Christianity and War in Medieval East Central Europe and Scandinavia 9781641891349

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CHRISTIANITY AND WAR IN MEDIEVAL EAST CENTRAL EUROPE AND SCANDINAVIA

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Beyond Medieval Europe Editorial Board Kurt Villads Jensen, Stockholms Universitet, Stockholm Balázs Nagy, Central European University, Budapest Leonora Neville, University of Wisconsin, Madison

See further: www.arc-humanities.org/our-series/arc/bme/

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CHRISTIANITY AND WAR IN MEDIEVAL EAST CENTRAL EUROPE AND SCANDINAVIA Edited by

RADOSŁAW KOTECKI, CARSTEN SELCH JENSEN, and STEPHEN BENNETT

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Cover illustration: The Battle of Legnica 1241: The Beheading of Duke Henry II the Pious and His Soul Carried by Angels to Heaven, Lubin Codex, Vita S. Hedvigis, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, MS Ludwig XI 7 (83.MN.126), fol. 11v, Silesia, 1353; tempera, coloured washes, and ink on parchment. (Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.) British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. © 2021, Arc Humanities Press, Leeds

The authors assert their moral right to be identified as the authors of this work.

Permission to use brief excerpts from this work in scholarly and educational works is hereby granted provided that the source is acknowledged. Any use of material in this work that is an exception or limitation covered by Article 5 of the European Union’s Copyright Directive (2001/29/EC) or would be determined to be “fair use” under Section 107 of the U.S. Copyright Act September 2010 Page 2 or that satisfies the conditions specified in Section 108 of the U.S. Copyright Act (17 USC §108, as revised by P.L. 94–553) does not require the Publisher’s permission. ISBN (print): 9781641891332 eISBN (PDF): 9781641891349 www.arc-humanities.org

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CONTENTS

List of Illustrations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

Editors’ Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

List of Abbreviations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi

Christianity and War in Medieval East Central Europe and Scandinavia: An Introduction RADOSŁAW KOTECKI, CARSTEN SELCH JENSEN, and STEPHEN BENNETT . . . . . 1

PART ONE: THE CHURCH AND WAR Chapter 1. The Role of the Dalmatian Bishops and Archbishops in Warfare During the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries: A Case Study on the Archbishops of Split JUDIT GÁL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Chapter 2. Thirteenth-​Century Hungarian Prelates at War GÁBOR BARABÁS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

Chapter 3. The Image of “Warrior-​Bishops” in the Northern Tradition of the Crusades SINI KANGAS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57

Chapter 4. Memory of the “Warrior-​Bishops” of Płock in the Writings of Jan Długosz JACEK MACIEJEWSKI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Chapter 5. Preachers of War: Dominican Friars as Promoters of the Crusades in the Baltic Region in the Thirteenth Century JOHNNY GRANDJEAN GØGSIG JAKOBSEN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97

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Contents

Chapter 6. Depictions of Violence in Late Romanesque Mural Paintings in Denmark MARTIN WANGSGAARD JÜRGENSEN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117

PART TWO: RELIGION IN WAR AND ITS CULTURAL EXPRESSIONS Chapter 7. Religious Rituals of War in Medieval Hungary Under the Árpád Dynasty DUŠAN ZUPKA. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141

Chapter 8. Pious Rulers, Princely Clerics, and Angels of Light: “Imperial Holy War” Imagery in Twelfth-​Century Poland and Rus’ RADOSŁAW KOTECKI. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159 Chapter 9. Religion and War in Saxo Grammaticus’s Gesta Danorum: The Examples of Bishop Absalon and King Valdemar I CARSTEN SELCH JENSEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Chapter 10. Rhetoric of War: The Imagination of War in Medieval Written Sources (Central and Eastern Europe in the High Middle Ages) DAVID KALHOUS and LUDMILA LUŇÁKOVÁ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207

Chapter 11. Civil War as Holy War? Polyphonic Discourses of Warfare During the Internal Struggles in Norway in the Twelfth Century BJØRN BANDLIEN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227

Chapter 12. Martyrdom on the Field of Battle in Livonia During Thirteenth-​Century Holy Wars and Christianization: Popular Belief and the Image of a Catholic Frontier KRISTJAN KALJUSAAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245

Chapter 13. Orthodox Responses to the Baltic Crusades ANTI SELART �������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 263 Selected Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279 Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285

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ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures Figure 6.1 Figure 6.2

The preserved late Romanesque wall-​paintings in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Scenes from the last year of Thomas Becket’s life in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120

Figures 6.3a–​b Emblematic representations of a man and a woman offering themselves and their goods to Christ in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200.������������������������������������������ 122 Figure 6.4

Figure 6.5 Figure 6.6 Figure 6.7 Figure 6.8 Figure 6.9 Figure 8.1

Maps

Map 2.1 Map 5.1

Clashing knights or warriors in Aal church in western Jutland, painted ca. 1200–​1225. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 Pilgrims painted in the windows of Aal church in western Jutland, painted ca. 1200–​1225. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127

The preserved late Romanesque wall-​paintings in Hornslet church in eastern Jutland, painted ca. 1225–​1250. . . . . 128 Questing knights painted in Skibet church in eastern Jutland, painted ca. 1175–​1200. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. . . . . . 130 The Romanesque decoration on the north wall of the chancel in Sanderum church on Funen. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. . . . . . . . . . .134

Cain and Abel painted in the north window of the chancel in Sanderum church on Funen. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. . . . . . . 135 Piast spear or the so-​called Lance of St. Maurice. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187

Map of Hungary ca. 1240. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56

Map of Dominican convents in Scandinavia and the Baltic Sea region by the end of the thirteenth century, showing the division between the order’s provinces of Dacia, Teutonia, and Polonia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

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EDITORS’ PREFACE

as with every book, this one too has its story. The idea for the volume originated in conversations in 2016–​2017 between Radosław Kotecki and Carsten Selch Jensen during a joint project devoted to the role of the medieval clergy in warfare. These discussions, soon joined by Stephen Bennett and some other contributors to this volume, centred on concern for the research gap in the historiography of relationships between Christianity and war in the Middle Ages. At the time, we shared the conviction that studies on this issue predominantly focused on the West and the South of the European continent. Regions located more to the East and North, which converted to Christianity only around 1000 or even much later, were largely neglected. Being aware of both these deficiencies, and also the potential of the local sources and research circles, we decided to prepare a collection that would offer some fresh perspectives. The intention would also be to move away from perceiving these issues only through the prism of crusade ideology. The result is this volume, co-​created by an international group of medievalists from Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Hungary, Norway, Poland, and the United Kingdom. Ultimately, fifteen scholars contributed to the book. The structure of the team was, however, fluid. Several initial project members had to withdraw because of other commitments; however, their ideas also helped shape the outcome. This volume owes a lot to several people, and the editors wish to thank everyone who has been involved in bringing it to fruition. Particular thanks go to the authors for timely submission of their chapters, and for their patience during the editing and production process. In particular, we wish to thank Jacek Maciejewski, whose counsel and help have proved invaluable throughout all stages of this project. Special thanks go to the anonymous peer reviewer, who approved the book’s publication with Arc Humanities Press and Amsterdam University Press, and suggested valuable improvements. We would also like to thank Christian Raffensperger for his careful reading of the manuscript, and valuable comments, as well as for his acceptance of the book into the Beyond Medieval Europe series. Anna Henderson from Arc Humanities Press proved to be very helpful and supportive at every stage of its production and deserves fulsome praise. Bydgoszcz—​Copenhagen—​London January 2021

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ABBREVIATIONS

Books and series cited in the notes as follows:

CDC Codex diplomaticus Regni Croatiae, Dalmatiae et Slavoniae, ed. Marko Kostrenčić, Jakov Stipišić, and Tadija Smičiklas et  al., 18 vols. (Zagreb: Academia Scientiarum et Artium Slavorum Meridionalium, 1904–​1990). CDES Codex Diplomaticus et Epistolaris Slovaciae, ed. Richard Marsina, 2 vols. (Bratislava: Slovenská akadémia vied, 1971–​1987).

CDH Codex Diplomaticus Hungariae ecclesiasticus ac civilis, ed. Georg Fejér, 11 vols. (Budapest: Typographia Regiae Universitatis Ungaricae, 1829–​1844). CECrac Chron. Hung. comp. Cosmas, Chronica

Catalogi episcoporum Cracoviensium, ed. Józef Szymański, MPH. NS 10.2 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1974).

Chronici Hungarici compositio saeculi XIV, ed. and ann. Alexander Domanovszky, SRH 1:217–​505.

Cosmas of Prague, Chronica Boemorum, ed. Bertold Bretholz, MGH SS rer. Germ. NS 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1923).

Diplomatarium Danicum, various editors (Copenhagen: various DD publishers, 1938–​).

DOPD Diplomatarium OP Dacie, ed. Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen (Centre for Dominican Studies of Dacia, 2005), www.jggj.dk/​ DOPD.htm. Długosz, Annales

FRB Gallus, Gesta

Jan Długosz, Annales seu cronicae incliti regni Poloniae, bk. 1–​12, ed. Consilium (Kraków:  Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1964–​2005), accessible via National Digital Library Polona, https://​dlugosz.polona.pl/​en. Fontes rerum Bohemicarum, ed. František Palacký et al., 8 vols. (Prague: various publishers, 1873–​1932).

Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, ed., trans., and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2007)

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List of Abbreviations

Henry, Chron. Liv.

Henry of Livonia, Chronicon Livoniae, ed. Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, MGH SS rer. Germ. 31 (Hannover: Hahn, 1955).

MGH

Monumenta Germaniae Historica

MGH SS rer. Germ.

MGH Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi, 81 vols. (Hannover: Hahn, 1846–​).

LD Latinske dokument til norsk historie fram til år 1204, ed. and trans. Eirik Vandvik (Oslo: Samlaget, 1959). MGH SS

MGH Scriptores (in folio), 39 vols. (Hannover: Hahn, 1826–​2009).

MGH SS rer. Germ. NS MGH Scriptores rerum Germanicarum. Nova series, 24 vols. (Hannover: Hahn, 1922–​).

MPH

Monumenta Poloniae Historica, 6. vols. (Lviv: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1864–​1893).

MPH NS

Monumenta Poloniae Historiaca. Nova series, 16 vols. (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1946–​).

Potthast

Regesta Pontificum Romanorum inde ab anno post Christum Natum MCXCVIII ad annum MCCCIV, ed. August Potthast, 2 vols. (Berlin: De Decker, 1874).

PL

Patrologiae cursus completus. ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, Series Latina, 221 vols. (Paris: Vrayet, 1841–​1864).

PUB Preussisches Urkundenbuch, ed. Rudolf et. al., 6 vols. in 9 pts. (Marburg: Elwert, 1882–​2000).

RA Regesta regum stirpis Arpadianae critico-​diplomatica, ed. Imre Szentpétery and Iván Borsa, 2 vols. in 7 pts. (Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 1923–​1987). Reimchronik

RHC HO

Roger, Epistola

Livländische Reimchronik, Schöningh, 1876).

ed.

Leo

Meyer

(Paderborn:

Recueil des Historiens des Croisades. Historiens Occidentaux, 5 vols. (Paris: Imprimerie Impériale, 1844–​1895).

Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, ed., trans., and ann. Martyn C. Rady and László Veszprémy /​Master Roger, Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta, ed., trans., and ann. János M. Bak and Martyn C. Rady, Central European Medieval Texts 5 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 132–​228.

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Saxo, Gesta SRH Thomas, Hist. Sal.

VePloc

list of abbreviations

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Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, ed. Karsten Friis Jensen, trans. Peter Fisher, Oxford Medieval Texts, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).

Scriptores rerum Hungaricarum tempore ducum regumque stirpis Arpadianae gestarum, ed. Imre Szentpétery, 2 vols. (Budapest: Academia Litteraria Hungarica, 1937–​38).

Archdeacon Thomas of Split, Spalatensis Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum, Latin text Olga Perić, ed., trans., and ann. Damir Karbić, Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, and James R. Sweeney, Central European Medieval Texts 4 (Budapest: Central European University Press 2006). Jan Długosz, Vitae episcoporum Plocencium abbreviatae cum continuatione Laurentii de Wszerecz, ed. Wojciech Kętrzyński, MPH 6 (Kraków: Akademia Umiejętności, 1893), 592–​619.

Vincentius, Chron. Pol. Master Vincentius, Chronica Polonorum, ed. Marian Plezia, MPH NS 11 (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1994).

Widukind, Res gestae

Widukind of Corvey, Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres, ed. Hans-​Eberhard Lohmann and Paul Hirsch, MGH SS rer. Germ. 60 (Hannover: Hahn, 1935).

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CHRISTIANITY AND WAR IN MEDIEVAL EAST CENTRAL EUROPE AND SCANDINAVIA: AN INTRODUCTION Radosław Kotecki*, Carsten Selch Jensen‡, and Stephen Bennett§ the present collection of chapters offers an original scholarly view on the issue of cultures of war in medieval East Central Europe and Scandinavia. The authors focus on questions that can be discussed simultaneously in the context of two phenomena: war (or more broadly, any military activity) and Christian religion and culture. The problems presented in this way are neither narrow nor homogeneous. This * Radosław Kotecki (orcid.org/​0000-​0002-​6757-​9358) is an assistant professor at the Faculty of History, Kazimierz Wielki University in Bydgoszcz, Poland. He has published a number of essays on the medieval Church, violence and culture, and recently on clerical warfare, military religion, and rituals of war. His research interests also include legal history, specifically canon law, medieval justice, and secular and ecclesiastical penalties. He is co-​editor of several books, including “Ecclesia et Violentia”: Violence Against the Church and Violence Within the Church in the Middle Ages (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2014), Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective (Explorations in Medieval Culture 3; Leiden: Brill, 2018). He is now initiating a new publishing project called Religious Rites of War: Medieval Eastern and Northern Europe, 900–​1500 (under contract with Brill for the series Explorations in Medieval Culture).

‡ Carsten Selch Jensen (orcid.org/​ 0000-​ 0002-​ 1778-​ 3078) is associate professor in Church History and Acting Dean at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen, Denmark. In his research, he has mainly focused on medieval history, especially the history and historiography of the Baltic Crusades. He has published a number of works on various aspects of the processes of Christianization and Crusading in the Baltic Region. The most recent of these include: Fighting for the Faith—​The Many Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Carsten Selch Jensen and Janus Møller Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et Mediævalia, 2018); “The Lord’s Vineyard: Henry of Livonia and the Danish conquest of Estonia,” in Denmark and Estonia 1219–​2019. Studien zur Geschichte der Ostseeregion, vol. 1, ed. Jens E. Olesen (Greifswald: Universität Greifswald, 2019) and “The Early Church of Livonia, 1186-​c. 1255,” in Die Kirche im Mittelalterlichen Livland, ed. Radosław Biskup, Johannes Götz, and Andrzej Radzimiński (Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika w Toruniu, 2019). He has also a forthcoming book Theology and History Writing in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia (ca. 1227) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021).

§ Stephen Bennett is a graduate of Royal Military Academy Sandhurst and Escuela Superior de las Fuerzas Armadas Españolas. He received a PhD in History from Queen Mary, University of London in 2019 for his thesis entitled Noble Networks: The Nature of Elite Participation from North-​Western Europe in the Third Crusade. Recently published articles include, “The Battle of Arsuf/​Arsur: A Reappraisal of the Charge of the Hospitallers,” in The Military Orders: Culture and Conflict, vol. 6.1, ed. Mike Carr and Jochen Schenk (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017), 44–​53; and “Faith and Authority, Guy of Lusignan at the Battle of Acre (4th October 1189),” in A Military History of the Mediterranean Sea—​ Aspects of Warfare, Diplomacy and Military Elites, ed. Georgios Theotokis and Aysel Yıldız (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 220–​34.

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2 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL is unsurprising when a vibrant sphere of relationships between two such crucial cultural and culture-​forming factors in the Middle Ages becomes the primary objective of a study. While the subject of the volume is broadly profiled, presenting the issue in a multi-​ perspective manner, the essays have been narrowed down geographically to East Central, North, and North-​Eastern Europe. It is a region that has been sometimes referred to as the “Younger Europe” or “New Christianity” after Professor Jerzy Kłoczowski. It centres on vast territories that only, in most cases, formed their Christian identities after the tenth century.1 Chronologically, the present collection concentrates on the period from the late eleventh to the late thirteenth century with occasional glimpses into the earlier and later periods. However, the timeframe only partly corresponds to the epoch known in Western European scholarship as the High Middle Ages.2 Furthermore, focusing on the eleventh to thirteenth centuries is not to be considered as a further attempt at “adding,” “rethinking,” or “re-​considering” the state of knowledge about the relationships of war and religion in the period often coined as the “classic medieval period,” “age of chivalry,” or “age of crusading” in the heartlands of medieval Europe. Instead the initiators of this volume felt the need to discuss the sparsely (though at the same time unequally) researched relationships between Christianity and war in the Eastern and North-​Eastern parts of modern-​day Europe. Moreover, to do so at the early stage of the influence of the new religion in these regions, distant as they were from the centres of Latin and Greek civilisations. Although Christianity had already begun to permeate these areas from at least the eighth century, its cultural impact became more pronounced in the regions only around 1000 or later. From this point, it gradually influenced the reconstruction of existing social structures, setting the foundations for the formation of monarchies and Christian political communities. Obviously, this was a very complicated process, stretched over time, and not running in parallel in all corners of the region. In addition, due to the paucity of surviving written accounts and material sources, it is often only possible to follow the subject in question from the twelfth century, and sometimes only from the thirteenth century. These only become richer in content during the latter part of the period in question. Although the present collection of essays refers to numerous political and religious communities, the publication does not claim to provide a complete overview of all relationships between religion and war in the whole region, nor does it offer a panoptic picture. Given the heterogeneity of the area in question, the adopted chronological framework and, in particular, the abundance of unexplored problems would exceed the possibilities of a single volume. Moreover, it is too early for a synthesis or even a coherent anthology devoted to the subject. Instead, the authors and editors of the volume were 1 Jerzy Kłoczowski, Młodsza Europa. Europa Środkowo-​Wschodnia w kręgu cywilizacji chrześcijańskiej średniowiecza (Warsaw: Państwowy Instytut Wydawniczy, 1998).

2 In the historiographies of Central and East Central Europe, as well as Scandinavia, the periodization of the Middle Ages is usually different than in the works concerning the western part of the continent. Applying the western perspective to the realities of this part of Europe is therefore somewhat artificial.

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an introduction

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motivated primarily by an urge to show a panorama of the experiences that emerged at the meeting point of religion and war in settings distinct from Western Europe. Thus, the aim is to show new research fields without striving for a holistic approach, but with some emphasis on both the institutional and ideological contexts. In addition, we have sought to balance—​as far as possible—​coverage of the most important polities of East Central Europe (Bohemia, Hungary with Croatia and Dalmatia, Poland, Kievan Rus’) and the northward Scandinavian and Baltic lands (Denmark, Norway, Finland, Novgorodian Rus’, Livonia, and Estonia). It is also important to realize that, to some extent, the political, structural, and religious realities of Western Europe have determined the scope of these issues. This is obvious, since the relationships between Christianity and war in East Central Europe and Scandinavia were significantly influenced by the developments in the Frankish realms, Anglo-​Saxon and Anglo-​Norman England, the Ottonian and Salian Empire, and in the Holy Land during the time of the Crusades, as well as those developments created by the politics of the medieval papacy. Thus, the entire process of the region coming into the orbit of Christian influences opened up new opportunities. These deepened in the following centuries with more cultural exchanges between the region and the centres of the “Old Christianity.” This occurred not only in the spheres directly related to religion, but also to military organization, military customs or royal courts, and knightly ideology and culture. Thus, for obvious reasons, the studies of this volume rely heavily on decades of scholarly work done in a Western European setting, especially among Anglophonic scholars, but also among French and German historians. Most specifically, it draws on those who have been studying the relationships between religion and war intensely—​one only has to mention the seminal book by Carl Erdmann devoted to “prehistory” and the birth of the crusader ideology: Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens.3 Studies on the intersection between Christianity and war conducted since then, both the older and the more numerous newer ones, have made it possible for new generations of scholars to apply comparative approaches to new regions. They also provide methodological directives in these areas. The previous research literature also demonstrates that the connections between Christianity and war were rich in phenomena whose research allows historians to get closer to many critically important dimensions of medieval reality—​not only religiously 3 Carl Erdmann, Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens, Forschungen zur Kirchen-​und Geistesgeschichte 6 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1935). This book is more widely known in its translation into English: The Origin of the Idea of Crusade, trans. Marshall W. Baldwin and Walter Goffart, foreword and notes by Marshall W. Baldwin (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977). Other works by the author are also noteworthy. See, e.g., Carl Erdmann, “Endkaiserglaube und Kreuzzugsgedanke im 11. Jahrhundert,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 51 (1932): 384–​414; Carl Erdmann, “Kaiserliche und päpstliche Fahnen im hohen Mittelalter,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 25 (1933): 1–​48; Carl Erdmann, “Der Heidenkrieg in der Liturgie und die Kaiserkrönung Ottos I.,” in Heidenmission und Kreuzzugsgedanke in der deutschen Ostpolitik des Mittelalters, ed. Helmut Beumann, Wege der Forschung 7 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963), 47–​64.

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4 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL or mentally, but also socially and even politically. First, one can think of the “Crusade Movement,” which significantly shaped the cultural landscape of Europe in the Middle Ages. It stimulated a transformation of the entire worldview, the role and place of the monarchy, the Church, war and religion in it, and even contributed to a clearer vision of the structure of society. More recent research, however, shows that the interaction of these factors—​Christianity and war /​war and Christianity—​took place on a much larger scale and within a much broader geographical and chronological frame. This was most clearly demonstrated by David S. Bachrach in his Religion and the Conduct of War, c. 300–​1215 and other works, which gave a comprehensive understanding of the widespread use of religion in building military potential, and even the “management” of medieval armies in the field. Bachrach successfully moved away from the previously dominant perspective of a kind of crusade-​centrism to demonstrate the persistence of phenomena observed in the West between Late Antiquity and High Middle Ages. Themes such as the role of chaplains in maintaining military morale, administering of the viaticum, or the duties of priests serving at home on behalf of the army add additional value to his work.4 The research of this author and others—​including Michael McCormick and Walter Pohl—​is substantial when it comes to the role of the war liturgy. It shows the strong influence of Christian ritual not only on the course of military operations, but above all its role in building an ethnic and cultural identity from the earliest phases of the Middle Ages.5 Other inspiring studies include research on the idea of the role of God and saints in ensuring military victories,6 the role of sacred artifacts and 4 David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, c. 300–​1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003). Among other Bachrach’s works on the topic, see David S. Bachrach, “Military Chaplains and the Religion of War in Ottonian Germany, 919–​1024,” Religion, State and Society 39, no. 1 (2011): 13–​31. For other studies, see the Bibliography at the end of this volume.

5 Michael McCormick, “The Liturgy of War in the Early Middle Ages: Crisis, Litanies, and the Carolingian Monarchy,” Viator 15 (1984): 1–​24; Michael McCormick, Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Walter Pohl, “Liturgie di guerra nei regni altomedievali,” Rivista di storia del cristianesimo 5 (2008): 29–​44; Andreas Heinz, “Das Gebet für die Feinde in der abendländischen Liturgie,” in Lebendiges Erbe. Beiträge zur abendländischen Liturgie-​und Frömmigkeitsgeschichte, Pietas liturgica. Studia 21 (Tübingen: Francke, 2010), 141–​58; Manuel Rojas Gabriel, “On the Path of Battle: Divine Invocations and Religious Liturgies Before Pitched Battles in Medieval Iberia (c. 1212–​c. 1340): An Introduction,” in Crusading on the Edge: Ideas and Practice of Crusading in Iberia and the Baltic Region, 1100–​1500, ed. Torben K. Nielsen and Iben Fonnesberg-​Schmidt, Outremer 4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), 275–​95; M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, Invisible Weapons: Liturgy and the Making of Crusade Ideology (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017).

6 See among others František Graus, “Der Heilige als Schlachtenhelfer. Zur Nationalisierung einer Wundererzählung in der mittelalterlichen Chronistik,” in Festschrift für Helmut Beumann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Kurt-​Ulrich Jäschke and Reinhard Wenskus (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1977), 330–​48; Wolfgang Speyer, “Die Hilfe und Epiphanie einer Gottheit, eines Heroen und eines Heiligen in der Schlacht,” in “Pietas.” Festschrift für Bernhard Kotting, ed. Ernst Dassmann and Karl S. Frank, Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 8 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1980), 55–​77; Christopher Holdsworth, “ ‘An Airier Aristocracy’: The Saints at War,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society

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an introduction

5

relics,7 or broadly understood legal, scholastic, and theological conditions for conducting and perceiving military operations. The richness of the issues raised in today’s international medieval scholarship and the emerging awareness of their embedding in the superior and commonly accepted eschatological paradigm (iudicium Dei—​a defeat was a divine punishment for sins, a triumph was a reward for piety),8 obliges researchers to consider every related question on a wider cultural level, regardless of the region in focus. It is also necessary to be sensitive to a more nuanced contextualization of the issues at stake. In particular, to accept that not all the phenomena of interest can be explained through the influence of crusader ideology, which still seems to be a widespread paradigm. Some development in views on this subject can already be seen, 6 (1996): 103–​22; Kent Gregory Hare, “Apparitions and War in Anglo-​Saxon England,” in The Circle of War in the Middle Ages, ed. Donald J. Kagay and L. J. A. Villalon (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), 75–​86; Thomas Scharff, Die Kämpfe der Herrscher und Heiligen. Krieg und historische Erinerung in der Karolingerzeit (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002); John R. E. Bliese, “Saint Cuthbert and War,” Journal of Medieval History 24, no. 3 (2012): 215–​41; Kurt Villads Jensen, “Saints at War in the Baltic Region,” in Saints and Sainthood Around the Baltic Sea: Identity, Literacy, and Communication in the Middle Ages, ed. Carsten Selch Jensen et al. (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute, 2018), 251–​71; M. Juzepczuk, “Kult świętych a zwycięstwa militarne pierwszych Piastów (od X do początków XIII w.),” Saeculum Christianum 25, no. 1 (2018): 63–​76.

7 See among others Erdmann, “Kaiserliche und päpstliche Fahnen”; Nicole Thierry, “Le culte de la croix dans l’empire byzantin du VIIe siècle au Xe dans ses rapports avec la guerre contre l’infidèle. Nouveaux témoignages archéologiques,” Rivista di studi bizantini e slavi 1 (1981): 205–​28; Christopher Walter, “IC XC NI KA: The Apotropaic Function of the Victorious Cross,” Revue des études byzantines 55, no. 1 (1997): 193–​220; Thomas O. Clancy, “Columba, Adomnan and the Cult of Saints in Scotland,” in “Spes Scotorum,” “Hope of Scots”: Saint Columba, Iona and Scotland, ed. Dauvit Broun and Thomas O. Clancy (Edinburgh: Clark, 1999), 3–​33; Sophia Mergiali-​Sahas, “Byzantine Emperors and Holy Relics: Use, and Misuse, of Sanctity and Authority,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 51 (2001): 41–​60; Klaus Schreiner, “ ‘Signa victricia’: Heilige Zeichen in kriegerischen Konflikten des Mittelalters,” in Rituale, Zeichen, Bilder. Formen und Funktionen symbolischer Kommunikation im Mittelalter, ed. Ulrich Meier, Gerd Schwerhoff, and Gabriela Signori, Norm und Struktur 40 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2011), 11–​63; Fanny Caroff, “L’affrontement entre chrétiens et musulmans. Le rôle de la vraie Croix dans les images de croisade (XIIIe-​XVe siècle),” in Chemins d’outre-​mer. Études d’histoire sur la Méditerranée médiévale offertes à Michel Balard, ed. Damien Coulon and Michel Balard, Byzantina Sorbonensia 20 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2004), 99–​114; Mamuka Tsurtsumia, “The True Cross in the Armies of Georgia and the Frankish East,” Crusades 12, no. 1 (2013): 91–​102; Richard Sharpe, “Banners of the Northern Saints,” in Saints of North-​East England, 600–​1500, ed. Margaret Coombe, Anne Mouron, and Christiania Whitehead, Medieval Church Studies 39 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), 245–​303. 8 See especially Kelly DeVries, “God and Defeat in Medieval Warfare: Some Preliminary Thoughts,” in The Circle of War in the Middle Ages, 87–​97; Rudolf Schieffer, “ ‘Iudicium Dei’. Kriege als Gottesurteile,” in Heilige Kriege. Religiöse Begründungen militärischer Gewaltanwendung. Judentum, Christentum und Islam im Vergleich, ed. Klaus Schreiner and Elisabeth Müller-​Luckner, Schriften des Historischen Kollegs. Kolloquien 78 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 2008), 219–​28; Martin Clauss, “Der Krieg als Mittel und Thema der Kommunikation. Die narrative Funktion des Gottesurteils,” in Gottes Werk und Adams Beitrag. Formen der Interaktion zwischen Mensch und Gott im Mittelalter, ed. Thomas Honegger, Gerlinde Huber-​Rebenich, and Volker Leppin, Das Mittelalter Perspektiven mediävistischer Forschung. Beihefte 1 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 128–​41.

6

6 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL such as emphasizing the ideological setting of wars in the context of older and more comprehensive ideas: “holy war,” “sacred war,” “God’s war,”9 or “wars against (d)evil” and “sin.”10 Nevertheless, it seems that researchers still tend to look at the issue in a way shaped by the deterministic vision of the holy war as preceding the “Proper Crusades.”11 However, the reality was certainly more complicated. Spanish historiography can serve as a model because there has long been a debate on the extent to which and when the Crusades influenced the local culture of war, in which religious factors had already played a significant role.12 The value of this approach is demonstrated by Kurt Villads Jensen’s more recent studies, which have shown that distinct Christian religious motifs in Scandinavian war culture predated the First Crusade. Scandinavia had for centuries a multitude of contacts with the rest of the Western Christian world, and, he argues, was therefore open to strong cultural influences.13 It seems that research following such an observation should be extended in the future to include the area of East Central and Eastern Europe, but with a focus on possible regional differences. Naturally, not all the polities of the region had such intense cultural contacts with the centres of the Christian world as the Scandinavians. Other societies were neither as expansive, nor did they enjoy a network of connections entwining Europe, from Byzantium to Italy and the British Isles. However, some similar early influences are documented for Bohemia, Poland, Rus’ and Hungary in the eleventh century. Most chapters collected in this volume, although to a different extent and in various forms, use comparative research to examine relationships between Christianity and war. The same applies to the chapters that focus primarily on the participation of Church institutions in the military activity, especially on the military involvement of the clergy. This issue has recently been discussed particularly frequently in relation to various regions of Europe. It must be noted, however, that since the publication of Friedrich 9 See Carsten Selch Jensen, “Gods War: War and Christianisation on the Baltic Frontier in the Early 13th Century,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 16 (2012): 123–​47. See also Gerd Althoff, “Selig sind, die Verfolgung ausüben.” Päpste und Gewalt im Hochmittelalter (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2013).

10 As coined by Kurt Villads Jensen. See for example, “Physical Extermination of Physical Sin: Remarks on Theology and Mission in the Baltic Region Around 1200,” in Sacred Space in the State of the Teutonic Order in Prussia, ed. Jarosław Wenta and Magdalena Kopczyńska, Sacra bella septentrionalia 2 (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2013), 87–​99. 11 See for example Burnam W. Reynolds, The Prehistory of the Crusades: Missionary War and the Baltic Crusades (London: Bloomsbury, 2015). Against such thinking, see Paul E. Chevedden, “Crusade Creationism versus Pope Urban II’s Conceptualization of the Crusades,” Historian 75, no. 1 (2013):  1–​46.

12 For the historiographical discussion of this problem, see Luis García-​ Guijarro Ramos, “Reconquista and Crusade in the Central Middle Ages: A Conceptual and Historiographical Survey,” in Crusading on the Edge, 55–​88.

13 Kurt Villads Jensen, “Crusading at the End of the World: The Spread of the Idea of Jerusalem After 1099 to the Baltic Sea Area and to the Iberian Peninsula,” in Crusading on the Edge, 153–​76; Kurt Villads Jensen, Crusading at the Edges of Europe: Denmark and Portugal c. 1000–​c. 1250 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), chaps. 2 and 3.

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an introduction

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Prinz’s, Klerus und Krieg,14 the study of these issues has only sporadically gone beyond the Western European or, again, with a Crusading perspective.15 The situation has been changing only recently with studies devoted to the military competences of Polish, Scandinavian, and Livonian bishops.16 This volume is in line with this trend and enriches the field with many new observations. On the one hand, this volume can be perceived as following the rich traditions of international medieval studies, especially in terms of the choice of issues. On the other hand, it has the potential to augment the older traditions through the specific source material that is only known in very local research circles. At the same time, however, the aim is more ambitious. This volume is the first publication devoted to the issue of Christianity and war, which combines research on both East Central Europe and Scandinavia. Until now, most works in the field have focused primarily on the problems of the regional crusades whereas they seldom went beyond the formula “around the Baltic Sea.” This mostly neglected areas between Denmark and Livonia/​Estonia, with the sole exception of the Teutonic Order’s state in Prussia.17 This volume would like to 14 Friedrich Prinz, Klerus und Krieg im früheren Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zur Rolle der Kirche beim Aufbau der Königsherrschaft, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1971).

15 On the military activity of medieval clergy, see especially the recent anthology to this topic: Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S. Ott, ed., Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018). Other major works are: Thomas Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer. Der Klerus im Konflikt zwischen Orient und Okzident 1095–​1221, Heidelberg Transcultural Studies 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2012); Daniel M. G. Gerrard, The Church at War: The Military Activities of Bishops, Abbots, and Other Clergy in England, c. 900–​1200, Church, Faith, and Culture in the Medieval West (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016); Craig M. Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen of Medieval England, 1000–​1250: Theory and Reality (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016).

16 See Sveinung K. Boye, “Kirkens stridsmenn—​Geistlighet, vold og krigføring i den norske borgerkrigstiden,” Fortid, no.  4 (2010):  12–​17; Radosław Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs, Wolfs and Pastors of the Flock: Portraying Military Activities of Bishops in Twelfth Century Poland,” in Between Sword and Prayer, 303–​40; Jacek Maciejewski, “A Bishop Defends His City or Master Vincentius’s Troubles with the Military Activity of His Superior,” in Between Sword and Prayer, 341–​68; Carsten Selch Jensen, “Bishops and Abbots at War: Some Aspects of Clerical Involvement in Warfare in Twelfth-​and Early Thirteenth-​Century Livonia and Estonia,” in Between Sword and Prayer, 404–​34; Carsten Selch Jensen, “Clerics and War in Denmark and the Baltic: Ideals and Realities Around 1200,” in Fighting for the Faith: The Many Crusades, ed. Carsten Selch Jensen, Janus Møller Jensen, and Kurt Villads Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et mediævalia, 2018), 187–​217; Louisa Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law: The Military Activities of Prelates in High Medieval Norway,” Scandinavian Journal of History 7, no. 2 (2019): 1–​23; Radosław Kotecki and Jacek Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power, Legal Norms and Military Activity of the Polish Episcopate between the Twelfth- and Fourteenth Centuries,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 127, Eng.-​ Language Edition no. 4 (2020): 5–​46. 17 One can mention, among others, Alan V. Murray, ed., The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009); Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen, ed., Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to

8

8 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL extend this formula to other areas at the intersection of Latin and Eastern Christian influences. These areas were undergoing extensive transformation processes under the influence of the new religion between the tenth and thirteenth centuries. All engaged in this project are convinced that the impact of Christianity can and should be discussed at the broadest possible level. This makes it easier, we argue, to see certain phenomena and trends, to understand their meaning more precisely, and to outline the right context. Although such premises influenced the volume, its authors and editors have at the same time remained aware of the danger of an oversimplified uniformity of the vision of the past. Some scholars rightly argue that even the terms “East Central” or “Younger Europe” are anachronistic and artificial in relation to the realities of the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. Recently, Nora Berend has reiterated that “[i]‌t is possible to forget that we are talking about the construct of historians and start believing in the historical reality of our categorizations in a deterministic way. That leads into the dead-​end of historical regions as natural phenomena that in turn determine historical developments.” At the same time, however, she noted that comparative research is desirable and necessary both for a better view of the whole and for more focused problems. Indeed, that those who keep emphasizing that their area of study is unique, “separate themselves from the main line of scholarship and push their field into a tiny corner.”18 It is hard not to agree with this view, even if cultural realities did not develop in the same way everywhere in East Central Europe, and Scandinavia seemingly had its peculiarities. Some chapters in this volume show this character that can only be discussed in a local cultural context—​to name the unique paintings showing scenes of warfare and violence in the Romanesque Danish Church buildings or attributing to the civil wars in Norway the character of holy wars. It confirms, however, the view articulated recently by Kurt Villads Jensen that peripheral areas not only accepted solutions coming from the centres of Christianity, but they also took part in their developments.19 This conclusion is certainly true, not only with regard to Jensen’s area of interest, that is, Scandinavia and the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011); Kurt Villads Jensen, ed., Cultural Encounters During the Crusades, University of Southern Denmark Studies in History and Social Sciences 445 (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2013); Jason T. Roche and Janus Møller Jensen, ed., The Second Crusade: Holy War on the Periphery of Latin Christendom, Outremer 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015); Torben Kjersgaard Nielsen and Iben Fonnesberg-​Schmidt, ed., Crusading on the Edge: Ideas and Practice of Crusading in Iberia and the Baltic Region, 1100–​1500, Outremer 4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016). 18 Nora Berend, “The Mirage of East Central Europe: Historical Regions in a Comparative Perspective,” in Medieval East Central Europe in a Comparative Perspective: From Frontier Zones to Lands in Focus, ed. Gerhard Jaritz and Katalin Szende (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), 9–​23. Also, Eduard Mühle, “Uwagi o ograniczonej przydatności pojęcia ‘Europa Środkowo-​Wschodnia’ (‘Ostmitteleuropa’) w badaniach mediewistycznych,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 120, no. 4 (2013): 865–​70. 19 Kurt Villads Jensen, “Martyrs, Total War, and Heavenly Horses: Scandinavia as Centre and Periphery in the Expansion of Medieval Christendom,” in Medieval Christianity in the North, 89–​120, especially at 113.

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an introduction

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the so-​called Baltic Lands, but also to the whole area between the Elbe and the Black Sea Steppes, as well as between Karelia and Istria. This volume, therefore, shifts from the prevailing crusade-​ centrism in favour of questions on the influence of Christianity and the Church on the culture of war. In addition, it highlights the introduction of various religious practices and the ideas behind them into the indigenous culture of war. Thus, it addresses an essential postulate of research on the acculturation of norms and customs in the process of expansion of what is called the Christian cultural circle. For many decades, this field has been dominated by the research trend on Christianization.20 However, this phenomenon can be understood very broadly as the reception or adaptation of attitudes, models, and practices that stimulated the transformation processes of societies. These transformations were not only in terms of worldview or cult, but also in forms of organization and structure, for example as a result of the reception of royal power or the creation of ecclesiastical administration.21 Despite constant changes in research on Christianization and civilization, the question of the relationship between religion and war was only occasionally considered in this context. There are only a few more frequent topics, such as the so-​called missionary war. This cultural process undoubtedly had a wider impact, however, defining the place of war in the social, political, institutional, mental, and symbolic landscape of the area of our interest and its societies. Reflecting on this problem, one should remember that this was a period of the intensification of contacts between East Central Europe, Scandinavia, and the centres of the Christian world. Christianity was characterized by a certain cultural code, which consisted of the idea of war and its role in God’s plan of salvation. This code had its sources in the Word of the Bible, the thoughts of the Church fathers, or through cultivation of rituals from Late Antiquity. It also rested on consideration by churchmen of the ethical and legal side of war and arms-​bearing. In addition, it was influenced by a broadly understood culture and the ordinary practice of war in its monarchic, knightly, or religious (church) staffage. The canon of these ideas was largely formed and fixated at the time of the Christianization of East Central Europe and Scandinavia. It is, therefore, possible to 20 A useful overview of research on Christianity in East Central Europe and Scandinavia offers a collection of studies: Nora Berend, ed., Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy: Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus’ c. 900–​1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). See also Martin O. H. Carver, ed., The Cross Goes North: Processes of Conversion in Northern Europe, AD 300–​1300 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2005), chapters from pt. IV; Christoph Stiegemann, Martin Kroker, and Wolfgang Walter, ed., “Credo.” Christianisierung Europas im Mittelalter, 3 vols. (Petersberg: Imhof, 2013); and recent collections in Polish: Jerzy Strzelczyk, Marzena Matla, and Józef Dobosz, ed., Chrystianizacja “Młodszej Europy” (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 2016); Józef Dobosz, Jerzy Strzelczyk, and Marzena Matla-​Kozłowska, ed., Chrzest Mieszka I i chrystianizacja państwa Piastów (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 2017). 21 For how one may understand this process, see especially discussion by Nora Berend, “Introduction,” in Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy, 1–​46.

