski, and Krysztofiak) and they have identified the winged creature as a dragon or Bazyliszek, a snake-like supernatural being of Slavic folklore. The three cheekpieces from Giecz, Kruszwica, and Santok (Fig. 8.13d–f ) are all very fragmented but they appear to be of a simplified type, lacking elaborate zoomorphic decoration on the surface of the arms. Instead, however, some of them are ornamented with zigzag motifs or ‘wolf ’s teeth’ (Giecz, Kruszwica) and all have a prominent bar at the base which is reminiscent of the bar seen on the find from Ostrów Lednicki. In two cases (Giecz, Kałdus) the bar terminates in a knob shaped like the head of an animal, probably a snake. It is unclear if the knob on the find from Santok was also meant to represent an animal head — unlike the two other finds, it does not have eyes. Unfortunately, the cheekpiece from Kruszwica is damaged, but its remarkable similarity to the find from Giecz implies that it may also have had snake-head terminals. The cheekpieces from Kałdus (Chudziak 2003b, 118–19) and Ciepłe (grave V; La Baume 1926; 1940; Gardeła 2019a, 207–10) also terminate in animal heads (probably those of snakes) but due to the fact that they are now lost, not much can be said about them.

Bridles as Religious Symbols and Markers of Identity Having now presented the complete corpus of strap distributors and copper-alloy cheekpieces from Poland and created their first typo­logy, we can move on to discuss their non-utilitarian aspects. We have already hinted at the possibility that both artefact categories could carry important messages concerning the religious beliefs of their creators and owners additionally manifesting their group affiliation. Below, we develop these themes further and attempt to critically interweave textual, archaeo­logical, and folkloristic material.

Bears, Lions, Rams, or Cattle? (Re)interpreting Animal Heads on Strap Distributors

As noted above, the motifs adorning openwork strap distributors belonging to Type 2 Variant 1 are conventionally interpreted as the heads of bears ( Jażdżewski 1951; Żak 1959b, 26; Abramowicz 1962, 130; Zoll-Adamikowa 1975, 165; Wołoszyn 2010, 312; Toropov 2014). This view is based predominantly on their triangular shape and similarity to Eurasian finds with bear-like motifs dated to the end of the first millennium ad. Ryszard Kiersnowski (1990, 396) has argued that in the course of time this particular ornamental motif was adopted in Rus and later spread to Scandinavia. Dietlind Paddenberg (2012), on the other hand, perceives the animals on the strap distributors as rams (without providing any justification for this claim), whereas Ingo Gabriel (1989, 178) sees them as lions. These divergent opinions on the species of animals depicted on the openwork strap distributors appear to have been largely influenced by (pre)existing assumptions attributing an (eastern) ethno-­ cultural origin to the artefacts from Lutomiersk and/or simply result from intuitive or impressionistic thinking. None of these views have ever been supported by broader reflections concerning zoomorphic imagery in early medi­eval art and the symbolic culture of the areas from which this type of distributor was allegedly derived. Incorporating the results of our previous research (Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019) as well as the geo­graphical distribution of the artefacts that concern us here, we maintain the opinion that this particular type of openwork strap distributor (i.e. Type 2, Variant 1) does not originate from Eastern Europe or Asia — as many of the above-mentioned researchers have claimed — but from the Western Slavic area. Therefore, the meaning content of the imagery depicted on these items ought to be linked to the worldviews and beliefs of the Slavic people and seen in the context of the natural environment they inhabited. This interpretational shift leads to the immediate dismissal of Ingo Gabriel’s claim that the head motifs on the distributors belong to lions — these exotic animals were absent from Western Slavic fauna and had no role whatsoever in the early medi­eval pre-Christian beliefs of the European barbaricum. As an ornamental motif, the lion also did not occur at all in the art of the people living in the basin of the Vistula and the Oder. Other animal species, such as the bear and ram/sheep, were well known among Western Slavic communities, however, and thus it is crucial to explore if and how their

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images could be employed in Western Slavic art and symbolic language. International research on the cultural significance of the bear demonstrates that it enjoyed great esteem in Celtic, Germanic, and Slavic traditions, eventually acquiring the status of a ‘royal animal’ (Pastoreau 2006, 69; Pentikäinen 2007; see also Beermann in this volume). In the earlier phases of the medi­eval period, hunting and a lonely duel with this animal were part of initiation rituals introducing the young man to the group of adults, often warriors (Kiersnowski 1990, 62, 110). However, it was primarily the process of tabooing the name of the bear that eventually gave rise to the still persistent view about the unique role of this mammal in the Slavic world (Margul 1987, 62; Kempiński 2001, 313; Schmölcke and others 2017, 901–02). There are different explanations for this process. According to some researchers, the tabooing resulted from a sense of fear and/or the desire to protect oneself against the bear’s anger (or the forces personified by it) and failure in hunting or from the role this animal had in beliefs and cult (Cetwiński and Derwich 1987, 201; Kiersnowski 1990, 9; Kawiński and Szczepański 2016, 151). The special cultic connotations of the bear in the Slavic world are seen especially prominently in Slavic folklore. It has been argued that the bear could have been a favourite animal or hypostasis of the forest deity Lesze, or an epiphany of Weles, the god of the underworld (Uspieński 1985, 131; see also Powierski 1977, 308; Milošević 2011, 43). These beliefs, however, seem to have been common only among the eastern branches of the Slavs who may have been under the influence of Eurasian nomads. Although bear-related folklore is practically absent among the Western Slavs, on occasion the bear motif can be encountered in Western Slavic figural art and zooarchaeo­logical material. Possible representations of this mammal can be seen on three artefacts discovered at settlement sites in Więcbork (KuyavianPomeranian Voivodeship), Kołobrzeg (Pomeranian Voivodeship), and Opole (Opole Voivodeship). The find from Więcbork is a small figurine made of stone, discovered within a stronghold and dated between the ninth and twelfth centuries. The item from Kołobrzeg — found stray near one of the excavation trenches and considered to have been originally deposited in the interior of a house — is made of amber and has been interpreted as a representation of a bear or dog. The third artefact, stemming from an unspecified location within the Opole stronghold, is made of bark and vaguely resembles the head of a bear or fox. While there is little doubt that the stone figurine from Więcbork depicts a bear (Woźniak 2011, 52), all three artefacts are actually

quite ambiguous. Precise information of the context of the Więcbork find is missing and thus one cannot be certain about the early medi­eval chrono­ logy attributed to it, the more so because no other figurines made of stone are known from the early medi­eval period in Poland. The chrono­logy of the artefact from Kołobrzeg is also uncertain (Łosiński and Tabaczyńska 1959, 103), although the fact that it was found among the remains of an early medi­ eval building can provide some hints (Leciejewicz 2007, 50). The object made of bark from Opole (Hołubowicz 1956, 291–92) is likewise problematic, not only as regards the dubious identification of the animal species it portrays but also its actual function as a zoomorphic figurine. According to Jerzy Gąssowski, an ornamental motif resembling a ‘bear’s mouth’ is depicted on a copper-alloy lyre-shaped buckle buried in grave 53 in the eleventh-century cemetery at Końskie. The deceased was thirty–forty years old when he died and was accompanied by a spearhead, a strike-alight, and an iron knife. The buckle was positioned slightly above the right elbow (Gąssowski 1952, 121, 123). Notwithstanding its discovery in the Western Slavic area, this artefact is most likely of north-eastern Slavic provenance (Gąssowski 1952, 121; Dymaczewska 1966, 462; Abramek 1980, 243) and therefore adds nothing to the discussion of the bear motif in the Western Slavic area. Wooden ladles are another interesting group of objects that carry zoomorphic decoration. They are found relatively often in Western Slavic sites, which validates the assumption that they were manufactured locally. The majority of them are decorated with bird heads, although specimens with representations of other mammals have also been noted in the archaeo­logical record (cf. Posselt and Szczepanik 2017, 206). An artefact which deserves special attention is a ladle excavated from the bottom of Lake Lednica in Greater Poland. After a close analysis of the decoration of its handle terminal, we agree with those researchers who interpret it as the head of a bear (Kola and Wilke 2000, 89, 91). This unique artefact can provide interesting hints concerning the significance of bears in Western Slavic imagination and religious practice. It has long been noted that decorative ladles could have been used in ritual activities — e.g. in mediations between humans and supernatural beings — as well as in symbolically charged customs that led to establishing bonds of fraternity (Kajkowski 2016, 69; 2017, 158; Posselt and Szczepanik 2017, 206). Although we initially expected to discover more evidence for the significance of the bear within the corpus of animal teeth and claws used by Western