10

10 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL establish a common framework for reflection on the influence of Christian culture on the phenomenon of war in the whole area stretching from the Balkans to the North and from Saxony to Rus’. At an early stage, this influence must have been reflected in the ritual and symbolic practices adopted by rulers inspired by the court clergy. As Mayke de Jong and Nora Berend noted, ritual and ceremonial activities were paramount issues in early medieval Christianity, with its focus on public life. “Christianization meant that one set of rituals was exchanged for another; and this was accompanied by the imposition of new religious specialists who were initially outsiders, immigrants.”22 This opinion is confirmed by some of the studies included in this volume. Considering this problem, it should be remembered that the conduct of war belonged to a ritualized public sphere, which had to be adapted to the requirements of the new faith from the moment of conversion. The rulers who made the decision to be baptized were probably aware of this. It is, therefore, not surprising that Boris I, king of Bulgaria (r. 852–​889), asked Pope Nicholas I whether he would have to change his army’s sign after baptism, which, until then, was a ponytail attached at the end of the spear.23 According to the pope, the Lord’s Cross, which was already used by Emperor Constantine the Great, should serve as such a sign of the Christian monarch and his army. This example highlights how pagan rulers tried to calculate the effects of their converting to Christianity in the area of military practice and customs associated with it. It is widely presumed that Christianity was regarded as a powerful and attractive religion among the elites of tribal communities deciding to abandon their traditional cults. The elites believed the conversion could result in military victories. In fact, pagan religions and Christianity were similar in this context. This should not come as a surprise, because Christianity was shaped by the influence of Judaism and the Ancient Roman religion. Both traditions attached great importance to the ritual correctness that guaranteed success in war. Christianity could thus easily meet the expectations of tribal chiefs wanting from the new religion a better justification of strengthening their power. Christianity and the Church were important for shaping the image of the victorious monarch. It is no coincidence that the state churches and Church hierarchy in this region were expected to provide support in the hardships of warfare. Moreover, that this help was anticipated both in a military and a religious sense, expressed in the supervision of worship during military operations and the organization of a prayer “home front.” 22 Mayke de Jong, “Religion,” in The Early Middle Ages: Europe 400–​1000, ed. Rosamond McKitterick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 131–​64; Berend, “Introduction,” 4. See also Zbigniew Dalewski, “The Public Dimension of Religion in the Piast Monarchy During the Christianisation Period,” Acta Poloniae Historica 101 (2010): 37–​49.

23 Nicolai I. papae epistolae, ed. Ernst Perels, MGH Epistolae Karolini aevi 6.2 (Berlin, Weidmann, 1925), 580–​81 (no. 33); some scholars are right claiming that this was a part of Bulgarians’ belief system, since primitive peoples attributed mana to the tail of certain animals. See Tamás Nótári, “Some Remarks on the ‘Responsa Nicolai papae I.  ad consulta Bulgarorum,’ ” Acta Universitatis Sapientiae. Legal Studies 4, no. 1 (2015): 47–​63 at 58.

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It can be assumed that these models began to develop very early. Such rulers as Boleslav II the Pious (r. 967/​972–​995), Bolesław I the Brave (r. 992–​1025), Vladimir the Great (r. 980–​1015), Iaroslav the Wise (r. 1019–​1054) and his sons, or Saint Stephen of Hungary (r. 997–​1038) attached the greatest importance to the development of the Church in their domains and to surround the religion with attentive care in a manner appropriate for zealous neophytes.24 Under their auspices, the Christian cult was officially sanctioned and Christianity became a public religion accompanying all activities of the monarch, including military undertakings. Probably already at a very early stage, the love for Christian worship was also expressed in the private devotion of these rulers. For example, one can mention an account regarding the religious attitudes of Mieszko I (r. ca. 960–​992), the first historical ruler of Poland. Having been wounded by a poisoned arrow during the battle with the pagan Wends, he is described as making a votive vow promising St. Ulrich of Augsburg that he would offer Him a “shoulder” made of silver, if he survived. Immediately after taking the vow, he recovers and on return from campaign orders the promised arm. When it has been made, the ruler becomes completely healed, praising God and the merits of the holy bishop. Since this information comes from Vita S. Uoudalrici by Gerhard of Augsburg, a source contemporary to Mieszko, and could not have happened later than 985, it is highly valuable. It indicates that the first Christian ruler of the Polani, who was baptized only around 966, had already adopted the concept of supernatural care during military struggle. Although such practices are known mainly from later sources, it seems that their message should not be doubted.25 As Roman Michałowski noted recently, the conviction that Christian supernatural powers supported the first Piasts during the war could have even been one of the most critical factors that attracted the rulers to the new religion.26 24 Andrzej Pleszczyński, “Gorliwość neofitów. Religijność osobista Przemyślidów i Piastów w X i na początku XI wieku,” in Przemyślidzi i Piastowie—​twórcy i gospodarze średniowiecznych monarchii, ed. Józef Dobosz (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2006), 93–​99; Marcin Rafał Pauk, “Washing Hands in a Sinner’s Blood: Ducal Power, Law and Religious Zeal in the Process of Central European Christianization—​Preliminary Remarks,” in Leben zwischen und mit den Kulturen. Studien zu Recht, Bildung und Herrschaft in Mitteleuropa, ed. Renata Skowrońska-​Kamińska and Helmut Flachenecker, Studienreihe der Polnischen Historischen Mission 2 (Würzburg: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2015), 23–​34; Roman Michałowski, “Rygoryzm religijny w Czechach i Polsce w początkowym okresie chrystianizacji,” in “Animos labor nutrit.” Studia ofiarowane Profesorowi Andrzejowi Buko w siedemdziesiątą rocznicę urodzin, ed. Tomasz Nowakiewicz, Maciej Trzeciecki, and Dariusz Błaszczyk (Warsaw: Instytut Archeolgoii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2018), 65–​72. 25 Compare, e.g., some Scandinavian evidence recalled in Arnved Nedkvitne, Lay Belief in Norse Society 1000–​1350 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2009), 124–​28.

26 Roman Michałowski, “Christianisation of the Piast Monarchy in the 10th and 11th Centuries,” Acta Poloniae Historica 101 (2010): 5–​35 at 8–​11; also see Jerzy Strzelczyk, “Chrzest Polski—​ zmiana cywilizacyjna i polityczna,” in Kościół, kultura, polityka w państwie pierwszych Piastów, ed. Waldemar Graczyk et  al. (Warsaw:  Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu Kardynała Stefana Wyszyńskiego, 2016), 13–​25 at 15 and 23.

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12 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL It cannot be ruled out that the idea of its usefulness and military effectiveness might have been a factor facilitating the decision to be baptized among the tribal elites.27 Medieval narratives include hints that baptism may have been related to the waged wars. Vladimir the Great is said to have made the decision to be baptized on campaign. He was baptized by Anastasios, a clergyman of Kherson, who was brought to Kiev by Vladimir. Anastasios took care of the Church of the Tithes built by the ruler, which went on to serve as a personal victory monument to Vladimir. This form of demonstration strengthening Vladimir’s position as a leader who won the favour of the powerful God, could not take place without the inspiration of the clergy who was present in the prince’s entourage.28 The clergy not only influenced the decisions of the monarchs but also shaped their image in this spirit. An illustrative example of this can be found in the hagiography of Saint Stephen. According to the author of his legendary vitae, he is said to have had such a good contact with the heavens that he was able to defeat his enemies—​like Constantine before him—​through prayer. Indeed, God warned him in a dream about the pagan armies attacking his country. Such texts prove that Christianity strengthened royal military power. The Piasts, Árpáds, and Přemyslids, with God’s and their saints’ help, were able to fight off even Imperial armies. According to Bruno of Querfurt, the realm of Bolesław I  since the invasion of Emperor Henry II is said to have been protected by the Five Martyr Brothers. As evidence of this protection, a large luminous circle appeared over their graves.29 Saint Stephen devoted his country to the protection of the Blessed Virgin Mary who was believed to have supported his army during the invasion of Conrad II.30 In addition, the Piasts and rulers of Norway and Denmark conquered neighbouring people with God’s help. According to the anonymous author of Historia Norwegie (ca. 1150–​ca. 1195), St. Olav of Norway “along with the majority of his soldiers had achieved the grace of baptism,” and “within five years he made all the tributary territories … glowing in their affection for Christ. Hence God’s triumphal car, increased by ten thousand souls, and Christ’s chariot, filled with His freely-​granted deliverance, were drawn by this

27 Compare, e.g., Przemysław Kulesza, “ ‘Maiores natu et potestate’—​the Role of the Elite and Rulers in the Christianization of Denmark and Poland in the Tenth Century: A Research Proposal,” in “Potestas et communitas.” Interdisziplinäre Beiträge zu Wesen und Darstellung von Herrschaftsverhältnissen im Mittelalter östlich der Elbe, ed. Aleksander Paroń et  al. (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Archeologii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2010), 189–​209. 28 Jonathan Shepard, “Conversions and Regimes Compared: The Rus’ and the Poles, ca. 1000,” in East Central and Eastern Europe in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Florin Curta (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005), 254–​82 at 261 and 263.

29 Life of the Five Brethren by Bruno of Querfurt, ed. and trans. Marina Miladinov, in Saints of the Christianization Age of Central Europe (Tenth-​Eleventh Century), ed. Gábor Klaniczay, Cristian Gaşpar, and Marina Miladinov, Central European Medieval Texts 6 (Budapest:  Central European University Press, 2013), 283. 30 Hartvic, Life of King Stephen of Hungary, trans. Nora Berend, in Medieval Hagiography: An Anthology, ed. Thomas Head (New York: Routledge, 2001), 375–​98 at 388–​89.

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wonder-​working monarch as if by a powerful steed.”31 It is a rather late vision of the successes of the king-​convert, but such sentiments were undoubtedly shared much earlier. Another good example is an inscription on the larger of the two famous Jelling Stones. Carved on the orders of Harald Bluetooth around 980, it proudly proclaims that he had “won for himself all of Denmark and Norway and made the Danes Christian.”32 The same situation can be observed in Poland. The chronicler Gallus Anonymus, depicting in the early twelfth century the “golden age” of Polish domain under the reign of Bolesław the Brave, stated: “What need is there then to list by name his victories and triumphs over heathen nations, nations which, one may say, he trampled under his feet? For when Selencia, Pomorania, and Prussia persisted in their perfidy he crushed them, and when they converted, he strengthened them in their faith, indeed he established … many churches and bishops there.”33 This account, although written almost a century later and building an idealized reality, probably reflects the ideas shared at the court of this ruler, which was a haven for such priests and thinkers as Bruno of Querfurt, known for his compellere intrare idea.34 No less significant are the words of Mathilda of Swabia in a letter to Bolesław’s son Mieszko II around 1025, in which she stated: “Instructed certainly by the paternal example, you have turned almost completely to heavenly things, who in that part of the world where you reign are like a fountain and source of holy Catholic and apostolic faith. For those whom the holy preachers were not able to correct by word, he compelled with the sword, bringing barbarous and ferocious nations to the lord’s supper.”35 The reception of the Christian theology of war was part and parcel of the creation of the Christian monarchy in East Central Europe at an early stage. Actions taken by the rulers of Hungary, Rus’, and Poland to establish a special royal tithing for the most important churches in thanksgiving for the help given in the military struggle have been recently identified as another proof of this.36 More abundant sources 31 Historia Norwegie, ed. Inger Ekrem and Lars Boje Mortensen, with the assistance of Peter Fisher (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), 95. 32 Recently, see Jensen, Crusading at the Edges of Europe, 59–​63.

33 Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 1.6, ed., trans., and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2003), 33.

34 For this idea by Bruno, and Bruno’s relationship with Bolesław I and the creation of his image as Christian king on the mode of Charlemagne, see especially Wojciech Fałkowski, “The Letter of Bruno of Querfurt to King Henry II,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 43 (2010):  417–​38; Miłosz Sosnowski, “Bolesław Chrobry i Karol Wielki—​legitymizacja między kultem a imitacją,” Historia Slavorum Occidentis 2(11) (2016): 122–​48.

35 See edition by Brygida Kürbis, “Die ‘Epistola Mathildis Suevae’ an Mieszko II. in neuer Sicht. Ein Forschungsbericht,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 23 (1989): 318–​47. Translation after https://​ epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/​letter/​39.html

36 Marcin Rafał Pauk, “ ‘Plenariae decimationes’ świętego Wojciecha. O ideowych funkcjach dziesięciny monarszej w Polsce i na Węgrzech w XI-​XII wieku,” in Gnieźnieńskie koronacje królewskie i ich środkowoeuropejskie konteksty, ed. Józef Dobosz, Marzena Matla-​Kozłowska, and

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14 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL from later centuries can be treated as a testimony to the permanence and development of customs and practices that sprouted from the moment of baptism. The extent to which the new cultural code merged with the old habits is not well determined. Kurt Villads Jensen has recently highlighted that an interweaving of these ideas was taking place in Scandinavia. Yet at the beginning of the thirteenth century, the difference between paradise and Valhalla was still unclear to some.37 Eleventh-​to thirteen-​century Polish, Bohemian, and Rusian sources describing the wars also include elements indicative of a pagan mentality.38 Developed cults, as in the Germanic and Scandinavian cases, did not always precede the adoption of Christianity, especially in the area dominated by Slavs.39 The offering of sacrifices to deities in gratitude for a victory is, however, confirmed by Thietmar among the Luticians. In 983, Vladimir I and his warriors are also said to have offered bloody sacrifices after the victory over the Jatvings, although in this case it was the Varangian practice rather than the Slavs’. Generally, Christianity offered a more extensive and impressive ceremonial setting for military activity. There are, however, also extensive accounts on the military cult of the Wends, and many scholars seem to believe that they reflect the continuation of long-​ standing ritual traditions from pre-​Christian times. Some, noting similarities between the developed cult of the Wends and information about the practices of war among Christian Bohemians and Poles, even suggest that the Christian ritual succeeded a no less developed pagan ritual. Thus, the holy patrons of the Přemyslids and Piasts, St. Václav and St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert, only replaced war deities, such as those known from Polabia.40 It corresponds to a widely accepted view that, as Karol Modzelewski put it, the baptism of societies led to secularization and separation of the sacred and secular spheres, which Leszek Wetesko, Colloquia Mediaevalia Gnesnensia 2 (Gniezno: Instytut Kultury Europejskiej, 2011), 187–​212 at 208–​11.

37 Jensen, “Martyrs, Total War, and Heavenly Horses,” 110–​13.

38 For more, see Paweł Żmudzki, “Opisy bitew ukazujące wojowników gotowych przyjąć swój los (przykłady słowiańskie XI-​XIII w.),” in “Sacrum.” Obraz i funkcja w społeczeństwie średniowiecznym, ed. Aneta Pieniądz-​Skrzypczak and Jerzy Pysiak, Aquila volans 1 (Warsaw:  Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2005), 151–​75 at 170–​72. 39 For Germanic and Scandinavian beliefs connected with war, see Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “ ‘Nadzy wojownicy’—​o średniowiecznych pogłosach dawnego rytu wojskowego,” in Człowiek, sacrum, środowisko. Miejsca kultu we wczesnym średniowieczu, ed. Sławomir Moździoch, Spotkania Bytomskie 4 (Wrocław: Werk, 2000), 11–​25; Władysław Duczko, “Tańczący wojownicy. Ikonografia rytuałów kultowo-​militarnych w skandynawskiej sztuce wczesnego średniowiecza,” in “Imago narrat.” Obraz jako komunikat w społeczeństwach europejskich, ed. Stanisław Rosik and Przemysław Wiszewski, Historia 161 (Wrocław: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego, 2002), 165–​88; Neil S. Price, The Viking Way: Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia (Uppsala: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University, 2007).

40 Stefan Kwiatkowski, “Koncepcje poprawności obrzędowej u Słowian zachodnich w epoce misyjnej,” Acta Universitatis Nicolai Copernici. Nauki Humanistyczno-​Społeczne. Historia 17, no. 117 (1981): 27–​49; Karol Modzelewski, “Laicyzacja przez chrzest,” in “Sacrum.” Obraz i funkcja, 99–​114 at 104–​5. Also see Marcin Rafał Pauk, “Święci patroni a średniowieczne wspólnoty polityczne w Europie Środkowej,” in “Sacrum.” Obraz i funkcja, 237–​60 at 255–​56, where analogy is indicated.

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among pagans were allegedly inseparable and connected in all areas of human activity.41 However, these opinions seem to be too simplistic. They do not take sufficient account of the fact that the ideas about the impact of the Christian supernatural sphere on the earthly existence, including military successes, was formed under the influence of ideas known from traditional religions. It is, therefore, essential to emphasize the view of researchers who see the impact of Christianity on the developed Slavic cult. According to Christian Lübke, “as Christians had episcopal cathedrals and parish churches and monasteries, Luticians had an impressive temple in their metropolis, and Riedegost and other shrines, in each case had a special priesthood. The adoration of Christian holy patrons finds its parallel in the shaping and personal naming of gods whose protection applied to certain regions; related to this it must be pointed out, that—​as Thietmar knew—​the names of the gods had been fixed [to] their statues in Riedegost, which is a very unusual phenomenon [in] an illiterate society. Moreover, [the] Luticians did not only use sacred standards (vexilla) in their campaigns but carried with them an idol of a goddess which recalls the cult of Virgin Mary. Finally, the destruction of competing Christian symbols by the Luticians corresponds to the practice of Christian missionaries.”42 It seems that even pagan cults were not able to avoid the influence of Christianity in military matters and would eventually follow the external practices of all their neighbours, Saxons, Germans, Danes, and Poles. These changes seem to be one of the most striking testimonies of the power of Christianity’s influence on the culture of war in this region. The influence was probably not limited only to the sphere of beliefs and ritual winning of the supernatural favour. It also translated into the institutionalization of worship and even the emergence of a quasi-​church organisation to support the people in their armed efforts. This resembles a “state church” whose significant role was to provide ideological, ritual, and organizational support for the monarchy and community in the face of military need.43 Even priests with temple armies resemble prelates with retinues of vassals, often coined as knights belonging to the patron saint of the cathedral church, known as, for example, milites Mauriciani in Magdeburg or milites sancti Martini in Mainz. 41 Modzelewski, “Laicyzacja przez chrzest.” Adam Krawiec has recently highlighted that the “secularization” of political institutions and the image of the world was a process that took place gradually for centuries. See Adam Krawiec, “Konsekwencje chrystianizacji dla społeczności i społeczeństw ‘Młodszej Europy,’ ” in Chrystianizacja “Młodszej Europy,” 273–​92 at 274.

42 Christian Lübke, “The Polabian Alternative: Paganism Between Christian Kingdoms,” in Europe Around the Year 1000, ed. Przemysław Urbańczyk (Warsaw: DiG, 2001), 379–​89 at 384–​85. Compare opinions by Dariusz Andrzej Sikorski, Religie dawnych Słowian (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2018), chap. 4.a; Stanisław Rosik, The Slavic Religion in the Light of 11th-​and 12th-​Century German Chronicles (Thietmar of Merseburg, Adam of Bremen, Helmold of Bosau) (Leiden: Brill, 2020), chap. III.8.

43 The notion about the scope of this support can give Canones Nidrosienses (ca. 1163/​1164 or 1170s/​1180s). See especially discussion by Odd Sandaaker, “ ‘Canones Nidrosienses’ i intermesso eller opptakt?,” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 67 (1988): 2–​37 at 14–​25; also Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law.”

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16 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL If Christianity was able to influence to such an extent the war culture of peoples forming their identities on their own religious beliefs, then its influence must have been all the stronger amongst those communities whose elites adopted the new faith. The dynamics of this process must, in most cases, have been different and not free from twists and turns (for example pagan revolts). However, there are sources indicating that, within a few generations, Christianity started playing an important role in the military sphere and that it was even prevalent among the common population. For example, as Wojtek Jezierski has recently shown, in the twelfth century, the emotions accompanying sieges were already expressed in Christian religious practices along the southern coast of the Baltic Sea.44 Since then, we see clear and permanent domination of Christian elements in the culture of war in the entire area of East Central and Scandinavia. The chapters collected in this volume strengthen the conviction that the influence of Christianity on the theory and practice of war in the period between the eleventh and thirteenth century in East Central Europe and Scandinavia was not merely superficial but had a fundamental significance and expressed itself in a specific culturally advanced form. This applies not only to the sphere of worship and religious imagination but also to the influence of organizational forms that were at the service of the Church and its officials. * This volume contains fourteen chapters. They have been divided into two parts, the first of which—​The Church and War—​deals mainly with relationships between the Church, clergy, and the military, whereas the second—​Religion in War and Its Cultural Expressions—​discusses ideas of war shaped under the influence of religious factors. Obviously, such a division is partly arbitrary, because the Church created the sphere of religion, and many sources clearly indicate that the military involvement of clergy was usually at the same time inscribed in the context of religious practices. The main issue in the first part of the book is the problem of military activity of bishops. Four authors discuss this question: Judit Gál, Gábor Barabás, Sini Kangas, and Jacek Maciejewski. Judit Gál in her chapter deals with relationships the archbishops of Split (Spalato) had with warfare during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and demonstrates how they changed under the impact of Hungarian rule over Dalmatia after the conquest by King Coloman the Learned. Gál concludes that the role of archbishops of Split changed significantly under Árpáds’ rule, when prelates became more powerful and started to play a role as the local agents of the kings. This influenced the archbishops’ role in warfare, as they were involved in the affairs of the court and local struggles with the enemies of the monarchy. It can be seen from the sources, that the royal court expected an archbishop to follow Hungarian practise and take part in military actions. This does not mean, however, that the type of warrior prelate was adopted among Split archbishops. This conclusion is supported in the chapter by Gábor Barabás who analysed 44 Wojtek Jezierski, “Feelings During Sieges: Fear, Trust, and Emotional Bonding on the Missionary and Crusader Baltic Rim, 12th–​13th Centuries,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 52, no. 1 (2018):  253–​81.

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the military activity of thirteenth century Hungarian bishops, showing an unequivocally different reality to that in Split. In Hungary, bishops were ready to use the force of arms regardless of their location in the structure of power—​for the benefit of the king, in their own interests, and in the interest of their churches and their families. Tracing the causes of this phenomenon in Hungarian sources unfortunately is quite difficult, particularly due to the lack of information on the military activity of earlier generations of bishops, but the situation in the thirteenth century sources resembles very clearly the conditions in the Holy Roman Empire and England, and some prelates, such as Archbishop Ugrin Csák of Kalocsa, the hero of the battles against the Mongols in 1241, can be compared to the most famous warrior bishops, like Odo of Bayeux, or Rainald von Dassel. The other two texts deal with the problem of military involvement of bishops. Following their sources, the authors focus to a greater extent on its ideological aspects. The chapter by Sini Kangas considers bishops involved in crusading, such as the mysterious Bishop Henry, the first Finnish saint, as well as bishops active in Livonia and Estonia. Analyzing the bishops’ portraits in the context of presentation of the Levantine expeditions’ participants, the author is convinced that the latter include more concrete data on the secular involvement of bishops in military matters (service to the ruler, leading troops into the battle), while the sources about the Baltic bishops and Bishop Henry emphasise in the first place their spiritual tasks, such as preparing soldiers for the battle, administering the sacraments, etc. There are no references to clerics doing penance for breaking the ban of arms-​bearing, or any direct information about personal fighting; however, there remain nevertheless a few cases in which the precise scope of clerical activities in battle remains obscure. Jacek Maciejewski tackles a similar problem in his chapter, once again addressing the issue of military activity of the Polish bishops, the nature of which, due to the state of the source base, is difficult to define precisely. This time the author looks at the little-​known tradition of Płock bishops, whose traces are preserved only in the works of Jan Długosz (d. 1480), the most eminent Polish chronicler of the Late Middle Ages. Particularly noteworthy is the account about the bishop of Płock from the beginning of the thirteenth century, taken from an older source, yet unknown today. This source points out that Polish bishops not only supported the army through religious practices but also, if necessary, were able to take up arms and carry out military actions. According to Maciejewski, such an approach, as provided by this source, indicates that the bishops’ military activity in Mazovia did not interfere with cultural norms observed in the Baltic area or Western Europe, and the clergy were probably even expected to act appropriately in the face of a pagan invasion. The first part is complemented by the chapters by Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen and Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen. The first deals with the involvement of the Dominican Friars along the Baltic coastline (the provinces of Dacia, Estonia, and Teutonia) in the proclamation of wars against pagans (especially Prussians), heretics (rebellious Stedinger-​peasants), and the Mongols following their invasion. This study offers a significant extension of the existing findings by Christoph T.  Maier in his Preaching the Crusades, which took into account only Western Europe and the Levantine

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18 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL Crusades. Jakobsen’s essay shows the importance of the Dominican activities around the southern shores of the Baltic. The mendicant friars used their mission not only as a tool of the papal policy, but as Jakobson suggests, they were also deeply integrated into promoting wars on behalf of secular powers, like the Scandinavian kings and the Teutonic Order. Only after the end of the thirteenth century did Dominican involvement with the Crusades in the Baltic Sea region fall to a barely noticeable level, which was perhaps the result of critical contemporary voices against mendicant preaching, as well as their deteriorating relations with Teutonic Knights and the rehabilitation of the Hospitallers of St. John as the main monastic agent in the field. The chapter by Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, on the other hand, discusses the problem of paintings showing scenes of violence and warfare, which are preserved in numerous rural Danish churches built in the late Romanesque style in the decades around 1200. Although this subject has puzzled scholars for decades, the nature and meaning of motifs depicted on church walls is still a question not easily answered as most of the images are more or less fragments of now lost larger decorations. Thanks to a close reading of a particular suite of paintings, Jürgensen comes to the conclusion that they are an expression of the programme of the Danish Church. This had two main objectives, firstly to encourage the laity—​knights and nobles—​to follow an outward active devotional practices, and on the other hand, the Church attempted to control this outward-​reaching piety and make sure that it was given form under their wing. It cannot be ruled out that the purpose of these paintings was more far-​reaching and assumed a change of knightly ideals of fighting for Christ and crusading into a spiritual ideal also relevant to the rural population. These paintings should, therefore, be seen as an expression of the programme of the Church as an organization responsible for supporting the quality and strength of the military power of the Danish state organization. The second part, Religion in War and Its Cultural Expressions, opens with three chapters devoted mainly to religious rituals on the battlefields and war practices inspired by religious content. The authors are also interested in the manner in which these issues were presented in narrative sources by their authors and the purposes they were to serve. The first chapter is written by Dušan Zupka who for the first time analyzed the information about war rituals contained in the Hungarian sources referring to the period of the Árpád dynasty (until 1301). The author focuses primarily on the research inspired by the works of Michael McCormick on the Byzantine and Carolingian liturgies of war, noting that similar rituals, practised in the East and West, were also applied in Hungary in the eleventh century, and perhaps even in the times of Saint Stephen. Despite the somewhat limited number of sources available to a historian interested in the early history of Hungary, Zupka identifies evidence confirming the vast and varied range of devotional practices, such as public prayers of the ruler during expedition, fasting, almsgiving, ordering prayers throughout the kingdom, special ceremonies of thanksgiving to celebrate victory, solemn penitential processions, priestly blessing designed to obtain God’s support during the fight, bringing relics to the field of battles, etc.

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The chapter by Radosław Kotecki focuses on a specific ritual, or rather a sequence of rites, which can be described as profectio bellica or the ritual of departure for holy war. Based on two different narrative accounts, Chronica Polonorum by Master Vincentius and Povest’ vremennykh let, about the expeditions of Piast and Rurikid rulers against pagan Pomeranians and Polovtsi, he shows that authors of these narratives had to be deeply familiar with the same ritual and shared common set of ideas. Extensive comparative research carried out by the author suggests that this ritual could have been used in the twelfth century in Poland and Kievan Rus’ in accordance with old Imperial traditions of holy war, which in the West and Byzantium had already been transformed under the influence of crusading rites. This is demonstrated in these narratives above all by the inclusion of angelic guides—​modelled on the luminous angel of victory known from Late Antique, Visigothic, Carolingian, or Ottonian texts. In turn, Carsten Selch Jensen concentrates on how various interrelationships of war and religion, as well as religious and war practices, were presented in a highly detailed narrative about the Danish people—​the renowned early thirteenth century Gesta Danorum by Saxo Grammaticus. Taking into account narratives concerning King Valdemar I and his clerical associate, the powerful archbishop of Lund, Absalon, Jensen concludes that Saxo was a man who knew how to write about war and warfare, dealing both with the practicalities of the common soldiers and the commanders, as well as with the theological framework legitimizing these wars—​whether they were fought against inner political enemies or pagans raiding the Danish coastal regions. Jensen also stresses that for Saxo the relationship that the king, bishop, and ordinary warriors had with God during the wars was particularly important. Correct relationships, best sanctioned by an appropriate ritual (especially the viaticum), piety, religious zeal, and devotion to the Church made the characters of this work invincible heroes. The following two chapters are also dedicated to the presentation of war in narrative sources, although they focus more on how the war was imagined by the authors of the historical works. The joint chapter by David Kalhous and Ludmila Luňáková scrutinizes this imagination of war through selected medieval chronicles and histories written between the 950s and 1120s in East Central and Eastern Europe: Chronica Boemorum by Cosmas of Prague, Gesta principum Polonorum by so-​called Gallus Anonymus, the Povest’ vremennykh let, and also the Saxon history written by Widukind of Corvey. Kalhous and Luňáková observe that, although it is widely accepted that war and military elites were followed with suspicion by the Church, its individual clerics and chroniclers were far more tolerant of these phenomena. From afore-​mentioned authors, who were all monks or members of the clergy, only Cosmas of Prague did not spend too much ink on the glorification of military success. All of his fellow chroniclers at least tried to legitimize the wars led by their polities-​nations. That means that the chroniclers sought legitimacy in describing a war. In addition, they accepted it as a regular and legitimate part of life—​a life of Christian and truly Christianized communities. The authors note that this approach is consistent with historiographies written in the post-​Carolingian period when different ethnic groups came into being and defined their position within the Christian communities as political communities.

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20 RADOSŁAW KOTECKI ET AL Bjørn Bandlien, on the other hand, places an emphasis on showing the diversity of the historical authors’ opinions. Looking at the descriptions of the civil wars taking place in Norway in the twelfth century, he notes that the influence of the content inspired by the developing ideology of the holy war, subordination to a just king, and the Church’s striving to give an opinion about the “just cause” of military action, brought pretty diverse results in the form of “polyphonic discourses” of war. According to Bandlien, as there were several discourses of war perceptible in narrative sources, there were also negotiations, dialogues, and conflicts between them in reality. This made it possible for pretenders to shape various narratives in their claim, and more difficult for the Church to control the communication of its concepts. The authors of the last two chapters follow different paths, exploring the role of religion in shaping the images of war in the north-​eastern areas of the region in question. In his essay, Kristjan Kaljusaar explores what exactly contemporaries regarded as a true martyr’s death in battle, and how authors of the day made use of such popular perceptions of martyrdom to attract crusaders and create a saints’ cults for newly converted Livonia. Taking as a basis for considerations a chronicle by Henry of Livonia and the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, he observes that no official martyrs needed to be made on the battlefields of the Livonian Crusades. However, in many contemporary minds, the eastern Baltic lands nevertheless contained an essence that gave divine meaning to the deaths of Christian warriors who perished fighting the pagans there. In case bellicose pilgrims died in battle, they were thought to have been cleansed of all sins and remembered as martyrs of an unofficial sort. The volume closes with a chapter by Anti Selart who examines the differences and similarities in the images of the religion and war relationship between representatives of Western and Orthodox Christianity. Particular emphasis is placed on the context of baptism and military actions as a medium of Christianization. He notes that the question of who actually performed the baptism played a very important role in the discussions, since baptism served both as a tool of political and secular subjugation. According to Selart, the religious and the secular, the Church and worldly power were very closely intertwined in wars conducted close to the area of the confessional border, and boundaries between the various camps were not always clear or well-​defined. Hence, missionizing and baptizing could also put the clergy, both Catholic and Orthodox, in the role of subduer or oppressor. Despite these similarities, however, there were also differences. Selart’s research shows that Orthodox Christianity represented to a greater extent an ideology and worldview through which those participating in the wars and conquests perceived their role in the world, as well as the nature and meaning of wars. This did not allow the Crusades in the Baltic countries to develop into a confessional conflict between the Catholic and Orthodox religions in this region. As mentioned above, the texts collected in this volume offer original and fresh insights into issues that have so far been, for the most parts, known within local historiographies, or they are completely new even within local contexts. The advantage of the volume is also its frequent use of a comparative perspective, which embeds the results of the research in a pan-​European context. Thus, hopefully, it will be of

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interest not only to readers from East Central Europe and Scandinavia but to anyone who focuses on the questions of relationships between religion and war in the Middle Ages. The book as a whole—​even though it is not a coherent anthology—​brings many noteworthy observations beyond the local research community. Today it can be seen very clearly that the Eastern and Northern parts of the European continent participated creatively in shaping the cultural image of war, both through religious concepts, taking over the ideology of the Church and its organizational models. The editors of this volume hope that this publication will contribute to the internationalization of research on Christian culture and war culture in this area of Europe and will raise awareness of the need to see a broader set of problems in the discourse than has been the case for researchers interested primarily in the history of wars in the political dimension and the problems of crusades.

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Chapter 1

THE ROLE OF THE DALMATIAN BISHOPS AND ARCHBISHOPS IN WARFARE DURING THE TWELFTH AND THIRTEENTH CENTURIES: A CASE STUDY ON THE ARCHBISHOPS OF SPLIT Judit Gál* the role of the archbishops of Split changed significantly when the city came under

the rule of the kings of Hungary at the beginning of the twelfth century. Before King Coloman of Hungary’s conquest, the archbishops had an important role in the life of the city and were actively involved in secular and diplomatic affairs too. After the beginning of the Árpáds’ rule their position was influenced by royal expectations and Hungarian traditions. Through Hungarian royal influence, the archbishops’ role in warfare also underwent change. This study deals with the changing roles of the archbishops of Split during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. It focuses on the impact of Hungarian customs on the roles assigned to archbishops. I will examine the archbishops and archbishop-​elects of this period, particularly those who held their office under the rule of the kings of Hungary. The analysis covers a relatively long period between the election of Archbishop Manasses in 1113, who was the first Hungarian archbishop of Split, to the extinction of the Árpádian dynasty of Hungary in 1301. This timeframe is long enough to enable us to examine changes to the role of the archbishop in Split and the way in which the royal court influenced this role. This chapter will first describe the historical background of the study, before focusing on the archbishops who were elected during the examined period by highlighting their social, economic, and personal backgrounds. After that, it will cover the general roles of the archbishops in the city, their position at the royal court of Hungary, and how their position in relation to royal affairs changed their traditional roles in the society of Split. The final part of the piece will discuss how the archbishops were involved in wars and struggles both in the city and in Dalmatia.

* Judit Gál (orcid.org/​0000-​0002-​5692-​0426) received her PhD in Medieval History at the Eötvös Loránd University in 2019 and she is an alumna of Central European University in Budapest. She wrote her dissertation about the place of Dalmatia in the Kingdom of Hungary in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. She is currently a research assistant at the Eötvös Loránd University and also works for the Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts and the Hungarian Academy of Sciences as a member of different research projects. She is also working on the publishing of so-​far-​unknown medieval documents from Ivan Lučić-​Lucius’s early modern manuscript heritage. Her current interest concerns the history of the Hungarian royal representation, rituals, and exercise of power in Dalmatia in the Middle Ages.

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Historical Background The beginning of the twelfth century was a chaotic period. The death of King Stephen II, the last descendant of the Croatian royal dynasty, brought serious changes to the Kingdom of Croatia and Dalmatia. In the immediate aftermath of his death, King Ladislaus I the Saint (r. 1077–​1095) of Hungary tried to seize power as different groups fought for the crown. Ladislaus rested his claim to the Croatian throne on his having been brother-​in-​law to the late king of Croatia and Dalmatia, Zvonimir (r. 1079–​1089), and he succeeded in taking control of parts of Croatia. However, the Cumans’ attack against Hungary in 1091 hindered any further activities in Dalmatia conducted on Ladilaus’s behalf, through to his death in 1095.1 Instead, he installed his nephew, Álmos, as king, but the rule of Álmos was probably only titular and his title only symbolized the Árpáds’ aspiration to rule this territory.2 Internal and external affairs impeded King Coloman the Learned’s (r. 1095–​1116) attempts to take Dalmatia—​most notably the disruption caused by the passage of the First Crusade through Hungary in 1096.3 After internal struggles had been placated by Coloman, he led the royal army into Croatia in 1097. There he defeated another pretender to the throne by the name Peter. After the victory, Coloman struggled with further internal affairs in Hungary and he was not in a position to confront Venice, who also had designs to control the region, and take Dalmatian towns. Some five year later, however, Coloman was able to restore his power in the region and he was crowned king of Croatia and Dalmatia in Biograd in 1102.4 Although he had had ascended to the throne, Coloman’s rule on the coastal lands was limited to the region of Biograd and most of the Dalmatian towns initially lay beyond his reach. In 1105, however, he seized Zadar, Šibenik, Split, Trogir, and the nearby islands.5 After Coloman’s death, rule of the Dalmatian towns remained in dispute and control passed between Hungary, Venice, and Byzantium over the course of the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. By the late twelfth century, the kings of Hungary could retain their power over most of the Central and North Dalmatian territories, whilst Zadar and the Kvarner Gulf remained under Venetian rule.6 During the Árpádian era, the kings of Hungary maintained a special relationship with the Dalmatian towns. The towns received great autonomy and the rulers did not intervene in their internal affairs. The kings of Hungary, however, maintained a strong influence over the Dalmatian cities 1 Gyula Pauler, A magyar nemzet története az Árpád-​házi királyok alatt, 2 vols. (Budapest: Magyar Könyvkiadók és Könyvterjesztők Egyesülése, 1899), 1:201.

2 Márta Font, “Megjegyzések a horvát-​magyar perszonálunió középkori történetéhez,” in Híd a századokfelett. Tanulmányok Katus László 70. születésnapjára, ed. Péter Hanák (Pécs: University Press, 1997), 12. 3 Nada Klaić, Povijest Hrvata u razvijenom srednjem vijeku (Zagreb: Školska knjiga, 1976), 486–​91.

4 Pauler, A magyar nemzet, 214–​15.

5 Ferenc Makk, The Árpáds and the Comneni: Political Relations Between Hungary and Byzantium in the 12th Century (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1988), 14. 6 Makk, The Árpáds, 18–​21 and 96–​98.