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Slavs as pendants and/or amulets, our survey has led to the conclusion that bear claws and teeth are actually very scarcely represented: only a dozen or so have been found in Gdańsk, Kruszwica, and PoznańŚródka (Cofta 1960, 65; Hensel and Broniewska 1961, 87; Lepówna 1981, 181–82; Norska-Gulkowa 1985, 225, 228; Bláha 2000, 180–81). Except for one specimen from Poznań-Śródka, which lay in a grave of a juvenile or adult individual of indeterminate sex (Pawlak 2000, 2), all known bear claws and teeth come from settlement contexts and have been discovered stray or inside the remains of buildings. Closer analysis of the strati­graphy of the stronghold in Opole has led to some interesting observations concerning the bear motif. Here, amulets made of bear claws and teeth first appear in the eleventh century and their greatest intensity can be seen in mid-twelfth-century layers. The finds from other Western Slavic sites also seem to come from this markedly late period (a time when, at least officially, the Piast domain was already a Christian state) and thus may perhaps be seen as a result of and response to the process of religious conversion. Although this is a remarkably interesting theme which deserves further study, we cannot discuss it in more detail here. For our current considerations, the most important fact is that bear claws and teeth form only a minor part of all organic amulets known from the Western Slavic world. The share of other osteo­logical remains of the bear recorded at archaeo­logical sites is equally small (e.g. Makowiecka and Makowiecki 2013; Osypińska 2013, 70–71). In general, the literature on the subject assumes that the relatively insignificant number of bones from wild animals in Western Slavic settlement sites could have been the result of the process of dressing hunted animals in forests and bringing to the settlements only parts of their carcasses for consumption. Those body parts that could not be eaten would be left behind (cf. Brzostowicz 2012, 42). This, however, is a supposition that finds little support in view of the latest results of archaeozoo­ logical research which demonstrate that in order to dress the animal one needed not only specific skills and tools, but also appropriate conditions and time. One should keep in mind the fact that hunting (at least since the Neolithic) was a privilege of the people of power and was regarded as an expression of symbolic violence — in other words, similar to martial activities, it was a ritual practice (Halsall 2015, 188; Wężowicz-Ziółkowska 2018). Both hunting and war — as Jean-Paul Roux (1998, 125–26) rightly observes — required not only similar methods and tools but also respect for the opponent who belonged to the sphere of the orbis exterior. Although many of the

animals that lived in forests did not play any major role in early medi­eval Slavic economy, they could still have been significant in their cultural and symbolic practices (Makowiecka and Makowiecki 2010, 26, 203; Brzostowicz 2012, 42; Schmölcke and others 2017, 907). Tangible evidence for a special role of bears in Slavic culture can be found in very characteristic traces of wear on their bones, implying that these animals were actually kept in settlements (Kiersnowski 1990, 209; Kuśnierz 2003, 10; Buko 2005, 56). This is particularly clear from traces left on bear teeth by metal leashes or muzzles as seen in the finds from in Czermno and Pułtusk in Poland (Buko 2005, 56). These leashes or muzzles would have allowed people to control the behaviour of the animal. It is thus possible that this is evidence of the existence in early medi­eval Western Slavic culture of people known as niedźwiednicy (Moszyński 1967, 573–74) who would walk about the villages with tamed bears, give prophecies, and conduct other magic acts. Most likely, it was just such people that one of the provisions of the so-called Trulla Council (ad 692) and the words of Hincmar, archbishop of Reims (ninth century ad), condemning ‘unworthy games with a bear’ were referring to (Kiersnowski 1990, 207; Schmitt 2006, 287). Mentions of breeding, symbolic weddings, and dances with a bear are also known from thirteenth-century Rus, sixteenth-century Norway, nineteenth-century Lithuania, Poland, and other places (Kiersnowski 1990, 209–10; Hedeager 2011, 93). The occurrence of bear claws within archaeo­ logical features interpreted as places of ritual practice could also indicate that bears had some role to play in Slavic pre-Christian beliefs (see Chudziak 2003a, 101–02; 2006, 80; Błędowski and others 2011, 643; Gruszka 2012, 223; Chudziak and others 2016, 81–95). Still, it must be strongly emphasized that, overall, bear bones are extremely rarely encountered in the Western Slavic archaeo­logical record. All these findings lead to the inevitable conclusion that despite the uncontested presence of the bear in the social and religious life of Western Slavic communities, it was not an animal whose image would have been used to encode universal symbolic content. Its role was probably reduced and linked to other — intangible and therefore unknown to us — abstract concepts. In light of this, we see no grounds to interpret the zoomorphic images shown on the openwork strap distributors as representations of bear heads. According to Paddenberg’s (2012) interpretation, the animals are not bears, but rams’ heads, decorating the strap distributors. In many mytho­logical systems the ram is associated with solar forces and

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serves as the attribute of deities linked to fire and lightning. The ram was also a symbol of masculinity and reproductive power. Furthermore, rams are considered to be predestined for sacrificial purposes (Cooper 1998, 19–20, 124). Regrettably, nothing is known from extant medi­eval written sources about the significance of this animal in the belief system of the early medi­eval Slavs. It must have played at least some symbolic role, however, since rams’ heads do appear as terminals of decorative walking sticks (perhaps belonging to ritual specialists or other people of social and religious prominence) and spoons discovered at Novgorod in Russia (Pokrovskaya 2007, 404). At the present stage of research we are unable to answer the question of why such items were fashioned in this very particular way, but using other categories of data it is possible to shed some more light on the presence of the ram in the Slavic system of belief. For instance, several Czech and Slovak sites (e.g. Bajč or Hradsko-Kokořin; Turčan 2001, 99; Kartousová 2012) have yielded the remains of rams/sheep which may have been used in one way or another during ritual feasts or as sacrifices intended to secure good harvest. These, however, are isolated finds and their dating is not always certain; some might even be associated with earlier non-Slavic settlers and settlements (i.e. at Bajč). Outside of the settlement context, sheep/ram remains have been noted in much larger quantities in cemeteries belonging to Slavic and Avar communities. Interestingly, apart from the occurrence of disarticulated bones indicating the deposition of food, some of the graves contained skulls of these animals (Eisner 1952). It is unclear whether the dead were buried with fleshed heads or just crania, but we can speculate that the act of placing them in graves had some connection with the qualities attributed to rams/sheep and their roles as symbols of vitality, procreation, and (re)birth. The majority of the sites that have yielded such finds are located in Moravia and the mixed nature of the burial rites in this area makes it challenging to determine whether they should be specifically associated with the Slavs or the Avars (Beranová 1966, 173). The Avar attribution seems more likely in view of their pastoral-based economy as well as very distinct eating habits characteristic of nomadic people (Lasota-Moskalewska 2008, 233). Sheep remains are also known from two burial sites of a younger date: an eighth–ninth-century cemetery at Menzlin in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Germany and from a pit located within an ­eleventh-century cemetery in Radom in Masovian Voivodeship, Poland (Kurasiński and Skóra 2016, 42). In the case of Menzlin, the association of sheep remains with