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due to their military power and the presence of their local representatives, such as the bans of Slavonia. This strong rule changed in the last third of the thirteenth century. After the death of Béla IV (r. 1235–​1270), royal power weakened in Hungary and groups of nobles fought against each other in attempts to control the young king Ladislaus IV (r. 1272–​1289). The weakening of royal power resulted in Dalmatia not receiving much royal attention, which allowed the local elites to strengthen their authority—​this period was the time of the rise of the Šubić noble family. Whilst Dalmatia was part of the Kingdom of Hungary during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the kings of Hungary did not fully integrate the region into the Hungarian secular administrative and ecclesiastical systems. The bishops and archbishops of the towns were not part of the Hungarian royal council and the bishoprics and archbishoprics were not connected to the Hungarian Church. This position of the archbishops and bishops of Dalmatia in the Kingdom of Hungary originated from the Hungarian kings’ general standpoint towards Dalmatia and Croatia until the mid-​ fourteenth century. These territories preserved a somewhat isolated status in the kingdom, as their secular and ecclesiastical administration was not integrated into the Hungarian system. The kings of Hungary gave the towns relative autonomy and they did not have to adopt Hungarian institutions. This separation allowed the towns to manage their legal, financial, administrative, ecclesiastical, and social affairs. Yet it also resulted in the exclusion of the secular and ecclesiastical elites of Croatia and Dalmatia from influencing the country to which they belonged—​Hungary. In addition, the differences between Hungarian and Dalmatian societies that endured during Hungarian rule affected the role of the archbishops in society—​particularly in warfare.

The Archbishops of Split During the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries

Before examining the archbishops’ role in warfare, it is important to briefly sketch the identities of the town’s archbishops under Hungarian rule. When Split was under the rule of the kings of Hungary, the church of Split always had Hungarian archbishops or archbishops who had close ties with the royal court. The first of them was Manasses, a Hungarian nobleman who became the archbishop of the city around 1113 and held this title until Venice seized Split in 1116.7 King Béla II (r. 1131–​1141) recovered Split from Venice around 1136, and a new archbishop by the name Gaudius (in office 1136–​1153) was elected from amongst the elite of Split.8 While Gaudius was still alive, but probably seriously ill, a Hungarian prelate, Absalom (in office 1159–​1161) was elected as the 7 Tamás Körmendi, “ ‘Zagoriensis episcopus’. Megjegyzés a zágrábi püspökség korai történetéhez,” in “Fons, skepsis, lex.” Ünnepi tanulmányok a 70 esztendős Makk Ferenc tiszteletére, ed. Tibor Almási, Éva Révész, and György Szabados (Szeged: Szegedi Középkorász Műhely, 2010), 247–​56 at 250–​52. 8 Slavko Kovačić, “Toma Arhiđakon, promicatelj crkvene obnove, i splitski nadbiskupi, osobito njegovi suvremenici,” in Toma Arhiđakon i njegovo doba, ed. Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol and Olga Perić (Split: Književni krug, 2004), 41–​75 at 47.

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future archbishop of the city in his place.9 When Absalom died, Peter Lombard (in office 1161–​1166), the former bishop of Narni, followed him into office.10 Peter enjoyed a close relationship with the royal court and after he had to leave Split, he went to Hungary.11 As Split came under the rule of Byzantium, the city had archbishops appointed by Pope Alexander III.12 When Béla III (r. 1172–​1196) recovered the city around 1180, he insisted on a return to the former custom of the Hungarian kings approving the election of the archbishops.13 A certain Peter, a member of the Kán kindred, a powerful and rich family who had several estates in Southwestern Hungary, became archbishop around 1185 (in office until 1190).14 He left Split around 1190 and became the archbishop of Kalocsa, the second highest ecclesiastical office in Hungary after the archbishop of Esztergom. Another Peter (in office 1191–​1196), a former abbot of the Benedictine monastery of St. Martin in Pannonhalma, followed him in Split.15 The struggle between Duke Andrew (as duke 1197–​ 1204; as King Andrew II 1205–​1235) and King Emeric (r. 1196–​1204) for the throne of Hungary at the end of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth centuries had an impact on Dalmatia. Duke Andrew stayed in Dalmatia for a relatively long period in 1198 and was intent on placing loyal archbishops in Split and Zadar. A  certain “A.”—​only the first letter of his name was preserved—​became the archbishop of Split, but he only held office for a short time in 1198. Bernard of Perugia (in office ca. 1200–​1217), Emeric’s former tutor, became archbishop of Split in 1200 and this has been considered to be a huge help and advantage for the King Emeric.16 He was a learned prelate and a militarily able man who fought against the heretics in Bosnia and Dalmatia. 9 Absalom was mentioned as minister around 1160. See Codex diplomaticus Regni Croatiae, Dalmatiae et Slavoniae, ed. Marko Kostrenčić, Jakov Stipišić, Tadija Smičiklas et  al. 18  vols. (Zagreb: Academia Scientiarum et Artium Slavorum Meridionalium, 1904–​1990) (hereafter CDC), 2:90–​91 (no. 88).

10 Archdeacon Thomas of Split, Spalatensis Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum, chap. 9, Latin text Olga Perić, ed., trans., and ann. Damir Karbić, Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, and James R. Sweeney, Central European Medieval Texts 4 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2006) (hereafter Thomas, Hist. Sal.), 106. 11 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 107.

12 Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, Toma arhiđakon i njegovo djelo. Rano doba hrvatska povijest (Zagreb:  Naklada Slap, 2002), 172–​76; Slavko Kovačić, “Splitska metropolija u dvanaestom stoljeću, Krbavska biskupija u srednjem vijeku,” in Zbornik radova znanstvenog simpozija u povodu 800. obljetnice osnutka krbavske biskupije održanog u Rijeci 23–​24. travnja 1986. godine (Rijeka: Kršćanska Sadašnjost, 1988), 11–​39 at 18–​20. 13 CDC, 2:175 (no. 173).

14 Matijević-​Sokol, Toma arhiđakon, 178.

15 A Pannonhalmi Szent-​Benedek-​Rend története. A Magyar kereszténység, királyság és Benczés-​ Rend fönnállásának kilenczszázados emlékére, ed. László Erdélyi and Pongrácz Sörös, 12 vols. (Budapest: Stephaneum—​a Szent-​István-​Társulat Nyomdája, 1902–​1916), 1:120 and 613 (no. 25). 16 Ivan Armanda, “Splitski nadbiskup i teološki pisac Bernard iz Perugie,” Kulturna baština 37 (2011):  33–​48.

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Things did not always go the king’s way, however. Andrew II initiated a crusade which became part the wider Fifth Crusade and he passed through Split en route to the Holy Land around the time Bernard died in 1217.17 The king asked the citizens and the clergy to elect his own candidate for archbishop, Alexander the Physician, but they refused.18 On Andrew II’s return, however, Guncel (in office 1219–​1242) was elected archbishop of Split. He was a Hungarian nobleman and a member of the Kán kindred.19 Guncel died in 1242, around the time of the Mongol invasion of Hungary when King Béla IV fled to Dalmatia. The citizens and the clergy of Split then elected Stephen, bishop of Zagreb, who was one of the Hungarian barons who had survived the Mongols’ attack.20 He was never confirmed as archbishop and resigned from the election in 1243.21 The archbishopric’s see was vacant again and, according to the local traditions, the laity and clergy should have elected the new leader of the local church. However, the cathedral chapter of Split wanted to elect an archbishop without secular influence and this caused social tensions between the clergy and the citizens. At this time the two neighbouring towns of Split and Trogir were at war, with the king supporting the latter. King Béla IV required the inhabitants of Split to elect Ugrin (in office 1244–​1248), a Hungarian prelate, from the rich and powerful Csák kindred, as archbishop and comes (count or governor) of the town.22 When he died, the suffragans of the archbishopric of Split elected Bishop John of Skardin (in office 1248–​1249), of the Csák kindred and a relative of Archbishop Ugrin, as archbishop.23 In the following year, Pope Innocent IV promoted Roger of Apulia (in office 1250–​1266), a former canon of Várad (Oradea), instead of John and sent him to Split. The archbishop after that period is another John (in office 1266–​1294), who was a member of the Hahót-​Buzád kindred. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries only three consecrated archbishops and nine archbishop-​elects—​who altogether could not hold the office for more than four years—​were elected in Split without the kings’ participation. As Split was the metropolitan see in Dalmatia, and all Hungarian-​ruled coastal lands belonged to its jurisdiction, the selection of the archbishop of Split was highly important to the rulers. Direct intervention by the king was rare, but there was the expectation that the city

17 Attila Bárány, “II. András balkáni külpolitikája,” in II. András és Székesfehérvár, ed. Terézia Kernyi and András Smohay (Székesfehérvár, Székesfehérvári Egyházmegyei Múzeum, 2012), 129–​73 at 144. 18 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 25, 162–​63. 19 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 26, 168.

20 Stephen is mentioned as archielectus from July 1242 until November 1243. See CDC, 4:155, 183, 196, and 205 (no. 140, 164, 175, 183).

21 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 40, 306–​7. 22 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 45, 350.

23 John is mentioned as archielectus between December 1248 and May 1249. See CDC, 4:373, 394 (no. 331, 348).

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would elect an archbishop from within the Kingdom of Hungary favoured by the royal court.24

The Roles of the Archbishops in Split and at the Hungarian Royal Court

The role of the archbishops of Split in warfare, as it will be discussed later, was fairly different from the roles of the bishops and archbishops of the mainland. It was also slightly different when compared to the traditional, urban role that the archbishops enjoyed before Hungarian rule. To understand the background to the differences and to clarify their position and role in warfare, the general position of the archbishop between Hungary and their city should first be analyzed. The available sources make it clear that the archbishops played an important role in both the secular and ecclesiastical life of their city way before Hungarian rule. As members of the city council, they had an important place in the secular administration and they influenced decision-​making assemblies as witnesses and issuers of charters. The town’s charters were dated by the archbishops’ tenure of office. Their names were listed in documents of the town after the kings or dukes and before the comes or another local magistrate. The archbishops seem to have taken part in the resolution of all questions that required the judgment of the magistrates. They played a particularly significant role in the foreign affairs of the city, serving as envoys and overseeing negotiations between the city and its rulers.25 They were often sent out in diplomatic missions, like during the negotiations before King Coloman entered Dalmatian cities in 1105 or at the time of the struggles between Split and Venice during the eleventh century.26 Their significant influence was supported by the landholdings of the Church, based on donations and purchases.27 In addition, the kings of both Hungary and the previous Croatian royal family, the Tripimirović dynasty, enjoyed very close relationships with the archbishops and the church in Split. The Croatian rulers gave donations to ecclesiastical institutions from the ninth, but more intensively, from the mid-​tenth centuries.28 Recent studies have shown that the kings of Hungary followed a similar path. Almost half of the Hungarian royal ecclesiastical donations were issued to the archbishopric of Split during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Moreover, while most of the royal privileges 24 For more on this, see Judit Gál, “The Roles and Loyalties of the Bishops and Archbishops of Dalmatia (1102–​1301),” Hungarian Historical Review 3, no. 3 (2014): 471–​94.

25 Ivan Strohal, Pravna povijest dalmatinskih gradova (Zagreb:  Dioničkatiskara, 1913), 280–​323; Joan Dusa, The Medieval Dalmatian Episcopal Cities: Development and Transformation (New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 76–​83.

26 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 17, 96. 27 Dusa, Episcopal Cities, 71–​72.

28 Neven Budak, “Foundations and Donations as a Link Between Croatia and the Dalmatian Cities in the Early Middle Ages (9th–​11th C.),” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 55, no. 4 (2007): 483–​90 at 490.

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granted to the Church were confirmations of existing charters, the archbishops received ample donations and gained more new territories than any other ecclesiastical institution in Dalmatia.29 The archbishops’ role and power in the city was augmented by the fact that Split was a metropolitan see of all Dalmatia. By the end of the tenth century every Dalmatian episcopal see was under its jurisdiction. Despite losing all of its southern and most of the northern territories with the foundation of the archbishopric of Dubrovnik at the end of the tenth century and the archbishopric of Zadar in 1154, Split was still the most important ecclesiastical centre in North and Central Dalmatia during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The bishoprics of Nin, Krbava, Senj, Hvar, Trogir, Skradin, and Knin were under the jurisdiction of the archbishops of Split, as they were the ecclesiastical leaders of those Dalmatian territories which were under Hungarian rule.30 The role of the archbishops of Split changed after King Coloman of Hungary seized the city in 1105 and a new Hungarian archbishop was elected in 1113. The basis of the new role of the archbishop during the rule of the Árpáds may have been connected to established archiepiscopal influence on both foreign and secular affairs. They were the representatives of their cities, for example the archbishop of Split mediated between Split and King Coloman in 1105. Moreover, the king intended to develop a strong relationship with the local clergy in order to support the maintenance of his rule over the cities. The archbishops under examination here were not only the ecclesiastical leaders of their city and played important roles in the secular life of the community. As they were the most direct representatives of the royal court permanently present in the town, they also became instruments in the execution of royal policy in Dalmatia. According to Thomas the Archdeacon, the archbishops of Split often left their see and went to the royal court.31 I would venture the hypothesis that during these visits they served as ambassadors sent by the city to the king or were asked by the kings to visit the court. The available sources reveal little regarding the details of these visits, but it seems likely that the archbishops of Split were not the only representatives of the Church to visit the court. It can be assumed that the archbishops served as a connection between the cities and the king. The archbishops of Split and possibly other bishops visited the royal court not merely as envoys of their cities, but also as participants in royal, representative events. Archbishop Bernard of Split, for instance, took part in the coronation of King Ladislaus III (r. 1204–​1205) in 1204.32 In connection to these trips, it should be mentioned that they were not connected to any governmental duties. As 29 See Judit Gál, “The Social Context of the Hungarian Royal Grants to the Church in Dalmatia (1102–​1301),” Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU 21 (2015): 47–​63.

30 Judit Gál, “ ‘Qui erat gratiosus aput eum’. A spliti érsekek az Árpádok királyságában,” in Magister historiae, ed. Mónika Belucz and Judit Gál (Budapest: Eötvös Loránd Tudományegyetem, 2014), 51–​72 at 60. 31 Gál, “ ‘Qui erat,’ ” 65–​66. 32 Gál, “ ‘Qui erat,’ ” 65–​69.

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mentioned above, the Dalmatian towns’ bishops and archbishops did not take part in the royal council or in leadership of the country. This situation was the result of the separation that characterized the relationship between Dalmatia and the Kingdom of Hungary during the Árpáds rule. In addition to the role played by the archbishops as mediators between the royal court and the coastal lands, the prelates were also employed in the roles of particular importance to the royal court. Thus, they served not only as ecclesiastical leaders, but as the king’s representatives taking part in local affairs and in the wars with Venice. In addition, the archbishops of Split played important roles in royal policy concerning Bosnia throughout the twelfth century and at the beginning of the thirteenth. The bishopric of Bosnia fell under the jurisdiction of the archbishops of Split in 1192.33 According to the sources, the bishops of Bosnia tried to ignore this change and visited the archbishop of Dubrovnik for consecration in 1195.34 The kings attempted to compel Bosnia to recognize their authority and the jurisdiction of the archbishopric of Split through to the 1210s, but their lack of success led to a change in royal policy. The bishopric of Bosnia became the suffragan of the archbishopric of Kalocsa in 1247.35 The archbishops of Split also played a role in spreading the cult of saints of the Hungarian royal dynasty.36 A capsella reliquiarum was found during archeological excavations in Kaštel Gomilica, at the church of Sts. Cosmas and Damian.37 This territory is situated a few kilometres from Split and the church was built around the mid-​twelfth century. The capsella contains an inscription which says that the relics of Sts. Cosmas and Damian, the Virgin Mary, and Hungarian king, Saint Stephen, were kept inside. The foundation and building of the church can be connected to two archbishops of Split. Archbishop Gaudius initiated the construction and Absalom, the archbishop-​elect, later consecrated the church in 1160—​either one of them could have brought the relics from the royal court during one of their visits.38 The archbishops also played a prominent and very visual role during royal and ducal visits to Dalmatia as the members of the royal entourage. When the kings or the dukes of Croatia and Dalmatia visited the coastal territories, their entourages both had a practical and symbolic role. It was important who actually followed the kings and dukes from the kingdom, and who joined them from the visited territory. The entourages during the examined period included the highest elite from Hungary and the Dalmatian archbishops 33 CDC, 2:251–​53 (no. 237).

34 John V. A. Fine, The Bosnian Church: Its Place in State and Society from the Thirteenth to the Fifteenth Century (London: Saqi, 2007), 111.

35 István Katona, A kalocsai érseki egyház története, 2 vols. (Kalocsa: Kalocsai Múzeumbarátok Köre, 2001), 1:148. 36 Gál, “Roles,” 485–​86.

37 Joško Belamarić, “ ‘Capsella reliquiarum’ (1160 g.) iz Sv. Kuzme i Damjana u Kaštel Gomilici,” in Studije iz srednjovjekovne i renesansa umjetnosti na Jadranu, ed. Joško Belamarić (Split: Književni krug, 2001), 201–​16. 38 Gál, “Roles,” 485.

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and bishops, among them the archbishops of Split, together with the secular leaders of the coastal region. The role of the Church was significant during these visits: Hungarian and Dalmatian prelates surrounded the kings and played significant roles during the ceremonies, creating a sacral atmosphere around the rulers of the land.39 The change of the role of the archbishops of Split can be summarized as follows. Their role in diplomacy was significant before Hungarian rule in Split, but during the rule of the kings of Hungary it became more compound. They were the representatives of the city in Dalmatian cases and in foreign affairs as well, and they received a new scope of duties in that period. They had the same rights and role in the city as their predecessors, but during that time they were not simply the city’s prelates and officials; they were also the kings’ officials not only in Split, but in the whole of Dalmatia. Their loyalty and behaviour towards the city also changed. The city elected them for advantage and they were the part of the city’s diplomacy. As a king’s local agent, they were a part of the Hungarian court in a special way. They did not belong to the Hungarian ecclesiastical organization, as the kings did not want to integrate Dalmatia into that. However, whenever the kings, dukes, or other members of the royal family visited Dalmatia, they were amongst their most important companions. Beside these representative functions, they acted in court cases in Dalmatia and they were a central part of the kings’ foreign policy, such as in seizing Bosnia or defending Dalmatia against Venice. In my opinion, the kings of Hungary considered and took advantage of the archbishops’ place and important roles in their city. While the secular leaders of the towns were usually only elected for a year, the archbishops had a considerable, continuous, and even perpetual influence on the life of their city as they held office for life. Apart from a short period in the mid-​thirteenth century, for the rest of the time under discussion the most direct and permanent representatives of the royal court were the archbishops in Dalmatia.40

The Roles of the Archbishops in Warfare

While Dalmatia and most of the Northern and Central Dalmatian towns were under Hungarian rule during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the local communities enjoyed significant autonomy. Royal privileges to towns guaranteed self-​government and the kings did not integrate Dalmatia into the secular and ecclesiastical system of Hungary. The towns preserved their diversity regarding freedom, compared to the towns of Hungary proper and the kings did not seek to change the structures of their societies, secular administrative systems, ecclesiastical systems, or local customs. The difference between Hungary and Dalmatia also showed itself in the roles of the archbishops and bishops. While the prelates in Dalmatia were part of a smaller, closed, urban society, in Hungary they were part of the high elite of the whole country. The result was two

39 Gál, “ ‘Qui erat,’ ” 68.

40 Gál, “ ‘Qui erat,’ ” 69–​70.

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different approaches in the territory of Hungary (including Croatia and Dalmatia) to the role of ecclesiastical magnates in warfare. In mainland Hungary, the bishops and archbishops were not only ecclesiastical leaders. They also had significant secular roles and were deeply involved in governing the country. The prelates of Hungary—​bishops, archbishops, and the provosts—​were members of the royal council alongside the barons and took part in national diets. The names of the prelates of Hungary—​except for the bishops and archbishops from Croatia and Dalmatia—​appeared in royal privileges in the series dignitatum. The bishops and archbishops of the mainland were not only ecclesiastical personalities but also landlords in Hungary. They usually, but not always, came from the highest ranked noble families and owned huge territories. They had important roles in the diplomacy of the country, influenced the kings’ foreign affairs, and held leading positions in the royal administration and written culture. Beside this, the prelates of Hungary maintained their own armies, which meant that they were warlords as well and took part in military campaigns or defended the country from enemies, like the Mongol invasion in the 1240s. By the end of the Middle Ages in Hungary, the bishops and archbishops became even more secular in appearance; they were often far away from their seats and left substitutes in their bishoprics.41 While the bishops and archbishops of the mainland were landlords and warlords and belonged to a narrow elite of Hungary, the bishops of the Dalmatian towns—​among them the archbishops of Split—​were not as deeply involved in secular affairs. They were members of assemblies and the city council, and played a key role in local diplomacy, but their secular influence was more restrained than their Hungarian counterparts’. The local urban society had completely different social structures and characteristics to that of Hungarian society, which also influenced the place of the archbishops in the secular life of the city. While the archbishopric of Split had some estates, the archbishops themselves were not significant landlords. Moreover, unlike the Hungarian prelates, the archbishops did not maintain significant military retinues. Indeed, their role did not include any military duties or responsibility for the local security and law enforcement. The fourteenth-​century statutes of the Dalmatian towns—​which retained the earlier customs from the examined period—​and the twelfth-​and thirteenth-​century sources suggest that the archbishops and bishops did not have military duties, and the duty of defending the city was part of the obligations of the secular leaders—​especially counts (comites)—​of the city.42 However, it should be highlighted that although the archbishops were not military leaders, unlike the bishops of the mainland, their involvement in secular affairs might indirectly provoke their engagement in military action. They took place in all the assemblies that required the presence of magistrates, including in times of war and 41 On the Hungarian medieval prelates, see Elemér Mályusz, Egyházi társadalom a középkori Magyarországon (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1971). For more in-​ depth analysis of the phenomenon of Hungarian warrior bishops, see chapter by Gábor Barabás in this volume. 42 On the role of the archbishops, see Strohal, Pravna povijest, 280–​323.

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internal violence. Likewise, their role included settling the disputes and making peace. The archbishops of Split, as with other prelates in Dalmatia, were also involved in the struggles between their own and other cities. They did not fight personally, because the customs of the city and the traditions of the local church had not embraced the phenomenon of the warrior-​prelate. So, while the archbishops in Split had important roles in the secular life of the city, they were not active in the military defence of Split or in the leadership of the army. On the other hand, they played other roles during the conflicts between their city and other towns in Dalmatia, using whatever means the metropolitan see may have offered to the best advantage. During the second half of the thirteenth century, the archbishops supported the town and clergy of Šibenik in their attempts to become an episcopal see. The diocese of Šibenik belonged to the bishopric of Trogir and the long-​lasting struggle continued until 1298, at which point Šibenik finally gained ecclesiastical status. Around 1275, in addition to the clerical tussle, Šibenik and Split acted in concert against Trogir as part of a near-​century-​long conflict over territory between the town and Split.43 While, according to the communal traditions, the archbishops in Dalmatia were not warlords, the arrival of Hungarian rule brought some changes during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. During the examined period the archbishops of Split were usually Hungarians. They, therefore, hailed from a society where the prelates were not only ecclesiastical leaders but also landlords who would lead armies with great secular power and had wealth concentrated in their hands. In Split, where this landlord and warrior-​ type of ecclesiastical leader was an unusual phenomenon, the Hungarian archbishops were marked out from the local, urban society by their secular involvement and self-​ representation. For example, when Archdeacon Thomas—​who was an eyewitness of the events of the 1240s—​introduced Bishop Stephen of Zagreb, archbishop-​elect of Split, in his chronicle, he described him as follows: “This bishop had great wealth in gold and silver and was endowed with other riches as well. Lavish in worldly pomp and courtly, he showed himself well-​disposed and easy of address to everyone.”44 When Stephen withdrew from the election, another Hungarian prelate followed him into the archbishopric see. Archbishop Ugrin, of the Csák kindred, was a Dominican friar, who had studied in Paris and was previously the provost of Čazma. He was also a nephew to Archbishop Ugrin of Kalocsa who had died at the battle of Muhi against the Mongols. As a member of one of the most powerful and richest Hungarian noble families, with his family ties and traditions he represented the prototype of the Hungarian warrior-​ archbishop in the city. In addition, King Béla IV convinced the citizens to elect Ugrin as archbishop and as count of the city. While being a secular and ecclesiastical leader was 43 On the bishopric of Šibenik and the struggles in the second half of the thirteenth century, see Frane Dujmović, “Postanak i razvoj Šibenika od 1066. do 1409. Godine,” in Šibenik. Spomen zbornik o 900. obljetnici, ed. Slavo Grubišić (Šibenik: Muzej grada Šibenika, 1976), 75–​119 at 88–​92, 96–​98.

44 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 40, 307. Latin text, 306: “Erat autem episcopus ipse in auro et argento locuplex valde, aliis etiam divitiis opulentus. Mundana pompositate largus et curialis benignum se omnibus et affabilem exhibebat. Totus enim extolli favoribus et efferri hauris popularibus cupiebat.”

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not an unusual status in Hungary, it was strange compared to the local traditions. His private and official activities drew Archdeacon Thomas’s attention to the differences between ecclesiastical roles in Hungary and Split. He described Ugrin as follows: And Lord Ugrinus the archbishop-​elect arrived with a large household of riders and clients and installed himself in the archbishop’s residence. … Noble blood fed his conceit and the fire of youth his love of pomp, while his uncommonly tall figure and handsome face left him with no mean opinion of himself. He was totally involved in secular matters and gave scant attention to the affairs of the church, treating them as incidental and of minor importance. As he was given over to the pursuit of worldly vanities, he sought out the company of any but wise or religious persons and delighted to have about him companies of men-​at-​arms. And when his household income was insufficient to pay for the wages of these soldiers, he unlawfully reached out for the property of others and what was forbidden. For in richness of table and wardrobe and crowds of attendant clients he desired to be the equal of the prelates of Hungary.45

While the Hungarian archbishops represented the traditions of the mainland in Dalmatia, the expectations of the city towards them did not change a great deal. Since the local communities enjoyed wide autonomy and self-​government, the type of warrior-​prelate was not adopted among Split archbishops during the examined period; the military duties still belonged to the secular leaders of the city. However, it can be seen from the sources, that the royal court expected an archbishop to take part in military actions as was natural in Hungary. The first example is Archbishop Manasses, who supported the Hungarian captain of the city to keep Split under the Hungarian king’s rule, which was described as a betrayal against the town by Archdeacon Thomas.46 A second example of military action expected by the royal court can be found during the office of Archbishop Bernard who was also involved in a war with Venice during the Fourth Crusade. During the crusade, one of the main Venetian targets was Zadar, a city that had been under Venetian rule for most of the twelfth century until 1182, when they gave their allegiance to King Béla III of Hungary. The siege started around the end of 1202, and the city was eventually conquered. When the crusaders left Zadar, the Zaratins attacked the Venetian ships, so the Venetians built a fortress on the island just off the city of Zadar that was too strong for the Zaratins to take.47 At that time Archbishop Bernard hired ten galleys from 45 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 45, 353. Latin text, 352: “Fuit autem utraque preditus dignitate, archiepiscopatus et comitatus, nec his contentus ad altiora semper et ditiora toto mentis desiderio hanelabat. Erat autem sanguinis nobilitate turgidus, iuvenili calore pomposus, stature proceritas et faciei venustas, quibus ceteros precellebat, non permittebant eum mediocria de se sentire. Secularibus quidem negotiis totus intentus, ecclesiastica velud superflua quedam et minoris cure indigentia segniter procurabat. Ita demum omnia studio mundane deditus cenodoxe, non sapientum, non relligiosorum appetebat consortia, sed armatorum circa se catervas habere gaudebat. Verum cum pro militaribus stipendiis domestice sibi non sufficerent facultates, tendebat manum ad aliena et illicita, cupiens in victu, vestitu et multitudine clientele Hungaricorum prelatorum se copiis coequare.” 46 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 18, 97–​101.

47 This is the fortress of St. Michael on Ugljan.

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the Gaetans—​from the city of Gaeta in the vicinity of Naples—​to help the Zaratins.48 He paid them with the king’s money that was deposited at the Templar priorate at Vrana—​ probably at the king’s behest. With help from the Gaetans, the Zaratins managed to take the fortress, but they would only hold it for a short time. Venetian crusaders returned and retook the city in 1204. Venice also took revenge on Bernard by demolishing the archbishopric palace on the island of Vranjić.49 As a third example of royal influence, a couple of decades later, Archbishop Ugrin of Split was a key figure during the conflict between Trogir and Split in 1244 and 1245, as well as in the subsequent peace negotiations.50 The king required the citizens and the clergy of Split to elect Ugrin comes of the city until his death, which gave him secular leadership including responsibility for the city’s defence. During the negotiations, while Ugrin was archbishop of Split, he was also a baron of Hungary and subject of the king, and he acted according to the wish of Béla IV with peace being made in favour of Trogir.51

Conclusion

The role of archbishops of Split changed significantly under the rule of the kings of Hungary. Whilst they had an important role in the life of the Dalmatian city and were actively involved in secular and diplomatic affairs before Coloman’s conquest, after the beginning of the Árpáds’ rule their position became more significant and structured. Thereafter, they played an important part in royal entourage during visits to the coastal lands, connected the court and their city, spread the cult of Saint Stephen, king of Hungary, and they were the most direct and continuous, local representatives of the kings during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Moreover, the archbishops of the examined period were mostly Hungarians or prelates who had close relationship with the royal court in Hungary. The royal court and the Hungarian archbishops also influenced the prelates’ role in warfare. As Archdeacon Thomas described, the Hungarian archbishops of the city were like the bishops and archbishops of the mainland in several aspects. They were involved in the affairs of the court, represented themselves like the barons of the country, had great entourages, and were involved in local struggles and fights with the enemies of the country. When the royal court required, the archbishops took part in wars, like Bernard and Ugrin, and they acted according to the kings’ expectations. Manasses even tried to defend royal power over the city in 1116, when Venice besieged Split. Whilst the rule of the Hungarian kings introduced new type of prelates to Split, the archbishops of the city did not become the same as their Hungarian counterparts of the mainland. They were occasionally involved in wars, but only if the royal court required them to do so. They did not maintain an army or retain a permanent role in military activities neither in the city nor in the kingdom. Moreover, local society did not adapt to Hungarian customs. 48 Thomas, Hist. Sal., chap. 24, 148–​49. 49 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 151.

50 Grga Novak, Povijest Splita, 2 vols. (Split: Matica hrvatska, 1957), 1:124.

51 Grga Novak, Povijest Splita, 1:123–​24.

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Chapter 2

THIRTEENTH-​CENTURY HUNGARIAN PRELATES AT WAR* Gábor Barabás‡ this chapter aims to examine the participation of Hungarian prelates in warfare

in the thirteenth century.1 Members of the higher clergy of the Hungarian realm appear in sources in connection with wars and conflicts as early as the eleventh century, though only occasionally are they presented as bellatores.2 In the texts, prelates are shown mostly in the role of peacemakers, handling tensions amongst the members of the Árpádian dynasty or performing liturgical or advisory tasks. This image, however, varies greatly across sources from the 1200s. The prelates are shown there as playing an active role—​even initiating conflicts. Beside their function as royal emissaries within and outside the Hungarian realm, certain prelates supported one side or another in dynastic or oligarchic conflicts of power, especially in the second half of the century. It is perhaps of even greater importance that this did not merely happen in their position as men of * The research was supported by the János Bolyai Research Scholarship of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and the Hungarian National Research, Development and Innovation Office (NKFIH NN 124763; www.delegatonline.pte.hu).

‡ Gábor Barabás (orcid.org/​0000-​0003-​4786-​970X) is assistant professor at the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History at the Institute of History, University of Pécs, Hungary. He received his PhD in Medieval History at the University of Erlangen-​Nuremberg (Friedrich-​Alexander Universität Erlangen-​Nürnberg), Germany, in 2013, and he has published a number of essays on medieval Church history and Árpádian-​era Hungary. His major monograph concerns the relations of the Apostolic See and Hungary in the early thirteenth century: Das Papsttum und Ungarn in der ersten Hälfte des 13. Jahrhunderts (ca. 1198-​ca. 1241) (Institut für Ungarische Geschichtsforschung, 2014). Coloman, King of Galicia and Duke of Slavonia (1208–​1241): Medieval Central Europe and Hungarian Power, a monograph co-​written with Professor Márta Font (University of Pécs) on the life of the Hungarian royal prince, Coloman, appeared in 2019 in the series Beyond Medieval Europe with ARC Humanities/​Amsterdam University Press. 1 The use of “Hungarian” here pertains to an office held within the structure of the Hungarian Church, not to the nationality of a prelate.

2 It is possible to indicate only one clear example of bishops participating in the military endeavour as bellatores. The Laurentian Chronicle describes two Hungarian bishops besieging Przemyśl during the campaign led by King Coloman the Learned in 1099 against one of the Rusian princes. Koppány, one of the bishops mentioned there, was killed in battle. See The Russian Primary Chronicle: Laurentian Text, ed. and trans. Samuel Hazzard Cross and Olgerd P. Sherbowitz-​Wetzor (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1953), 196. This is also briefly confirmed by Hungarian sources:  Annales Posonienses, ed. Imre Madzsar, SRH 1:126 (s.a. 1100); and Chronici Hungarici compositio saeculi XIV, chap. 143, ed. Alexander Domanovszky, SRH 1:424–​25 (hereafter Chron. Hung. comp.).

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God; several bishops acted as warlords, for instance, and defended castles against sieges. This is a phenomenon that mostly went unrecorded before the thirteenth century. If one intends to examine the situation in Hungary concerning the relationship of the higher clergy to war, certain questions must be addressed. First, the clergy’s general and widely known prohibition on bearing of arms—​along with the possible exceptions—​has to be taken into consideration.3 The canonical regulations were known quite early in Hungary,4 yet certain new phenomena emerged in the thirteenth century, most notably the Mongol invasion of 1241–​1242. This left little option but for Hungarian prelates to defend themselves and the realm; it was a “just cause,” when “necessity knew no law.”5 It should be emphasized, however, that the prelates did not fight the enemy because they were bound to do so as royal vassals since there were no feudal obligations in the Árpádian-​era in Hungary.6 The Hungarian kings had influence on the designation of the prelates of their realm,7 and the archbishops and bishops sat alongside the counts as members of the royal council.8 The prelates were seemingly obliged to send their troops to the kings’ aid when it was required, but this was not driven by regalia. Rather, the Hungarian archbishops and bishops were bound to provide support because of their individual subservience as subjects of the monarch of the kingdom. This closely resembled Carolingian and post-​Carolingian practice common in the Latin West before the concept of regalia had been formulated at the beginning of the twelfth century.9 This chapter, however, will not concentrate on the theoretical background to ecclesiastical warfare. The main intention is to analyze cases that represent real novelties in the Hungarian Church’s history: the participation of the prelates alongside King Andrew II in the Fifth Crusade in 1217–​1218, the prelates’ activities during the Mongol invasion, and clerical participation in the (civil) wars in the second half of the century. These episodes are without a doubt among the most relevant events of 3 See recently, with further literature, Lawrence G. Duggan, “The Evolution of Latin Canon Law on the Clergy and Armsbearing to the Thirteenth Century,” in Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S. Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 497–​516 at 503–​13.

4 For the influence of the canon law in Hungary, see especially György Bónis, “Die Entwicklung der geistlichen Gerichtsbarkeit in Ungarn vor 1526,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-​Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung 49 (1963): 174–​97; Vincent Múcska, Uhorsko a cirkevné reformy 10. a 11. storočia (Bratislava: Stimul, 2004). 5 Duggan, “Evolution,” 504, 506–​7, 510–​11.

6 See Pál Engel, Realm of St. Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–​1526 (London: I.B. Tauris, 2001), 39–​43; György Bónis, Hűbériség és rendiség a középkori magyar jogban (Budapest: Osiris, 2003), 87–​96. 7 See Klaus Ganzer, Papsttum und Bistumbesetzungen in der Zeit von Gregor IX. bis Bonifaz VIII. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der päpstlichen Reservationen (Cologne: Böhlau, 1968), 38. 8 Engel, Realm of St. Stephen, 39–​40.

9 See especially Janet L. Nelson, “The Church’s Military Service in the Ninth Century: A Contemporary Comparative View?,” in her, Politics and Ritual in Early Medieval Europe (London: Hambledon, 1986), 117–​32 at 123–​27.

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the century; they are also unique regarding the Hungarian higher clergy’s relation to warfare in the Árpád-​era.

The Crusades and Hungary

The analysis should not start, however, directly with the Fifth Crusade, but with the war between King Emeric (r. 1196–​1204) and his younger brother Duke Andrew after the death of their father, Béla III. The conflict between the royal brothers represented a crucial test for Pope Innocent III as he saw it as the biggest hindrance to Hungarian participation in the planned crusade. Despite his attempts,10 neither Emeric nor Andrew took the Cross at the outset of the thirteenth century, at least not until 1217.11 Several Hungarian (and also Dalmatian)12 prelates had to choose one of the sides and provided the king or the duke with more or less practical support at the turn of the twelfth–​thirteenth centuries. Andrew first occupied Dalmatia and Croatia, then turned against the new king.13 He also made use of the wealth Béla III left to him to fulfil the late king’s oath to lead a crusade to the Holy Land.14 The involvement of certain prelates in the conflict is represented in several charters of King Emeric and Pope Innocent III. Based on these documents, the bishops of Győr and Zagreb, and Bernhard, archbishop of Split (Spalato),15 were on Emeric’s side,16 whereas the Benedictine abbot of Pannonhalma

10 See Gábor Barabás, Das Papsttum und Ungarn in der ersten Hälfte des 13. Jahrhunderts (ca. 1198—​ca. 1241). Päpstliche Einflussnahme—​Zusammenwirken—​Interessengegensätze, Publikationen der ungarischen Geschichtsforschung in Wien 6 (Wien: Institut für Ungarische Geschichtsforschung, 2014), 187–​95. 11 Steven Runciman, The History of the Crusades, vol. 3: The Kingdom of Acre and the Later Crusades (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 132–​49.

12 The situation in Dalmatia will not be examined in this chapter, beyond noting Duke Andrew’s unsuccessful attempts to place his supporters on the archiepiscopal sees of Split and Zadar (Zara). See György Szabados, “Imre és András,” Századok 133 (1999): 85–​111 at 98–​100; Judit Gál, “The Roles and Loyalties of the Bishops and Archbishops of Dalmatia (1102–​1301),” Hungarian Historical Review 3, no. 3 (2014): 471–​93 at 474–​75, as well as the chapter by Judit Gál in this volume. 13 Tamás Körmendi, “The Struggle Between King Emeric of Hungary and Duke Andrew in Dalmatia (1197–​1203),” in Stefan the First-​Crowned and His Time, ed. Ivana Komatina, Institute of History, Collection of Works 42 (Belgrade: Istorijski Institut Beograd, 2020) 195–​211; Gál, “The Roles and Loyalties,” 474–​75.

14 Béla III’s decision on the succession of the oath was acknowledged by Pope Innocent III in his bull Licet universis. See James Ross Sweeney, “Magyarország és a keresztes hadjáratok a 12–​13. században,” Századok 118 (1984): 114–​24 at 119–​20. 15 Szabados, “Imre és András,” 100; Gál, “Roles,” 476.

16 Regesta regum stirpis Arpadianae critico-​diplomatica, ed. Imre Szentpétery and Iván Borsa, 2 vols. in 7 pts. (Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 1923–​1987) (hereafter RA), 1:56 (no. 184).

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and the bishops of Vác, Oradea (Várad), and Veszprém supported Andrew.17 King Emeric even forcibly entered the cathedral of Vác and found a letter there concerning the prelates’ conspiracy against him.18 The sources do not reveal information about the prelates’ participation in military actions during this period, but it seems clear that two parties formed around the feuding brothers—​at least until Emeric’s death put an end to the conflict in 1204.19 Thereafter, Andrew II fulfilled the duty he had inherited from his father and took part in the Fifth Crusade in 1217–​1218, which deserves closer attention because of the participation of several prelates in the expedition. In the king’s entourage were the following bishops:  Peter of Győr, Thomas of Eger, and Simon of Oradea, Abbot Urias of Pannonhalma, and the royal chancellor Ugrin Csák, later archbishop of Kalocsa.20 Several prelates could not join the crusade because of various reasons. Some received papal dispensation for their absence, like the bishop of Veszprém, Robert, and Andrew’s brother-​in-​law, Archbishop Berthold of Kalocsa,21 and Archbishop John of Esztergom was entrusted by the king to guard the realm during his absence. John had troubles with fulfilling the task; he even had to escape from the country because of the threat posed by the king’s opponents.22 Some details of the prelates’ involvement in warfare during the crusade are obscure. Based on the fact that not every one of them returned home, however, it seems probable that they were not merely accompanying the monarch. Whilst certain Hungarian clergymen were said to have been killed during the siege of Damietta in 1218—​among 17 Regesta Pontificum Romanorum inde ab anno post Christum Natum MCXCVIII ad annum MCCCIV, ed. August Potthast, 2 vols. (Berlin: De Decker, 1874) (hereafter Potthast), 1:3 (no. 16); Die Register Innocenz’ III., 13 vols. (Wien: Verlag der Wien, Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1964–​), 1:13 (no. 7); RA, 1:55 (no. 181). For more, see Szabados, “Imre és András,” 99–​102; Margit Beke, “Csák nembeli Ugrin. 1204. április 24. e.-​augusztus 20. e.,” in Esztergomi érsekek 1001–​2003, ed. Margit Beke (Budapest: Szent István Társulat, 2003), 81–​83 at 82; Potthast, 1:27 and 54 (no. 283, 565); Die Register Innocenz’ III., 1:372 and 746 (no. 269, 511), RA, 1:57 (no. 187). 18 The bishop was removed by force from the cathedral. See RA, 1:96. (no. 295) and Szabados, “Imre és András,” 101–​2. About the incident, see also: James R. Sweeney, “ ‘Summa Potestas Post Deum’—​Papal ‘Dilectio’ and Hungarian ‘Devotio’ in the Reign of Innocent III,” in “The man of many devices, who wandered full many ways.” Festschrift in Honour of János M. Bak, ed. Balazs Nagy and Marcell Sebők (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1999), 492–​98.

19 See Szabados, “Imre és András,” 104–​5. Based on the report of the Annals of Klosterneuburg it is likely that Emeric made use of the assistance of certain clergymen in 1203 when he captured his younger brother near Varaždin (Varasd). Continuatio Claustroneoburgensis II, ed. Wilhelm Wattenbach, MGH SS 9 (Hannover: Hahn, 1851), 620. See Szabados, “Imre és András,” 109; Körmendi, “The Struggle,” 206–​9. 20 László Veszprémy, “II. András magyar király keresztes hadjárata, 1217–​1218,” in Magyarország és a keresztes háborúk. Lovagrendek és emlékeik, ed. József Laszlovszky et al. (Máriabesnyő: Attraktor, 2006), 99–​111 at 109. 21 Veszprémy, “II. András,” 109.

22 Attila Zsoldos, “II. András Aranybullája,” Történelmi Szemle 53 (2011): 1–​38 at 22–​23.

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them perhaps bishops Peter of Győr and Simon of Oradea—​it is not stated if this was as a result of enemy action, accident, or decease.23 It is telling, however, that not every prelate left the Holy Land with the king after the end of the siege, which suggests that certain Hungarian clergymen—​among them Thomas of Eger24—​did not approve of Andrew II’s decision to return to Hungary but wanted to remain with the crusaders in Egypt.25 Therefore, it is not excluded that some Hungarian bishops saw themselves as sincere and devoted crusaders. It is not clear, though, if they were merely fulfilling their spiritual vocation on crusade or if they were martial, crusading bishops, similar to royal prelates from the Holy Roman Empire under Frederick Barbarossa or certain Anglo-​ Norman and Angevin bishops.26

The Mongol Invasion

Unlike the Fifth Crusade, the Mongol attack of 1241 affected every archbishop and bishop—​nobody within the realm could avoid its consequences. Every prelate of the Kingdom had to face the new threat because of the extent of the invasion, some on the battlefield, while others in their sees, in the entourage of the king, or even as royal envoys in Italy, like Bishop Stephen of Vác.27 We are in quite a fortunate situation concerning the events of 1241–​1242. Beside several surviving charters, two narrative sources provide some important details regarding the bishops’ role in the conflict. Both Roger of Apulia’s famous Epistle to the Sorrowful Lament Upon the Destruction of the Kingdom of Hungary by the Tatars and Thomas of Split’s History of the Bishops of Salona and Split are more or less contemporary reports. Roger of Apulia was an eyewitness to several of the events he describes, and Thomas could have got information personally from him, as well as from refugees sheltering in Dalmatia. Therefore, they are both of extraordinary value for any research into every aspect of the Mongol threat.28 23 “Duo episcopi Ungarie, qui mortui sunt ante transitum fluminis in sabulo Damiate”:  Cronica Reinhardsbrunnensis, ed. Oswald Holder-​Egger, MGH SS 30 (Hannover: Hahn, 1896), 592. See Veszprémy, “II. András,” 104; and Attila Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája. 1000–​1301, História Könyvtár: Kronológiák, Adattárak 11 (Budapest: MTA Történettudományi Intézete, 2011), 91 and 98. 24 Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 88.

25 The reason for their decision is unknown, but there are some hints to believe they did not want to abandon the Crusade at a time of great need. See Veszprémy, “II. András,” 104–​5.

26 On the phenomenon of the crusader bishop of the twelfth and thirteenth century, see especially Thomas Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer. Der Klerus im Konflikt zwischen Orient und Okzident, 1095–​1221, Heidelberg Transcultural Studies 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2012); Craig M. Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen of Medieval England, 1000–​1250: Theory and Reality (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016), 229–​53; as well as Sini Kangas’s chapter in this volume. 27 Gergely Kiss, Dél-​Magyarországtól Itáliáig. Báncsa nembeli István (1205 k.–​1270) váci püspök, esztergomi érsek, az első magyarországi bíboros életpályája (Pécs: Kronosz Kiadó, 2015), 22–​23.

28 Archdeacon Thomas of Split, Spalatensis Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum, Latin text Olga Perić, ed., trans., and ann. Damir Karbić, Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, and

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Regarding the effects of the Mongol invasion on Hungary, it can be stated (based on Roger’s record) that they attacked and devastated many churches and ecclesiastical properties, among others the episcopal see of Vác. Albeit its bishop was away with the king,29 the inhabitants of the town sought shelter in the cathedral—​only to be massacred.30 The Mongols also attacked Oradea, where Master Roger had sought to ride out the invasion. He was eventually captured and only escaped in 1242 when the Mongols retreated from Hungary.31 Alba Iulia (Gyulafehérvár) and Esztergom were attacked as well.32 Bishop Benedict of Oradea did not remain in his see but was raising an army with the intention of marching on Eger, when he got word of the devastation of the neighbouring episcopal see. According to Roger, the bishop’s enthusiasm over his victory over a small Mongol party led him to pursue the main Mongol force only to fall victim to their common tactic of a feigned retreat. In due course, the enemy turned on the episcopal soldiers and defeated them. Benedict managed to get back to Oradea, before fleeing on to Transdanubia a few days later.33 Regardless of other evidence of military resistance by the Hungarian higher clergy, Archbishop Ugrin of Kalocsa was, without doubt, one of the key figures in the defence—​ a “man of warlike spirit,” as Thomas of Split called him.34 Ugrin joined the gathering of the royal army at Pest only to meet his death on the battlefield of Muhi a few weeks later in April 1241.35 King Béla IV summoned Hungarians to muster at the settlement on the river Danube in March 1241, where amongst others Archbishop Ugrin and James R. Sweeney, Central European Medieval Texts 4 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2006) (hereafter Thomas, Hist. Sal.); Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, ed., trans., and ann. Martyn C. Rady and László Veszprémy /​Master Roger, Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta, ed., trans., and ann. János M. Bak and Martyn C. Rady, Central European Medieval Texts 5 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 132–​228 (hereafter Roger, Epistola). See Gábor Thoroczkay, “A magyarországi legendairodalom és történetírás a 14. század közepéig,” in Gábor Thoroczkay, Ismeretlen Árpád-​kor. Püspökök, legendák, krónikák (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2016), 184–​208 at 204; Đura Hardi, “Cumans and Mongols in the Region of Srem in 1241–​1242: A Discussion on the Extent of Devastation,” Istraživanja 27 (2016): 84–​105 at 84. 29 Kiss, Dél-​Magyarországtól Itáliáig, 22–​24. 30 Roger, Epistola, 170–​71.

31 See Roger, Epistola, 218–​27.

32 Jenő Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, História Könyvtár—​Monográfiák 1 (Budapest:  MTA Történettudományi intézete, 1993), 3 and 5.

33 Roger, Epistola, 178–​81. See Attila Zsoldos, “A királyi várszervezet és a tatárjárás,” Hadtörténelmi Közlemények 104 (1991): 45–​76 at 58; János B. Szabó, “Az 1241. évi ‘tatárjárás’ és Várad pusztulása az újabb kutatási eredmények tükrében,” in Nagyvárad és Bihar az Árpád-​kor végén, ed. Attila Zsoldos, Tanulmányok Biharország történetéből 3 (Nagyvárad:  Varadinum Kulturális Alapítvány, 2016), 27–​54 at 47–​50. 34 “Erat enim et ipse vir bellicosus et ad pugnandum satis promptus et audax”: Thomas, Hist Sal., 262–​63.

35 Roger, Epistola, 170–​73, 180–​85; Thomas, Hist. Sal., 261–​67. See also János B. Szabó, A tatárjárás. A mongol hódítás és Magyarország (Budapest: Corvina, 2007), 123–​41.

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Archbishop Matthias of Esztergom appeared with their retinues.36 Béla IV seemingly possessed relevant intelligence on Mongol tactics as he forbade chasing their scouts. However, Ugrin of Kalocsa and later Duke Frederick II of Austria (r. 1230–​1246), the only western ruler who came to the aid of the Hungarian king,37 did not follow the royal instructions and chased a Mongol patrol. Ugrin barely escaped the ensuing ambush,38 but the consequences were far more serious than the loss of a few men. Frederick’s troops captured several enemy scouts that turned out to be Cumans. Refugee Cumans escaping the Mongol threat and seeking help had entered the Hungarian realm with the permission of King Béla IV a few years earlier (1239). The Cumans were expected to fight in the royal army, but as pagans were not universally welcomed in the kingdom.39 The underlying tension was fuelled by the discovery of certain Cumans in Mongol service and Hungarians attacked the Cumans of the royal army, murdering their leader along with several other lords. As a result, the Cumans abandoned the Hungarian king and left the realm outraged—​destroying everything in their path on their way out.40 The former allies of the king, the Cumans, even attacked Bishop Bulcsú of Csanád and men from his entourage, who were supposed to join the royal army following the king’s request for military support from the prelates of the realm.41 According to Master Roger, the bishop’s troops put up a fight but were overcome. The prelate, who lay ill on a wagon, was saved by his men and later on he survived the events of the Mongol invasion as well.42 The main battle with the Mongols took place near the River Sajó on April 10 and 11, 1241, and both Master Roger and Archdeacon Thomas of Split devoted attention to the events of the night of combat. In Thomas of Split’s narrative, Archbishop Ugrin managed to stop the Mongol assault at the bridge over the Sajó alongside Prince Coloman of

36 “Venerunt et presules Hungarie, qui et ipsi non contenti sobriam ecclesiastice moderationis habere familiam, immo pre divitiarum magnitudine magnas militum aties ductitabant. Affuit Mathias Strigonensis, accessit Hugrinus Collocensis archiepiscopi, uterque cum suffraganeis suis”: Thomas, Hist. Sal., 256–​58.

37 Szabó, A tatárjárás, 116–​23; see Roger, Epistola, 170–​73. 38 Roger, Epistola, 168–​69.

39 James R.  Sweeney, “ ‘Spurred on by the Fear of Death’:  Refugees and Displaced Populations During the Mongol Invasion of Hungary,” in Nomadic Diplomacy, Destruction and Religion from the Pacific to the Adriatic, ed. Michael Gervers and Wayne Schlepp, Toronto Studies in Central and Inner Asia 1 (Toronto: Joint Centre for Asia Pacific Studies, 1994), 34–​62 at 39–​40; Szilvia Kovács, A kunok története a mongol hódításig, Magyar Őstörténeti Könyvtár 29 (Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 2014), 252–​54.

40 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 256–​57; Roger, Epistola, 174–​75. See Szabó, A tatárjárás, 117–​26; Hardi, “Cumans and Mongols,” 86–​91. 41 Szabó, “Az 1241. évi,” 30.

42 Roger, Epistola, 176–​77; Zsoldos, “A királyi várszervezet,” 58; Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 87.

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Slavonia (r. 1226–​1241),43 after the duke had learned of the planned Mongol attack from a Rusian fugitive. Thomas related that the Hungarians were so pleased with their victory that they went to sleep and forgot to set guards, which seems implausible. Nevertheless, according to the chronicler it was again Ugrin and Coloman—​this time together with the master of the Hungarian Templars, Rambald of Carumb—​who picked up the fight at dawn. They were not, however, able to hold back the Mongols and were forced to retreat to the Hungarian camp. Once there, regardless of Archbishop Ugrin’s encouragement and objurgation, the Hungarians could not be persuaded to fight. As a result, Coloman, Ugrin, and Rambald attacked the Mongols again without them. According to Thomas, they caused a significant number of casualties to the Mongols; Ugrin fought as “if he were a thunderbolt,”44 but in the end, the prelate and the duke were seriously injured, and the master of the Templars fell in the battle. The controversial elements of the description can probably be explained by the author’s general prejudice towards the Hungarians: only the Southern prelate and Coloman, the duke of Slavonia, appear in his account. They represented a quality that Thomas believed King Béla IV and the Hungarians were generally lacking.45 Roger’s work, therefore, is of great importance for providing an alternative account, even if he was not an eyewitness to these events. According to him, the battle was fought in broad daylight, and the Hungarian army only got into a desperate situation in the afternoon. He also mentions the endeavours of Archbishop Ugrin to encourage the soldiers to fight on with the prelate himself continuing to fight, according to Roger, at the side of Béla IV. It is not easy to decide which narrative is more reliable. However, Roger survived the Mongol invasion and—​even if he was not present at the battle—​his description generally seems the more realistic.46 At the battle of Muhi, the prelate of Kalocsa was not the only member of the clergy that contributed to the Hungarian defence. Beside Ugrin of Kalocsa, Archbishop Matthias of Esztergom, and the bishops of Győr, Transylvania, and Nitra (Nyitra) all lost their lives on the battlefield. Many other clerics also died there—​and later elsewhere—​too, such as the Provost of Sibiu (Szeben), who Master Roger described decapitating a Tatar person.47 It is also known, thanks to the Carmen miserabile, that Bishop Bartholomew of 43 Márta Font and Gábor Barabás, Coloman, King of Galicia and Duke of Slavonia (1208–​1241): Medieval Central Europe and Hungarian Power (Leeds: ARC Humanities, 2019), 121–​26.

44 “Ut velud fulminis ictum magno cum clamore vitarent”: Thomas, Hist. Sal., 265–​66. 45 Thomas, Hist Sal., 262–​69. See Szabó, A tatárjárás, 135–​38.

46 Roger, Epistola, 180–​85. See Szabó, A tatárjárás, 138–​57. Thomas’s information regarding the battle could derive from Roger since the Italian cleric was elected archbishop of Split in 1249, and was thus the ecclesiastical superior of Archdeacon Thomas. See Thoroczkay, “A magyarországi legendairodalom,” 204.

47 Roger, Epistola, 186–​89; Thomas, Hist. Sal., 268–​69 and 272–​73. See Jenő Szűcs, “A kereszténység belső politikuma a XIII. század derekán. IV. Béla és az egyház,” Történelmi Szemle 21 (1978): 158–​81 at 167; Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 81, 84, 89, 91, and 93.

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Pécs was also in the Hungarian camp, but he managed to escape with the help of Count Ladislaus of the Kán kindred.48 Based on this episode, it can be presumed that more prelates participated in the battle, but those who survived were not always mentioned in the sources. Nevertheless, the enormous sacrifice of the Hungarian higher clergy is undoubtable. Prelates did not only appear in the king’s entourage before and during the battle of Muhi. Béla IV managed to escape the massacre and reached the isle of Trogir (Trau), where he intended to seek shelter. As Thomas of Split reports, other clergymen accompanied the king and were in the town: Bishop Stephen of Vác, Provost Benedict of Székesfehérvár, and Provost Philip of Dömös, all future archbishops of the realm.49 The aforementioned Bishop Bartholomew of Pécs, a survivor of the battle of Muhi, was also present.50 Furthermore, amongst the clerics in the king’s entourage were the future bishops of Pécs (Achilles) and Oradea (Vincent). Their proximity to the king in time of need probably lay the foundations for their subsequent ecclesiastical careers.51 If we take a look at the consequences of the Mongol invasion, it can be stated that the Hungarian prelates had a significant influence on the developments after 1242. The Hungarian king altered his policies completely: he stopped the revision of the former royal donations and promoted the establishment of stone castles that had previously been forbidden outside royal estates.52 Several bishops took part in the programme of the so-​called “reformed realm” (regnum reformatum) and started to surround their sees with walls, such as in the case of Pécs, or built castles near their sees, like Philip of Zagreb in the case of Medvedgrad (Medvevár).53 Their troops too, were necessary to Béla IV, even if they did not match the military strength of the barons.54

48 Roger, Epistola, 184–​87. See also László Koszta, “A püspökök és városuk. A 14. század közepéig,” in A pécsi egyházmegye története, vol. 1: A középkor évszázadai (1009–​1543), ed. Tamás Fedeles et al. (Pécs: Fény, 2009), 57–​107 at 77.

49 Sweeney, “ ‘Spurred on by Fire and Death,’ ” 48–​52; Lajos Varga, “Báncsa nembeli I. István 1242. május-​1253. november 13. e.,” in Esztergomi érsekek 1001–​2003, 106–​11 at 106; Margit Beke, “II. Benedek. 1254. február 25–​1261. július 2. u.,” in Esztergomi érsekek 1001–​2003, 112–​15 at 112; Margit Beke, “Türje nembeli Szentgróti Fülöp. 1262. január 11.-​1272. december 18.,” in Esztergomi érsekek 1001–​2003, 115–​21; Kiss, Dél-​Magyarországtól Itáliáig, 3–​29.

50 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 290–​95; Codex Diplomaticus Hungariae ecclesiasticus ac civilis, ed. Georg Fejér, 11 vols. (Buda: Typographia Regiae Universitatis Ungaricae, 1829–​1844) (hereafter CDH) 4.1:246; RA, 2:216 (no. 715). See Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 10–​11; Szűcs, “A kereszténység belső,” 164. 51 Thomas, Hist Sal., 292; Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 94, 99; Szűcs, “A kereszténység belső,” 164. 52 Zsoldos, “A királyi várszervezet,” 68–​69.

53 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 21, 29; Beke, “Türje nembeli Szentgróti Fülöp,” 116.

54 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 21.

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The Conflicts within the Realm Hungarian prelates also took part in the battles of the second half of the thirteenth century.55 Firstly, in the struggle between King Béla IV and his son, the future Stephen V (r. 1270–​1272). Their rivalry was fundamentally caused by the royal heir, who as duke of Transylvania also controlled several counties (comitatus) outside his territory—​east of the river Danube—​which should have remained under the dominion of the king. The situation worsened in the autumn of 1262, but father and son reached an agreement with the help of the two archbishops and several bishops of the kingdom in Bratislava (Pozsony).56 The Hungarian realm was divided up alongside the Danube, and henceforth Stephen bore his new title iunior rex (younger king). Meanwhile, the prelates of Esztergom and Kalocsa were entrusted to keep the peace and to submit the agreement to the pope for confirmation as chancellors for the respective provinces.57 The conflict broke out in 1264 again with King Béla IV as the aggressor.58 Prince Stephen managed to overcome his father in 1265, although not without serious difficulties. Somewhat surprisingly, the heir did not crush his father’s power whilst he held the advantage. Béla IV kept his crown and peace was again restored with the help of the two Hungarian archbishops.59 Nevertheless, it is also relevant to mention that several churchmen were found among Stephen’s strongest supporters even before the civil war. Among them were some quite controversial figures, like Bishop Job of Pécs. The prelate was infamous in his time for his open conflict with the cathedral chapter of Pécs and was accused of several serious crimes by the canons before the Apostolic See.60 Job certainly acted many times as a warlord and was known for his worldly lifestyle. He was the supporter of Stephen by 126061 and he defended one of the prince’s castles in time of war in 1264. The bishop was, however, unable to hold the stronghold of Ágasvár against the royal troops. Stephen even suspected that Job had become unfaithful to him and had begun to favour Béla IV, 55 For the conflicts of the late thirteenth century and the growing power of the oligarchs of the realm, see Attila Zsoldos, “Kings and Oligarchs in Hungary at the Turn of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Hungarian Historical Review 2 (2013): 211–​42 at 213–​19. 56 Attila Zsoldos, “Az ifjabb király országa,” Századok 139 (2005): 231–​60 at 238–​60; Attila Zsoldos, Családi ügy. IV. Béla és István ifjabb király viszálya az 1260-​as években, História Könyvtár. Monográfiák 24 (Budapest: MTA Történettudományi Intézete, 2007), 18–​138.

57 Monumenta ecclesiae Strigoniensis, ed. Ferdinand Knauz, 3 vols. (Esztergom: Horák, 1874–​1924), 1:485 (no. 627). See Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 113–​20; Zsoldos, Családi ügy, 18–​138.

58 Zsoldos, “Az ifjabb király,” 249–​59; Zsoldos, Családi ügy, 42–​74. Compare, however, Dániel Bácsatyai, who dates the conflict to 1267. See Dániel Bácsatyai, “IV. Béla és István ifjabb király belháborújának időrendje,” Századok 154, no. 5 (2020): 1047–​82. 59 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 120–​23; Zsoldos, Családi ügy, 75–​88.

60 See László Koszta, “A püspökök és városuk,” 82–​83; Iulian Mihai Damian, “Eneco ferences szerzetes inquisitiója Pécs püspökével szemben (1267),” Egyháztörténeti Szemle 17, no. 2 (2016):  19–​38.

61 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 113.

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but the prince and bishop were later able to reconcile their differences.62 Job’s military “career” did not end with the surrender of Ágasvár; he held the castle of Győr along with the title of count (comes, Hungarian: ispán), and he even proved himself an effective military leader through his defence of Moson County against an attack by King Přemysl Otakar II of Bohemia in 1273. Prior to that, Job had expelled the local bishop, Denis,63 so he could take possession of the fortress. Eventually, despite the stalwart defence, he lost the Győr stronghold as even the local citizens helped the besiegers in their efforts. The bishop’s heroism was acknowledged by the enemy; even though he was taken as a prisoner into Austria. Eventually, he was set free and became count of Baranya in 1278.64 Stephen V followed his father into the grave in 1272, and the growing power of the barons of the realm became the biggest problem in Hungary. The young age of the new king, Ladislaus IV (r. 1272–​1290), and rivalries between parties of the lay elite caused a state of civil war in Hungary, and the Hungarian church again suffered the consequences of the situation. This time, certain prelates took part in the struggle not merely as clerics, but as members of one competing family or another. For instance, the members of the cathedral chapter of Esztergom were captured after Archbishop Philip’s death in early 1272, until they elected per inspirationem the candidate of Queen consort Elizabeth; Nicholas of the Kán family, the provost of Transylvania.65 The canons suffered only minor pressure, but even the sees of the bishoprics of Veszprém and Transylvania (whose seat was in Alba Iulia) were demolished in the following years. The devastation of Veszprém was due to the conflict among the barons of the realm and precisely because of the campaign of the Csák kindred against the Kőszegi family in early 1276. At that time, the bishop of Veszprém was Peter Kőszegi, and Peter Csák, who as palatine was nominally acting in the name of the king, set his troops to invade and ravage the episcopal town. They even broke into the cathedral and killed several churchmen there, while others were taken captive. The soldiers smashed the altars, plundered the church’s treasury, and torched the library and the archive. Bishop Peter survived,66 but the diocese suffered extraordinary and irreparable losses. The nearby Benedictine abbey in Tihany was also devastated.67 The cathedral of Alba Iulia fell prey to attack by the Transylvanian Saxons. This was not directly related to the conflict of the Hungarian barons, although Bishop Peter belonged to the Monoszló kindred and its members also took part in the struggles. The prelate intended to take the provostry of Sibiu under his jurisdiction, which—​since the end of the twelfth century—​was directly under the jurisdiction of the archbishops of 62 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok,, 120; Koszta, “A püspökök és,” 82. 63 Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 92.

64 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 283; Koszta, “A püspökök és,” 83. 65 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 282.

66 Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 21 and 101. 67 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 288.

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Esztergom.68 Bishop Peter even used force against the Saxon defenders and executed one of their leaders whose son led the revolt against the prelate. They assailed the cathedral and massacred approximately 2,000 men sheltering there in February 1277. The Saxons ravaged the town too, robbed the treasures of the bishopric, and destroyed the library and the archive. The devastation was similar to that of Veszprém the previous year. Its bishop also survived the attack.69 The desperate state of affairs made the Hungarian prelates realize that the growing power of the oligarchs was highly dangerous for both the monarchy and the Church. The elite of the Hungarian Church, mostly trained lawyers, believed the solution was to be found in the support of the young king, as the events of the general congregation of Rákos from May 1277 had demonstrated. The prelates present, with the leadership of Archbishop Stephen of Kalocsa, excommunicated those who harmed the peace of the kingdom; meanwhile Ladislaus IV’s majority was acknowledged.70 After the convention, the royal forces rose against the resisting barons. Nicholas Kán, the aforementioned elected archbishop of Esztergom, led the troops against the Monoszló kindred and seized the castle of Adorján.71 Meanwhile, the king had to defeat Bishop Andrew of Eger, who had remained on the side of the insurgents.72 The papacy supported the king, yet not everyone among his ecclesiastical supporters got along well with the Apostolic See. Nicholas Kán, the archbishop-​elect of Esztergom, refused to obey the summons of Pope John XXI and he did not travel to Rome for a papal confirmation. This refusal was precisely the reason why John XXI’s successor, Nicholas III deprived the archbishop of the office in June 1278. This quarrel, which was at first sight, only of an ecclesiastical nature, deserves attention not only because Nicholas served the king as a military leader on several occasions but also because the pope accused him of serious offences. The infamous Transylvanian provost was charged with torching churches and ecclesiastical properties, expelling the disobedient canons from their houses, and even perpetrating homicides.73 Nicholas most likely contributed his fair share to the malefactions of the 1270s. 68 Gergely Kiss, Királyi egyházak a középkori Magyarországon, Thesaurus Historiae Ecclesiasticae in Universitate Quinqueecclesiensi 3 (Pécs: Pécsi Történettudományért Kulturális Egyesület, 2013), 130–​35.

69 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 289; Zsoldos, Magyarország világi archontológiája, 90. See Tudor Sălăgean, Transylvania in the Second Half of the Thirteenth Century: The Rise of the Congregational System, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 37 (Leiden: Brill: 2016), 121–​22. 70 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 293–​99.

71 Margit Beke, “Kán nembeli II. Miklós. 1273. március 1.-​június 7. először,” in Esztergomi érsekek 1001–​2003, 121–​25 at 123.

72 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 293–​99.

73 Codex diplomaticus Arpadianus continuatus, ed. Gusztáv Wenzel, 12 vols. (Pest: Eggenberger Ferdinánd Akadémiai, 1860–​1874), 4:104 (no. 57). See Beke, “Kán nembeli II. Miklós,” 123.

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The Unfortunate Intervention King Ladislaus IV and the state of the royal power seemed to be on the right path in early 1278, despite the quarrel around the election of the archbishop of Esztergom, and partially thanks to the efforts of several Hungarian prelates.74 An unexpected turn of events changed the situation completely: the arrival of a papal legate, Philip of Fermo. The agent of Pope Nicholas III was entrusted in September with the strengthening of royal power in Hungary, but he was not able to judge the local state of affairs well, as later events would show. Philip thought the so-​called Cuman situation to be the most urgent matter to be solved.75 The nomadic and mostly pagan Cumans had lived in the kingdom for decades following their return to Hungary after their exodus during the Mongol invasion in the 1240s. Independent from both the ecclesiastical and the civic communities, they became the pillars of royal power in the struggle with the barons of the realm. Eventually, the legate managed to persuade the king and arranged for the mandatory settlement and conversion of the Cumans. The effect of this was the introduction of the so-​called Cuman Laws in 1278.76 As a result of this ordinance, the king, whose mother was of Cuman origin, was faced with an unsolvable dilemma, which finally led to a conflict between him and the legate.77 Ladislaus IV swore an oath on the fulfilment of the provisions of the Cuman Laws, but he later decided to go against the legate and joined the Cumans. We can find unique ecclesiastical figures on his side, Provost Gregory of Esztergom and Nicholas Kán, the aspiring archbishop of Esztergom. Kán had no hope of keeping his office because of Philip’s papal authorization, so at this point, he turned against the envoy of the Apostolic See.78 The legate excommunicated Ladislaus and his supporters, but, in response, the king captured Philip and delivered him to the Cumans.79 For a group of Hungarian barons, the assault against a papal legate was intolerable, so they imprisoned Ladislaus.80 This action probably meant survival for Philip, since the Cumans were likely planning to kill him, but through the king’s mediation, the legate was set free. Ladislaus IV was taken to Buda after that, where he did penance in front of 74 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 292–​301.

75 See Nora Berend, At the Gate of Christendom: Jews, Muslims and “Pagans” in Medieval Hungary, c. 1000–​c. 1300, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 50 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 68–​73.

76 Berend, At the Gate of Christendom, 88–​93; Attila Zsoldos, “Téténytől a Hód-​tóig (Az 1279 és 1282 közötti évek politikatörténetének vázlata),” Történelmi Szemle 39 (1997): 69–​98 at 81–​82.

77 Vilmos Fraknói, Magyarország egyházi és politikai összeköttetései a római szentszékkel, 3 vols. (Budapest: Szent István Társulat Tud. és Irod. Osztálya, 1901–​1903), 85. 78 Fraknói, Magyarország, 87.

79 Ottokars Österreichische Reimchronik, ed. Joseph Seemüller, MGH Scriptorum qui vernacula lingua usi sunt 5.1 (Hannover: Hahn, 1890), 325–​27.

80 Attila Zsoldos, Az Árpádok és alattvalóik. Magyarország története 1301-​ig (Debrecen: Csokonai Kiadó, 1997), 82–​85.

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Philip; still, it was not the end of the quarrel.81 Nevertheless, the legate left the kingdom after months of struggling in 1281, probably disappointed at the failure of the settlement to the Cuman question and correction of the king’s behaviour.82 The Hungarian king’s affection towards the pagan Cumans probably had not surfeaced before 1278; therefore, the mission of Legate Philip was not a reaction to it. Ladislaus’s response was instead the consequence of the conflict around the Cuman Laws.83 After Philip left, the king was supported by the new archbishop of Esztergom, Lodomér. It seemed that Ladislaus’s attitude towards the legate could have been forgiven and forgotten after the victory of the king over the Cumans in the battle of Hód-​lake in 1282;84 for instance, Archbishop Lodomér supported Ladislaus at the general congregation in Szeged. The ruler led his army against the Kőszegi clan in early 1284 and besieged the castle of Bernstein held by Bishop Peter Kőszegi.85 In Bishop Peter’s case, family ties proved to be stronger than his loyalty to the Hungarian Church. Ladislaus IV’s campaign against the Kőszegis was by no means a success, but the end of the good relations between king and archbishop was not caused by this fiasco, as a fresh Mongol attack brought the tensions to the surface in 1285. These events cannot be compared to the invasion of 1241—​it was more a large-​scale raid. However, immediately after this incursion, a suspicion emerged that the Hungarian king had called the “Tatars” into the realm. Pope Honorius IV objurgated Ladislaus IV in early 1287 and dangled the possibility of a crusade against him.86 Archbishop Lodomér explicitly accused the king in his letter sent to Pope Nicholas IV in 1288. According to the prelate, Ladislaus IV even threatened that he would exterminate every prelate right up to the pope.87 The king had affected remorse earlier, yet he attacked the Dominican nunnery at Island of Rabbits near Buda; whereupon the archbishop sent two bishops to the king as emissaries and

81 Ottokars Österreichische Reimchronik, 328–​29; Viktória Kovács, “ ‘Alter ego domini papae Nicolai III’. Fülöp fermói püspök, szentszéki legátus magyarországi tevékenysége (1279–​1281),” in “Varietas delectat.” A  pápai-​magyar kapcsolatok sokszínűsége a 11–​14. században, ed. Gergely Kiss (Pécs: Pécsi Tudományegyetem BTK TTI, Középkori és Koraújkori Történeti Tanszék: 2019), 117–​64. 82 “Sed nichil in rege proficiens repatriavit”:  Chron. Hung. comp., 473; see Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 309. 83 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 300–​310.

84 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 312; Zsoldos, “Téténytől a Hód-​tóig,” 89–​98. 85 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 313.

86 Potthast, 2:1823 (no. 22591); Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 316.

87 “Ferina quavis immanium feritate universorum Christianorum non solum regni sui, sed et catolicorum regnorum omnium usque sanctissimos Urbis muros extremum patenter exterminium comminatur”: János Karácsonyi, “A mérges vipera és az antimonialis. Korkép Kun László király idejéből,” Századok 44 (1910): 1–​24 at 3; Tibor Szőcs, “Egy második ‘tatárjárás’? A tatár-​magyar kapcsolatok a XIII. század második felében,” Belvedere Meridionale 23, no. 3–​4 (2010): 16–​49 at 28–​29.

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they probably carried the king’s message back to Lodomér.88 The accusation regarding the king’s role in the latest Mongol attack was probably influenced by recent events, in fact, it had perhaps nothing to do with reality.89 Nevertheless, it is clear that open conflict broke out between Ladislaus IV and Archbishop Lodomér. The prelate gave up his obedience to his king, in his view rightfully, because he considered the king to be a tyrant, and invited the grandson of Andrew II from Italy, the later Andrew III (r. 1290–​1301) into the realm. Ladislaus the Cuman tried to gather his army to confront this situation, but he was murdered by his own nomadic supporters in the summer of 1290. Lodomér acted quickly after this turn of events and helped Andrew ascend to the Hungarian throne.90 The Hungarian clergy acknowledged the new king despite the controversy with Pope Nicholas IV,91 Archbishop Lodomér remained at Andrew III’s side in the years to come, and the support of the Hungarian Church was essential to the king in his fight with the most powerful barons of his realm. The prelate of Esztergom even personally took part in a campaign against the Kőszegi clan in 1296, and he contributed to the success of the expedition through his use of ecclesiastical censure. As a result, the Kőszegis were placed under interdict.92 The growing power of the oligarchs put not only the Church but also the personal estates of several prelates in danger. It is no wonder, therefore, that Archbishop John of Kalocsa continued his efforts after Lodomér’s death in 1298, even if the newly elected archbishop of Esztergom, Gregory of Bicske was on the side of the Kőszegis, as their absolution from the interdict proves it.93 Bishop Paul of Pécs was also counted amongst Kőszegi supporters; he even sent his troops alongside those of Palatine Nicholas of Kőszegi to the help Princess Tomasina, mother of Andrew III, who was besieging the castle of Szekcső, which was occupied by Mizse, the former palatine.94 It is important to emphasize that, the bishop was acting in accordance with the king’s will, he was even compensated for the losses his diocese suffered as the result of the attack of the rebel barons.95 Andrew III started to strengthen his power at the end of the century, but his death in 1301 meant not only the end of the Árpádian dynasty but also the beginning of a new era, even for the Hungarian prelates.

88 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 316–​18. 89 Szőcs, “A tatár-​magyar,” 28–​34.

90 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 319–​22.

91 Continuatio Florianensis, ed. Wilhelm Wattenbach, MGH SS 9 (Hannover: Hahn, 1851), 749; Fraknói, Magyarország egyházi, 98–​101; Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 322–​29. 92 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 329–​30.

93 Szűcs, Az utolsó Árpádok, 333–​41. 94 Koszta, “A püspökök,” 86. 95 Koszta, “A püspökök,” 86.

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The Question of the Heresy A number of Hungarian prelates participated in combat not only within, but also outside the Hungarian realm. The struggle against heresy in Bosnia, for example, was most likely led by the aforementioned Archbishop Ugrin of Kalocsa in the 1220s. He seemingly considered this an opportunity to expand his episcopal jurisdiction over the territories south of Hungary,96 and he was probably supported by Pope Honorius III. There is evidence that Acontius (Acuntio) of Viterbo, a curial chaplain,97 was entrusted with a campaign against the pirates of the Dalmatian islands and suspected heretics in neighbouring Bosnian territory.98 Despite Archdeacon Thomas of Split stating in his History of the Bishops of Salona and Split that Acontius raised an army and crushed the pirates of Omiš (Almissa), the papal representative was seemingly unable to effectively engage the enemy, and the pirates remained a threat.99 Acontius’s activity probably did not only address the issue of the piracy; it is likely that he accompanied Archbishop Ugrin on his campaign in Bosnia—​if such a campaign took place.100 However, details on the expedition itself are doubtful.101 It is certain, however, that the papal chaplain travelled to Hungary, where he took part in a convention of Hungarian prelates concerning the conflict between King Andrew II and Prince Béla.102 Two papal charters from 1225 offer further information on Archbishop Ugrin’s plans and actions concerning Bosnia. On the one hand, one can learn from the texts that Pope Honorius III praised the archbishop for his deeds in Bosnia, which might have been of a military nature.103 Furthermore, the pope confirmed previous royal donations given to 96 Potthast, 1:638 (no. 7406); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III. dall’anno 1216 all’anno 1227, ed. Pietro Pressutti, 2 vols. (Rome: Befani, 1888), 2:338 (no. 5490); RA, 1:138 (no. 421). See Ivan Majnarić, “Papinski poslanik Akoncije u Dalmaciji i Hrvatskoj 1219.–​1223. godine,” in Humanitas et litterae ad honorem Franjo Šanjek, ed. Lovorka Čoralić and Slavko Slišković (Zagreb: Kršćanska sadašnjost, 2009), 79–​98 at 92; Manuel Lorenz, “Bogomilen, Katharer und bosnische ‘Christen’. Der Transfer dualistischer Häresien zwischen Orient und Okzident (11.–​13. Jh.),” in Vermitteln—​ Übersetzen—​Begegnen. Transferphänomene im europäischen Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit. Interdisziplinäre Annäherungen, ed. Balázs J. Nemes and Achim Rabus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Unipress, 2011), 87–​136 at 107–​21. 97 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 172–​73.

98 Potthast, 1:584 (no. 6725, 6729); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III, 2:13 and 14 (no. 3594 and 3601); Thomas, Hist. Sal., 190. For more, see Majnarić, “Papinski poslanik Akoncije,” 91. 99 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 174–​75.

100 See Majnarić, “Papinski poslanik Akoncije,” 94–​96.

101 Majnarić, “Papinski poslanik Akoncije,” 91.

102 CDH, 3.1:413–​15. See also Lothar Waldmüller, Die Synoden in Dalmatien, Kroatien und Ungarn, von der Völkerwanderung bis zum Ende der Arpaden (1311) (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1987), 173–​74. 103 Potthast, 1:638 (no. 7407); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III, 2:338 (no. 5489).