the early medi­eval burial does not raise any major doubts (although the fact that it was located on the edge of a prehistoric burial mound may be significant), but in the second case it is possible that the remains were deposited by people who had used the site before the early medi­eval cemetery was established. In view of the latest research results, there is thus no concrete evidence for early medi­eval burials of sheep in the area located to the north from Moravia; this pertains both to cemeteries and settlements (Kajkowski and Kuczkowski 2011, 338). The presence of sheep/ram bones in other presumed ritual contexts may perhaps suggest some role of this mammal in Western Slavic worldview. At this stage of research, however, we are not able to provide any particulars on what this role may have been. Another obstacle in researching this theme is the almost complete lack of representations of small ruminants within the corpus of zoomorphic figural art and ornaments. Probably, one wooden figurine discovered in Bydgoszcz represents a sheep but little is known about the context of its discovery, and the broad chrono­logy between the ninth and thirteenth centuries does not permit us to move beyond the sphere of speculation. Another figurine interpreted as a lamb was found among the ornaments that formed part of an eleventh-century silver deposit from Opava-Kylešocice in the Czech Republic. According to Pavel Kouřil and Jana Gryc (2014, 126), the figurine represents a lamb of God (Agnus Dei), but the anatomical features of the animal speak against this interpretation, suggesting instead that the artist’s intention was to depict a cow, possibly endowed with religious symbolism. The analyses above indicate that bones and/ or meat of small ruminants were occasionally present in Western Slavic ritual contexts, implying that these animals could have been of some significance in their system of belief (assuming that rituals are ‘myths in action’). It seems, however, that sheep/ rams were not important enough to regard them as carriers of meanings that could be manifested in figural art and other decorations. In conclusion, our investigations lead us to believe that in the early medi­eval Western Slavic world both the bear and the ram/sheep did not belong to animals the images of which would be commonly used to express symbolic content. They are hardly ever present in the ritual context and rarely (if ever) appear in ornamental art. It therefore feels unjustified to interpret the animal heads on the strap distributors as the heads of these animals. Instead, one should rather see them as representations of other creatures that would have been more common in the Western Slavic cultural milieu. As we have already suggested in our

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previous study (Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019, 70–71), it is more reasonable to identify them as cattle. This interpretation is supported not only by the horn-like terminals at the top of the heads (reminiscent of cattle horns) seen on the distributors but also by the fact that they are shown in threes. The number three was of great significance for the Western Slavs, as implied by extant textual sources and archaeo­logical finds (Tomiccy 1975, 70–71), and was likely linked with the underworld deity known as Weles or Triglav, the latter name literally meaning ‘the three-headed one’. Moreover, realistically depicted horned animals, probably representing cattle (again, often in groups of three), are shown on a number of other high-status Western Slavic artefacts such as zoomorphic spurs, kaptorgas, and temple rings, providing further justification for the idea that the heads on the strap distributors indeed belong to the same animal species. Hybrid Serpents: Interpreting the Icono­graphy of Copper-Alloy Cheekpieces

Regardless of the fact that there is significant diversity within the corpus of Western Slavic copper-alloy cheekpieces from Poland, they do share some common traits. Three specimens from Giecz, Lutomiersk, and Ostrów Lednicki carry the same kind of icono­ graphy which depicts animals with hybrid physiognomies of snakes and birds. The beasts are shown in antithetic poses and between them one may notice a trilobed ‘palmette motif ’, most likely a tree. Additionally, the base of the find from Ostrów Lednicki takes the form of a thick bar which terminates in a knob shaped like an animal head with clearly marked eyes, possibly the head of a snake. The remaining finds from Giecz, Santok, and Kruszwica are devoid of zoomorphic surface décor and instead their arms have geometric ornaments forming a row of triangles or ‘wolf ’s teeth’ framed at the top by a cord-like band. At the base of all cheekpieces of this type, however, there is a thick bar which, in one case (Giecz), terminates in the head of a snake-like animal. This detail is analogous to the one seen on the aforementioned specimen from Ostrów Lednicki. The motif of two animals in antithetic poses, often with a tree between them, is well known across space and time and from different cultural milieus (e.g. Piasek 2011; Zawol 2018, 472–73). Sometimes referred to as the ‘tree of life motif ’, it was already present in the art of ancient Mesopotamia, Iran, and many other prehistoric cultures. The tree can be seen as a manifestation of a supreme deity or its powers. Although this motif is in some regards reminiscent

of another motif known as ‘the master of animals’ (Counts and Arnold 2010) — whereby the tree is substituted for an anthropomorphic figure — the meaning of the two motifs was different. In medi­eval manu­scripts and church icono­graphy animals flanking a centrally placed tree often possess ambiguous or ‘chimeric’ characteristics (e.g. wolf heads, bird bodies, snake tails) but they are generally interpreted as ‘dragons’ (e.g. Zawol 2018, 471–73). One explanation of the scene, in the context of the Christian system of belief, is that the tree represents the mythical Peredixion. According to a ­thirteenth-century text known as Fisio­logo latino versio BIs, doves would often sit on its branches and feed on its sweet fruits (Kobielus 2005, 72–73). Underneath the tree, an evil dragon awaits. The beast is afraid of the tree and its shadow, so in order to capture one of the doves, the dragon observes them from afar. If the shadow moves to the left side, the dragon moves to the right side. As long as the doves are on the tree, however, they are safe and cannot be killed by the beast. In the Christian interpretation of the Peredixion story, the doves represent devout believers whereas the dragon embodies malevolent forces. In view of the Peredixion story a question arises if the tenth- and eleventh-century cheekpieces from Poland could also refer to Christian symbolism? This seems unlikely. The fact that the cheekpiece from grave 10 in Lutomiersk was found together with zoomorphic spurs (objects with obvious pagan connotations) strongly implies that the meanings attributed to the winged serpents should rather be sought within the sphere of Western Slavic pre-Christian worldviews. In a series of previous studies, we have demonstrated that snakes were of great significance to the Western Slavs (Gardeła, Kajkowski, and Ratajczyk 2019; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a). Their images can be seen not only on cheekpieces but also on other elements of high-status equestrian equipment (e.g. stirrups from Ciepłe and Ostrów Lednicki in Poland and Pritzerbe in Germany) as well as on decorative knife scabbards, temple rings, arm-rings, and finger rings of the Orszymowice type. All these artefacts are dated between the late tenth and eleventh centuries, a period marked by all kinds of socio-political tensions and profound ideo­logical changes associated with the process of state formation and religious conversion. The sudden emergence of this kind of art in the late tenth century may be seen as an attempt to demonstrate ‘difference’ (allowing the users of such items to stand out from the rest of the society), group affiliation, shared ideo­logy, and belief. In our opinion, this characteristic form of zoomorphic art can be regarded as a material marker and

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manifestation of the newly emerging martial elite, probably associated with the Piast rulers Mieszko I and Bolesław the Brave, who despite their formal acceptance of Christianity, may have still accepted (or at least turned a blind eye to) the prevailing expressions of the ‘pagan ways’ of their forefathers in ornamental art and social practice. Regrettably, extant textual sources from the Middle Ages are silent about the symbolic meaning of the snake in the Western Slavic world. Nevertheless, later texts as well as rich folklore leave no doubt whatsoever that the snake was a very special animal across the Slavic world (e.g. Majewski 1892; Perls 1937; Eckert 1998; Mianecki 2012; Bartmiński, Kielak, and Niebrzegowska-Bartmińska 2015, 326–29). In virtually all parts of the Slavic world snakes were seen as protectors of families and homes as well as bringers of prosperity (e.g. Tomicki 1974; Tomiccy 1975, 32–33, 46, 132–33). Apparently, the bonds between humans and snakes were so strong that these reptiles would sometimes be kept inside the household where they would play with children and even eat with them from the same bowl (Tomiccy 1975, 133). Based on the groundbreaking work of ethno­ graphers Joanna and Ryszard Tomicki (Tomicki 1974; 1976; Tomiccy 1975), there are reasons to believe that snakes played a major role in Slavic cosmogony, perhaps serving as assistants or avatars of two divine antagonists (God and the Devil or Perun and Weles/Triglav) who were involved in the process of the world’s creation. One of these creatures, known as Żmij (or Zmay, Zmiej, Zmij in different parts of the Slavic world), represented uranic powers and was associated with fire and lightning. Remarkably (in the context of the imagery of the cheekpieces discussed here), it was imagined as a hybrid being: a bird (e.g. crane, eagle, gander, or rooster) with the tail of a snake (Tomiccy 1975, 40, 54). The other snake or dragon (in Polish smok) had chthonic and aquatic connotations. According to Slavic folklore, it would absorb water and cause drought and famine (Tomiccy 1975, 40–41). The cyclic conflict of the two beasts essentially represented a clash between the powers of light and darkness, the fiery and watery elements, as well as the changing of the seasons. In extant stories, when the chthonic dragon is defeated, it releases the stolen water, and the pouring life-giving rain marks the coming of spring (Tomiccy 1975, 185). Expressions of very similar ideas can also be found in the beliefs of Southern Slavs, attesting to their universal nature. In this context, a passage from Marina Valentsova’s (2019, 114) article is worth citing:

A certain parallelism is found between the Slovak-Polish and South Slavic beliefs: according to Slovak belief from Zamagurie, there is one planetnik in the dark clouds over each region; according to Polish one, in each village there used to be several płanetniks who protected the village from bad weather — and in South Slavic traditions it is known that every village has its own protector from hail and bad weather, called zmay. Beliefs about the fight of two weather demons, good and evil, ‘defender’ and ‘malicious serpent’, are widely represented among the South Slavs and known also, for example, to Hutsuls, but were not encountered in the Slovak material, however the motive is present. The warlock (černoknižnik) serves as a defender here (he warns villagers about the storm; tells people who have done him a favour how to protect their fields from the storm and hail; commands the dragon šarkan to send hail not to the villages but to uninhabited mountains, lies to šarkan that those are not the bells ringing, but the dogs barking), and the malicious one is the šarkan dragon, in some areas called smok. In light of the evidence summarized above, we contend that the two serpentine creatures shown on the copper-alloy cheekpieces could allude to the stories that survive in Slavic folklore and represent Żmij and his adversary entangled and engaged in an everlasting struggle for world domination. In the final section of this study, we shall elaborate on the possible reasons why such motifs were used by the Western Slavs on their equestrian equipment and how they may have been ‘animated’ and understood by their owners as well as local and foreign observers.

Conclusions This study has brought together archaeo­logical, textual, and folkloristic evidence to provide a nuanced approach to Western Slavic horse bridles and their decorative elements. We have revised previous scholarly misconceptions about the cultural origin as well as the icono­graphic and symbolic significance of strap distributors and cheekpieces with zoomorphic motifs. As a result of these re-evaluations, it is now clear that a substantial portion of bridle parts discovered within the remit of the emerging Piast state and Pomerania may have been produced within the region. The dispersion of the artefacts examined in this chapter is concentrated within the areas which in the eleventh century were part of the Piast domain

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or under the direct control of the Piast administration. We are unable to conclude whether such a small corpus of artefacts at our disposal results from the current Stand der Forschung or whether they were extremely rare. Although some common features can be observed — on the one hand resulting from their functionality/shape and on the other hand from the fact that they utilized existing Western Slavic ornamental motifs — many of them are unique, which may suggest that they were made on an individual order. This, in turn, increases their value not only in ‘monetary’ but also in symbolic terms, emphasizing the position and status of the people who use them. Referring to an array of different sources, we have argued that the imagery shown on several variants of these artefacts conveyed important messages linked to pre-Christian Slavic beliefs as well as serving as material markers of the newly emerging martial elite. The people who used bridles with realistic and fantastic representations of cattle, winged serpents, and snakes most likely belonged to a very mobile group of high-profile warriors, possibly associated with Mieszko I and his son Bolesław the Brave. The presence of such bridle parts in opulently furnished graves in Lutomiersk and Ciepłe as well as in important strongholds located within the dynamically expanding Piast domain strongly supports this view. The generally pagan imagery of these elements of riding equipment should not surprise us, because in the tenth and eleventh centuries the vast majority of people living in the central and northern part of Europe — despite progressing Christianization — maintained their traditional systems of belief. The ornaments on the bridles seem to have referred to the fundamentals of Slavic pre-­Christian religion — especially the cosmogonic myth and the cosmic conflict of opposite powers — and to the animals that were the guarantors of prosperity and protectors of human life. The imagination of the equestrian warriors may have ‘animated’ the creatures depicted on their horse bridles endowing them with supernatural agency. These animals may have in turn provided the riders with confidence and courage that were necessary on their distant journeys and in the storm of battle.

The décor of the bridles also had a structuring effect in that it strengthened a sense of shared identity and the bonds between the members of the drużyna and the ruler (e.g. Raffield and others 2016; Gardeła and Kajkowski 2021a). They also spoke to the imagination of the common folk, still largely immersed in the traditional worldview. In interacting and negotiating with them, the riders thus used (visual) arguments referring to the sphere of ideas and values understood and shared by a wider circle than just the elite. In the period of state formation religion was an ideal medium of communication that permeated the boundaries of all social structures: it had the capacity to integrate various groups and the power to legitimize their distinctiveness, and in the case of the ruling class, to provide sacred justification for power. As beautiful pieces of art, glimmering like gold in the sun, the most elaborate examples of Western Slavic bridles certainly evoked astonishment and awe. One thousand years later, these feelings are still with us today.

Acknowledgements The authors would like to express their warm thanks to the various institutions and individuals that have helped us gather the necessary data and illustrations for this study: Mariola Jóźwikowska and Paweł Sankiewicz (Muzeum Pierwszych Piastów na Lednicy), Iwona Nowak (Muzeum Archeo­logiczne i Etnograficzne w Łodzi), Ewa and Paweł Pawlak, Na’da Profantová (Archeo­logický ústav AV ČR Praha), Jerzy Sikora (Instytut Archeo­logii Uniwersytetu Łódzkiego), and Kinga Zamelska-Monczak (Instytut Archeo­logii i Etno­logii Polskiej Akademii Nauk). We are also grateful to the two anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments. Special thanks are due to Mirosław Kuźma for the wonderful artistic reconstructions and to Kaja Szewczyk ( Jōra Photo Tales) for the photo­graph of a Western Slavic rider. Tomasz Czyszczoń (Montanus Historical Jewellery) has created replicas of the two bridles from Lutomiersk and Bartosz Ligocki (Pancerna X) has tested them in action demonstrating that not only were they beautiful creations of early medi­eval art but also fully functional elements of martial equipment.

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Tõnno Jonuks and Tuuli Kurisoo

9. Between the Beasts On the Meaning and Function of Small Quadruped Figurines from Estonia This paper examines a specific group of small quadruped figurines that appear in Estonia during the late Iron Age (ad 800–1200/1250). This period marks the end of prehistory in Estonia and is characterized by intensive communication over the Baltic Sea as well as throughout the vast areas of modern-day Russia. The period also witnessed the introduction of the first influences of Christianity that were added to the already existing Iron Age worldview ( Jonuks and Kurisoo 2013; Mägi 2018). The latter was at the time characterized by an indigenous/local material culture (Tvauri 2012) with extensive references to hierarchical society and warrior ideo­logy (e.g. Jets 2012; Mägi 2002). Similar quadruped figurines occur in the Viking and Middle Ages in the wider Baltic Sea region (Grinder-Hansen 2010; Kajkowski and Szczepanik 2013; Szczepanik 2019; 2021), but Estonia and Latvia seem to be the main distribution area of a specific group (e.g. Urtāns 1974; Jonuks 2006; Iršėnas 2009; Kurisoo 2021, 103–04). Although the current corpus of the finds is substantial, several published sources that deal with the eastern Baltic figurines are somewhat outdated and do not contain recent finds, which could change not only the distribution patterns, but also interpretations of such objects significantly. Nearly half of the Estonian examples have been found during the last decade by metal detectorists and these have notably increased the variety of specimens. Thus, new finds allow us to study this material in a new light and offer an opportunity to discuss the role of such finds in a broader context. In the following we will provide an overview of the collection of quadruped figurines from late Iron Age Estonia and by using deep-description methodo­logy pose various questions to examine

these objects. One of the main, but also the most speculative topics is the issue of identification of species. Over the years these quadruped sculptures have been perceived mostly as horses (e.g. Urtāns 1974; Iršėnas 2009) or dogs (Mandel 2003; Jonuks 2006). The importance of identifying the species appears in further interpretations. When quadruped animal figurines are perceived as horses, for example, then the role of horses in the Finno-Ugric (e.g. Iršėnas 2009, 182) or Baltic (e.g. Urtāns 1974; Zemītis 1998, 107) mytho­logy is discussed with emphasis on fertility, prosperity, and sun-cult. Identifying the same figurines as another species, like dogs, allows us to reach significantly different conclusions about the worldview of the past people. The second major set of themes addressed in this paper concerns the function of the objects. Although the figurines share a number of similar characteristics — i.e. quadruped design, small size, three-dimensional form — they are mostly unique objects. Some of the figurines were made and used as pendants, others seem to have been freestanding figurines, suggesting a variety of purposes from aesthetical symbols to scale weights.