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Ugrin in Bosnia.104 The prelate was also authorized to engage in further actions; he could even call a crusade in the interest of the fight against heresy.105 Ugrin’s aspirations are also reflected in the fact that he received the castle of Požega (Pozsega). The archbishop hired John (Kalojan), the nephew of Andrew II and son of Emperor Isaac II Angelos to engage in actions in Bosnia. However, despite receiving payment, John failed to act and Pope Gregory IX dispatched pontifical delegates to try and force him to complete his contract.106 We do not know if they were successful, but the case did not come up again.

Conclusion

Members of the Hungarian high clergy entered the thirteenth century embroiled in war between King Emeric and Duke Andrew, but despite the involvement of several prelates, we cannot speak about the bishops’ active participation in warfare, at least not until 1217. The crusade of Andrew II not only presented an opportunity for the prelates to take part in a military campaign, but they were also bound to do so. The most relevant ecclesiastical actor of the first decades of the thirteenth century was beyond doubt Archbishop Ugrin of Kalocsa who also accompanied the king to the Holy Land. However, his southern expansion and his role in the battle of Muhi are even more relevant to our investigation. The effect of the Mongol invasion on the Hungarian Church and on the life of the prelates cannot be overemphasized. Nonetheless, the last decades of the century held different types of challenges for the Hungarian higher clergy. The civil war, the growing power of the oligarchs, and the decreasing potency of the crown put them and their holdings in danger. The prelates could either actively shape the course of events as warriors contributing to the desired peace or suffer the consequences of the continuous struggle. Though the majority of the prelates supported the kings against the barons, in some cases their family ties to the barons overruled their obedience to the Church. Therefore, we cannot speak about a unified clergy in relation to war and warfare. The Hungarian prelates entered the fourteenth century in this state and faced new challenges caused by renewed competition among the new dynasties claiming the Hungarian throne, making it possible for the oligarchs to grow even stronger. 104 Potthast, 1:638 (no. 7406); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III, 2:338 (no. 5490). See also RA, 1:137 (no. 421); Attila Bárány, “II. András balkáni külpolitikája,” in II. András és Székesfehérvár—​King Andrew and Székesfehérvár, ed. Terézia Kerny and András Smohay (Székesfehérvár: Székesfehérvári Egyházmegyei Múzeum, 2012), 129–​73 at 159.

105 “In partibus illis; predices verbum crucis, fideles contra infideles efficaciter exhortando”: CDH, 3.2:33; Potthast, 1:638 (no. 7407); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III, 2:338 (no. 5489). 106 RA, 1:140 (no. 434); CDH, 3.2:100. László Koszta, A kalocsai érseki tartomány kialakulása, Thesaurus Historiae Ecclesiasticae in Universitate Quinqueecclesiensi 2 (Pécs: Pécsi Történettudományért Kulturális Egyesület, 2013), 19; Potthast, 1:658 (no. 7645); I regesti del pontefice Onorio III, 2:463–​64 (no.  6158); Mór Wertner, “Margit császárné fiai,” Szazadok 37 (1903): 593–​611 at 596–​97.

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Map 2.1. Map of Hungary ca. 1240. © Radosław Kotecki.

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Chapter 3

THE IMAGE OF “WARRIOR-​BISHOPS” IN THE NORTHERN TRADITION OF THE CRUSADES Sini Kangas* one of the

most interesting confluences in the myth-​history of the Crusades is the strong presence of an aristocratic “warrior-​bishop” in the chronicles, chansons de geste (songs of deeds), and legends alike.1 Despite the ban on clerical fighting, militant bishops are especially prominent in the crusaders’ chansons. The chronicles take a more conciliatory stance between the doctrinal prohibition and epic narrative. In them, the bold bishop is described leading troops into battle, exhorting crusaders with eloquent preaching, and maintaining the moral strength of the army. With few exceptions, silence falls over the possibility of active clerical participation in bloodshed.2 This study explores the image of warrior-​ bishops in the northern conversion narratives of the Baltic Sea region. The research material consists of historical sources * Sini Kangas is a researcher at the Faculty of Social Sciences, Tampere University, Finland, and she focuses on medieval ideological warfare and violence, the Crusades, and the history of childhood. She received her PhD in European History from the University of Helsinki in 2007. Her recent publications include the articles “Scripture, Hierarchy, and Social Control: The Uses of the Bible in the Twelfth-​and Thirteenth-​Century Chronicles and Chansons of the Crusades,” in Transcultural Approaches to the Bible: Exegesis and Historical Writing in the Medieval Worlds, ed. Matthias M. Tischler and Patrick Marschner (Brepols, forthcoming in 2021); “Slaughter of the Innocents and Depiction of Children in the Twelfth-​Century Sources of the Crusades,” in The Uses of the Bible in Crusading Sources, ed. Elizabeth Lapina and Nicholas Morton (Brill, 2017), 74–​101; and the monograph Authorities in the Middle Ages: Influence, Legitimacy, and Power in Medieval Society (De Gruyter, 2013), edited in collaboration with Mia Korpiola and Tuija Ainonen.

1 See, e.g., the mythical Bishop Turpin (Chanson de Roland) contributed to the reputation of prelates such as Adhemar of Le Puy (d. 1098), Odo of Bayeux (d. 1097), and many others. Reciprocally, historical people could function as models for fictional colleagues as, for instance, in the case of Bishop Daibert of Pisa (d. after 1105) and the fictional Bishop Eracles, the rotten apple of the Chanson de Jérusalem. For an exhaustive list of militarily active crusader bishops during the Levantine Crusades, see Thomas Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer. Der Klerus im Konflikt zwischen Orient und Okzident 1095–​1221, Heidelberg Transcultural Studies 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2012), 274–​75.

2 James Brundage, “Crusades, Clerics and Violence:  Reflections on a Canonical Theme,” in The Experience of Crusading, vol. 1: Western Approaches, ed. Marcus Bull and Norman Housley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 147–​56; Craig M. Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen of Medieval England, 1000–​ 1250: Theory and Reality (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016), 90–​ 99; Kyle C. Lincoln, “Beating Swords into Croziers: Warrior Bishops in the Kingdom of Castile, ca. 1158–​1214,” Journal of Medieval History 44, no. 1 (2018): 83–​103; Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 296.

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58 Sini Kangas and hagiographical legends concerning bishops Meinhard (d. 1196), Berthold (d. 1198), and Albert of Livonia (d. 1229), as well as Bishop Henry of Finland, whose historical existence has been disputed (alleged d. ca. 1154/​1155). It is no coincidence that all four were members of higher clergy. Charismatic preachers among the lower clergy, even those with a strong following, were never able to win a leading role in the historiography of the Crusades. In newly conquered areas, where the Western ecclesiastical, military, and fiscal authorities were gradually displacing native power structures, missionary bishops set an example.

Research Subjects

The first of the Livonian bishops, Meinhard (d. 1196) came from the Augustine monastery of Segeberg. He travelled to Livonia with German merchants, built a stone church and a fortification in Üxküll, and preached among the Livonians. He was consecrated the bishop of Üxküll in 1186 by Hartwig II, the archbishop of Bremen, and died a decade later in that position. Posthumously, he was praised for his clemency and mildness despite the fact that he had erected a stronghold and encircled the episcopal household with men in arms.3 Both of his successors became deeply involved in military activities. Bishop Berthold, a Cistercian abbot from the monastery of Loccum, arrived with armed crusaders and was killed in battle soon thereafter in 1198. After him, Hartwig sent his nephew, Albert of Buxhoevden (d. 1229), to Livonia. Albert was an energetic and ambitious bishop, who sailed to Livonia with twenty-​three ships and 500 crusaders. He founded Riga at the mouth of the river Dauguva (Düna, Dvina) in 1201 and transferred the episcopal see there. After Livonia had been Christianized, the mission extended to Estonia (1208−1227). In 1227 Albert and the Sword Brothers took Reval and Northern Estonian lands from the Danish kings, and also subjugated Saaremaa, the last strong pagan area in Estonia. The most important source for the years 1186−1227 of the Livonian and Estonian mission is the Chronicon Livoniae of Henry of Livonia. Henry (d. after 1259) was a cleric, who came to Livonia as a young man around 1205 and worked there for over two decades as a missionary priest. His native tongue was Low-​German and he was born in

3 Before dying, Bishop Meinhard, practically besieged in his castle by the Livs, had secretly sent an envoy to Rome to seek for help. The envoy, a clergyman called Theoderic, later founder of the Sword Brothers, became the bishop of Estonia, dying there in battle in 1219. Henry of Livonia, Chronicon Livoniae, 1.10 and 1.12, ed. Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, MGH SS rer. Germ. 31 (Hannover: Hahn, 1955), 6–​10 (hereafter Henry, Chron. Liv.). For more on this, see Carsten Selch Jensen, “Bishops and Abbots at War: Some Aspects of Clerical Involvement in Warfare in Twelfth-​ and Early Thirteenth-​Century Livonia and Estonia,” in Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S. Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 404–​34 at 413–​15.

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Saxony, possibly in the vicinity of Magdeburg. In addition to Latin, he also seems to have acquired a good knowledge of the local languages of Livonia and Estonia.4 Crusading in medieval Finland remains a phenomenon under scholarly dispute. There survives neither a papal bull5 launching a crusade in the area or its vicinity before 12566 nor evidence of Cistercian missionary activities there. Legal documents such as wills, donations to religious institutions, transfers of guardianship etc., which were usually produced in connection with crusading plans are similarly missing in the case of Finland.7 The present archaeological hypothesis is that in southern and south-​western Finland there had existed small, wooden, privately owned churches from ca. 1050 onward,8 and that by the mid-​twelfth century these buildings formed a network of parish churches.9 Through the building of larger stone churches from 1230 onward, when the first 4 James Brundage, “Introduction,” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 1–​22; Alan Murray, “Henry of Livonia and the Wends of the Eastern Baltic: Ethnography and Biography in the Thirteenth-​Century Livonian Mission,” Studi medievali 54 (2013): 807–​33; Linda Kaljundi, “The Baltic Crusades and the Culture of Memory: Studies on Historical Representation, Rituals, and Recollection of the Past” (PhD diss., University of Helsinki, 2016), 54–​66, https://​helda.helsinki.fi/​handle/​10138/​159334.

5 In the past, when nationalistically biased history-​writing tended to emphasize the “Westernness” of Finland, and the keen cultural link existing between the areas of medieval Sweden and its eastern neighbour, the Gravis admodum by Pope Alexander III (1171/​1172) was interpreted as a crusading bull. The text deplores the abominable Finns who, when threatened by the enemy, requested preachers and clerics learned in the law of the Church, but treated them with contempt, and even persecuted them as soon as the danger had been dispelled. The pope advises the archbishop of Uppsala, his suffragans, and the earl of Guttorm that they should not give military assistance to the Finns unless they receive sufficient guarantee that they will continue to serve the Christian Church. Lacking any reference to holy war against the enemies of God or Church, indulgence, or privileges normally mentioned in a crusading bull, this document cannot be taken as evidence for a crusade. In addition to the missing terminology typical for crusading bulls, criticism based upon other aspects has been expressed by Jukka Korpela and Mauno Jokipii. See Jukka Korpela, “ ‘Gravis admodum’. Korstågsbulla eller episod i den västeuropeiska diskussionen om suverenitäten i världen,” Historisk Tidskrift för Finland 99 (1994): 413–​28; and Mauno Jokipii, “Ensimmäinen ristiretki Suomeen—​ myyttiä vai todellisuutta,” Historiallinen Aikakauskirja 100 (2002): 228–​42. 6 In 1256 or 1257 Pope Alexander IV authorized the archbishop of Uppsala to preach a crusade against the Karelians and other pagans. Finlands medeltidsurkunder, vol. 1, ed. Reinhold Hausen (Helsinki: Finlands Statsarkiv, 1910), 46–​47 (no. 113). 7 From the 1280s there are some crusading vows to be found in testaments, but those relate to the Holy Land or the land of the Teutonic Order, not Finland. 8 Markus Hiekkanen, Suomen keskiajan kivikirkot, vol. 3 (Helsinki: Kirjokansi, 2014), 16.

9 Kauko Pirinen, “Suomen lähetysalueen kirkollinen järjestäytyminen,” in “Novella plantatio”: Suomen kirkkohistoriallisen seuran juhlakirja Suomen kirkon juhlavuotena 1955, ed. Aarno Maliniemi, Mikko Juva, and Kauko Pirinen, Suomen kirkkohistoriallisen seuran toimituksia 56 (Helsinki: Suomen Kirkkohistoriallinen Seura, 1955), 42–​81 at 56–​57; Juhani Rinne, Pyhä Henrik, piispa ja marttyyri, Suomen kirkkohistoriallisen seuran toimituksia 33 (Helsinki: Suomen Kirkkohistoriallinen Seura, 1932), 109–​32, 148.

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60 Sini Kangas episcopal see was founded in Finland, these churches were abandoned, or buried in the foundations of the newer church buildings.10 On the other hand, traditional Finnish history books include “The Era of the Crusades,” marking the years ca. 1050/​1150–​1300—​altogether comprising of three crusading expeditions. The legend of Bishop Henry belongs to the first of them, whereas the later “crusades” of 1238/​1248 and 1293 can perhaps be best interpreted as parts of the state formation process, during which the realm of Sweden in the making was gradually pushing its boundaries eastwards over the areas of present Finland and finally clashing against the similarly westward extending power of the principality of Novgorod. The earliest references to missionary Bishop Henry, martyred at the hands of a native Finn soon after his arrival, emerged in the 1280s or 1290s, when the legend of the saint was written down.11 At some point between 1300/​1309 and 1320, the relics of Henry were solemnly transferred to the new cathedral of Turku,12 thereafter becoming an important pilgrimage site. Unlike the other bishops discussed here, St. Henry was not only venerated locally, but also in other parts of the realm of Sweden, as well as Nidaros (Trondheim), Odense, and Rome.13

The Problem of a Fighting Bishop

On crusade, killing the papally proclaimed enemies of God had ceased to be a sin for lay crusaders. The case of clerics nevertheless remained unaltered: they were not to spill blood in any circumstances, whether in times of peace or war, under duress, or in mortal danger. Clergymen should not have blood on their hands, even if the crusade was seen as divinely intended and penitentiary warfare. 10 For the most recent evidence to support the theory, see the excavations of the twelfth-​century Ravattula parish church: Juha Ruohonen, “Ristimäki in Ravattula: On the Remains of the Oldest Known Church in Finland,” in Sacred Monuments and Practices in the Baltic Sea Region: New Visits to Old Churches, ed. Janne Harjula et al. (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2017), 46–​60; Hiekkanen, Suomen keskiajan kivikirkot, 256.

11 Their likely place of origin is the Dominican convent of Turku (Åbo). In ca. 1440–​1490 the legend was revised into the so-​called Legenda nova. The oldest parts of Henry’s liturgy originated in the early fourteenth century with direct borrowing from the mass of St. Dominic. Pyhän Henrikin legenda, ed. Tuomas Heikkilä (Helsinki: Suomalaisen kirjallisuuden seura, 2005), 229–​35; “De S. Henrico episcopo et martyre.” Die mittelalterliche Literatur über den Apostel Finlands, ed. Aarno Maliniemi, Suomen kirkkohistoriallisen seuran toimituksia 45.2 (Helsinki: Suomen Kirkkohistoriallinen Seura, 1942), 7; “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici.” Suomen suojelupyhimyksen liturgian keskeiset lauluosat, ed. Ilkka Taitto (Helsinki: Sulasol, 1998), 38, 15. 12 The most usual dating of the translatio is June 18, 1300. Taitto has presented evidence speaking in favour of a slightly later dating. “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 17–​18.

13 “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 24, 29–​30. Henry’s legend may have connections with St. Eskil, another martyred English missionary (d. ca. 1100) venerated by the Swedes, or St. Botvild (d. ca. 1120) who according to his legend was baptized in England and killed by an ungrateful Finnish slave with an axe, after the saint had set the slave free. Johan Anund and Linda Qviström, Det medeltida Sörmland (Lund: Historiska media, 2010), 155, 192.

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Clearly, some members of the higher classes of the medieval clergy, mostly bishops emerging from layers of the military aristocracy, were stretching the limits of this rule, especially in the earlier Middle Ages.14 The rules for higher clergy had to allow a degree of latitude for the sake of ecclesiastical fief-​holding. Episcopal and religious institutions’ right to landed property was often based upon vassalage to a lay lordship thus obliging the landholder to perform auxiliary military service at call.15 This meant that many ecclesiastics, and bishops with aristocratic backgrounds in particular, were simultaneously both prohibited from taking up the arms to fight and legally bound to raise armies, plan logistics, and lead military manoeuvres in collaboration with their landlord. The so-​called “warrior-​bishops” thus had to conform to conflicting standards, combining spiritual leadership with feudal tenure.16 The former was defined by the Bible, Church fathers, canon law, and the ecclesiastical councils; the latter by royal legislation, common law, and various local codes. Within the Western theological tradition, ecclesiastics had been set aside from fighting since the early fourth century by Emperor Constantine’s edict, which was

14 Brundage, “Crusades, Clerics and Violence,” 147–​56; Friedrich Prinz, Klerus und Krieg im früheren Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zur rolle der Kirche beim aufbau der Königsherrschaft, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1971), 11–​12, 27, 60–​66, 105–​7, 166–​68, 195–​98. Prinz underlines the difference between abbots and bishops and lower clergy: often only the latter are mentioned in the ban. In the tenth and eleventh centuries the advocates of a peace movement and ordering the society into “three states” showed keen interest in disarming military bishops. Brundage, “Crusades, Clerics and Violence,” 149; Jean Flori, Guerre sainte, jihad, croisade. Violence et religion dans le christianisme et l’islam (Paris: Éditions de Seuil, 2002), 54–​55; see also Lincoln, “Beating Swords into Croziers”; Jeffrey R. Webb, “Representations of the Warrior-​Bishop in Eleventh-​Century Lotharingia,” Early Medieval Europe 24, no. 1 (2016): 103–​30; Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen, 23.

15 Janet Nelson, “The Church’s Military Service in the Ninth Century: A Contemporary Comparative View?,” in The Church and War, ed. William J. Sheils, Studies in Church History 20 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), 15–​30; also, e.g., Giancarlo Andenna, “Carolingi, vescovi e abati in Italia settentrionale (secolo IX): Riflessioni sul ‘militare servitium’ degli ecclesiastici,” in Le origini della diocesi di Mantova e le sedi episcopali dell’Italia settentrionale, IV-​XI secolo, ed. Giancarlo Andenna, Antichità altoadriatiche 63 (Trieste: Editreg, 2006), 3–​34; Dominique Barthélemy, “The Peace of God and Bishops at War in the Gallic Lands from the Late Tenth to the Early Twelfth Century,” Anglo-​ Norman Studies 32, no.1 (2009): 1–​23. 16 Craig M. Nakashian, “ ‘Li arcevesque est mult bon chevalier’: The Chivalric Ideals of Archbishop Turpin,” in Prowess, Piety, and Public Order in Medieval Society: Studies in Honor of Richard W. Kaeuper, ed. Craig M. Nakashian and Daniel P. Franke, Later Medieval Europe 14 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 161–​78; Webb, “Representations of the Warrior-​Bishop,” 103–​30; Louisa Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law: The Military Activities of Prelates in High Medieval Norway,” Scandinavian Journal of History 7, no.  2 (2019):  1–​23; Radosław Kotecki and Jacek Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power, Legal Norms and Military Activity of the Polish Episcopate between the Twelfthand Fourteenth Centuries,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 127, Eng.-​Language Edition no. 4 (2020): 5–​46.

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62 Sini Kangas gradually extended into a ban on clerical use of weapons.17 Canon lawyers advised clerics to preach and pray, incite rightful punishment of the unjust, bless arms and banners, tend relics, and dispense sacraments before, during, and after the battle.18 Their field service thus comprised a variety of battle activities, yet they were not to take up arms personally. On the verge of the crusading era, the pontificate of Gregory VII incited bitter criticism,19 because the pope took a keen personal interest in military campaigning—​ even planning a papally led expedition against the Turks in 1074.20 His successor Pope Urban II set the standard for papal leadership of the Crusades based upon spiritual command, whereas the practical military manoeuvring was divided between secular magnates.21 The canons of the Council of Clermont renewed the clerical restraint on carrying weapons.22 Urban’s close collaborator, canon lawyer Ivo of Chartres, expressly stated in his Decretum that the ban on clerical bloodshed also included the shedding of pagan blood.23 Most influential among the high medieval compilations of canon law was the Concordia discordantium canonum or Decretum by Gratian from ca. 1140, which summed up earlier treatises. Gratian stated that even if the Church was liable to protect clerics and ecclesiastical property by force, if necessary, none of the clerical classes were allowed to participate in bloodshed under any pretext. Clerics who perish fighting are apostates may only be buried according to Christian rite without prayers or offerings. Those, who 17 Theodosiani libri cum constitutionibus Sirmondis et leges novellae, 16.2.2, ed. Theodor Momsen and Paul Meyer, 2 vols., 3rd ed. (Berlin: Weidmann 1905), 2:835; Brundage, “Crusades, Clerics and Violence,” 147–​56; Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer, 273.

18 Ivo of Chartres, Decretum, 5.332, ed. Martin Brett et al., https://​ivo-​of-​chartres.github.io/​ decretum/​ivodec_​5.pdf; C. 23, q. 8, c. 6 and 8, in Master Gratian, Decretum, ed. Emil Friedberg, Corpus Iuris Canonici, vol. 1 (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1879–​1881, repr.: Graz: Akademische Druck u. Verlagsanstalt, 1959), cols. 954, 963; see also http://​ gratian.org/​for Anders Winroth’s preliminary new edition. 19 Richard Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 66.

20 Gregory VII, Registrum, 1.49, 2.31, and 2.37, ed. Erich Caspar, MGH Epistolae selectae 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1955), 75–​76, 165–​68, 172–​63. Wenrich of Trier accused Gregory of vain promises of absolution for whomsoever died in defence of St. Peter. Guido of Ferrara disapproved of the abuse of funds, which should have been earmarked for charity. Carl Erdmann, Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens, Forschungen zur Kirchen-​und Geistesgeschichte 6 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1935), 232–​33, 239, 259–​60; Ian S. Robinson, The Papacy 1073–​1198: Continuity and Innovation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 180–​83. 21 Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer, 272–​73.

22 The Councils of Urban II, vol. 1: Decreta Claromontensia, ed. Robert Somerville, Annuarium historiae conciliorum. Supplementum 1 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1972), 77, 113; Brundage, “Crusades, Clerics and Violence,” 147–​56; Lawrence G. Duggan, Armsbearing and the Clergy in the History and Canon Law of Western Christianity (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013), 7. 23 Under penalty of immediate deposition of the cleric. Ivo of Chartres, Decretum, 10.34, 35, 45, and 174.

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survived their lapse had to do penance.24 Bishops might fulfill the requirements of their vassalage by contributing to lay magnates’ wars on the condition that they would not fight in person, and that papal consent had been obtained.25 To confuse the reader, Gratian added that those who punished homicides and sacrilege did not spill blood.26 It is not completely clear, whether Gratian referred to lay actors in the service of the Church, or whether he actually hinted at the possibility of lifting the ban on clerical bloodshed in particular cases.27 Among canon lawyers writing after him, Rufinus of Bologna accepted armed self-​defence in the case of clerics if utterly necessary or if performed against the pagans also. In the latter case, armed resistance had to be urged by the cleric’s superior.28 The Canons of Nablus (1120) from the Kingdom of Jerusalem similarly accepted the clerical right to defend oneself.29 The 1215 Fourth Lateran Council, in clarifying the definitions of crusading and setting several new rules concerning the institution, did not solve the problem. Indeed, canon eighteen curtly states that the earlier prohibitions in regard to fighting remain in force.30 24 C. 23, q. 5, c. 7; C. 23, q. 8, c. 4–​6, in Master Gratian, Decretum, cols. 932 and 954.

25 C. 23, q. 8, c. 25, in Master Gratian, Decretum, col. 962; Robert L. Benson, “The Obligations of Bishops with ‘Regalia’:  Canonistic Views from Gratian to the Early Thirteenth Century,” in Proceedings of the Second International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, ed. Stephan Kuttner and Joseph Ryan, Monumenta Juris Canonici. Series C. Subsidia 1 (Vatican City: S. Congregatio de Seminariis et Studiorum Universitatibus, 1965), 123–​37. 26 C. 23, q. 8, c. 13, in Master Gratian, Decretum, col. 956.

27 Duggan suggests in Armsbearing and the Clergy (chaps. 4–​5) that the Church’s attitude to clerical involvement in warfare gradually eased from the twelfth century onward. According to Duggan, after 1300 a categorical ban on clerical armsbearing no longer existed. 28 Rufinus of Bologna, Summa Decretorum, comment to C. 23, q. 8, ed. Heinrich Singer (Paderborn: Schoningh, 1902), 402; Benson, “The Obligations of Bishops”; Russell, The Just War, 108. The acceptance of clerical use of arms in self-​defence could be older than the early decades of the twelfth century. I am grateful to Radosław Kotecki for pointing out the letter of Sigebert of Gembloux to Pope Paschal II (1103), which states that clerics may use arms to defend the Church and the community against barbarians and the enemies of God, “Contra barbarorum et inimicorum Dei assultus concedunt canones etiam clericis arma ad defensionem urbis et aecclesiae”: Siegberti monachi Gemblacensis Leodiciensium epistola adversus Paschalem papam, ed. Ernst Sackur, MGH Libelli de lite imperatorum ac pontificum 2 (Hannover: Hahn, 1892), 454.

29 Benjamin Z. Kedar, “On the Origins of the Earliest Laws of Frankish Jerusalem: The Canons of the Council of Nablus, 1120,” Speculum 74, no. 2 (1999): 310–​55 (c. 20); Duggan, Armsbearing and the Clergy, 103–​6.

30 Canon eighteen expressly states that no cleric could pronounce a sentence or carry out a punishment involving the shedding of blood, indeed, or lead mercenaries, crossbowmen, or such men of blood. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, ed. Norman P. Tanner and Giuseppe Alberigo, vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 243–​44 (cc. 16 and 18). However, Lawrence Duggan supposes there is no coincidence that Fourth Lateran omitted the issue of clerical fighting in self-​defence and in defence of the faith and Church. See Lawrence G. Duggan, “Armsbearing by the Clergy and the Fourth Lateran Council,” in The Fourth Lateran Council and the Development of Canon Law and the “ius commune,” ed. Atria A. Larson and Andrea Massironi, Ecclesia militans 7 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), 63–​75.

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Examples of Acceptable and Detrimental Uses of Episcopal Violence From time to time clerics of various standing did fight and transgress the limits of canon law. How accurately were these rules followed in the crusading communities of the North? In case of the military orders, the Teutonic Order and Sword Brothers, the brothers and sergeants were considered separate from clerical restrictions on warfare, whereas monks and ordained priests, including those who were performing the sacraments for the members of those orders, remained exempt from fighting. The sources certainly disapproved of violence, not only clerical but all kinds of violence. For them, the basic purpose of crusading was to restore peace,31 that is, to create or reinstate the supreme authority of the Western Church in the area under crusader control. Thereafter Christians were to live in harmony side by side. Violent means could be justified by the further protection of Christians and to save souls by eradicating the enemies of God; pagans, Saracens, apostates, heretics, and rebels. In Livonia and Estonia, the pattern of campaigning was clear: combat against the pagans (and their Orthodox allies), the taking of booty, and baptism, leaving a missionary priest to live among the newly converted. Violence as such remained neutral. A decisive element in judging the use of force was whether the intention behind it was sinful or not. Detrimental motives included avarice, hatred, envy, and disloyalty in the case of Christians, and sacrilege, idolatry, and hatred in the case of their adversaries. Charitable love for God, fellow Christians, and pagans was a precondition for victory.32 Furthermore, vengeance for the slain, illegal seizure of property, or slander was understood as a positive duty among the military elites. In the medieval West, whether Frank, Norman, ministerial German, or Scandinavian, avoiding bloodshed in such cases could be a serious dereliction against kin or lordship. Generally speaking, the sources also approved of self-​defence, protecting a member of a family, kinsman, liege-​lord, or an ally, as well as physical punishment for a crime or deliberate violation of shared norms. To voluntarily attack fellow Christians or their property was blameworthy. If caused by a mistake, for example amidst the heat of the capture of a city, the author invariably offers an explanation for the deed. If no mitigating circumstance exists, a critical judgement was made. The primary source material for the Crusades was predominantly produced by clerics. The emphasis and interpretation of crusading changed slightly from genre to genre, whether these be manuals for preachers, chronicles, canon law, or semi-​fictional poetry, but the writers were drawn from the same group. The point is that the image we receive of crusader warfare too, mainly infiltrates through texts produced by a clerical quill. This is an essential detail to keep in mind while reading the texts. The sources discussed here were aimed at strengthening and unifying the religious community. The chronicles were intended to memorize the excellent deeds of knightly 31 Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer, 272. 32 Jonathan Riley-​Smith, “Crusading as an Act of Love,” History 65, no. 214 (1980): 177–​92.

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crusaders and missionaries, as well as to draw military and monetary support to the movement. The writers wished to promote the primacy, infallibility, and power of the Catholic Church and its representatives. In such a framework, there is sparsely room left for criticism of clerical transgressions.

Positive Actions

In the chansons de geste, the king is often accompanied by a noble bishop, two figures representing the medieval aristocracy, related by blood. Without a doubt, among them Turpin is the most famous—​a loyal vassal to emperor and God, an eloquent preacher, and a fierce warrior.33 Turpin sets a model for crusader bishops who, in turn, were praised for their ardent piety, loyalty to the Christian cause, ability to stir their flock to great victories, and persuade competitive warlords to collaborate as a unified Christian brotherhood.34 Yet the historical bishops differ from Turpin in one important factor: they are never depicted splitting the enemy in two with a mighty thrust of a great spear.35 In the perhaps most well-​ known episcopal battle scene of the history of the Crusades, Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy rides into the decisive battle of Antioch (June 28, 1098) leading a contingent,36 with the Holy Lance in hand, encouraging the crusaders and promising them a crown in company of angels in the day of judgment.37 According to the Chanson d’Antioche he did not take up the arm lightheartedly, even if it was a holy relic, but visited on the eve of the battle all the military magnates one after another, asking them to carry the weapon. Finally, Hugh of Vermandois, the brother of the king of France, who in reality had deserted the crusade before the battle was fought, reminds him of his duty as a priest and ordained bishop to hold the Lance which pierced the side of Christ. When Adhemar rides to the battle, the knights protect him with their 33 On the image of Bishop Turpin, see especially Nakashian, “ ‘Li arcevesque est mult bon chevalier.’ ”

34 Matthew Mesley, “Episcopal Authority and Gender in the First Crusade,” in Religious Men and Masculine Identity in the Middle Ages, ed. P. H. Cullum and Katherine J. Lewis (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013), 94–​111.

35 La Chanson de Roland, ed. Cesare Segre, Textes littéraires français 368 (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1989), 1245–​60.

36 Gesta Francorum et aliorum Hierosolimitanorum, ed. and trans. Rosalind Hill (London: Nelson, 1962), 68; The “Historia Ierosolimitana” of Baldric of Bougueil, ed. Steven Biddlecombe (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2014), 79 n. h. The original source refers to Adhemar’s force as staying behind to guard the citadel. Baldric gives the bishop a more active role. In Albert’s version, Adhemar’s and Raymond of Saint-​Gilles’s forces besiege Antioch at a gate called Waiferii. Later Adhemar directs his division towards the mountains. Albert of Aachen, Historia Iherosolimitana, 3.39 and 4.47, ed. Susan B. Edgington, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford: Clarendon, 2007), 200–​202 and 320. On Adhemar, see James Brundage, “Adhemar of Puy: The Bishop and His Critics,” Speculum 34, no. 2 (1959): 201–​12 at 208; Mesley, “Episcopal Authority.”

37 La Chanson d’Antioche, vol. 1: Édition du texte d’après la version ancienne, ed. Suzanne Duparc-​ Quioc, Documents relatifs a l’histoire des croisades 11 (Paris: Geuthner, 1976–​78), 329, 411–​13.

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66 Sini Kangas swords and strike down anyone who comes in his way.38 Whereas Adhemar might carry the Lance, the poet expressly states that the lower clergy was not permitted to arm themselves with lances—​or swords.39 In comparison with the crusader narratives from the Anglo-​Norman and Frankish realms, descriptions of violence are even more straightforward in the case of the Northern Crusades. The whole era of the Crusades in Livonia was started by a cleric, Bishop Berthold, who led the first army of crusaders to the area in 1198.40 Missionary wars in the eastern Baltic were especially cruel and depopulated vast areas. Henry’s Chronicon contains numerous graphic descriptions of violence by various agents, including clerics. Much of the chronicle concerns the actions of war parties that ravage the country, burn fields, seize cattle and valuables, kill the male population, and lead women and children into slavery. Raids provoked vengeful expeditions, again avenged in kind. Pagan Estonians and their Rusian Orthodox allies under the princes of Polotsk and Novgorod are enemies killed without remorse or any further explanation. When Bishop Meinhard’s men find Rusians in the forest, they are immediately eliminated.41 Violence between groups belonging to the Latin Church was not described in a similar manner, even if rivalry between the bishop of Riga, Sword Brothers (Fratres militiae Christi de Livonia found in 1202), Teutonic Knights, German crusaders, Danes, and Swedes must have caused skirmishes. By the end of 1227, the church of Riga and the Sword Brothers had conquered the Northern Estonian lands including Tallinn, forcing the Danes to leave. Thereafter, the relations gradually deteriorated, and after the death of Bishop Albert in 1229 the power struggle between the bishops and the order grew even more intense.42 Bishops and lesser clergy accompanied armies, delivered sacraments, encouraged soldiers, and baptized conquered people during the raids. If they participated more actively in fighting, the sources remain silent on such belligerence. Henry includes a unique description of the baptism of Estonian Kyriawan in 1219:

38 Chanson d’Antioche, vol. 1, 354, 439–​40.

39 “En la loi que il tienent levé et batisié, /​Mais n’ont pas en lor terre de lor maistre congié /​Que doivent porter armes ne lance ne espié.” Chanson d’Antioche, vol. 1, lines 8235–​37, 426. The battle ended in crusader victory, and Adhemar, like Moses leading his people, and still carrying the Lance, pursued the enemy, face awash with tears of joy. Robert the Monk, Historia Iherosolimitana, ed. Philippe le Bas, RHC HO 3 (Paris: Imprimerie Impériale, 1866), 827–​30, 834; Albert of Aachen, Historia Iherosolimitana, 4.52, 330, and 4.53, 332–​34. He received seventy heads of the slain Turks as an honorary gift from Tancred de Hauteville. See Radulf of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, ed. Edmund Martene and Ursinus Durand, RHC HO 3 (Paris: Imprimerie Impériale, 1866), 644. According to Guibert of Nogent the bishop had offered a reward of twelve deniers for every decapitated Turkish head, which he placed on long poles before the walls of the city. Guibert of Nogent, Dei gesta per Francos, ed. Robert B. C. Huygens (Turnhout: Brepols, 1996), 311–​12. 40 Henry, Chron. Liv., 1.10 and 1.12, 6–​10.

41 Henry, Chron. Liv., 12.6, 90–​94, and 18.5, 174–​76. 42 Kaljundi, “The Baltic Crusades,” 71.

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We catechized him immediately. Rudolph, the master of the Militia, stood as godfather for him. While we were on the point of anointing him with the holy oil, a great clamor arose and a rushing of our army through all streets and everyone run to arms, crying that a great host of pagans was coming against us. We immediately put down the holy chrism and other holy articles, therefore, and hurried to the ministry of shields and swords. We hastened on to the field, putting our battle lines in order against our adversaries, and the elders of the Vironians stood with us. A great multitude of what we thought were enemies approached us. They were the Saccalians, our allies, who were returning to us with their loot. We returned, therefore, and completed the baptism, but we put off baptizing the others until their proper time.43

“We” clearly indicates crusaders, but whether the priests were counted with and were actually preparing to fight, is not clear. The sources typically depicted clergy on the battlefield, preaching, praying, and exhorting in the front, but fell silent on possible martial activity. The quotation from the Chanson d’Antioche suggested that clerics did not fight even for self-​defence, but warriors protected them. The chronicles simply avoid the matter.44 The number of crusader clerics mentioned in the sources as doing penance after killing in battle is pure zero. Meinhard, Berthold, and Albert belonged to the class of ministeriales, as did the majority of German crusaders in Livonia.45 As members of knightly families, they may have had some military training before ordination, and they certainly maintained contacts with the military aristocracy of their native country. Bishop Albert travelled to Germany on a yearly basis to raise support for crusading in Livonia and Estonia. He is depicted wandering around villages, towns, churches, castles, and courts, preaching crusade and enlisting soldiers. So regular were his journeys that Henry divided his chronicle into books, beginning with the bishop either leaving for yet another preaching 43 “Et creddidit nobis, et statim cathezizamus eum, et astabat ei Rodolfus magister milicie patronus. Dumque iam eum in sacro linire deberemus oleo, factus est clamor magnus et concursus exercitus nostri per omnes plateas, et currebant omnes ad arma, clamantes magnam paganorum malewam contra nos venientem. Unde nos confestim proiecto sacrosancto crismate ceterisque sacramentis ad clypeorum gladiorumque ministeria cucurrimus et festinavimus in campum, ordinantes acies nostras contra adversarios nostros, et stabant nobiscum seniores Vironensium. Et aproppinquaverunt ad nos in magna multitudine, quos putabamus hostes. Et erant Sackalanenses, confratres nostri, qui redierunt ad nos cum omni preda sua”: Henry, Chron. Liv., 23.7, 240. English translation after The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, trans. James A. Brundage, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), 179–​81. 44 The closest example of actual clerical fighting I  have been able to find is Jean of Joinville’s description of his priest Jean of Voysey, who ran towards eight Muslims lance in hand and put them into flight. The priest became famous in the camp, even if he does not seem to have had actually hit anyone with the weapon. Jean de Joinville, Vie de saint Louis, ed. Jacques Monfrin, Classiques Garnier (Paris: Dunod, 1995), 258–​60, 129.

45 The originally unfree ministeriales formed the majority of the German aristocracy in the late twelfth century. Many of these families had risen into influential positions only recently, and the Baltic Crusades can be seen as one extension of the expanding social boundaries of the class. See Kaljundi, “The Baltic Crusades,” 54–​60.

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68 Sini Kangas tour to Germany or returning with a fresh army. Albert’s persistence in recruitment is interpreted as a token of his piety and commitment to the holy cause.46 In the Baltic Sea region missionary bishops could initiate expeditions and lead them with lay lords without being criticized for transgressing the restrictions of the canon law.47 They were also entitled to the spoils.48 In addition, the bishops habitually took hostages among the native populations after defeating them in battle. Soon after his arrival in Livonia, Bishop Albert took the sons of the nobility of Väinäjoki and Turaida to Germany, where they were left to be brought up, probably in some religious house.49 His brother, the dean of Riga, continued the practice in 1206 and 1208.50 In 1212 Theoderic of Treyden, bishop of Estonia (in office 1211−1219), marched with crusaders and Sword Brothers to Ugandi and Tartu, where they were reported to have captured women and children.51 Henry of Livonia mentioned Philip, who had been brought up in the episcopal court, and later acted as an interpreter in the mission.52 Among the sample bishops, Berthold died in the middle of a battle, while St. Henry was slain by his parishioner. Meinhard died in his castle Üxküll, which he was unable to leave despite his wish to do so because of the repeated threats to his life by the Livonians,53 and Albert died more or less peacefully in his Rigan see. Bishops, who died as victims of religious warfare, could become venerated as martyrs. In their case, the sources unanimously claimed the cause of death unilateral violence by the aggressor’s side; it was clearly a necessary requirement for a martyr to appear as a victim. This applies even to Berthold, who died during a battle provoked by his own actions. His horse bolted and ran amidst the lines of the enemy, after which pagan Ymaut pierced his back with a spear.54 According to Arnold of Lübeck, the bishop’s corpse, left on the battlefield, was not affected by weather, animals, or decay while the other victims around him were already rotting. The faithful were therefore able to bury the bishop in the church of Riga, where he was locally venerated as a martyr.55 46 Henry, Chron. Liv., 3.2, 16; 8.1, 32; 9.6, 50; 10.12, 58–​60; 10.17, 66–​68; 11.8, 80–​82; 12.1, 84; 13.1, 96–​98; 14.4, 110; 15.1, 130; 15.6, 138; 17.1, 166; 18.1, 170; 21.1, 210. 47 E.g., Albert of Aachen, Historia Iherosolimitana, 3.27, 180, and 3.60, 232, 240. 48 See, e.g., Henry, Chron. Liv., 5.3, 132–​36. 49 Henry, Chron. Liv., 4.4, 18; 5.1, 20.