The Quadruped Figurines from Estonia Twenty-one figurines are currently known from Estonia, forming a heterogeneous group of finds (see Fig. 9.1). Three quadrupeds are known from the island of Saaremaa. The first of them (Fig. 9.1: 7) has a simple design with distinctive features like small tail and emphasized mane. The location of the find-spot is unclear as it was part of a private collection of antiquities of Baron Bernhard von Toll

Tõnno Jonuks ([email protected]) is Research Professor at the Estonian Literary Museum and Research Fellow at Tallinn University. Tuuli Kurisoo ([email protected]) is Research Fellow at Tallinn University. Animals and Animated Objects in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Leszek Gardeła and Kamil Kajkowski, NAA 1 (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 193–204 10.1484/M.NAA-EB.5.132521

FHG

1 94 tõ n n o j o n uk s an d t u u l i ku r i s o o

Figure 9.1. Quadruped figurines from Estonia. The stylistic groups represent similar interpretations of the ideal images that served as a source of inspiration. 1 Valkla (AI 8493: 3); 2 Mullutu (SM 10863: 27); 3 Klooga (AI 6995: 1); 4 Unknown (Käsmu I); 5 Varbuse (TÜ 2407: 14); 6 Unknown (Käsmu II); 7 Loona? (AI 3822: 229); 8 Viltina (AI 3884: 943); 9 Võrkla (AI 7823: 65); 10 Purga (AI 7794: 1); 11 Maidla II (AM 580: 5865); 12 Lõhavere (AI 4113: 2066); 13 Soontagana (PäMu 2767:484); 14 Maidla II (AM 580: 5943); 15 Ehmja (AM 554: 777); 16 Maidla II (AM 580: 1190); 17 Viltina (AI 3884: 2515); 18 Kõmsi III (AM 510: 180); 19–20 Suurpalu (AI 8060); 21 Maidla II (AM 1134: 1051). Photos 1–3, 8–10, 19–20 by Jaana Ratas. All other photos by authors.

(1870–1944) from Saaremaa. The artefacts in Toll’s collection originate from various sites, but the figurine has been associated with the Iron Age burial site from Loona (Urtāns 1974, 212). Two quadruped sculptures were found at Viltina cremation cemetery. The first of them (Fig. 9.1: 8) is small and robust and the only detail that is visible is the accentuated mane. The second specimen (Fig. 9.1: 17) looks quite different — it has an elongated body with very short legs and curved neck that ends with a short and heavily stylized face. The Viltina cemetery was studied hastily in 1940 as the area was prepared for the Soviet Army military base. For this reason, the documentation of the excavation is insufficient, making it difficult to locate particular finds within the study area. Furthermore, a part of the collection was lost during the evacuation in 1944 (Mägi 2002, 60–61). The earliest finds from the Viltina cemetery suggest the site to have been founded at the end of the tenth century, but

the majority of the burials belong to the twelfth– thirteenth centuries (Mägi 2002, 61). Six figurines are known from the cemeteries in west Estonia. The specimen from Ehmja (Fig. 9.1: 15) has a distinctive style: a short head with big flaring ears and strong upper body with a long tail pointing upwards. The figurine was found in a mixed layer that was located next to the stone setting of the burial site and consisted of a variety of objects from the Migration period and the late Iron Age. Mati Mandel (2003, 33) dated the quadruped figurine to the seventh–eighth centuries, but without providing further comments on the proposed dating. Notably different is a quadruped from Kõmsi III site (Fig. 9.1: 18). Although many details connect this object with the rest of the quadruped finds, the Kõmsi figurine is flat and cannot be described as a three-dimensional sculpture. Weighing 7.97 g, this is also the first of the Estonian finds that was interpreted as a scale weight (Mandel 2003, 88).

9. b e t w e e n t h e beas ts 195

Four figurines were found in Maidla II stone grave with cremation burials. One of them (Fig. 9.1: 16) bears some resemblance to the quadruped sculpture from Ehmja and has similar posture and ears. It was found in a burial complex that contained burnt fragments of copper-alloy objects dated to the eleventh–twelfth centuries (Mandel 2003, 48). Another figurine (Fig. 9.1: 11) could not be contextualized either in a chrono­logical or spatial perspective. The figurine has a less stylized head than the previously described quadrupeds, a cast suspension loop rising from the withers, and relatively short legs. Its exceptionally massive tail points downwards between the legs. The third of the Maidla sculptures (Fig. 9.1: 21) was found in a closed complex together with weights (Mandel 2017, 56). The figurine has an upwards pointing tail, short body, and an emphasized front side with a small head, but its neck and legs appear strong. A fourth, and somewhat different figurine (Fig. 9.1: 14) takes the form of a flat silhouette of a quadruped,

still with many characteristic details depicted — an upwards pointing tail, a phallus, and disc-shaped ears. The figurine was unearthed together with a few oblate spheroidal scale weights (pers. comm. Mati Mandel) from the western part of the Maidla cemetery, where both cremation and inhumation burials occurred. However, it was not possible to associate this collection of objects with any burials. Two quadrupeds have been found within hillforts. A poorly preserved flat figurine from Lõhavere was cast together with a suspension loop (Fig. 9.1: 12). The quadruped has short legs and its tail points downwards. Since the hillfort was used mostly between the twelfth–early thirteenth centuries (Tõnisson and Haak 2008, 273), it is possible to fairly precisely date the figurine. The Soontagana find (Fig. 9.1: 13) is also flat but executed in a different style. It has a very short body, but long and straight neck with a pair of small protruding ears. The earliest dated material from the hillfort comes from the seventh–eighth centuries but the majority of the finds discovered there belong to the eleventh–thirteenth centuries (Tõnisson 2008, 269). Additionally, ten figurines of quadrupeds have been found as a result of metal-detecting, but information about their find contexts is available only for three cases. The Klooga specimen (Fig. 9.1: 3) was part of an eleventh-century hoard (Kiudsoo and Russow 2011). The figurine has a long neck, short body, and a small upwards curled tail. Also, an exceptionally large and heavy specimen from Võrkla (Fig. 9.1: 9) may have been part of an eleventh-century hoard (Rammo and Kangert 2018). The Võrkla sculpture was cast without a tail and the whole body is ornamented with various patterns. The Mullutu find (Fig. 9.1: 2) has a round tail with a suspension hole and the figurine has short legs. It has an elongated neck, a clearly distinguished mane, and a long head. The Mullutu quadruped figurine was found at a harbour site dated to the eighth–twelfth centuries (Mägi 2021). The rest of the metal-detector finds are stray finds, without any reported archaeo­logical context. The Varbuse (Fig. 9.1: 5) specimen has a small pierced tail and a short body, but its head and neck are elongated. The Purga specimen (Fig. 9.1: 10) has a wide

1 96 tõ n n o j o n uk s an d t u u l i ku r i s o o

head, a cast suspension loop, and a small upwards pointing tail. Two flat figurines suspended on a chain were discovered at Suurpalu (Fig. 9.1: 19–20). Both quadrupeds are similar and have long bodies, tails pointing upwards, small heads, and relatively short necks. The Valkla figurine (Fig. 9.1: 1) has a distinctive mane, a small, pointed tail, but a rather short neck. Two more figurines belong to a private collection held in the Käsmu museum, but no detailed information is available about their find contexts. One of the sculptures (Fig. 9.1: 4) has a thick and short body, an emphasized mane, and a small head without details. The second figurine (Fig. 9.1: 6) has a very short tail, but its neck is long, and the body bears robustly carved decorations.