50 Henry, Chron. Liv., 10.14, 64–​66; 1.6, 76–​78. 51 Henry, Chron. Liv., 15.7, 140–​44.

52 He was martyred in 1212 by Estonian chieftain Lembitu, who in turn had to accept baptism and give his son as a hostage in 1215 before he was allowed to return home. Henry, Chron. Liv., 15.9, 146; 18.7, 176–​78. 53 Henry, Chron. Liv., 1.11, 8.

54 Henry, Chron. Liv., 2.6, 14. Berthold is mentioned as a martyr by Henry in Chron. Liv., 10.6, 50.

55 Arnold of Lübeck, Chronica Slavorum, 5.30, ed. Johann Martin Lappenberg, MGH SS rer. Germ. 14 (Hannover: Hahn, 1868), 214–​15. As Riga had not been founded in 1198, the burial site must have been the church of Üxküll. Jensen, “Bishops and Abbots at War,” 409. On Bishop Berthold’s

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The story was repeated in the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, written for the Teutonic Knights in ca. 1290. The author stated that Berthold was leading his host on horseback, as a knight and lord should, and was lost in battle.56 His inability to control his horse was omitted, as was the reference to martyrdom. This might have been a deliberate choice of the compiler writing for a brotherhood of knights: for such an audience bad horsemanship would have been exposed to ridicule rather than awe. On the whole, the Northern Crusades produced few saints. According to Linda Kaljundi, the lack of local saints in mission was related to the relative youth and weakness of the church of Riga, as well as to strengthening papal control over the canonization process, which took place during the thirteenth century.57 The meagre number of saints nevertheless also applies to the Crusades to the Holy Land.58 The sources hint at an attempt to develop a cult around the deceased bishop Adhemar, who posthumously returns to fight for the crusaders in the frontline during the capture of Jerusalem.59 However, Adhemar, like Berthold, was never beatified. The metamorphosis of a peaceful, saintly preacher dying in the hands of a ferocious native—​at least one, preferably pagan, is necessary—​who after his death turns into a remorseless avenger, is a topos in the lives of the saints’. St. Henry is a typical example of a violent saint, as well as a showcase of the incorporation of the Northern lands into the Western religious culture.60 In his case as well no official document of canonization survives.61 According to his legend, Henry was an Englishman, who became the bishop of Uppsala and was a close friend and supporter of King Eric Jedvardson (d. ca. 1160). Because the cruel pagan people of Finland had frequently caused damage to the Swedes, the good king, in collaboration with Henry, gathered an army and led an expedition against the enemies of Christ and his people. After subjugating and baptizing the Finns, the king returned to Sweden, and left Henry in Finland to preach and organize the church.62

death and his subsequent veneration, see also discussion in Kristjan Kaljusaar’s chapter in this volume. 56 The Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, trans. Jerry C. Smith, William L. Urban (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1977), lines 560–​64, 9. 57 Kaljundi, “The Baltic Crusades,” 78.

58 Bernard Hamilton, “Why Did the Crusader States Produce So Few Saints?,” Studies in Church History 47 (2011): 103–​11.

59 Raymond of Aguilers, Historia Francorum, chap. 20, RHC HO 3 (Paris: Imprimerie Impériale, 1866), 300. 60 “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 29–​30.

61 His legend from ca. 1280 speaks of beatus Henry, whereas its late medieval version refers to full sainthood. 62 Pyhän Henrikin legenda, 398–​402.

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70 Sini Kangas Unfortunately, Henry decided to publicly reprimand a murderer for his crime. This proud man not only despised the episcopal advice, but killed the bishop, took his mitre63 as spoil and wore it in his own head. The slain saint took his vengeance: when the murderer eventually took the mitre off, his scalp and flesh came off as well.64 Legenda nova added that this happened in Satagundie in south-​western Finland, and that the proud murderer refused to do penance.65 The nature of Henry’s killer remains obscure. The legend did not reveal his name, religious background, or place of origin, bluntly calling him a murderer and a man of blood. In the early modern tradition, he has become a peasant called Lalli, who kills the bishop with an axe,66 but in medieval sources there is no reference to an armed peasant. Quite the contrary, the fact that the killer was offended by public reprimand to the point of slaying the bishop67 would rather refer to a person of such standing that his tarnished honour required immediate compensation. In the reliquary cap found in the cathedral of Turku (dated to ca. 1220−1310),68 the alleged killer of Henry is depicted as a knight clad in hauberk and coif, longsword in hand. Divine vengeance ensues from Henry’s side, but this is typical to martyrologies, and does not bear evidence for Henry’s possible status as a crusader. All in all, Henry’s connection to crusading is less convincing than in the other cases. The legend mentioned that the expedition led by King Eric and Bishop Henry was targeted against hostile gentiles, the enemies of Christ and His people.69 These people were subjugated and baptized, and churches built among them. In all, the supposed crusade was covered by six and a half lines, and Henry’s possible military role during it, other than being the king’s closest ally, was not commented on. The link to the Church of Rome or the pope, present in the sources of the Baltic Crusades, cannot be found in the legend. Fragments of the liturgy of St. Henry survive from the early fourteenth century onward,70 from the time when the cult of Eric Jedvardson as a saintly crusader was establishing in Sweden. The hymns mention that Henry died pugil or miles Christi

63 Birretum, actually a hat or a barrette. 64 Pyhän Henrikin legenda, 406–​10.

65 “De S. Henrico episcopo et martyre,” 94–​95.

66 Piispa Henrikin surmavirsi, ed. Urpo Vento (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1999), 4–​6.

67 The legend does not identify the weapon. The Latin verb for killing is trucidare. See Pyhän Henrikin legenda, 408. 68 Aki Arponen, “The Medieval Skull Relic of Turku Cathedral: Preliminary Results of Analyses,” Mirator 16 (2015): 104–​16. 69 Pyhän Henrikin legenda, 402.

70 “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 32.

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(warrior of Christ) as well as a holy martyr,71 but then to be a soldier of God did not necessarily indicate crusading or any involvement in physical fighting. Except for David and Elias, no other heroes of the Old Testament, prominent in the liturgical tradition of the Crusades, are present. The Maccabees, the model fighters of the historiography of the Holy Land and Northern Crusades alike,72 are completely missing. To conclude, St. Henry features as a credible martyr but an incredible crusader. My understanding is that such person never existed. He might have had obscure historical pre-​models, priests accompanying the ledungs and merchants disseminating Christianity in the area.73 He might be a fusion of several different priests active in Finland. The wildest theory is that Bishop Henry of Uppsala and King Eric Jedvardson were the same person.74

Sinful Aggression

The chroniclers and compilers under discussion agree on the aim of the Crusades. This was to maintain harmonious relations between Christians and bring all the world under the authority and administration of the Roman pontificate. Firstly, all strife and rivalry between Christians is deplorable. Secondly, good Christians kept to the norms taught by the Church. It is not to be expected to find a great number of descriptions of crusader failure in the sources written to propagate the achievements of the holy war. Yet they exist. The sources of the First Crusade, for example, mention skirmishes between northern French and Provençal crusaders, especially accusations of damaging the horses.75 71 Sequentia in die natalis, chap. 44, in “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 134–​36; Hymnus in die natalis, chap. 35, in “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 122–​24, mentions Henry as Christi pugil eximius and Christ’s atleta; Bonus Christi miliciam and martyr in Hymnus in die translationis, chap. 11, in “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 86–​88; Christi miles magnificus and martyr in Hymnus in die natalis, chap. 10, in “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 86; Martir iste militauit Christo, in Responsorium et versus, chap. 29, in “Missa et officium Sancti Henrici,” 112. 72 See, e.g., Nicholas Morton, “The Defence of the Holy Land and the Memory of the Maccabees,” Journal of Medieval History 36, no. 3 (2010): 275–​93.

73 Ledung or leding was a mixture of seasonal levy and raid before the rise of organized states in medieval Scandinavia. In addition to levies gathered from free peasants, ledungs often aimed at raising manpower and ships for further expeditions. For churchmen customarily taking part in royal military campaigns, like ledung or expeditio, or in wars against pagans, see Niels Lund, “The Military Obligations of the Danish Church in the High Middle Ages,” in The Medieval Way of War: Studies in Medieval Military History in Honor of Bernard S. Bachrach, ed. Gregory I. Halfond (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015), 295–​307; Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power,” as well as in chapters by Bjørn Bandlien, Carsten Selch Jensen, and Jacek Maciejewski in this volume.

74 Mikko Heikkilä, “Sanctus (H)e(n)ricus rex Suetie et Sanctus Henricus Episcopus Upsalensis—​ en och samme engelskfödde man?,” Historisk Tidskrift för Finland 99 (2013): 333–​73 at 370–​72.

75 Ralph of Caen accused the Provençals of selling dog meat to other crusaders as hare or mule, and mule meat as goat; Provençals were also reported for wounding fat horses’ guts causing the animals to die. Radulf of Caen, Gesta Tancredi, chap. 61, 651.

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72 Sini Kangas Taking into account that many Western Christian factions were competing for the eastern Baltic areas, violent encounters between them are described sparingly in comparison with those of crusaders and pagans. The disputes between the Sword Brothers and new converts receive more space. Henry mentions Bishop Albert in a conventional peace maker’s role in 1212, when the Livs complained to him about Master Rudolf, who had been raiding fields, meadows, and cattle. The bishop sent with them their baptismal father Alebrand, and when he was unable to settle the case, Albert rode with Philip of Ratzeburg to Turaida, where he held council with both parties seeking to find a working compromise. During the negotiations the Livs expressed their unwillingness to send their children for hostages to the bishop.76 The only really serious incidence of violence between crusaders is from Henry of Livonia’s chronicle. Sword Brother Wickbert was depicted as a vain mischief-​maker, who hated and despised the religious life led by the collective of brethren. He was arrested for his crimes, questioned, and eventually taken back into the order. Thereafter he attacked Master Wenno with a double-​edged axe, causing his and a priest’s deaths, and sought sanctuary in the church.77

Conclusion

In wars against infidels, heretics, or excommunicates, the sin of homicide, difficult to get over in inter-​Christian warfare, ceased to be a problem in the case of laymen. The canon law restrictions concerning the ban on clerical bloodshed were still valid in crusading against the proclaimed enemies of the Church. In principle, crusader clerics did not fight with arms. To die in combat was not the same thing as to spill the blood, nor were many battle-​ related clerical duties. The concept of these duties is remarkably uniform in the sources, irrespective of the context of writing. Their primary function was to support the cohesion of the attacking army, as well as to maintain its religious-​belligerent morale between conflicts by preaching, celebrating masses and performing rites, leading prayers and litanies, and guarding the relics.78 Crusaders were encouraged to confess their sins and partake of communion before entering battle.79 All these were positive obligations for a clerical presence. 76 Henry, Chron. Liv., 16.3, 158.

77 Henry, Chron. Liv., 13.2, 98–​100.

78 David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War c. 300–​c. 1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003), 62, 64.

79 On penitential and liturgical practices, see, e.g., Raymond of Aguilers, Historia Francorum, 54, 81, 102, 125, 127, 137, 144–​45, 151, 155; Gesta Francorum, 67–​68, 81, 90, 91, 94; Die Kreuzzugsbriefe aus den Jahren 1088–​1100, ed. Heinrich Hagenmeyer (Innsbruck: Verlag des Wagnerschen Universitäts-​ Buchhandlung, 1901), 167, 171 (no. 17–​18). Further examples in M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, Invisible Weapons: Liturgy and the Making of Crusade Ideology (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017), 96–​99, 112, 115, 122–​24.

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The chronicles mention Berthold’s and Albert’s participation in decision-​making among the military leaders of the crusade and their presence in combat. No source mentions any of the Northern bishops effectively fighting, with the exception of St. Henry, who avenges posthumously. Among the sources of the First Crusade we find solitary descriptions of lower clerics who abandoned their clerical profession and became soldiers,80 whereas in the Baltic case references to such incidents are missing. There are no references to clerics doing penance for breaking the ban on physical fighting and armsbearing, for example. There remain nevertheless a few cases in which the precise scope of clerical activities in battle remains obscure. Clerical participation in the crusade clearly generated practical problems, which were partly solved by the establishment of the military orders in the course of the twelfth century. The rapid success of the Order of the Temple (1119–​1314) shows that prevailing social norms supported a compromise between the knightly and ecclesiastical professions. In Livonia and Estonia, missionary bishops enjoyed relative freedom from their superiors, whereas in the Holy Land, the Latin patriarchs worked in close collaboration with the king and the high lords, for whom they also owed military service. Patriarch Evremar (in office 1102–​1108) collected and equipped 150 infantrymen and led them to Ramla at King Baldwin I’s (r. 1100–​1118) request, and his predecessor Daibert repeatedly quarrelled with the king on his military duty to maintain soldiers.81 In addition, Daibert and other Latin patriarchs and bishops led their men into major battles and sieges, advised the king on military matters, exhorted the royal troops, attended fighting while carrying the relic of the Holy Cross, and supervised clerics responsible for the pastoral care of the army. Chroniclers did not criticize them for any of these activities. Albert of Aachen, whose dislike of Daibert is almost tangible through the page, did not accuse him of bellicosity, but rather of treason, avarice, bribery, and blackmail. The sources studied were compiled by clerics to draw support for the crusader communities and strengthen the Latin Church. In such a framework, their major focus is the flawless episcopal care of souls. Bishops form the nucleus of the spiritual elite in the sources of the Crusades. In all given examples, the clerics originated from knightly families. Some of them may even had had military training before the choice to enter the Church was made. In the investigation of these characters it was interesting to see how personal differences could be fathomed between the lines: missionary-​minded Meinhard, who more than anything wanted to bring the Livonians to the lap of the Church, Berthold the ill-​fated rider, perseverant Albert, who outlived almost all his rivals, and Henry, who through his assailant became the national hero of the Finns. Such intriguing characters—​yet all evasive soldiers of God. 80 Guibert of Nogent mentioned Alberic, who out of militiae amore (love of battle) abandons his clerical profession and joins his knightly brother in fighting. Guibert of Nogent, Dei gesta per Francos, 217; see also The “Historia Ierosolimitana” of Baldric of Bougueil, 79 n. h and 115 n. v. 81 Albert of Aachen, Historia Iherosolimitana, 570–​72, 656–​58, 706–​8.

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Chapter 4

MEMORY OF THE “WARRIOR-​BISHOPS” OF PŁOCK IN THE WRITINGS OF JAN DŁUGOSZ* Jacek Maciejewski‡ in the fifteenth-​century Catalogue of the Bishops of Płock (Vitae Episcoporum Plocensium), which was originally written by the most eminent historiographer of the Polish Middle Ages, Jan Długosz (1415–​1480), some information concerning military activity of the Mazovian bishops was included. Two pieces of information (related to bishops Simon and Alexander of Malonne) were based on the well-​known twelfth-​century chronicles of Gallus Anonymus1 and Master Vincentius of Kraków.2 The original accounts of these authors have already been the subject of an in-​depth analysis by historians.3 * This work was supported by the National Science Centre, Poland grant no. 2014/​15/​B/​HS3/​ 02284. ‡ Jacek Maciejewski (orcid.org/​0000-​0003-​0505-​975X) is a full professor at the Faculty of History, Kazimierz Wielki University in Bydgoszcz, Poland. His current research concerns mainly the cultural phenomenon of militant clergy and episcopal appointments in medieval Poland. He is the author or co-​editor of several books, including Episkopat polski doby dzielnicowej, 1180–​1320 [Polish Episcopacy of the Feudal Defragmentation Era, 1180–​1320] (Societas Vistulana, 2003); and “Adventus episcopi.” Pozaliturgiczne aspekty inauguracji władzy biskupiej w Polsce średniowiecznej na tle europejskim [Non-​Liturgical Aspects of Episcopal Inauguration in Medieval Poland on the European Background] (Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Kazimierza Wielkiego, 2013); “Ecclesia et Violentia.” Violence against the Church and Violence within the Church in the Middle Ages (Cambridge Scholars, 2014); and Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective 3 (Brill, 2018) as well as numerous articles and book chapters. 1 Gallus Anonymus, Cronicae et gesta ducum sive principum Polonorum, ed. Karol Maleczyński, MPH NS 2 (Kraków:  Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1952). For English translation, see Gesta principum Polonorum, ed., trans, and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schear, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2003) (hereafter Gallus, Gesta). About the chronicler and his work, see chapters gathered in Gallus Anonymous and His Chronicle in the Context of Twelfth-​Century Historiography from the Perspective of the Latest Research, ed. Krzysztof Stopka (Kraków: Polish Academy of Art and Sciences, 2010).

2 Master Vincentius, Chronica Polonorum, ed. Marian Plezia, MPH NS 11 (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1994) (hereafter Vincentius, Chron. Pol.). For more about this chronicle, see essays collected in recent companion to Vincentius: Writing History in Medieval Poland: Bishop Vincentius of Cracow and the Chronica Polonorum, ed. Darius von Güttner-​Sporzyński, Cursor Mundi 28 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017).

3 Michał Tomaszek, “Modlitwa i łzy bronią biskupa. Pasterze polskiego Kościoła a walka orężna w ujęciu Wincentego Kadłubka,” Roczniki Historyczne 71 (2005):  121–​36; Radosław Kotecki, “Ordynariusz płocki Szymon w Gallowej narracji o bitwie Mazowszan z Pomorzanami,” in “Ecclesia et bellum.” Kościół wobec wojny i zaangażowania militarnego duchowieństwa w wiekach średnich, ed. Radosław Kotecki and Jacek Maciejewski (Bydgoszcz: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Kazimierza

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The origins of two other accounts, however, are unknown. Although one of them, concerning Bishop Gunter, was noticed by scholars and even considered credible,4 the information contained therein was not analyzed in detail in the context of the Polish episcopate and warfare, as well as legal and social norms connected with it. The latter information, however, describing the activity of Bishop Gedko, did not attract any interest of scholars at all.5 It should be noted that Polish medieval historiography is not abundant in terms of the topics covered in this chapter, which is why every account, even not a very extensive one, is important for this research. The Vitae Episcoporum Plocensium, completed by Jan Długosz at the end of 1477, only survives through the author’s authentic preface from January 1, 1478. All that otherwise remains is a shortened text written at the beginning of the seventeenth century. The author of the edited version was doctor Laurentius of Wszerecz (1538–​ 1614), a Płock penitentiary, who also wrote down the successive lives of the Płock bishops until 1608.6 Długosz collected slightly random information about the bishops of Płock during the first and second editions of his most important work, Annales seu cronicae incliti regni Poloniae, which was being written from 1455 until his death in 1480.7 Only at Wielkiego, 2016), 142–​67; Radosław Kotecki, “Aleksander z Malonne—​‘persona mixta’. Wojowniczy biskup na krańcach chrześcijańskiego świata i jego kronikarski portret,” Studia Źródłoznawcze 55 (2017): 51–​78; Radosław Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs, Wolves and Pastors of the Flock: Portraying Military Activity of Bishops in Twelfth-​Century Poland,” in Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S. Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden:  Brill, 2018), 303–​40; Radosław Kotecki and Jacek Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power, Legal Norms and Military Activity of the Polish Episcopate between the Twelfth- and Fourteenth Centuries,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 127, Eng.-​Language Edition 4 (2020): 5–​46.

4 Jan Powierski, “Przekaz Dusburga o najazdach pruskich i przejściowej okupacji ziemi chełmińskiej,” Komunikaty Mazursko-​Warmińskie 4 (1971): 379–​427 at 414. Kazimierz Pacuski, “Drobne rycerstwo w służbie Kościoła płockiego w pierwszej połowie XIII wieku,” in HistorioZofia. Księga jubileuszowa Zofii Teresy Kozłowskiej, ed. Danuta Konieczka-​Śliwińska and Stanisław Roszak (Warsaw: Polskie Towarzystwo Historyczne, 2016), 175–​ 91 at 190–​ 91, focused only on the credibility of the account concerning the stronghold of Dzierzgowo. See also Kotecki, “Ordynariusz płocki Szymon,” 166n74; Kotecki, “Aleksander z Malonne,” 55n21; Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power,” 17–​18.

5 It was overlooked by the author of a recent book on Gedko’s political and ecclesiastical activity: Marek Szymaniak, Biskup płocki Gedko (1206–​1223). Działalność kościelno-​polityczna na tle procesu emancypacji Kościoła polskiego spod władzy książęcej (Toruń: Adam Marszałek, 2007).

6 Jan Długosz, Vitae episcoporum Plocencium abbreviatae cum continuatione Laurentii de Wszerecz, ed. Wojciech Kętrzyński, MPH 6 (Kraków:  Akademia Umiejętności, 1893), 592–​619 (hereafter VEPloc). The time of creation of the source has been recently discussed by Tomasz Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza do dziejów Mazowsza w XI-​XIV wieku. W poszukiwaniu rocznika płockiego (Bydgoszcz: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Kazimierza Wielkiego, 2012), 229.

7 The standard critical edition is Jan Długosz, Annales seu cronicae incliti regni Poloniae, bks. 1–​12, ed. Consilium (Kraków:  Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1964–​2005) (hereafter Długosz, Annales), now fully accessible via National Digital Library Polona, https://​dlugosz.polona.pl/​en.

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the end of his life, however, did he carry out a specific query concerning the prelates of Mazovia, since he was planning to write the Catalogue. The result of his work was, at least partially, subsequently included into the Annales.8 Yet, it can be assumed that he may not have had enough time to use all the information due to his relatively imminent death.9 This could explain quite significant differences between the Annales and the lives of the bishops, not only the factual but also, as it will be shown, the ideological ones. However, these differences can also be attributed to the state of preservation of the Catalogue, which was significantly altered in the sixteenth century. This issue is connected with the credibility and origins of the Catalogue reports about the wartime achievements of the Płock prelates, for if compared to the whole work of Jan Długosz, the reports can be considered exceptional. In this chapter, an attempt will be made to show how Długosz’s views regarding participation of the clergy in war influenced the construction of his narrative about this type of events. The conclusions of this analysis, however, will be used to find answers concerning the genesis of the reports, as well as their political and cultural context. In the catalogues of bishops written by Długosz for several Polish dioceses, with the exception of Płock bishops’ Vitae, the relationship between presented characters and warfare is omitted. Only sporadically and very laconically is a prelate described as an ardent defender of ecclesiastical goods or properties, or possibly also of the homeland.10 The author’s reason for neglecting the martial activity of Polish bishops was not rather the scheme of presenting individual biographies, developed and quite consistently applied by the chronicler.11 This scheme, although it did not make the author deal 8 Compare Wanda Semkowicz-​ Zarembina, Powstanie i dzieje autografu “Annalium” Jana Długosza, Rozprawy Wydziału Historyczno-​Filozoficznego II 47.1 (Kraków:  Polska Akademia Nauk, 1952), especially 49–​57. See also Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza, 20–​29 and chap. 3; Tomasz Nowakowski, “Jan Długosz jako kronikarz piastowskiego Mazowsza (do początku XV w.),” in Dziedzictwo książąt mazowieckich. Stan badań i postulaty badawcze, ed. Janusz Grabowski, Rafał Mroczek, and Przemysław Mrozowski, Studia i materiały 7 (Warsaw:  Zamek Królewski w Warszawie—​Muzeum, 2017), 35–​60 at 56–​57.

9 For instance, the entry on Bishop Gunter’s death was included in the Annales in 1462–​1463 or 1468, but some complementary entries of the Annales concerning the church of Płock were introduced in 1478–​ 1480. See Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza, 252; Nowakowski, “Jan Długosz,” 57. 10 Jan Długosz, Vitae episcoporum Poloniae, in Joannis Dlugossii senioris canonici cracoviensis Opera, vol. 1, ed. Ignacy Polkowski and Żegota Pauli (Kraków: Czas, 1887) (hereafter VEPol), 350, 498; Catalogi episcoporum Cracoviensium, ed. Józef Szymański, MPH NS 10.2 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1974)  (hereafter CECrac), 153, 158, 170. There is only one Długosz’s report on a military expedition of a Polish bishop in the fifteenth century which was undertaken by Bishop Andrew of Bnin together with the castellan of Gniezno against a town populated by the Hussites, see Jan Długosz, Vitae episcoporum Poloniae, 521.

11 Maria Koczerska, “Mentalność Jana Długosza w świetle jego twórczości,” Studia Źródłoznawcze 15 (1970): 109–​40 at 123–​25; Urszula Borkowska, “Models of Bishops in the XVth Century ‘Vitae episcoporum Poloniae’ by John Długosz,” in Miscellanea historiae ecclesiasticae VIII, ed. Bernard Vogler (Brussels: Publications Universitaires de Louvain 1987), 148–​ 58 at 150–​ 51;

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with prelate’s secular activities, allowed for describing bishop's personality and his pontificate The author applied the latter many times. Critical of the reprehensible lives of some bishops, Długosz sometimes reminds them of their excessive dedication to matters—​or even of their tribute to the pleasures—​of temporal life, yet, he does not seem to be interested in their military deeds. For example, it can be pointed out that the military context of the public activity of the bishop of Kraków, Pełka (in office 1186–​1207), well known to him from the chronicle of Master Vincentius, is diminished in the Annales where the chronicler makes the bishop only an assistant to the local comes,12 whereas in Vitae episcoporum Cracoviensium he does not mention the context at all.13 Therefore, the view that the Płock Catalogue is unique in this respect is justified. It should be emphasized that it provides information about the martial activities of as many as four Mazovian bishops from the twelfth to the thirteenth century. The first Mazovian martial bishop described by Długosz is Simon (in office ca. 1107–​1129), involved in the clash of the Mazovians, commanded by the local comes Magnus, with the Pomeranians, who, in the Annales, turn into “Pomeranians and Prussians.” This account is based on information from Gallus Anonymus and Master Vincentius. Długosz quoted both chronicles, although in a selective and inaccurate way.14 Although Gallus’s narrative supports the demands that sought to separate clergy from warfare and to introduce a strict prohibition on the clergy using weapons,15 in this account, the Płock bishop joins the army and he stays close to it during the battle, praying for victory. The chronicler, pointing to close cooperation between secular and ecclesiastical authorities, suggests that the Płock prelate, together with comes Magnus, was at the forefront of the Edward Potkowski, “Fiktive Biografien in den Katalogen polnischer Bischöfe des Jan Długosz,” in Fälschungenin Mittelalter, 6 vols. (Hannover: Hahn, 1988–​1991), 1:395–​416 at 411; Jacek Maciejewski, “Places of Bishops’ Consecration in Medieval Poland,” Acta Poloniae Historica 94 (2006): 35–​57 at 43.

12 Długosz, Annales, bk. 6, 149, 162–​65. Bishop Pełka is presented here only as a helper of Governor Nicholas, not as the main organizer of resistance or an army leader as depicted by Master Vincentius. The bishop’s contribution to the siege of Kraków was also omitted. After these changes, Długosz’s narration became unclear and discrepant with what was already suggested by Aleksander Semkowicz in his, Krytyczny rozbiór “Dziejów polskich” Jana Długosza (do roku 1384) (Kraków:  Akademia Umiejętności, 1887), 197. The only exception is information taken from an unknown source about Pełka’s peacekeeping mission before the battle of Zawichost in 1205, see Annales, bk. 7, 194. The latter episode was analyzed by Jan Ptak, “Co Jan Długosz mógł wiedzieć o bitwie rozegranej w 1205 roku pod Zawichostem?,” in “Ecclesia—​cultura—​potestas.” Studia z dziejów kultury i społeczeństwa. Księga ofiarowana Siostrze Profesor Urszuli Borkowskiej OSU, ed. Paweł Kras et al. (Kraków: Societas Vistulana, 2006), 673–​87 at 685–​86. 13 But he noted a homicide on a hunt that was to be committed by the bishop of Kraków, Paul of Przemyków, and other shameful deeds of this prelate, CECrac, 181–​82. He claimed in the Annales that Bishop Paul also associated with knights of ill repute. See Jan Gawron, “Czarna legenda biskupa krakowskiego Pawła z Przemankowa,” Annales Universitatis Mariae Curie-​Skłodowska. Sectio F: Historia 71 (2016): 25–​64 at 53. 14 Semkowicz, Krytyczny rozbiór, 155–​56, without more detailed explanation. 15 Kotecki, “Ordynariusz płocki Szymon,” especially 164–​66.

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army fighting with the pagans.16 It is believed that such an approach by the chronicler, influenced by reformatory ideals, yet written at the duke’s court, was an expression of the author’s efforts towards not having his work rejected by people who knew the reality of the wars at that time and valued the courage of knights and warfare.17 In this vision of his predecessor, Master Vincentius makes several significant, albeit small, modifications. In his narrative, Bishop Simon, like his successor Alexander of Malonne (in office 1129–​1156), is said to have defended the Church against the pagans with “vigilant foresight.” To substantiate this opinion, he quoted an episode already told by his predecessor. The bishop suddenly appears, nobody knows how and where from, in a place where a handful of brave Mazovians are catching up with a much larger force of the pillaging pagans. He does not take part in the armed expedition, nor does he organize it, but he comes to help, because the secular authorities have failed. The chronicler points out that the duke was far away with the army, and he does not mention comes Magnus at all, which was undoubtedly supposed to justify the presence of the prelate in the war. Therefore, in Vincentius’s opinion, the bishop is the only person that can overcome chaos and doubt. Accordingly, he gives a short exhortation to the army, encouraging his knights in their fights, promising them a reward in heaven, and then getting them to fight. As in Gallus’s work, Simon prays zealously during the battle, and his entreating oration brings victory to the Mazovian army.18 It has already been rightly pointed out that there is a certain dichotomy regarding the attitude of the prelate in this account. On the one hand, he appears in liturgical robes and is far from the army and from the battlefield, which is not even within his sight. On the other hand, however, his attitude is much more active than the one described by Gallus;19 in a sense, he replaces the secular commander. After all, it was a ruler who was expected to comfort soldiers before battle 16 See Marek Cetwiński, “Idee gregoriańskie w ‘Kronice’ Anonima tzw. Galla,” in “Nobis operique favete.” Studia nad Gallem Anonimem, ed. Andrzej Dąbrówka, Edward Skibiński, and Witold Wojtowicz (Warsaw:  Wydawnictwo Instytutu Badań Literackich Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2017), 111–​17. I reject the suggestion that Gallus was closely linked to Bishop Simon as claimed on the grounds of his second position after the archbishop of Gniezno in the preface of Gallus Anonymus’s chronicle. In my opinion, it reflects the order of bishops’ precedence regulated according to the seniority-​in-​office principle. See Jacek Maciejewski, “Precedencja biskupów prowincji gnieźnieńskiej w Polsce piastowskiej,” Nasza Przeszłość 99 (2003): 5–​26 at 5–​6. 17 See Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “Gallus as a Credible Historian, or Why the Biography of Bolesław the Brave Is as Authentic and Far from Grotesque as Bolesław the Wrymouth’s,” in Gallus Anonymous and His Chronicle, 19–​34. The chronicler makes one more exception for the enthusiasts of warfare, as can be exemplified in another place by a personage, probably of St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert, mounting a white horse. Brandishing a sword in his hand but without spilling blood, this phantom attacks and frightens pagan intruders. Everyone would be content! The saint is not subject to the mundane law, so he does not need to comply with the arms-​bearing prohibition. On the other hand, all the adherents of the fighting clergy would appreciate this story, too. 18 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.8, 94.

19 Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs,” 320–​21.

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in earlier medieval Poland.20 This way of presenting the events enabled the chronicler to emphasize that Simon respected the canonical prohibition on participation in the armed struggle, but at the same time he legitimized his involvement in the armed conflict by suggesting that bishop fulfilled there the duties normally ascribing to secular power. Simon also fits in Vincentius’s broader perspective concerning the increasing efforts toward gaining independence of Polish bishops as subjects of public life at the turn of the thirteenth century. It should be noted that in Długosz’s Annales, Bishop Simon does not participate in the expedition at all. Having learned of the pagans’ invasion, he is said to have organized a (public?) prayer begging “God’s constant mercy for the Poles’ victory, and he did not set free his spirit or body from supplicatory prayers and fasting until he was told that comes Magnus and the Mazovians had achieved a complete, magnificent victory over their enemies.”21 Długosz, not mentioning the presence of Simon throughout the war, used a narrative convention known in the Middle Ages. In this concept, unlike in the biblical original, the place where prayers are offered is not important. It was believed that a bishop’s fervent prayer, even far from the battlefield, could also be very effective. The Płock bishop was portrayed by Długosz in a similar manner as the archbishop of York, Thurstan (d. 1140), who was presented in English chronicles during preparations and warfare against the Scots in 1138. At that time, he was said to have raised the spirits of those who doubted the effectiveness of the resistance of the English elite. Before the army set off, he had organized a religious ceremony at which both the warriors and those who were to stay in York gathered together. He imposed a three-​day fast on the latter and later gave absolution to all of them. Although he had to remain in his capital because of an illness and old age, he supported the English forces with prayer, vigils, fasting “and everything else that pertained to God.”22 Długosz is also inconsistent in another fragment of his narrative. Characterizing Simon, he refers to and even quotes Master Vincentius’s account in a selective way, suggesting a different course of events. However, this passage lacks clarity and the readers, if they do not know Vincentian Chronica Polonorum, could not have been entirely sure whether the events took place during the military expedition. In any case, the bishop, after sending the people to battle, goes to pray, too.23 A single word cannot be found about the cooperation with comes Magnus, which is known from the Gallus’s 20 Jan Ptak, “ ‘Quidam de gregariis militibus….’ Pospolici ludzie jako bohaterowie piastowskich wojen do połowy XIII wieku,” Acta Universitatis Lodziensis. Folia Historica 103 (2019): 27–​42 at 35–​36. 21 Długosz, Annales, bk. 4, 262.

22 David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War c. 300–​1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003), 154–​55; Daniel Gerrard, “Why Study Fighting Clergy? Knight Service, Integrated War, and the Bounds of English Military History, c. 1000–​1200,” in Between Sword and Prayer, 117–​58 at 146; Craig M. Nakashian, “Orderic Vitalis and Henry of Huntingdon: Views of Clerical Warfare from Inside and Outside the Cloister,” in Between Sword and Prayer, 159–​81 at 176–​77. 23 Długosz, Annales, bk. 4, 228.

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chronicle, because Długosz rationalized the earlier accounts. For him, the real defender of Mazovia, who led the army to battle, was Magnus, not the bishop. The two quite extensive passages devoted to Simon in the Annales took a significantly shortened form in Vitae episcoporum Plocensium. They were added to a short description of Simon, comparing him to the biblical Moses (dux et legislator), concluding that the Płock bishop, like Moses dealt with the Amalekites with his prayers (Exodus 17:8–​13), “chased, repelled, and slammed barbaric Pomeranians and Prussians from harassing his flocks.”24 The reference to Moses may suggest a maintenance of the tradition of the bishop’s participation in the military expedition. However, the meaning of the whole message seems to contradict it. The author focuses on the element of prayer that is said to have been Simon’s powerful weapon. Such an approach should not be surprising with regard to a chronicler who, even though he rarely wrote about miracles, was nevertheless a man of deep faith and believed that the final result of battles was decided on supernatural ground.25 In the Catalogue, there is also no trace of any rationalization of the reality as compared to the Annales, where Długosz only mentioned that “there was a belief that the Poles … won with significant help from the bishop of Płock, Simon” when talking about Magnus’s military successes.26 In general, however, the text of the Catalogue is similar in its ideological layer to the content published in the Annales. Characterizing Simon’s successor, Bishop Alexander of Malonne, in his Annales, Długosz made in the text of Vincentius even more serious digests, changes, and omissions. Master Vincentius presented this prelate, one of the most outstanding figures of the twelfth-​century Polish Church, in a dichotomous way—​as a priest and as a knight. The chronicler strongly emphasized his merits to the Church and attributed to him the thought taken from Gratian, but rooted in St. Ambrose, that “the bishop’s weapons were tears and prayers” (“arma episcopi lacrimae sunt et orationes”),27 yet he did not intend to hide the prominent position of this prelate among the Mazovian knights and his participation in armed expeditions, which were well-​established in the memory of the chronicler’s contemporary elites.28 Vincentius did not go so far as 24 VEPloc, 601–​2: “Hunc prae caeteris loci antistibus Vincentius Cadlubecus [ac Dlugos toties nominatus] eruditione, prudentia, pietate, ieiuniis, vigiliis ac multiiugi oratione et sanctitate devotum Moysi duci et legislatori Hebraerorum aequiparare non dubitarunt. Sicut enim is Amalechitas, ita ille Pomeranios et Prutenos barbaros virtute orationis ab infestatione sui gregi fugavit, deterruit et obtrivit.” 25 Koczerska, “Mentalność Jana Długosza,” 116; Urszula Borkowska, Treści ideowe w dziełach Jana Długosza. Kościół i świat poza Kościołem (Lublin: Katolicki Uniwersytet Lubelski, 1983), 76–​77. 26 Długosz, Annales, bk. 4, 262.

27 Compare C. 23, q. 8, c. 3, Decretum Magistri Gratiani, in Corpus Iuris Canonici, vol. 1, ed. Emil Friedberg (Leipzig: Tauchnitz, 1881 [repr.: Graz: Akademische Druck-​u. Verlagsanstalt, 1959]), 953–​54; St. Ambrose, Sermo contra Auxentium de basilicis tradendis, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 16 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1845), 1008; for more, see Kotecki, “Ordynariusz płocki Szymon,” 155–​56; Kotecki, “Aleksander z Malonne,” 65; Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs,” 318, 323.

28 Compare Tomaszek, “Modlitwa i łzy,” 129, 133–​34; Kotecki, “Aleksander z Malonne,” 58–​59; Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs,” 321–​30.

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to put a sword in the hands of the bishop, but he claimed that the Płock prelate was still an armed guard, “he was great in battles,” and, moreover, he organized the armed protection of his cathedral church. Therefore, in a miraculous way, as the chronicler proves, this prelate is said to have combined two missions—​spiritual and temporal —​in one person. Based on this, in referring to Bishop Alexander’s wartime activities, Długosz significantly reduced this subject in the Annales. He did not, however, conceal the bishop’s military inclinations, quoting quite extensive fragments of the chronicle of Master Vincentius. He repeated the opinion about the double nature of the Płock prelate, “a lamb and a lion, a wolf and a shepherd, a bishop and a knight,” and described him frequently accompanying the army during the war. However, Długosz also made significant changes to Alexander’s characteristics, as compared to Master Vincentius’s work. Having clear evidence that the Płock bishop was armatus, which obviously made him a warrior,29 he omitted the assurances that Alexander was “a man following St. Ambrose’s thought—​ “[t]‌he bishop’s weapon are tears and prayers”—​and in this way was not upholding the opinion of the miraculous double nature of the bishop’s mission. And finally, following Vincentius in briefly repeating the praise of his piety, which was allegedly proved by the construction and later by the care for the safety of the Płock Cathedral, Długosz did not compare Alexander with Bishop Simon, as Vincentius did. He unexpectedly confronted the piety of the prelate incoming from Malonne, whom he considered to have been a Pole, with the combativeness of his great namesake, Alexander the Great!30 If this is not an oversight that the chronicler did not notice or did not manage to correct, then it may have been an attempt to focus the reader’s attention on the pious works of the bishop, because they gave him a prominent place in history, as the battle victories did in the case of Alexander the Great. In Vitae episcoporum Plocensium, all is again put in a nutshell. Following Vincentius, the duality of Alexander’s ministry is pointed out, but it is emphasized in a different way. Alexander is said to have been characterized by a double leadership, because he was called a bishop (pontifex) and a chief commander (imperator). The author of the text correctly compared his piety with that of Bishop Simon, and his magnanimitas with 29 The term arma in the Middle Ages was recently discussed by Jan Szymczak in Rycerz w hełmie, w zbroi i z tarczą (Warsaw: DiG, 2016), 12–​17.