Techno­logy The majority of the figurines are unique objects that are known from fourteen find-spots (Fig. 9.2), which makes it likely that they were produced in diverse places by different craftspeople. The situation was probably different in Latvia, where most of the known finds that had been discovered before 1974 were connected with the Daugmale complex, one of the most important trading and craft centres in the eastern Baltics. Moreover, the Daugmale finds include several half-finished figurines that suggest local production of such objects (Urtāns 1974). Although it is possible that some of the Daugmale figurines reached Estonia (e.g. Purga, Fig. 9.1: 10

that is similar to its Latvian counterparts), it is likely that the majority of the Estonian finds were locally made as finds from Latvia are more homogeneous than their Estonian counterparts (compare with Urtāns 1974, fig. 2). Many Estonian specimens have unique details suggesting that most of the quadrupeds were individually designed, probably by using clay moulds and lost-wax casting. There are fewer indications that some quadrupeds were produced in series either by using the same reusable mould or a master model. One example of almost identical pieces comes from Suurpalu (Fig. 9.1: 19–20), where otherwise unique finds were probably cast in the same mould. Also, the sculptural design of the quadrupeds deserves pointing out, which differs notably from the general style of figural ornaments in the eastern Baltics that are usually flat (Table 9.1). The ornamentation of the quadruped figurines has been executed very differently. There are examples where the decoration is coarsely carved on the bodies of quadrupeds (e.g. Fig. 9.1: 6), but also cases where the ornament is carefully planned and executed (e.g. Fig. 9.1: 9, 16). The ring-and-dot is the most widely used motif on the figurines (Fig. 9.1: 15, 18–20). It is among the most common decorative elements in the late Iron Age eastern Baltic and it appears on a wide variety of objects. In a few instances, dots are used for marking the eyes (e.g. Fig. 9.1: 18–20). Such cases where decoration has specific design-related functions are rare and

Figure 9.2. Distribution map of quadruped figurines in Estonia. 1 Ehmja; 2 Klooga 3: Kõmsi; 4 Lõhavere; 5 Loona; 6: Maidla; 7 Mullutu; 8 Purga; 9 Soontagana; 10 Suurpalu; 11 Valkla; 12 Varbuse; 13 Viltina; 14 Võrkla. Base map Estonian Land Board 2021. Author Andres Kimber.

9. b e t w e e n t h e beas ts 197 Table 9.1. Stylistic features and the weights of the quadrupeds from Estonia.

Suspension hole/ Ornament piercing

Site

Find

Weight

Weight value

Sculptural form

Ehmja

AM 554: 777

23.33 g

3 örtugs

*

Klooga

AI 6995: 1

8.28 g

1 örtug

*

Kõmsi

AM 510: 180

7.97 g

1 örtug

Lõhavere

AI 4133: 2066

14.16 g

2 örtugs

Loona?

AI 3822: 229

12.18 g

1.5 örtugs

*

Maidla

AM 580: 1190

*

*

Maidla

AM 580: 5865

11.78 g

1.5 örtugs

*

*

Maidla

AM 580: 5943

2.55 g

0.5 örtug?

Maidla

AM 1134: 1051

16.46 g

2 örtugs

* ? * *

Tri- Upwards Downwards partite pointing pointing Phallus Ears Mane snout tail tail *

*

*

*

*

*

* *

* *

?

*

*?

*

*?

? *

Mullutu

SM 10863: 27

15.3 g

2 örtugs

*

*

eye

*

*

Purga

AI 7794: 1

9.08 g

1 örtug

*

*

eye

*

*

*

*

AI 8060: 1

*?

*

*

*

*

*

*?

*

*

*

*

*

Valkla

AI 8490: 3

20 g

2.5 örtugs

Varbuse

TÜ 2407: 14

7.97 g

1 örtug

*

*

eye

*

*

Viltina

AI 3884: 943

7.64 g

1 örtug

*

Viltina

AI 3884: 2515

18.15 g

2 örtugs?

*

Võrkla

AI 7823: 65

136.36 g 3/4 marks

Unknown

Käsmu I

*

*

Unknown

Käsmu II

*

*

The geo­graphical distribution of quadruped figurines points to the coastal areas in Saaremaa and west Estonia (Fig. 9.2). The rest of Estonia is represented with fewer finds, although all parts have yielded their examples. The active usage of metal detectors has significantly changed the distribution pattern recently. The relation between the find-spots of quadruped figurines and coast/water-routes, as suggested by numerous finds from Saaremaa and west Estonia, is also apparent in Latvia, where the majority of figurines known by 1974 had been collected from sites along the Daugava River, especially from the complex of Daugmale (Urtāns 1974). However, instead of water-routes themselves, the role of particular sites such as central places, trading centres, or stop-

*

? *

*

?

*

*

* *

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

overs along major routes, may have been important. This observation applies for the Latvian finds, too. When it comes to the contextual distribution of quadrupeds, nearly half of the figurines have been found in burial sites with cremation burials, but only a few of them can be associated with a specific burial complex. This is not only due to issues of archaeo­ logical documentation which is sometimes incomplete, but also because of the burial practice of the time as burnt and broken artefacts and bones were both scattered and clustered in these cemeteries (Selirand 1974; Tvauri 2012, 258; Mägi 2013, 184–85). The most plausible scenario is that all figurines from the burial sites can be regarded as grave goods, given to the deceased. The surface of some objects bears traces of the effect of heat, but others have no signs of it. However, the experiments have shown that during the cremation process some objects, especially those which are small and not attached permanently to the body, may drop through the pyre. When such items are covered with a layer of ash, they will be protected from further damage as the heat is directed upwards. Small finds may survive

*

*

AI 8060: 2

Distribution and Contextual Patterns of Quadruped Figurines in Estonia

*?

?

Suurpalu

the ornamentation generally has an aesthetic purpose, perhaps indicating stylistic preferences of the craftworkers.

*

*

Suurpalu

*

*

*?

*

*

?

*

*

*

*

*

*

Soontagana AI 2767: 484

*

1 98 tõ n n o j o n uk s an d t u u l i ku r i s o o

the entire cremation process without any damage (see more in Jonuks and Konsa 2007). The burial sites, however, are the main contexts that make the dating of the figurines possible. Two figurines from the Maidla cemetery have been dated to the eleventh–twelfth centuries and the rest of the sites (Kõmsi and Viltina) suggest a rather later, that is twelfth–thirteenth-century, date. It is also likely that the figurine from Ehmja was actually associated with the nearby late Iron Age finds. Two specimens can be associated with eleventh-century hoards. The Klooga figurine is a part of an assemblage consisting of ornaments and commodities, which may have belonged to a prehistoric trader (Kiudsoo and Russow 2011, 229). The find context of the Võrkla specimen is somewhat uncertain due to the fact that the area has been extensively ploughed, but it is suggested that the sculpture belongs to a hoard that contained coins and a fragment of a silver ornament (Rammo and Kangert 2018, 211). Interestingly, only two finds are known from hillforts, but both of the hillforts were among the most important regional centres in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Although several metal-detector finds have been interpreted as stray finds, this view may change in the future when more information becomes available about these find places. Metal-detector finds can only be dated on the basis of their design and style. These are clearly connected with the above-mentioned specimens that date to the period from the eleventh century to the early thirteenth century. A similar timeframe is also suggested for the Baltic specimens (e.g. Urtāns 1974; Iršėnas 2009; Kurisoo 2021, 103–04).