30 Długosz, Annales, bk. 4, 312: “Meminit et huius Vincenciana cronica et singulari illum laude efferens scribit Masoviam consiliis esse fortem et vernantissimam milicie flore et maiestate. Inter quos Alexandrum Ploczensem pontificem summa dignum admiracione duco, qui tam diversis ac summis rebus sufficeri potuerit. Idem agnus et leo, idem lupus et dux gregis, idem presul et miles, simul armatus et devotus, ut inter iuges armorum excubias nichil, quod suum est, devocionis neglexerit. Magnus quidem Alexander Macedo in preliis, sed in Divinis maior Ploczensis episcopus Alexander obsequiis. Nam ut extructas ab eo basilicas cuiuslibet invidia silencio sepeliat, indevotus enim quo pacto estimabitur, qui tam conspicuum Beate Virginis templum a primis iniciat fundamentis et consumat, quod non solum intrinsecus et spiritualibus locupletat studiis, sed eciam armis comunivit materialibus, necessariis undique septum presidiis.”

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that of Alexander the Great.31 It seems that Długosz could follow here many medieval writers and understood the term magnanimitas as knightly high spirit, valor, bravery, courage, boldness, or strength.32 The idea behind the Catalogue is different from the one in the Annales. The bishop’s relationship with knights was not undermined, but he became the leader, not someone who could be described as a knight-​warrior. In fact, everything directly connected with participation in military expeditions and possession of weapons (miles, armatus, armed guards, or battles) disappeared, and the charismatic leader, about whom we hardly know anything, remained. This transformation is very significant, because, ever since Gratian’s conclusion to the discussion on the clergy’s participation in war, ecclesiastical law had theoretically separated clergy from violence. However, the discussion continued with a clear ethical division between personal participation in armed combat and leadership in war.33 Vitae episcoporum Plocensium includes Gedko, the son of Sasin, in the group of the bishops that is closely connected with the war with pagans. He was one of Alexander’s successors at the beginning of the thirteenth century. It is fairly puzzling that Jan Długosz had almost nothing to say about this very interesting figure in the Annales.34 In the preserved version of Vitae there is, however, some laconic information that the prelate by God’s will protected his church many times from the invasions of the Prussians with prayers bathed in tears.35 It is hard not to notice that this narrative is very close to what Gallus and Vincentius said about the military activities of the Płock bishops and to the thoughts of St. Ambrose paraphrased by Gratian about tears and prayer as a weapon of a bishop.36 However, there is an even more categorical separation between 31 VEPloc, 602: “Vincentius Masoviam Consilio fortem et flore militiae vernantissimam describens, Alexandrum hunc mirifice extollit, agnum et leonem vocans, pontificem aeque et imperatorem, Simoni praedecessori pietate, Alexandro Macedoni magnanimitate parem.” The essential meaning of magnanimitas is “magnanimity” or “generosity.” 32 According to Lexicon mediae et infimae Latinitatis Polonorum it is possible to understand this word as “valor” or “bravery”: http://​scriptores.pl/​elexicon/​pl/​lemma/​MAGNANIMITAS. Compare also Beverly Kennedy, Knighthood in the “Morte Darthur,” 2nd ed. (Rochester: Brewer, 1992), 108; Anna Waśko, The Spiritual Aristocracy: The Image of the Medieval Society Presented in the “Revelationes” by St. Bridget of Sweden (Kraków: Księgarnia Akademicka, 2015), 223. 33 Timothy Reuter, “ ‘Episcopi cum sua militia’: The Prelate as Warrior in the Early Staufer Era,” in Warriors and Churchmen in the High Middle Ages: Essays Presented to Karl Leyser, ed. Timothy Reuter (London: Hambledon, 1992), 79–​94 at 80–​81; Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power.”

34 Długosz records the bishop’s death in 1223 but without any comments concerning his characteristics, Annales, bk. 6, 239. 35 VEPloc, 603: “Quam et perfusa lacrimis oratione multoties ab incursionibus Prutenorum nutu divino protexit.”

36 Compare works cited in n28 above. For more on prayer as a weapon suitable for a bishop, see especially Radosław Kotecki, “With the Sword of Prayer, or How Medieval Bishop Should Fight,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 21 (2016): 341–​69; Kurt Villads Jensen, “Bishops on Crusade,” in “Dominus Episcopus”: Medieval Bishops Between Diocese and Court, ed. Anthony J. Lappin and Elena Belzamo, Konferenser 95 (Stockholm: Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and

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the praying prelate and the battlefield than in Długosz’s description of Bishop Simon’s life. Moreover, it is not known whether Bishop Gedko’s act of prayer was at all connected with the ongoing war. It would appear that the power of the bishop’s oration was simply so great that it prevented the Prussians from attacking Mazovia. Yet, was this text the same in the original version of Jan Długosz’s Catalogue? Fortunately, it is possible to verify it. The publisher of the source, Wojciech Kętrzyński, drew attention to this biographical note and compared it with an excerpt from Długosz’s Catalogue preserved in the work of Samuel Nakielski Miechovia from the mid-​ seventeenth century. The passage about the role of Bishop Gedko in holding back the invasions of the Prussians is presented in a significantly different way. First of all, the account is much more extensive, and the bishop plays an active role as the country’s defender. He encouraged or animated (animati) the Mazovian knights who resisted the invasion of the Prussians. Moreover, the prayers and tears poured out by the bishop for the atonement of God were effective, because the Creator granted the knights victory over the barbaric tribes.37 Samuel Nakielski directly points out that he took this excerpt from Długosz. What is more, a comparison of the biography of Bishop Gedko of Kraków with a similar account from the Catalogue of the Bishops of Kraków by Długosz allows us to state that Nakielski copied from Długosz almost literally.38 Therefore, following Kętrzyński, it should be assumed that the narration about Bishop Gedko preserved in Miechovia is the same as the text that had originally been written down by Jan Długosz. It should also be added that this fragment is ideologically consistent with the tradition about Bishop Simon, but even more with the version of Vincentius, where the bishop actively encourages the knights to fight the enemy and is not a military commander, but only a good pastor and a charismatic priest supporting the army. The account written down by Długosz refers to the many years of Bishop Gedko’s ministry from 1206 to the beginning of the 1220s, although nothing is known about his involvement in Prussian matters before 1222.39 At that time, Mazovia’s defence was mostly the duty of Governor Krystyn, who performed this task very well. Perhaps, therefore, these effective prayers should be connected with the military successes of the governor, which would support the tradition of cooperation between provincial comites and bishops. This tradition had been confirmed since the times of Gallus and it was emphasized in Antiquities, 2018), 83–​99. Compare also discussion by Bjørn Bandlien on Canones Nidrosienses in this volume. 37 VEPloc, 595; Samuel Nakielski, Miechovia sive promptuarium antiquitatum monasterii Miechouiensis (Kraków: Officina Francisci Cæsarij, 1634), 28: “Grassabantur pro illo tempore (inquit idem Auctor [i.e. Jan Długosz]), delictis Polonorum Deum provocantibus, gravius et durius solito in terras Masoviae Prutheni barbarii, faciendo in illas frequentes furtivas et nocturnas incursiones, quibus Masoviae milites ab ipso Gedkone episcopo animati viriliter resistebat. Dabatque dominus pontificis Gedkonis precibus et lacrimis placatus Masoviae militibus de barbaris Pruthenis triumphos frequentes.” 38 Nakielski, Miechovia, 20–​21; CECrac, 156–​59. 39 Szymaniak, Biskup płocki Gedko, 293.

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an interestingly symbolic way in the thirteenth-​century account of the death of another Płock hierarch, Bishop Werner (d. 1170/​1172).40 On the other hand, this information could also be associated with the period after the death of Governor Krystyn in 1217, which, according to the Annals of the Kraków Chapter, was said to have led to the collapse of the defence against the Prussians in Mazovia.41 In this situation, Gedko could have taken over the organization of the defence for some time, and the note preserved in Nakielski’s work suggests that he was an anchor for knights, like his predecessor Alexander.42 At the end of his life, the Płock prelate supported Bishop Christian who organized a mission in Prussia. In August 1222, it coincided with the meeting of crusaders, who set off to Prussia probably the same or succeeding year.43 However, in the summer of 1223, Bishop Gedko did not take part in the expedition, as he had died a little earlier.44 Finally, there is one more point on the lives of the Mazovian bishops to be analyzed. It is particularly noteworthy as it presents one of the most interesting accounts of the Polish bishop’s relationship with warfare in the Piast era. A quotation of the text that is of interest is the following: Gunter … peculiarly endowed with prudence and fortitude, church manors, people and rights defended with the forces of the body no less than with the forces of the mind. He also bravely held back the Prussian attack, regained the stronghold of Dzierzgowo, forcibly rescued and brought back the prisoners of war, dispersed the barbarian troops and forced them to escape.45

40 Mors et miracula beati Verneri, episcopi Plocensis auctore Iohanne, decano Plocensi, ed. Wojciech Kętrzyński, MPH 4 (Lviv: Gubrynowicz and Schmidt, 1884), 748–​54 at 752: “Decanus autem prius dictus nocte subsequenti in vision duos canonicos Plocenses vidit portantes et deponents in maiori altari kathedralis ecclesie Plocensis duo capita, unum Verneri episcopi et aliud comitis Cristini magni palatine, qui eciam accusantibus emulis prius excecatus, postmodum iugulatus [est] per Cunradum ducem. Iste Cristinus tante strenuitatis fuit, ut mirabilem miliciam exercuerit ultra mare et Prutenos ac alios gentiles hostes Mazovie compescuerit, ut plena securitate reddita Mazovie, tributarii existerent Polonorum.” 41 Annales capituli Cracoviensis, ed. Zofia Kozłowska-​Budkowa, in Annales Cracovienses priores cum kalendario, MPH NS 5 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1978), 71–​72.

42 Janusz Bieniak, “Flos milicie Mazoviensis marcore lividorum cecidit,” in Europa barbarica, Europa christiana: Studia mediaevalia Carolo Modzelewski dedicata, ed. Roman Michałowski (Warsaw: DiG, 2008), 27–​32.

43 Mikołaj Gładysz, The Forgotten Crusaders: Poland and the Crusader Movement in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, The Northern World 56 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 197–​98; Szymaniak, Biskup płocki Gedko, 245–​62, 303–​8. Both works provide further references concerning involvement of Polish bishops in Prussian crusades.

44 Tomasz Jasiński, “Stosunki śląsko-​pruskie i śląsko-​krzyżackie w pierwszej połowie XIII wieku,” in “Ars historica.” Prace z dziejów powszechnych i Polski, ed. Marian Biskup et al., Seria Historia 71 (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 1976), 393–​403 at 396; Jacek Maciejewski, Episkopat polski doby dzielnicowej 1180–​1320 (Bydgoszcz: Societas Vistulana, 2003), 245. 45 VEPloc, 604: “Gunterus … Prudentia egregie atque fortitudine praeditus rura, homines iuraque ecclesiae non minus corporis quam ingenii viribus defendit. Impetus enim Prutenorum fortiter

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Bishop Gunter mentioned in this passage is probably the most mysterious of the Mazovian bishops discussed in this chapter. Długosz considered him to have been a Pole, but there is no evidence of this and his name may rather suggest someone foreign-​born.46 He held the office of a bishop in 1227/​1228–​1232, and he had earlier been the dean of the cathedral chapter in Płock.47 In general, his activities are rarely featured in the sources, although several charters issued by dukes and bishops can be associated with him. They confirm, for instance, his interest in defending Mazovia against the pagans. We know from this evidence that he looked favourably on the involvement of knightly orders in the fight against pagans on the border between Mazovia and Prussia. He supported the establishment of the Order of Dobrzyń (Fratres Milites Christi), as well as the idea of bringing the Teutonic Order to Mazovia, and he probably acted as an intermediary in the arrangements of Duke Conrad of Mazovia (r. 1194/​1200–​1247) with the Teutonic Knights in granting them Chełmno Land.48 He also obtained from the duke of Mazovia certain immunities for the benefit of the Płock bishopric, related to the defence of the country, including permission to build fortifications on Church property and support in strengthening the bishop’s fortress in Pułtusk.49 Therefore, the information about this prelate based on other sources, as well as the devastation caused to Mazovia described in the sources, make the story of the Prussian invasion of Dzierzgowo near Przasnysz in northern Mazovia, and Bishop Gunter’s military response, highly credible.50 avertit, castrum Dzirgow recuperavit, captivos vi eripuit et reduxit, cohortes barbarorum fudit fugavitque.” See also Kotecki, “Ordynariusz płocki Szymon,” 165–​66.

46 He was considered German by Stella M. Szacherska, Opactwo cysterskie w Szpetalu a misja pruska (Warsaw:  Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1960), 37; Gerard Labuda, “Osadzenie zakonu krzyżackiego w ziemi chełmińskiej,” in Marian Biskup and Gerard Labuda, Dzieje zakonu krzyżackiego w Prusach. Gospodarka—​społeczeństwo—​państwo—​ideologia, 2nd ed. (Gdańsk: Wydawnictwo Morskie, 1988), 92. 47 Krystyna Stachowska, “Gunter, biskup płocki,” in Polski słownik biograficzny, vol. 9, ed. Kazimierz Lepszy et  al. (Wrocław:  Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1960–​1961), 159; Maciejewski, Episkopat, 246.

48 Powierski, “Przekaz Dusburga,” 389; Aleksandra Witkowska, “Kościół na Mazowszu Płockim w XIII i początkach XIV wieku,” Studia Płockie 3 (1975): 85–​98 at 95; Labuda, “Osadzenie,” 135; Marian Dygo, Studia nad początkami władztwa zakonu niemieckiego w Prusach (1226–​1259) (Warsaw: Uniwersytet Warszawski, 1992), 45–​48, 51–​53; Jan Powierski, Prusowie, Mazowsze i sprowadzenie Krzyżaków do Polski (Malbork: Muzeum Zamkowe, 1996), 14–​15; Maciej Dorna, “Nadanie biskupa płockiego Guntera i kapituły płockiej dla Zakonu Krzyżackiego z 17 marca 1230 roku. Autentyk czy falsyfikat?,” Roczniki Historyczne 75 (2009): 43–​59.

49 Powierski, “Przekaz Dusburga,” 412–​14; Anna Salina, Polityka książąt mazowieckich wobec władz Kościoła od początku XIV wieku do 1526 roku (Poznań:  Wydawnictwo Poznańskie, 2011), 124–​25; Dorota Stabrowska, “Pułtuska kasztelania majątkowa biskupstwa płockiego,” Pułtusk. Studia i materiały z dziejów miasta i regionu 6 (2005): 13–​32 at 19–​20.

50 The existence of the little stronghold is also confirmed by archeological exploration, Elżbieta Kowalczyk-​Heyman, “Gród w Dzierzgowie. Przyczynek do dziejów grodów pogranicza mazowiecko-​ pruskiego,” in “Ecclesia—​regnum—​fontes.” Studia z dziejów średniowiecza, ed. Sławomir Gawlas et al. (Warsaw: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2014), 512–​19 at 512–​13 and 516–​17.

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In this account, already at first glance, the method of approaching the subject of bishops at war differs surprisingly from the other accounts by Długosz. He mentions Gunter several times in the Annales, but nowhere is he characterized in a more elaborate way; Długosz is satisfied with quoting information known partly from charters, partly from sources about his appointment to the office of bishop that are unknown today, his participation in the assembly at Gąsawa (1227) and in bringing the Teutonic Order to Poland, or his death during a trip abroad.51 This statement alone makes it impossible to consider the account in Vitae a flight of imagination of the chronicler. The accounts about bishops that have already been analyzed indicate nonetheless that such an approach would clearly contradict his views regarding the clergy’s personal involvement in military activities. Examples of personal clerical involvement are prominent in Długosz’s account about the Mongol invasion of Hungary, and in particular about the Battle of Muhi on the River Sajó (April 11, 1241), in which several bishops and many other clerics were killed. This time the chronicler was well informed about the participation of the Hungarian bishops in the fighting, as he was familiar with two thirteenth-​century sources presenting the matter: Carmen miserabile by Master Roger and Historia Salonitanorum by Thomas the Archdeacon.52 These relationships differ significantly in the assessment of the bishops’ participation in the war. Master Roger commends the Hungarian prelates taking part in the war and, drawing from the stories of eyewitnesses, he provided evidence of their far-​ reaching involvement in defending the country against the Mongols, including not only their commanding role but also their active participation in battle.53 It was probably not an extraordinary situation caused only by the need to defend the homeland against the invasion of cruel pagans, as other sources from Rus’ and Hungary confirm the participation of Hungarian bishops even in foreign military expeditions in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.54 51 Długosz, Annales, bk. 6, 239, 246, 250, 258, 261, 264.

52 Semkowicz, Krytyczny rozbiór, 242, 256, 258. More details in János Zsolt Pintér, “Tatárok és magyarok (1241–​1242),” Hadtörténelmi Közlemények 118, no. 3 (2005): 672–​83. See also David O. Morgan, The Mongols (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986), 138–​39; Richard Gabriel, Subotai the Valiant: Genghis Khan’s Greatest General (Westport: Prager, 2004), 122–​24; Michael C. Paul, “Secular Power and the Archbishops of Novgorod Before the Muscovite Conquest,” Kritika. Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 8, no. 2 (2007): 231–​70 at 240. 53 Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, ed., trans., and ann. Martyn C. Rady and László Veszprémy /​Master Roger, Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta, ed., trans., and ann. János M. Bak and Martyn C. Rady, Central European Medieval Texts 5 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 132–​228 at 178–​86.

54 The Russian Primary Chronicle: Laurentian Text, ed. and trans. Samuel Hazzard Cross and Olgerd P. Sherbowitz-​Wetzor (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1953), 196; Lisa Lynn Heinrich, “Kievan Chronicle: Translation and Commentary” (PhD diss., Vanderbilt University, 1978), 139–​ 40; Annales Posonienses, ed. Imre Madzsar, SRH 1:126 (s.a. 1100); Chronici Hungarici compositio

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Thomas of Split provides quite extensive information on the participation of the Hungarian clergy in the war against the Mongols in 1241, indicating that Hungarian bishops commanded the armed forces and bravely stood up to fight. He even mentioned Archbishop Ugrin Csák of Kalocsa among the brave men standing guard and defending others at night.55 However, the author showed significant criticism towards the warring clergy. He noted that, on the request of the king, many clerics came to the place of mobilization of the Hungarian army, including both archbishops with their suffragan bishops. However, he added that “they were all gathered at the king’s encampment like lambs to the slaughter.”56 Commenting on the annihilation of the Hungarian army at the Sajó River and the deaths of several bishops, he criticized their participation in the battle, claiming that “much better could they have helped themselves and their people with devoted supplication and prayer, beseeching Your fearful majesty in their holy dwellings, than by passing the night in the camp of laymen girded with material arms.”57 This viewpoint was also adopted by Jan Długosz when he spoke about the death of the Hungarian prelates. He stated that “it would have been better for them to abide in temples and ask in tears, with pious prayers and requests God’s harsh majesty for their people and themselves than to spend nights and days in the camp. Therefore, those who in one row went to the forbidden fight, in punishment, died together.”58 The key issue seems to be what Długosz added; the conviction that this fight, although with the enemies of the Christian faith, was a forbidden act for the clergy. It is worth noting, however, that although he was clearly against the involvement of clergy in military matters, the chronicler did not hide their participation. The negative comment might have been made, however, because of the terrible outcome of these battles, which could have easily been interpreted as a manifestation of heaven’s disapproval. Returning to Długosz’s account of Bishop Gunter, it can be said that the previously-​ quoted passage from the Vitae, characterizing the bishop’s activities, clearly consists of two parts. In the first one, a general description of Gunter is provided. It is striking that only two of his traits are mentioned: prudence (prudentia) and fortitude (fortitudo). Both of them have a very clear meaning in this context as they refer to a man who personally sought to defend his diocese. Bishop Gunter was said to have bravely defended the rights saeculi XIV, chap. 143, ed. Alexander Domanovszky, SRH 1:424–​ 25. On Hungarian prelates’ involvement in warfare, see a more in-​depth analysis by Gábor Barabás in this volume.

55 Archdeacon Thomas of Split, Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum, chap. 36, Latin text by Olga Perić, ed., trans., and ann. by Damir Karbić, Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, and James Ross Sweeney, Central European Medieval Texts 4 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2006) (hereafter Thomas, Hist. Sal.), 264. 56 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 257 (Latin text, 256: “Quos secuta est magna multitudo prelatorum et relligiosorum, qui omnes ad castra regia congregati sunt, quasi oves ad victimam”).

57 Thomas, Hist. Sal., 269 and 271 (Latin text, 268 and 270: “Infelices et miseri, qui multo melius se suumque populum piis votis intentisque precibus iuvare poterant, in sacris edibus supplicando, quam materialibus armis accinti in castris laycalibus pernoctando”). 58 Długosz, Annales, bk. 7, 28.

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and estates of the Church, including the people—​not only people living in the area of raided settlements and churches but also the faithful in general, who were subject to the authority and care of the bishop of Płock. The fact that it was primarily a threat from pagan Prussians is explained in the second part of this note, which gives a concrete example of the bishop’s actions. At this point, the prelate was presented without any camouflage as the commander of military operations, who personally took part in the war. These actions are said to have been undertaken to oppose a Prussian raid, which led to their conquest of the Dzierzgowo stronghold and the taking of captives. The bishop responded to this violence with military action. It is striking that the author attributed the successes of the battle directly to the Mazovian bishop in the manner typical for a medieval narrative, which took into account primarily the actions of the commanders. It was he who bravely held back the Prussians, regained the stronghold, saved the prisoners, dispersed the barbarians, and forced them to flee. He is, therefore, a real hero who is personally fighting (corporis viribus) to defend his diocese (people and churches) against the military violence of the pagans. It is worth noting that there is an accumulation of strong, military-​related verbs in this account. It is stylistically similar to Vitae’s message about Bishop Simon who “chased, scared, and crushed the pagans.” Ideologically, however, these accounts are quite different, as Simon was said to have acted solely with prayer, whereas in the case of Gunter, concrete action against the invaders was involved. Gunter was not called a knight and was not given a weapon, although the emphasis on his courage and personal participation in the military campaign leaves no doubt that his depiction was similar to his brave predecessor’s, bishop-​knight Alexander of Malonne, presented by Vincentius. This account completely omitted the motif of a charismatic priest supporting the army, well legible, in spite of variously distributed emphasis, both in Gallus’s and Vincentius’s, as well as in Długosz’s works with regard to bishops Simon, Alexander, and Gedko. Yet, the bishop showed pastoral care, since he defended his diocese against violence, and also freed those who had been taken captive by the pagans—​this kind of behaviour was accepted and valued in many ecclesiastical circles.59 It can even be said that it legitimized the bishop’s own military actions. Therefore, the description of Gunter’s activity shows a bishop who is very active in the military field, and who also performs his duties of a good shepherd, who personally defends his flock from the dangers of pagans, without relying on secular power. Thus, he fits perfectly into a century-​old tradition of activity in the military field, following his predecessors. On the other hand, Gunter was described as a brave defender of ecclesiastical rights and possessions. Such a postulate in thirteenth-​century Poland was clearly formulated for those who were to be appointed bishops, and effectiveness in this field was one of the most important criteria for assessment of the activities and personal traits of a bishop. The desiderata formulated at that time were used to create 59 Kotecki, “With the Sword of Prayer,” 360–​61; Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals od Episcopal Power,” especially 8–​12.

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model figures of a bishop-​defender of ecclesiastical property, such as St. Stanisław, the bishop of Kraków (d. 1079) from the second half of the eleventh century and Werner as bishop of Płock. The latter, whose cult did not spread far beyond the borders of Mazovia, is said to have died “for God and justice, and for defence of his church,” according to the account of his martyrdom.60 This work, which was finally edited in the second half of the thirteenth century, removes all military tasks from the bishop’s duties, making the bishop a defender of ecclesiastical property and a guardian of justice, who, however, does not put his life at risk.61 Hence, the note about Gunter was most likely written earlier. The presumption that it was written during this bishop’s reign or shortly after his death may also be legitimate, since it reflects the early stage of the bishop’s model formation, as the Płock prelate actively defends his church against the pagans and not against the secular authorities. This could be a proof of accepting the bishop’s military activity that is appropriate in the Holy Roman Empire, where there was no shortage of warrior-​bishops and where new strategies for the legitimacy of the bishop’s military power emerged in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.62 Such an approach should not be surprising in Płock, where the cathedral’s milieu was dominated by foreigners coming from the Empire and, as Gallus assures, Bishop Simon was going to war “together with his clerics.”63 A question should also be asked as to where Jan Długosz obtained the information about Gedko and Gunter. It seems quite obvious that it may have been a local source.64 Back in the nineteenth century, Aleksander Semkowicz was already convinced that the chronicler had used some unknown catalogue of the Płock bishops.65 A trace of the existence of this catalogue can be found in the story of Bishop Werner’s martyrdom.66 60 Mors et miracula beati Verneri, 750: “pro deo et pro iusticia et pro defensione sue ecclesie.” See also Stefan Kwiatkowski, Powstanie i kształtowanie się chrześcijańskiej mentalności religijnej w Polsce do końca XIII w., Roczniki Towarzystwa Naukowego w Toruniu 79.3 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1980), 176; Paweł Figurski, “Przekaz ideowy i datacja ‘Mors et miracula beati Verneri,’ ” Studia Źródłoznawcze 48 (2010): 39–​57; Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals od Episcopal Power,” 21. 61 Kwiatkowski, Powstanie, 185–​86; Figurski, “Przekaz ideowy,” 55–​56.

62 Jan Keupp, “Die zwei Schwerter des Bischofs. Von Kriegsherren und Seelenhirten im Reichsepiskopat der Stauferzeit,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 117 (2006): 1–​24.

63 Gallus, Gesta, 2.49, 208: “cum suis clericis.” For more on Płock cathedral’s milieu, see Wojciech Góralski, Kapituła katedralna w Płocku XII-​XVI w.  Studium z dziejów organizacji prawnej kapituł polskich (Płock: Płockie Wydawnictwo Diecezjalne, 1979), 47, 56–​57; Marcin R. Pauk, “ ‘Quicquid pertinebat ad imperium’. Kościół w Polsce a Rzesza do połowy XII wieku,” in Chrzest Mieszka I i chrystianizacja państwa Piastów, ed. Jerzy Strzelczyk, Józef Dobosz, and Marzena Matla, Seria Historia 231 (Poznań:  Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 2017), 249–​80 at 266–​67, 279. 64 Powierski, “Przekaz Dusburga,” 414; Pacuski, “Drobne rycerstwo,” 191.

65 Semkowicz, Krytyczny rozbiór, 38, 217.

66 Mors et miracula beati Verneri, 753; Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza, 231n1032.

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According to Tomasz Nowakowski, Długosz was able to use this list of bishops, while at the same time using another, now lost, source.67 Nowakowski rightly pointed out that the information about Gunter’s death, recorded twice, once in 1231 and then in 1232, proves that Długosz had found some new information, which is said to have come from the lost Płock annals. He also noted that Długosz’s entries in the Annales, including those concerning bishops, might have differed significantly from the entries in the annals.68 The above historiographical works may have been written at the Płock cathedral. It is very likely since Płock was an important cultural centre in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries with a scriptorium; the local clergy kept close contacts with German lands, France, and Italy, and bishops from abroad transposed cultural standards from their countries to Mazovia.69 When it comes to Bishop Werner, what can be confirmed is not only his relationship with the Imperial court but also with such warriors in the German episcopate, such as Rainald von Dassel, the archbishop of Cologne (in office 1159–​1167) and chancellor under Frederick Barbarossa.70 The arrival of Dominicans, strongly involved in the Prussian mission, in Płock in the mid-​thirteenth century may have also played a role in preserving the memory of the actions of Płock bishops against the pagans. Gerard Labuda thought that they, too, had left some annalistic notes in Mazovia, although he did not say whether Długosz accessed them directly or whether he knew them through the Dominican chronicle in 67 Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza, 231. 68 Nowakowski, Źródła Jana Długosza, 254–​55, 291. For the reconstruction of the lost annals’ content, see Annex, 291–​93.

69 See among others Czesław Deptuła, “Krąg kościelny płocki w połowie XII wieku,” Roczniki Humanistyczne 8, no.  2 (1959):  5–​122; Czesław Deptuła, “Kościół płocki w XII wieku,” Studia Płockie 3 (1975): 67–​84; Adam Vetulani, “Średniowieczne rękopisy płockiej biblioteki katedralnej,” Roczniki Biblioteczne 7, no. 3–​4 (1963): 313–​440; Aleksander Gieysztor, “Mazowsze w kulturze Polski średniowiecznej,” Notatki Płockie 12 (1967):  24–​27 at 26–​27; Witkowska, “Kościół na Mazowszu Płockim,” 91; Krzysztof Skwierczyński, “The Beginnings of the Cult of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Poland in the Light of the Plock Accounts of Miracles from 1148,” Studi medievali 53 (2012): 117–​62; Marcin R. Pauk, “Episkopat, liturgia i polityka u schyłku XI w.: Biskup Eberhard i Henryk w dokumencie Władysława Hermana dla katedry bamberskiej,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 123, no. 4 (2016): 653–​94 at 677–​78, 681–​82, 687; Pauk, “ ‘Quicquid pertinebat ad imperium,’ ” 256, 261, 265, 267.

70 Deptuła, “Kościół płocki,” 69; Czesław Deptuła, “Niektóre aspekty stosunków Polski z cesarstwem w wieku XII,” in Polska w Europie. Studia historyczne, ed. Hentyk Zins (Lublin: Lubelski Oddział Polskiego Towarzystwa Historycznego, 1968), 35–​92 at 61. More about the military deeds of Archbishop Rainald, see Benjamin Arnold, “Medieval German Bishops and Their Military Retinues in the Medieval Empire,” German History 7, no. 2 (1989): 161–​83 at 164, 172–​73; Reuter, “ ‘Episcopi cum sua militia,’ ” 81; Keupp, “Die zwei Schwerter,” 2–​3; Stefan Burkhardt, Mit Stab und Schwert. Bilder, Träger und Funktionen erzbischöflicher Herrschaft zur Zeit Kaiser Friedrich Barbarossas. Die Erzbistümer Köln und Mainz im Vergleich, Mittelalter-​Forschungen 22 (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2008).

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Kraków, which the scholar tried to reconstruct.71 They also promoted the cult of Werner, bishop of Płock.72 It would not have been surprising if these records had also covered the Mazovians’ defence against pagan invasions.73 The analyzed accounts of the military involvement of the Płock bishops cover a period of over a hundred years, from the times of the Pomeranian wars of Bolesław III the Wrymouth (r. 1102–​1138) to the arrival of the Teutonic Knights in Poland ca. 1228. There is no doubt that in Jan Długosz’s works, local memory, which is a reflection of real struggles with the invading pagans, survived. Although it is clear that the original records from the twelfth to thirteenth centuries were modified. Questioning the credibility of these accounts, one should pay attention to the information about the household knights of the Płock bishops in the twelfth to thirteenth centuries, taken mainly from the charters. At the turn of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, these knights were probably quite numerous. Their task was to protect as many as four bishops’ strongholds, two larger ones and two smaller ones. The number of trained warriors under the command of Mazovian prelates is estimated at over a hundred.74 These knights, according to the information from a certain ducal charter issued a few years after Gunter’s death, were also obliged to defensio terrae and to take part in expeditio publica announced by the duke against Prussia.75 Therefore, there was some military background for the Płock bishops to realize their aspirations. It can be assumed that the memory of the Płock bishops’ military activity was built on stories about expeditions personally commanded by the prelates of the Mazovian diocese. However, they had no choice but to wage wars, as the Prussian threat was real. Indeed, in the period after the death of Governor Krystyn in 1217 it increased significantly as Bishop Gunter had only one fortress in Pułtusk, for the renovation of which he had received benefits from Duke Conrad.76 The wartime achievements of the Płock bishops are also a part of wider European martial activities of the high clergy in dioceses of the Christian borderlands. Numerous 71 Gerard Labuda, Zaginiona kronika z pierwszej polowy XIII wieku w “Rocznikach Królestwa Polskiego” Jana Długosza. Próba rekonstrukcji, Seria Historia 106 (Poznań: Wydawnictwo Naukowe Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza, 1983), 164. 72 Figurski, “Przekaz ideowy,” especially 45–​48, 56.

73 Dominican tradition passed down information about a defence of Chełmża (Culmsee) cathedral town by Bishop Heidenreich from Dominican Order in a work of a Teutonic Knights’ chronicler from the turn of the thirteenth century. See Peter of Dusburg, Chronica terrae Prussiae, 3.153, ed. Jarosław Wenta and Sławomir Wyszomirski, MPH NS 13 (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 2007), 151. 74 Pacuski, “Drobne rycerstwo,” 185–​87.

75 Codex diplomaticus et commemorationum Masoviae generalis, ed. Jan K. Kochanowski (Warsaw: Łazarski, 1919), 462 (no. 396): “Nullum conductum ducent, ad vllam expedicionem nec trahantur preterquam ad pruthenicam, videlicet quando dux publicam fecerit expedicionem, et ad terre defensionem.” 76 Codex diplomaticus et commemorationum Masoviae generalis, 302–​ 3 (no. 278); Pacuski, “Drobne rycerstwo,” 177–​78.

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accounts confirm the strong commitment of the clergy to war in the Latin East, in the Baltic, in the bishoprics of the English border, and in the Iberian monarchies waging war against the Muslims.77 In these areas, pastoral care of the bishops was strongly linked to ensuring the temporal security of their dioceses, and the bishops themselves took up arms. This situation was usually followed by the development of cultural and legal norms that accepted or even encouraged the participation of the clergy in wars.78 Moreover, in Płock, the military involvement of the bishops was most likely significant and well-​known as it attracted the interest of the court chroniclers who decided that the Mazovian prelates’ actions should be remembered, although their main aim was to tell about the achievements of the Piast dukes. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the issue was still current, yet, it was already preserved in local records in the Płock ecclesiastical milieu, where the achievements of two bishops, Gedko from the noble Polish family, and probably a foreigner, Gunter, were remembered. The latter, however, was depicted as a brave hero who personally led a war against the pagans. Based on these earlier texts, Jan Długosz considered it appropriate to preserve this memory for posterity, although the behaviour of some bishops might have been questionable. In addition, he made the content of his text a part of the “mirror of good behaviour,” which the chronicler dedicated to the duke and bishop of Płock, Kazimierz III (1449–​1480).79 Długosz modified the information he had found, trying not to connect bishops with the battlefield. The chronicler was not a great thinker; he simply tried to observe certain basic principles. These, in the case of the participation of the clergy in war, were based on Gratian’s recommendations and supported by the teachings of Thomas Aquinas d. 1274, and the views on war by Stanisław of Skarbimierz (d. 1431). Generally, Gratian and the decretists spoke negatively about bishops waging war. However, episcopal duty was to actively seek help and encourage the defence of Christianity, which was endangered by enemies, and thus to wage just wars. Next, the

77 See Genviève Bührer-​Thiery, “Des évêques sur la frontiére. Christianisation et sociétés de frontiére sur les marches du monde germanique aux Xe-​XIe siècle,” Questiones Maedii Aevii Novae 16 (2011): 61–​80; Sarah Hamilton, Church and People in the Medieval West, 900–​1200 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), 91; Daniel M. G. Gerrard, The Church at War: The Military Activities of Bishops, Abbots, and Other Clergy in England, c. 900–​ 1200 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), 136–​50; Kyle C. Lincoln, “Beating Swords into Croziers: Warrior Bishops in the Kingdom of Castile, c.  1158–​1214,” Journal of Medieval History 44, no. 1 (2017): 1–​21; Carsten Selch Jensen, “Clerics and War in Denmark and the Baltic: Ideals and Realities Around 1200,” in Fighting for the Faith: The Many Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Carsten Selch Jensen, and Janus Møller Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et mediævalia, 2018), 187–​217. Also, compare Kotecki, Ordynariusz płocki Szymon, 143n2. 78 Lincoln, “Beating Swords into Croziers,” 2.

79 Urszula Borkowska, “Historiograficzne poglądy Jana Długosza,” in “Dlugossiana.” Studia historyczne w pięćsetlecie śmierci Jana Długosza, ed. Stanisław Gawęda, Zeszyty naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego 561 (Kraków:  Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, 1980), 45–​82 at 60.

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pragmatic approach of many ecclesiastical circles and the past tradition of bishops replacing secular power, when it was incapable of acting, dating back to the time of Gregory the Great, had an influence on the positive view concerning bishops waging just wars, especially against the pagans and heretics.80 Jan Długosz’s opinion was closer to a more restrictive reading of Thomas Aquinas, repeated almost literally by the first rector of the renovated Jagiellonian University, Stanisław of Skarbimierz. Prelates might go to war when they are authorized by their superior, but their task was limited to supporting those fighting fairly by encouragement, promises to forgive the sins of combatants, and other forms of spiritual assistance.81 It can, therefore, be said that Długosz was not a supporter of the militarization of the clergy, but he did not deny the obvious facts. When he did not have detailed information, he shortened or omitted some issues, but when the opportunity arose, he provided a broader account. He liked to write about battles and believed that military victories and defeats were worth commemorating. When describing the matters of religion and the Church, he did not shun the use of words referring to armed struggle.82 He was, therefore, open to passing on information about the relationship between the Płock prelates and warfare to the posterity, all the more so as it concerned fighting with pagans, but he certainly did not feel the need to invent such stories. One can only regret that the account of Gunter’s military action was preserved only in the version of Laurentius of Wszerecz. He was even more zealous in interfering with earlier texts in order to keep the bishops away from the hustle and bustle of war. It is, therefore, highly probable that Gunter’s biography was also shortened and changed, at least in the part, concerning the reflections on the struggle for the stronghold in Dzierzgowo. In his version of the accounts about wartime achievements of the Płock bishops, Długosz focused on two elements:  the prelates’ pastoral and priestly support for the army fighting against the pagans and their personal military leadership. It is much more 80 Compare Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 69–​85, 105–​26, 251–​55; Arnold, “Medieval German Bishops,” 162–​63; Giancarlo Andenna, “Carolingi, vescovi e abati in Italia settentrionale (secolo IX). Reflessioni sur ‘militare servitium’ degli ecclesiastici,” in Le origini della diocese di Mantova e le sedi episcopali dell’Italia settentrionale (IV-​XI secolo), ed. Giancarlo Andenna (Trieste: Editreg, 2006), 3–​34 at 24–​26; Richard W. Kaeuper, Holy Warriors: The Religious Ideology of Chivalry (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 9–​10; Charles J.  Reid Jr., “The Rights of Self-​Defence and Justified Warfare in the Writings of the Twelfth and Thirteenth-​Century Canonists,” in Law as Profession and Practice in Medieval Europe: Essays in Honor of James A. Brundage, ed. Kenneth Pennington and Melodie H. Eichbauer (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 73–​92 at 82, 86–​87. For more on Polish realities, see recently Kotecki and Maciejewski, “Ideals of Episcopal Power.” 81 Ludwik Ehrlich, Polski wykład prawa wojny XV wieku. Kazanie Stanisława ze Skarbimierza “De bellis iustis” (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Prawnicze, 1955), 98–​101. 82 Borkowska, “Historiograficzne poglądy,” 53; Borkowska, Treści ideowe, 35.