Towards the Interpretation of Quadruped Figurines As previously mentioned, the identification of species plays a central role in the final conclusions, but the interpretations of the shape of these quadrupeds are typically based on the tacit knowledge of the archaeo­logist who is studying this material. This kind of loose approach has its drawbacks when discussing the meaning and function of quadruped figurines. It relies heavily on the background of the researcher and is influenced by the topics that are commonly discussed in the local archaeo­logical tradition. For instance, a more prominent position is usually ascribed to the horse than the dog, which seems to be the main reason why several researchers perceive the quadrupeds rather as horses (e.g. Iršėnas 2009; Urtāns 1974). We propose that these objects are best studied when the main stylistic features that signal species and function are separately addressed. Our approach

relies on the main methods applied in the contextual icono­graphy. We will focus on determining design-related families, which help to construct an ‘ideal image’, which can be used for interpreting single pieces and specific features (e.g. Pesch 2009; 2012; 2015). The ideal image is a mental construct reflecting something that served as a source of inspiration, the ultimate prototype, something that the craftsperson wanted to achieve and used as an anchor when creating artistic variations on the subject. This concept helps to capture the ideas that were circulating in the society, but the final outcome reflects the realization of these ideas that were carried out by different craftspeople and, thus, are finalized in different ways (Kurisoo 2021, 174–75).

Function There are two prevailing interpretations when it comes to the function of these quadruped sculptures. Seeing the figurines as pendants emphasizes the symbolic and aesthetic side of these quadrupeds, but regarding them as scale weights points out their practical value. The argumentation behind the pendant-nature of these artefacts is probably connected to the fact that several finds are cast together with a suspension loop (Table 9.1). Two finds (Fig. 9.1: 5, 12) have survived together with a small copper-alloy ring suspended from the loop and the pair of Suurpalu figurines (Fig. 9.1: 19–20) are attached to a fragment of a chain that may have been used in a pectoral chain ornament (Fig. 9.3: 1). It should be noted that some of the Latvian finds have been found in female inhumation burials, where they had been used as pendants (e.g. Zemītis 1998, 105; Zariņa 2006, fig. 210). It is also noteworthy that their role as pendants prevailed over time: the medi­eval specimens were used as sub-pendants in the areas inhabited by the Livs in Latvia (e.g. Zariņa 1974, fig. 1: 2, 6). The idea that zoomorphic figurines were used as scale weights was suggested already in the nineteenth century with regard to the Scandinavian figurines (Grinder Hansen 1997, 309). The finds from the eastern Baltic were for the first time interpreted in this way by V. Urtāns in 1974. The Estonian specimens received more attention in the 2000s when the number of figurines increased, but so far only single pieces have been weighed. Table 9.1 presents the weights of fifteen specimens that were available for measuring of which eleven are complete finds. The Estonian quadruped figurines seem to fit with the most widely used scale weight system, which is based on the örtug (c. 8.43 g), a Scandinavian unit of weight (Tvauri 2012, 229). The Estonian scale weights have not been separately studied yet, but

9. b e t w e e n t h e beas ts 199

Figure 9.3. Stylistic features of the figurines. Not to scale. 1 Suurpalu (AI 8060); 2 and 2a Purga (AI 7794: 1); 3 and 3a Ehmja (AM 554: 777); 4 Maidla II (AM 580: 5865); 5 2 Mullutu (SM 10863: 27); 6 Viltina (AI 3884: 2515); 7 Maidla II (AM 580: 1190), 8 Valkla (AI 8493: 3). Photos 1, 2, 5, 8 by Jaana Ratas.

parallels from the Latvian material suggest that the majority of the weights had values between half of the örtug to half of the Scandinavian mark (Berga 2011). The studied quadrupeds have values that are approximately equal to 1, 2, and 3 örtugs (Table 9.1). The exceptional Võrkla find has a weight that can be associated with 18 örtugs or with ¾ mark as the weights in the eastern Baltics tend to weigh less when made more massive (pers. comm. Ivar Leimus). Also the weight of slightly fragmented finds can be associated with this system, respectively with 0.5, 1, 1.5, and 2.5 örtugs. The function of the quadrupeds as scale weights is also supported by their find contexts, especially when they are found together with other items that can be associated with trade activities or merchants. In the current dataset two cases from the Maidla II burial site and a hoard from Klooga contain such items (see above). Moreover, a quadruped figurine found at the Taskula cemetery in Finland is believed to originate from a twelfth-century tradesperson’s burial (Kivikoski 1973, 142). Therefore, also contextual evidence, although admittedly scarce, supports this function.

Stylistic Features In order to analyse the material in the most comprehensive manner possible, we focus on the seven most diagnostic elements: the tail, snout, phallus, ears, mane, neck, and legs (see also Table 9.1). These

repeated details seem to derive from the ideal image of the figurines rather than signalling the master producer or the production site. The raised tail is the most distinctive element of this group of figurines, repeated on almost every object (Fig. 9.3: 1–3, 5–8). In some cases, the tail is marked by a small upwards protruding knob, in others the tail forms a suspension loop or even a long tail bowing on the back of the animal. The upwards raised tail signals domination, self-confidence, and aggressiveness in zoosemiotics (Fox and Cohen 1977). There are two exceptional cases where the tail is depicted between the legs (Fig. 9.3: 4). The tail also seems to carry semantic importance as it would have been easier to make an object with less details. In contrast to the raised tail, the tail hidden between the legs signals fear, submission, and capitulation. Next to the tail, the short legs are also diagnostic features of the figurines. In some instances, the front pair of legs is depicted somewhat longer to accentuate the front part of the body (Fig. 9.3: 2, 4). Considering the traditional identification of this group of figurines as horses, the short legs are particularly interesting. The symbolism of the horse in mytho­logy and ideo­logy is usually connected with its speed, expressed by long or multiple legs (see e.g. Turville-Petre 1964, 57; see also Evans Tang and Ruiter as well as Sikora and Toplak in this volume). The repeatedly depicted short legs seem to ignore this connotation.

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With just a very few exceptions the snout of the animal is portrayed in three parts (Fig. 9.3: 2, 2a, 5, 6). The same artistic convention is also seen on other animal images from that period — on the zoomorphic terminals of penannular brooches or on diverse pendants, identified as horses, snakes, etc. (see Kurisoo 2021, figs 4.13, 6.10). It can be speculated that such a tripartite snout marks an open mouth where the upper jaw, tongue, and lower jaw are all emphasized. Such a position indicates that the animal is supposed to make a sound or threat as the mouth is open in both cases. Considering that a similar artistic convention was used for portraying the mouth of a snake or a dragon (Luik 1999a, 126; Iršėnas 2009, 163), it can be speculated that the tripartite snout more likely symbolized a furious or threatening animal rather than one that is just barking or neighing. Twelve animal figurines are clearly depicted as male, as indicated by the small protruding knob, the phallus, between the hind legs (Fig. 9.3: 1, 3, 6, 8). As this element is purposely accentuated and occurs on diverse quadrupeds (flat, three-dimensional forms, with and without loops), then it must be significant. An erect phallus is often discussed in the context of anthropomorphic figurines on Nordic Bronze Age rock art and interpreted as a marker of dominating male warriors (e.g. Fredell and García Quintela 2010; Horn 2018, 112). Phallic figures are very rare in Iron Age North Europe,1 which makes this collection of quadrupeds exceptional. In this context, the (erect?) phallus likely signals domination and aggressive masculinity. Dominance and aggressiveness are also expressed by the ears. It should be noted that ears are usually insignificant details of zoomorphic depictions in the late Iron Age eastern Baltic and animals are usually portrayed without ears. There are some examples where the ears are marked by a sharp triangle (Fig. 9.1: 4, 6, 19, 20, 21) but even more striking are the examples where the ears are massive and dominant (half )discs (Fig. 9.3: 3, 3a, 7). These variations in the design seem to display the creative output of different craftworkers, but most likely conveyed a similar message. In the case of quadruped figurines, the ears can be interpreted as pricked up ears, which are distinctive to animals that keep their guard up and are tense and ready to fight (Fox and Cohen 1977). Thus, the ideo­logy that is represented with ears seems to be similar to the previously discussed



1 Except a highly unique phallic anthropomorphic figurine from Rällinge, commonly interpreted as fertility god Freyr. For a discussion and critique of this interpretation, see Price 2006.

details, which are associated with demonstrating the dominance of the animal. In most cases, the neck is usually depicted as wide and massive (Fig. 9.3: 3, 6–8). There are a few examples (e.g. Fig. 9.3: 1, 2, 4), however, where quadrupeds have narrow necks, which give the figurines a doglike appearance. The broad neck of the majority of the figurines, on the other hand, leaves the impression of a horse. The latter interpretation is also supported by the quadrupeds that have a recognizable mane that is marked with a decoration or relief design (Fig. 9.3: 5–7). The most unambiguous example of a horse is the Valkla (Fig. 9.3: 8) figurine, the mane of which even seems to flutter above the suspension loop. Unfortunately, the head of the animal usually lacks further details (the snout is discussed above) that could be used for identification of the species. In the cases where the head is more carefully modelled, the accentuated cheeks rather seem to refer to a horse (e.g. Fig. 9.1: 2, 5, 6).

Discussion — the Question of Species and Meaning The analysis of the stylistic features strongly indicates an active, dominating, and aggressive animal that served as an ideal image for the quadruped figurines. Reference to dominance is the most repeated and most characteristic feature that seems to overshadow the identifiable details of the species. This leads us to ask whether a particular species, either a horse or a dog, was targeted at all or if the figurines were only based on the idea of a quadruped animal that carried certain ideo­logical characteristics that were valued in this society. The horse has always prevailed in interpretations and is also supported when comparing the eastern Baltic group of figurines with others, collected in the Western Slavic and Germanic areas or in Scandinavia (see references above). Details referring to a horse include mostly the neck with accentuated mane and the shape of the head. Still, the east Baltic group seems to be somewhat special as the upwards tail and phallus are emphasized almost exclusively, which seems not to be the case everywhere. At the same time the details that are not that characteristic for horses, like the short legs and raised tail, should not be overlooked. The way the tail is pointing upwards on the quadruped figurines, and sometimes bowed on the back, differs significantly from the way a horse normally raises its tail and is more common among dogs. In comparison, there are a number of depictions of horses from late Iron Age art in Northern Europe, e.g. the Bayeux Tapestry,

9. b e t w e e n t h e beas ts 2 01

Scandinavian picture stones, and art objects from across Northern Europe (e.g. Quast 2009), including small horse figurines from Central and Northern Europe (see references above). The horse tail is insignificant in these examples: it is either not depicted at all or represented as a normal horse tail, orientated downwards. Also, the other repeated detail — the short legs do resemble a dog rather than a horse. The almost deliberate avoidance of depicting long legs is so representative that it is difficult to consider the quadruped figurines as horses. Alternatively, these non-equine details could be considered an expression of an artistic manner(ism) and not as a reflection of reality. Thus, the unnatural elements could have been (over)emphasized details of the ideal image to demonstrate more clearly what was valued. This may be an explanation why the figurines generally look like a horse except the unnaturally upright tail. An upright tail is a clear indication of dominance and aggressiveness; since these properties were particularly valued by the society, the artist may have felt encouraged to exaggerate them (compare also Jonuks 2017). On the other hand, examples where a tail is hidden between the legs (e.g. Fig. 9.3: 4), cannot be explained as a horse at all, despite the fact that the neck and head clearly suggest that. However, as noted above, the ideo­logical elements referring to dominance and aggressiveness seem to prevail over the other characteristics of these quadruped figurines. This is in accordance with what has been suggested about the general ideo­ logy of the local society for the second half of the first millennium ad. Several authors (see e.g. Mägi 2007; Jets 2012; Tvauri 2012, 326) have pointed to the appraisal of what is labelled as warrior ideo­logy since the Migration period. This particular ideo­logy is manifested in the archaeo­logical record through weapons and luxury items. In terms of animal symbolism, the warrior ideo­logy is also well reflected in the usage of skeletal elements as pendants. In the late Iron Age, a variety of teeth, claws, and bones of different animals and birds were turned into pendants (see also Kurisoo 2021, 42–48). Often the species that are associated with hunting and aggressiveness or are generally acknowledged as ‘prestigious’ animals, like bear, swine, dog, and eagle were used (see more details in Jonuks and Rannamäe 2018, 170). The possible horse figurines, the details of which bring to mind ideas of dominance and aggressiveness, fit very well in this kind of worldview. Concerning the aggressive horse, there is a small group of interesting comb-shaped pendants with zoomorphic extensions from Estonia, the most notable one from the Maidla burial site (Kurisoo 2021, 86–88; Luik 1999b;

Figure 9.4. Comb-shaped pendant with zoomorphic extensions from Maidla (AM 580: 425).

Fig. 9.4). What makes the Maidla pendant and others alike interesting is the way the animals are portrayed: their front legs are raised (and thus form the ‘cross-mark’ between the animals) as if they were fighting. The figurines on the pendant carry the same characteristic details as the quadruped figurines, but are depicted facing each other. The function of the objects analysed in this study is as diverse as their symbolism. It has been previously demonstrated that the quadruped figurines fit well with the örtug-based weight system and could have served as scale weights. The figural form and suspension loop represented on half of the figurines suggests a more diverse role than just a peculiar form of weight, however. Moreover, some examples were suspended permanently from a chain (Fig. 9.3: 1) or have survived with the remains of a chain (Fig. 9.1: 1, 5) which implies that they were not really suitable for weighing purposes. Although it is conceivable that quadruped figurines evolved from functional scale weights to decorative pendants, this interpretation cannot be proven as the dating is based on find contexts that are relatively broad. In any case, it seems likely that all such items had similar semantic purpose. It is possible that quadruped-shaped scale weights and pendants were used as identity symbols that denoted elite tradespeople or individuals who belonged to a wider network of local nobility and used the same ‘symbolic language’ (see also Grinder-Hansen 2010). This is also supported by the distribution pattern as quadruped figurines in the eastern Baltic seem to con-

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centrate either along the major trading routes or are associated with central places. Further evidence that supports the idea that quadruped figurines served as specific identity markers comes in the form of small and flat quadruped finds similar to the objects in question that were used in pectoral chain ornaments as sub-pendants in the thirteenth century and onwards in the lower reaches of the Daugava in Latvia (Zariņa 1974). This area was a major trading and communication point in the eastern Baltic during the late Iron Age (see more in Radiņš 2001; 2017; Mägi 2018) and possibly this is the reason why the same shape and perhaps also the same meaning continued to be in use at the time when such symbolism had lost its relevance in Estonia.

Conclusions To sum up this quest of interpreting the quadruped figurines, it seems that the moral and ideo­logical values that circulated in the late Iron Age society were likely the most crucial aspects that affected the shape of these quadrupeds. In contrast to many similar figurines from Scandinavia and Central Europe, aggressiveness and dominance seem to be the essential features of the Baltic quadrupeds. These features are represented so strongly that they overshadow the identifiable characteristics of the animal, making the identification of the species a challenging task. The function of these puzzling objects still remains open to debate. On the one hand, the figurines would work very well as scale weights, but on the other hand their zoomorphic shape as well as the possibility of using them as pendants would endow them with metaphorical qualities that would certainly speak to the imagination of members of long-distance trading networks in the Baltic Sea region. Many of these widely travelled people doubtlessly valued the idea of aggressive domination, something that the figurines prominently display as well.

Acknowledgements The authors are grateful to Dr Ivar Leimus, Dr Mati Mandel (both Estonian History Museum), and Dr Erki Russow (Tallinn University) for sharing information and consulting on scale weights. Thanks are also due to Andres Kimber (University of Tartu) who helped with the map and Jaana Ratas (Tallinn) who provided some of the photos. The writing of the article has been supported by the Centre of Excellence in Estonian Studies (CEES, TK-145) and Personal Research Grant 908 (Estonian Environmentalism in the 20th Century).

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