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difficult to find information about the Mazovian bishops bearing arms, although it is known that in the case of Bishop Alexander the chronicle of Master Vincentius clearly suggests it. The unknown author of the account of Gunter, describing his deeds in the manner of a knightly hero, does it as well. Such a unique approach to the subject in Poland indicates that the bishops’ military activity in Mazovia did not interfere with cultural norms observed in the area, and the clergy were probably even expected to act appropriately in the face of a pagan invasion.

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Chapter 5

PREACHERS OF WAR: DOMINICAN FRIARS AS PROMOTERS OF THE CRUSADES IN THE BALTIC REGION IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen* when the order of Preachers was formed in 1216, the near-​century-​long Christian reign in Jerusalem, beginning in 1099, had been permanently lost with the Muslim recapture in 1187. The crusader kingdom and principalities of the Holy Land, however, still existed, and so did the Christian dream of regaining the Holy City. Since the initial success of the First Crusade in the late 1090s, the Roman Church had engaged in several crusades against its various enemies both along the fringes of Europe and within, and these continuous calls for holy war gradually may have begun to exhaust the market for recruitment and financial support. By the beginning of the thirteenth century, the need for lay support to the Crusades was as high as ever and the papacy apparently realized that it was necessary to restructure their promotion. If the initial enthusiasm of the potential recipient audience was beginning to wear out, more skilful communicators were needed to advocate the holy cause; experienced preachers, who were solidly read in theology were required to explain the ideology of taking the Cross and to counter those who argued against the Crusades. Fortunately, such an organization of professional preachers had been at hand since 1216 with the Order of Preachers, Ordo Predicatorum, today better known as the Dominican Order. The Dominican friars, or the Friars Preachers, were primarily focused on studying the Bible and all related literature. Importantly, they also focused on the practical art of preaching and thereby teaching the true meaning of the word of God to all layers of society. At first, Dominican involvement in the preaching of the crusade remained on an individual level. In Germany, Fr. John of Wildeshausen—​who later became known as Johannes Teutonicus, the fourth master general of the Order—​in 1225–​1227 preached in favour of Emperor Frederick II’s crusade to the Holy Land. * Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen is associate professor at the Department of Nordic Studies and Linguistics, University of Copenhagen, Denmark, since 2013. He received his PhD in Medieval History from the University of Southern Denmark in 2008 with a dissertation on the Dominican Order in medieval Denmark: Prædikebrødrenes samfundsrolle i middelalderens Danmark. His main fields of research are historical geography and medieval monastic history, with a particular focus on place-​names, and the Dominican Order in the Baltic Sea Region. He has authored more than a hundred articles in these two fields, and co-​authored, with Peder Dam, the historical-​geographical atlas of Denmark: Historisk-​Geografisk Atlas (Det Kongelige Danske Geografiske Selskab, 2008). He is now finishing a monograph entitled Dominicans in “Dacia”: The Role of Friars Preachers in Medieval Scandinavian Society.

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Another later master general, Fr. Raymond of Penyafort, also started his career as a preacher of the Cross, in his case for the campaign of King James I to Mallorca, which he was enjoined to promote in the archdioceses of Arles and Narbonne in the late 1220s.1 From the 1230s onwards, preaching the crusade became a matter for the entire Dominican Order. The official enrolment of mendicant friars as crusade preachers began in October 1234 with the papal bull Pium et sanctum, which was sent to the Franciscan minister provincial in Lombardy and the Dominican prior provincial in Tuscany. In the bull, Pope Gregory IX ordered the two provincials to each appoint two trustworthy brethren to preach the Cross in their provinces in accordance with an earlier bull concerning a planned crusade to Jerusalem. In addition, the Franciscan minister provincial of Ireland is known to have received the bull, and copies could indeed have been sent to numerous provinces of the two mendicant orders all around Europe.2 The Dominican provinces in the Baltic Sea region (for example Teutonia, Polonia, and Dacia) may, however, have been exempted from this, as the friars here were already papally enrolled for a different crusade-​preaching commitment.

Preaching the Cross on Behalf of the Teutonic Order for the Baltic Crusade

The military engagement of Christian princes in Northern Europe against pagan tribes along the southern and eastern coasts of the Baltic Sea had enjoyed official recognition as formal crusades against “the devil in the North” since the mid-​twelfth century.3 When the first Friars Preachers arrived to the Baltic region in the 1220s, Mecklenburg and Pomerania had by large been converted, while Christianization had been enforced in Prussia for some time. It was primarily administered by the Cistercian Order and under the supervision of the Cistercian Bishop Christian of Prussia (in office 1212–​1245). From the mid-​1220s, Prussian pagans allegedly began a renewed counteroffensive against these conversion efforts, and the ruler of the region, Duke Conrad of Mazovia (r. 1194/​ 1200–​1247), asked the Teutonic Order for help.4 In the late 1220s, however, the Teutonic Order was more needed elsewhere by Pope Gregory IX, but finally, on September 12, 1230, the military order was officially asked by the pope to engage in a crusade against the Prussians.5 This was followed by a series of additional bulls providing all the needed support and privileges for the campaign. 1 Christoph T. Maier, Preaching the Crusades—​Mendicant Friars and the Cross in the Thirteenth Century, Medieval Academy Books 98 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1994), 32–​33.

2 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 32–​35.

3 Kurt Villads Jensen, Politikens bog om korstogene (Copenhagen: Politikens Forlag, 2005), 67–​68.

4 Berthold Altaner, Die Dominikanermissionen des 13. Jahrhunderts, Breslauer Studien zur historischen Theologie 3 (Habelschwerdt: Frankes Buchhandlung, 1924), 160; Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 45–​46.

5 Preussisches Urkundenbuch, ed. Rudolf Philippi et al., 6 vols. in 9 pts. (Königsberg: Hartungs, 1882–​2000) (hereafter PUB), 1.1:61 (no. 80).

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In a similar bull addressed to the Order of Preachers, it was added that since the Teutonic Order itself had asked for the crusade to be promoted through preaching by the Friars Preachers, this task was hereby enjoined upon them.6 It has been suggested that Grandmaster Hermann von Salza may have been moved to this request by the papal legate William of Modena.7 To exactly who within the Order of Preachers the initial preaching task was addressed remains unclear. The traditional view among scholarship to see the commission as proof of a Dominican convent in Visby by 1230 has recently been challenged by myself.8 Whereas the initial preaching on Gotland may have been implemented by German friars from Lübeck, the first bull to explicitly engage Friars Preachers from the province of Dacia with the Baltic Crusade is from February 5, 1232. Henceforth, its preaching was to take place in all of Scandinavia.9 Subsequently, Friars Preachers in the provinces of Teutonia, Polonia, and Dacia received a number of papal injunctions to preach the Cross on behalf of the Teutonic Order against Prussians, and, subsequently, also against the Livonians (from 1243) and Curonians (from 1260). Until 1260, the Order of Preachers handled the task on their own, but the Teutonic Order may have felt increasingly inclined to expand the mandate to other preachers as well. This was partly because the knights at this time were in growing need of reinforcements, but it would also seem as if the Dominican commitment to the cause was declining. In the summer of 1257, Pope Alexander IV apparently had been moved by the Teutonic Order to issue a series of bulls urging the Friars Preachers to continue their job with undiminished efforts,10 particularly stressing the priors provincial of Teutonia, Dacia, and Polonia to see to this.11 Likewise, when the friars in Germany, Bohemia, Moravia, and Poland were commissioned to preach a crusade against the Mongols around 1258, they were reminded on more than one occasion by the pope that this was not to make them forget about the Baltic cause.12 The Dominican “monopoly” 6 Diplomatarium OP Dacie, ed. Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen (Centre for Dominican Studies of Dacia, 2005–​), www.jggj.dk/​DOPD.htm (hereafter DOPD), September 13, 1230 (in this text each instance is cited after month, day, and year). A similar commission was issued on September 17, 1230 and, for Pomerania and Gotland, on July 18, 1231; the latter on specific request from Bishop Christian of Prussia. DOPD, September 17, 1230 and July 18, 1231. 7 Altaner, Dominikanermissionen, 161–​62.

8 Jarl Gallén, La province de Dacie de l’ordre des Frères Prêcheurs, vol. 1: Histoire générale jusqu’au Grand Schisme, Institutum Historicum Fratrum Praedicatorum Romae ad S. Sabinae. Dissertationes Historicae 12 (Helsinki: Söderström, 1946), 47–​49; Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen, “On the Baltic Crusade and the First Friars Preachers in Visby” (Centre for Dominican Studies of Dacia, 2014), www.jggj.dk/​VisbyOP1230.pdf. The first explicit reference to a Dominican convent in Visby is from 1243. 9 DOPD, February 5, 1232. 10 DOPD, August 7, 1257.

11 DOPD, August 11, 1257. In Dacia, this was to be urged upon the priors and friars in the kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, as well as on Gotland. 12 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 84–​85.

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on preaching the Baltic Crusade was broken in 1260. At first, the Teutonic Order was commissioned to let its own clergy preach the cause in Livonia and Prussia,13 soon to be supplemented by Friars Minor across the whole of the Baltic region,14 and from 1262 also various other clergy.15 The Friars Preachers of the three Baltic provinces were still enlisted for the task as well, both with strictly Dominican and joint commissions, until June 1265.16 After that, the Friars Preachers were no longer commissioned to preach the Baltic Crusade.

Preaching the Cross Against Heretics in Thirteenth Century Northern Germany

Until the 1260s the Dominicans were involved with several crusades in thirteenth-​ century Northern Europe. Here, some Dominican efforts will be presented starting with those in Germany. Only two years after being assigned to preach a crusade in the Baltic region on behalf of the Teutonic Order, Dominican friars were enjoined to promote a different crusade on behalf of Archbishop Gerhard II of Bremen against the rebellious Stedinger-​peasants in the marshlands of the lower Weser. Not only had the Stedinger peasants refused to pay tithe and rent to their nominal ecclesiastical and secular lords, but they were also—​quite conveniently—​found by a papal commission to hold various heretical beliefs and rites.17 This meant that in 1232 Pope Gregory IX could declare the Stedingers as heretics, and the local bishops were commissioned to promote a crusade against them, for which it was stated that the bishops should enlist Dominican assistance—​something the friars were explicitly precluded to abstain from. In particular, the Friars Preachers of the convent in Bremen are known to have complied with the enjoined task. According to a contemporary chronicle, “they flew like clouds and awoke princes and people against the Stedingers,” which eventually led to a final defeat of the marshland-​peasants on May 27, 1234.18 The Friars Preachers of northern Germany also became engaged in another “internal” crusade, when the continuing problematic relations between Emperor Frederick II and the papacy finally escalated into an official papal deposition of Frederick in 1245. The Franciscan friars in particular, but also Dominicans, were enlisted by Pope Innocent 13 PUB, 1.2:82–​83 and 134 (no. 94 and 159).

14 PUB, 1.2:88–​89, 104, 123–​24, 134, 137–​38, 154–​56, 159, 171–​73, 181–​82 (no. 103, 114, 147, 160, 167, 199–​201, 205, 234, 243–​44); Diplomatarium Danicum, various editors and publishers (Copenhagen, 1938–​) (hereafter DD), ser. 2, no. 458 (April 29, 1265). The latter explicitly also includes the Friars Minor in Denmark and Sweden. 15 PUB, 1.2:139–​40 (no. 172).

16 DOPD, April 24, 1262, October 31, 1262, April 17, 1265.

17 The commission consisted of the Dominican prior of Bremen and the minor penitentiary for Germany, Fr. Johannes Teutonicus (later master general), along with the bishop of Lübeck.

18 John B. Freed, The Friars and German Society in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1977), 146–​47; Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 54.

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IV to promote a regular crusade against the heretic emperor, both by preaching and collecting money for the military campaign. Although several Dominican convents and friars in Germany maintained good relations to the Imperial party, the bulk of German friars seem to have complied with the papal and top-​Dominican orders to side actively with the opposition. In particular, with the installation of Count William of Holland as German anti-​king in 1247, the mendicants’ skills as crusade preachers came into use, as it was partly due to the joint Dominican-​Franciscan efforts of promoting the campaign that enabled William to conquer the Imperial city of Aachen in 1248 with recruited crusader assistance from all the western districts of Germany.19 To what extent the Stedinger Crusade had been promoted by Friars Preachers in Dacia is unknown, but it does not seem unthinkable that friars of the adjacent convent in Ribe (founded in 1228) could have been involved as they were in the rest of the North-​West European marshland region. Pope Innocent IV certainly expected the Dacian-​Dominican friars to take part in the condemnation of Emperor Frederick II in the mid-​1240s, since a version of the bull that enjoined the master general and all the priors provincial of the order in general to proclaim the anti-​Imperial verdict of the Council of Lyon was also preserved in a Scandinavian convent archive—​possibly in that of Lund.20

Preaching the Cross on Behalf of the Scandinavian Kings?

Even more interesting is the question of whether Friars Preachers of Dacia were involved with preaching the “local” Baltic Crusades launched by the Scandinavian kings against Finns, Tavastians, Estonians, and Rusians. The kings of all three countries were especially involved with this in the period 1238–​1242. From a Danish point of view, Estonian endeavours had been at a standstill since 1223, but were renewed in 1238, when Denmark formed an alliance with the Teutonic Order in regard to a joint continued crusade in Estonia.21 When King Valdemar II of Denmark died in 1241, Danish involvement in the Baltic Crusades was continued by his sons and successors (Eric IV Plovpenning, Abel, and Christopher).22 In 1241, King Håkon Håkonsson of Norway (r. 1217–​1263) was allowed by the pope to keep crusade taxes collected in his kingdom for the use of his own campaigns against his “pagan neighbours,” probably referring to 19 Freed, The Friars, 150–​53.

20 DOPD, December 23, 1245.

21 DD, ser. 1, 7:8–​11 (no. 9); Jensen, Korstogene, 163.

22 Carsten Selch Jensen, “Fjender eller venner?—​ Dansk-​ vendiske alliancer i 1200-​ tallets første halvdel,” in Venderne og Danmark—​Et tværfagligt seminar, ed. Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Mindre skrifter udgivet af Laboratorium for folkesproglig middelalderlitteratur ved Odense universitet 20 (Odense: Center for Middelalderstudier, 2000), 85–​92 at 89–​90; Jensen, Korstogene, 196–​97; Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen, “Lolland-​Falster, Vordingborg og korstogene,” Lolland Falster (2017): 55–​85 at 77–​80.

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the Karelians and Rusians of northern Finland. Then, in 1238, Earl Birger of Sweden (d. 1266) led a papally-​approved crusade against the Tavastians in Finland, which in 1240–​1242 continued eastwards against the schismatic Rusians in Novgorod as a joint alliance between Norwegian, Danish, and Teutonic forces—​although with repeated devastating defeats for the Westerners.23 After that, there was continued Danish crusade engagement in Estonia until 1250 and a new joint Danish-​Swedish-​Finnish campaign against Novgorod in 1256. After this the tides were turned, so that Rusian forces attacked the Danish-​German alliance in Estonia in 1268–​1269 and the Swedes in Tavastia in 1292–​1323.24 On occasions, the Scandinavian forces also had to subdue pagan uprisings among the newly Christianized peoples. Little is known about how the Baltic Crusades of the Scandinavian kings were promoted within their kingdoms. The overall commission of preaching the Cross on this northern frontier was given to the episcopate. In 1237, Pope Gregory IX enjoined the archbishop of Uppsala and his suffragan bishops to promote a crusade against the apostate Tavastians, of whom he had been informed that many had fallen from faith and started molesting those among them who remained faithful; those who took the Cross were to be promised the same indulgence and immunity as those who went to the Holy Land.25 Nothing is said in the bull about how or by whom the crusade was to be promulgated to the Swedes. However, the Friars Preachers most likely were an obvious solution for Archbishop Jarler of Uppsala, as they already had good experience in this field based on their preaching against the Stedingers and Prussians, and to whom we also know that the Swedish archbishop was extremely amicable.26 An almost identical papal commission was issued by Gregory IX for the Danish episcopate in 1240 in support of the Danish endeavours in Estonia, instructing the bishops to preach the Cross against “the infidels, who attack the Christians.” This was something that could both ascribe to a contemporary pagan uprising of the Oesilians of Saaremaa in 1236–​1241 and the joint Scandinavian campaign against the Novgorod Rusians in 1240–​1242.27 Again, nothing is stated about how the bishops should implement crusade preaching in Denmark, but both mendicant orders at this time seem to have enjoyed amicable relations with the Danish episcopate. In Norway, we only know that in 1241 the pope authorized King Håkon’s wish to convert his crusade vow into a local cause. While nothing is said about its preaching, more than any Scandinavian king of the entire Middle Ages, Håkon relied extensively on Dominican support. From elsewhere in Northern Europe we know that even when the mendicant orders were not officially put in charge of preaching a crusade, they could still be expected to engage in it. When a papal legate in 1268 made a secular dean at the cathedral chapter of Lincoln head of the task in his diocese, the entire clergy 23 Jensen, Korstogene, 172 and 195–​97.

24 Jensen, Korstogene, 197 and 239. 25 DOPD, December 9, 1237.

26 Gallén, La province de Dacie, 41.

27 DD, ser. 1, 7:59–​61 (no. 62); Jensen, Korstogene, 195.

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of the city were enrolled to take part in a promotional procession for the cause. This was to conclude with three sermons to be given by a canon, a Friar Preacher, and a Friar Minor respectively.28 Thus, nothing contradicts the idea that Scandinavian bishops and kings similarly enlisted Friars Preachers of Dacia to promote their own Baltic Crusades from around 1237 to the mid-​1240s. Apart from the fact that the Dacian friars were papally enjoined to concentrate such efforts on the Baltic Crusade of the Teutonic Order. That the Friars Preachers of Dacia were indeed deeply integrated with promoting the royal Scandinavian Crusades in this very period as well does find indirect support in the chronology of Dacian-​Dominican convent foundations, not the least in Sweden (Sigtuna and Skänninge 1237, Skara 1239, Kalmar and Lödöse 1243, Västerås 1244, and perhaps Visby before 1243), but to some extent also in Norway (Oslo 1237–​1240, Nidaros 1230–​ 1240, Bergen before 1247), and Denmark (Schleswig 1239, Viborg and Århus before 1246, and Vordingborg 1253).29 Similar correspondence in time of increased calls for crusades and local Dominican convent foundations has been found in Poland, Prussia, Pomerania, Mecklenburg, Bremen, the Netherlands, and Brittany.30

Preaching the Cross for the Holy Land

When the Friars Preachers of Northern Europe were no longer papally-​commissioned to preach the Cross on behalf of the Teutonic Order after 1265, it was not because they were no longer considered suited to crusade preaching. On the contrary, their skills in this niche were still very much in demand by the Roman Church, but the papacy now 28 Michael Robson, “The Greyfriars of Lincoln c. 1230–​1330,” in Franciscan Organisation in the Mendicant Context: Formal and Informal Structures of the Friars’ Lives and Ministry in the Middle Ages, ed. Michael Robson and Jens Röhrkasten, Vita Regularis 44 (Münster: Lit, 2010), 113–​37 at 121. 29 On a possible connection between the Dominican convent in Vordingborg and contemporary Danish crusade plans, see Jakobsen, “Lolland-​Falster,” 78–​81.

30 For the correspondence in Poland, Prussia, and Pomerania, see: Altaner, Dominikanermissionen, 177–​79; Edward Carstenn, Geschichte der Hansestadt Elbing (Elbląg: Saunier, 1937), 18–​21; Jerzy Kłoczowski, “Dominicans of the Polish Province in the Middle Ages,” in The Christian Community of Medieval Poland, ed. Jerzy Kłoczowski (Wrocław:  Ossolineum, 1981), 73–​118 at 85; Andrzej Radzimiński, “Kirche und Geistlichkeit im Ordensstaat in Preußen um die Wende von 14. zum 15. Jahrhundert,” in Der Deutsche Orden in der Zeit der Kalmarer Union 1397–​1521, ed. Zenon Hubert Nowak (Toruń:  Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 1999), 151–​67 at 157. For Mecklenburg: Ingo Ulpts, Die Bettelorden in Mecklenburg—​Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Franziskaner, Klarissen, Dominikaner und Augustiner-​ Eremitten im Mittelalter, Saxonia Franciscana 6 (Werl: Coelde, 1995), 81. For Bremen: Arend Mindermann, “Bettelordenskloster und Stadttopographie. Warum lagen Bettelordensklöster am Stadtrand?,” in Könige, Landesherren und Bettelorden. Konflikt und Kooperation in West-​ und Mitteleuropa bis zur frühen Neuzeit, ed. Dieter Berg, Saxonia Franciscana 10 (Werl: Coelde, 1998), 83–​ 103 at 85–​ 86. For the Netherlands: Willibrordus Menno Brada, Dominicanen in Winsum (Leusden: Ansfried, 1982), 4–​5 and 8. And for Brittany: Hervé Martin, Les ordres mendiants en Bretagne (vers 1230-​vers 1530). Pauvreté volontaire et prédication à la fin du moyen-​âge (Rennes: Université de Haute-​Bretagne, 1975), 17–​18.

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wanted to focus all crusade-​promotional forces on the Holy Land. Elsewhere in Europe, the Order of Preachers had been engaged in this “main crusade” since 1234, when Pope Gregory IX continued the line laid in 1230 (against the Prussians) and 1232 (against the Stedingers) with yet another commission enjoining friars of both mendicant orders to preach the Cross for the Holy Land. Although the Christians did, in fact, have access to Jerusalem in this particular period, the truce that provided it was set to terminate in 1239, thus it was not too early to prepare for the fights to come. The extent to which all Dominican provinces had received the bull Pium et sanctum is unknown. The province of Francia was certainly enlisted in 1237, with a commission to both preach the crusade and, for the prior in Paris, to remind those who had taken the Cross to join the army of Latin Emperor Baldwin II or, alternatively, to redeem their vows.31 A somewhat similar bull was issued by Pope Innocent IV in 1250 to the Dominican and Franciscan provincials in Germany, instructing them to inform all crusaders in Frisia and Norway to sail out on the next major campaign bound for the Holy Land, or to pay the price for redemption.32 It is noteworthy that it was the provincial of Teutonia, and not his colleague of Dacia, who was told to take care of business in Norway. Unless it reflects a simple error on part of the Curia, it could suggest that the promotion of the Crusade to the Holy Land, at least in parts of Scandinavia, was assigned to the mendicant orders in Germany. The idea is not as far-​fetched as it may at first appear. In 1256, Friars Preachers of the convents in Hamburg and Lübeck were authorized by Pope Alexander IV to preach a crusade against the Livonians across the whole of northern Germany, three dioceses each, far beyond their own conventual districts.33 From the rest of Europe, we know of particularly skilled preachers from one province, who were appointed to preach the Cross in other provinces.34 The only possible reference to Dacian-​Dominican involvement in the Holy Land-​Crusade before the 1260s is from 1243, when Pope Innocent IV ordered the prior in Lund to hand over collected redemption payments to a papal chaplain, John of Piacenza. This indicates that the money was going to Rome—​and not to the Teutonic Order.35 Certainly, the Order of Preachers throughout Europe never held the same supremacy in concern of promulgating Crusades to the Holy Land as they did with the Baltic cause. When Pope Innocent IV in 1245 decided to endorse the first crusade of King Louis IX of France (r. 1226–​1270), he gave the task of its preaching to the Franciscans. As the recruitment outside of France, especially in North-​Western Europe, was a bit slow, the Dominicans in various provinces and convents were involved as well. In 1247 the pope decided to speed up things by sending papal legates to Germany, Poland, and Denmark in order to recruit soldiers, not by preaching, but by diplomatic lobbying. According to a contemporary 31 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 32–​35 and 42. 32 DOPD, November 29, 1250.

33 Ulpts, Die Bettelorden in Mecklenburg, 81.

34 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 62–​65, 71, and 98. 35 DOPD, December 31, 1243.

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source, these legates were helped in their task by local friars—​who may very well have been Dominicans.36 After a decade where crusader fractions had been more preoccupied with internal power struggles than with liberating Jerusalem, serious plans for a new major campaign under French leadership took form in the early 1260s.37 The first sign of a Dacian-​ Dominican involvement in this crusade is from 1262, when the prior provincial of Dacia was told by Pope Urban IV to accelerate the collection of crusade taxes for the Holy Land. This could indicate that the Dacian friars were expected to preach the crusade as well.38 Then comes a somewhat problematic date in Dacian-​Dominican crusade-​ preaching history: October 23, 1263. On this day, as part of a series of bulls concerning a promulgation of the Holy Land campaign, Pope Urban issued a general bull to “all archbishops and bishops and beloved sons of the friars of the Orders of Preachers and Minor in all the Christian kingdoms of the world,” enjoining them to preach and in other ways endorse this particular crusade.39 On the very same day, however, Pope Urban also issued a special bull to the Norwegian archbishop in Nidaros. Here, he announced that he had revoked the Dominican prior provincial of Dacia from the task of preaching the crusade in Norway in favour of other “suitable persons,” allegedly on request from King Håkon Håkonsson.40 The actual meaning behind this request is unclear, as King Håkon of Norway otherwise appears extremely positive towards the Friars Preachers. It has been suggested that the revocation was due to a consideration of the existence of only three Dominican convents in this huge and far-​stretched country.41 A local ecclesiastical dispute is another possible explanation, as the cathedral chapter of Nidaros is known to have had a quarrel with neighbouring Dominican friars in this period.42 It is interesting to note, though, that in Denmark, responsibility for the crusade campaign to the Holy Land was also put in the hands of a bishop, namely Bishop Tyge of Århus.43 Although his commission has no reference to any revocation of Dominican involvement in Danish crusade preaching—​for which, in fact, all priors and convents of all monastic orders were explicitly instructed to assist the bishop—​one may see the Dominican exemption in Norway as a reflection of an, at this time, still-​existing papal wish for the crusade preachers of the Order in Dacia to continue to concentrate on the Baltic cause. If not before, the Friars Preachers and Friars Minor of Denmark were enlisted by Pope Clement IV to take part in preaching the big crusade in the summer of 1265,44 and 36 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 62–​65. 37 Jensen, Korstogene, 201–​3. 38 DOPD, May 15, 1262.

39 DOPD, October 23, 1263 (a).

40 DOPD, October 23, 1263 (b).

41 Gallén, La province de Dacie, 81–​82. 42 DOPD, 1263–​64.

43 Bullarium Danicum, ed. Alfred Krarup (Copenhagen: Gad, 1932), 456–​66 (no. 588–​92). 44 DOPD, summer 1265.

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in 1274, Pope Gregory X gave a similar commission for the Dominican prior provincial of Dacia, for which his friars were instructed to cooperate with the bishops and the Friars Minor.45 In spite of (the at least enjoined) continued mendicant preaching on behalf of the Holy Land, no significant military effect seems to have derived from it. When the Muslims were knocking on the gates of Acre in 1290, Pope Nicholas IV issued yet another bull especially directed to all mendicant crusade preachers throughout Christendom, desperately stressing the seriousness of the situation.46 In spite of a continuous series of bulls, no sufficient army of relief could be dispatched, and by May 18, 1291, the battle was finally lost with the fall of Acre. Actually, it is from shortly after this crucial date that Dacian sources provide the best insight into Dominican involvement with crusade preaching. On August 1, 1291, Pope Nicholas IV commissioned the prior provincial of Dacia to preach the Cross against the Saracens throughout the province along with twenty appointed brethren; to increase motivation, the preachers themselves were promised a hundred days of indulgence for every sermon, as well as a share in the good deeds to be performed by the crusaders.47 The commission most likely reached the Dacian provincial, Fr. Olav, too late for the provincial chapter held in Västerås on August 22. It was only at the subsequent chapter held in Lund in 1292 that the prior provincial appointed the lector of the convent in Sigtuna, Fr. Israel Erlandi, as preacher general of the crusade for the whole province of Dacia.48 For this task Olav gave him another bull in which the pope granted a number of privileges for those, who would follow the king of England on a campaign scheduled for June 1293.49 That Fr. Israel and the Friars Preachers of Dacia really did commit to the given task is signalled by a later Swedish chronicler, Eric Olofsson of Gotland, who for the year 1291 stated that: “This year the Friars Preachers preached that Antichrist was born in Jerusalem. The Holy Land was ravaged severely by the Saracens, who took and destroyed the city of Acre and other places as well.”50 The Holy Land was never retaken by the Christians after the fall of Acre in 1291. It may seem logical, therefore, that Dominican crusade-​preaching also died out at the end of the thirteenth century. The dream of re-​liberating Jerusalem, however, lived on for many years to come, and there were continuous calls for other crusades against the various enemies of the Church throughout the Late Middle Ages. However, from 1300 onwards, the preaching of the Cross in Northern Europe almost entirely took place without Dominican involvement. If this was due to any deliberate change of mind, it 45 DOPD, November 13, 1274. 46 DOPD, January 5, 1290. 47 DOPD, August 1, 1291.

48 DOPD, August–​September, 1292 (a).

49 DOPD, August–​September, 1292 (b).

50 “Anno Domini MCCXCI … predicaverunt predicatores natum esse Antichristum in Jherusalem. Terra enim sancta tunc gravissime affligebantur a Saracenis, capta et destructa civitate Achon et sic de aliis”: DOPD, 1291.

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rather seems to have been on the side of the Order of Preachers, not the papacy, who still on occasion tried to enlist the friars for the cause—​apparently with little effect. When Pope Clement V enjoined the entire Scandinavian episcopate to preach the Cross on behalf of a planned crusade to the Holy Land to be led by King Philip IV of France and the Knights Hospitaller of St. John in 1308, it was stated that the campaign was to be promoted to the Scandinavian peoples by local parish clergy, and by Friars Preachers and -​Minor.51 The mendicant commitment to the task may have seemed half-​hearted, though, as Clement in the following year had to urge all four mendicant orders to promote the crusade of the Hospitallers more eagerly than hitherto.52 A similar injunction had to be sent by Pope John XXII to the Friars Preachers of the German provinces around 1322 in favour of the Baltic Crusade of the Teutonic Order in Prussia, Livonia, and Lithuania, for which the German-​Dominicans were officially still enlisted—​but apparently not very active.53 In 1323, King Gediminas of Lithuania even had the nerve to urge the Friars Preachers and -​Minor of Saxonia to preach against the aggressions of the Teutonic Knights in his realm.54 If anything, it would seem as if the Friars Preachers of Northern Europe generally disregarded all such calls for the rest of the Middle Ages regardless of whom they came from. For the province of Dacia, there are reports of papal commissions for the mendicant orders, in general, to preach crusades in 1382 and 1411. The latter was called by John XXIII against Gregory XII, but there are no indications that the Dacian friars ever complied with them—​quite the contrary.55

Dominican Practice of Preaching the Cross

In the initial bulls of 1234–​1235, Pope Gregory IX explicitly asked the Dominican Order to appoint two preachers of the Cross in each province, but afterwards, the number of preachers seems to have been left for the provinces to decide.56 It appears as if the priors provincial took the assignment quite seriously and chose their best-​skilled preachers for the job. Certainly, Fr. Israel Erlandi of the convent in Sigtuna, who was appointed “executive preacher of the Cross” in Dacia by his prior provincial in 1292, was no random or dispensable friar, on the contrary, he appears to be one of the highest-​ ranking intellectuals of the province at the time.57 In the province of Teutonia, the prior 51 DOPD, August 11, 1308. 52 DOPD, June 9, 1309.

53 Liv-​, Est-​und Kurländisches Urkundenbuch, ser. 1, ed. F. G. von Bunge et al., 12 vols (Reval: various publishers, 1853–​1910), 2:52 (no. 800 in the Regesten part). 54 Liv-​, Est-​und Kurländisches Urkundenbuch, ser. 1, 2:141–​44 (no. 688–​89 in the Urkunden part).

55 DOPD, June 19, 1382 and November 6, 1411. In 1382, Pope Urban VI instructed the bishop of Schleswig to investigate why no monetary aid for the crusade had come in from the Danish mendicants, whom he had commissioned with preaching in Denmark. 56 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 99.

57 For a short biography of Fr. Israel Erlandsson, see comments to DOPD, October 2, 1281.

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provincial even annulled the appointment of one Fr. Eberhard to the office of preacher general in 1277, because his skills were better used in his present office as preacher of the Cross.58 On the appointment of Fr. Israel in 1292, the friar was given a copy of the papal bull explaining the nature of the crusade in question and the privileges which he was authorized to grant to his audience and to the ones who took the Cross.59 This appears to have been common practice, as the bull not only informed the preacher of the actual conditions but also worked as a proof of his papal authorization. Such a written license was far from superfluous. There are numerous examples of false crusade preachers collecting money for themselves in the name of the Cross. One of the most famous examples is from Frisia, where a genuine crusade preacher of the Franciscan Order died on the road, whereupon another Franciscan friar took his papers and began to enrich himself, until the order eventually found out about it and had him arrested.60 With their licenses in hand, crusade preachers went out to perform their task. It seems as if they generally sought out the same places as for their normal preaching, where a big and attentive audience could be expected: cities, towns, villages, marketplaces, castles, churches, and even monasteries. Of special interest to crusade preachers, were the sites of tournaments, because not only was the audience here rich in knights and potential crusaders, but in addition to this, the preachers were often authorized to absolve excommunications, which the knights had automatically put upon themselves by participating in the illegal tournaments.61 Usually, the sermon was announced in advance. Apart from the actual content of the crusade sermon, the main difference from normal preaching was the fact that the pope from an early time authorized the preachers to grant their audience twenty days of indulgence for simply listening to them, which eventually rose to one hundred days by the end of the thirteenth century. Those, who would actually go on the crusade, were promised full papal protection for themselves, their families, and their properties. A similar indulgence was granted to the preacher himself, and he was even allowed to preach the Cross and celebrate a related mass in times and places under interdict.62 Crusade preaching would normally take place in cooperation with the local clergy, who could vouch for the preacher and the cause, and continue endorsing the campaign after the preacher had left.63 58 Ungedruckte Dominikanerbriefe des 13. jahrhunderts, ed. Heinrich Finke (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1891), no. 82. 59 DOPD, August–​September, 1292 (a–​b).

60 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 67 and 101.

61 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 106–​7.

62 As, for instance, stated in Pope Gregory X’s instruction for the Dominican prior provincial of Dacia in 1274. DOPD, November 13, 1274. 63 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 110.

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The practical performance of crusade preaching did, according to the manuals, consist of a sermon read by the preacher on a chosen topic related to the crusade, concluded by an invitation to take the Cross, a common prayer for the crusaders in the field and a singing of hymns, followed by new sermon readings and invitations. The latter “invitational” part of the sermon is not specifically described, but it would appear as if it meant for any convinced members of the audience to step forward during the singing, where the preacher would lay the Cross upon them—​either symbolically or even physically.64

Dominican Crusade Sermons

The actual content of mendicant crusade sermons is only known to a very limited extent. In fact, the extant material mainly seems to include model-​sermons, a kind of guidebook with examples, arguments, recommended quotations, and general good advice for the preacher.65 An interesting thing is that, for these crusade model-​sermons, the majority of them only speak of the Cross and of “taking the Cross,” not about actual crusading. Moreover, when the crusade is mentioned, it is usually used as a metaphor for the heavenly journey to Jerusalem.66 The best-​known insight into Dominican crusade sermons is preserved in De predicatione crucis contra Saracenos by Fr. Humbert of Romans. After retiring from the office of Dominican master general, Fr. Humbert was asked by the pope to assist the endorsement of the second crusade of King Louis IX, which he did with this very informative guidebook, supposedly written in Lyon in 1266–​1268.67 Through forty six chapters, Humbert offers the preacher an organized and versatile approach to arguments for taking the Cross and the ideology behind it. The chapters are divided into sections of various themes, such as one for reasons to take the Cross, and another section for reasons to redeem one’s vow. Humbert points out passages in the Bible well-​suited for use in crusade sermons, and he also recommends the preacher to actually read the Koran and to be acquainted with the relevant Middle East geography.68

64 Lars G. Karlsson, “Om prædiken af korset i det 13. årh.—​en analyse af Humbert af Romans’ korstogsmanual” (MA thesis, University of Copenhagen, 1992), 49; Christoph T. Maier, Crusade Propaganda and Ideology: Model Sermons for the Preaching of the Cross (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 26–​27. 65 For more on the spiritual and theological content in crusade sermons in general, see Miikka Tamminen, Crusade Preaching and the Ideal Crusader, Studies on Patristic, Medieval, and Reformation Sermons and Preaching 14 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018). 66 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 111–​13; Maier, Crusade Propaganda, 19.

67 Humbert of Romanis, De predicatione crucis contra Saracenos, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen (Centre for Dominican Studies of Dacia, 2007), www.jggj.dk/​saracenos.htm.

68 Fritz Heintke, Humbert von Romans—​der fünfte Ordensmeister der Dominikaner, Historische Studien (Lübeck) 222 (Berlin: Ebering, 1933), 103–​7.

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No actual sermons concerning the Baltic Crusades have survived. Still, since the wording of the papal bulls for the various Baltic Crusades is very similar to the ones for the Holy Land, we may assume the same for the arguments and methods used by Dominican crusade preachers in the Baltic Sea region, also before the shift of campaigns in the 1260s.69 One particular difference is, however, worth noting. The Church—​and apparently also the Dominicans—​held quite different outlooks and aspirations for pagans and Muslims. The pagans were not necessarily evil by nature, they were just primitive heathens, who had not yet been offered Christendom. The Crusades to the eastern Baltic countries were, therefore, closely connected to a simultaneous mission amongst the pagans, who, apart from the Lithuanians, were gradually Christianized, and by so given the hope and possibility of salvation. It was a completely different story with the Muslims. Even Humbert of Romans had given up hope in regard to ever converting these infidels: “Since the very day of their beginning, almost none of them have ever been baptized, except perhaps a few prisoners, and that only rarely. And hardly ever have any of them become a good Christian.”70 The crusade against the Muslims, therefore, had three main objectives: to free Jerusalem and the Holy Land, to which the Christians had a God-​given right; to make it possible to convert schismatic Christians in the Middle East and Northern Africa to Roman Catholicism; and to prevent the Muslims from growing strong enough to attack the Christian world. According to Humbert, it was furthermore a simple duty for all Christians to fight the Muslims, since their mere existence was a blasphemy against God.71 That said, the Baltic pagans were indeed seen as quite an obscene and gruesome lot too. Already in the initial bull for the Teutonic Order issued in 1230, Pope Gregory IX stated how the pagan Prussians were ignorant to the name of Christ and attacked Christians living among them.72 To judge from contemporary Nordic chronicles, and although coming from a slightly earlier phase, the colourful and terrifying description of the Wends given by Danish Saxo Grammaticus in his Gesta Danorum from around 1200 may very well represent a tradition of depicting the horrible pagans of the Baltic shores to be continued by Dacian-​Dominican crusade preachers in the following century.73 69 Most of the extant crusade model sermons are deliberately written in such a neutral form that they would apply for all kinds of crusades. Humbert’s De predicatione is, of course, specifically focused on the Holy Land, but he also made model sermons for crusades against heretics (Predicatione crucis contra hereticos) and for “preaching the Cross of whatever kind” (De predicatione crucis in genere quocumque). Maier, Crusade Propaganda, 28–​29.

70 Humbert of Romanis, Opus Tripartium, bk. 6, in Kurt Villads Jensen, “Dominikanerne. Mission og korstog. En undersøgelse af holdninger til fremmede i 1200-​tallet” (MA thesis, University of Copenhagen, 1987), 47. 71 Jensen, “Dominikanerne,” 54–​60, 64–​65; Karlsson, “Om prædiken af korset,” 57. 72 DOPD, September 13, 1230.

73 John H. Lind et al., Danske korstog—​krig og mission i Østersøen, 2nd ed. (Copenhagen: Høst, 2006), 102–​3.

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Dominican Involvement with the Redemption of Crusade Vows Preaching was, however, only one part of Dominican engagement in the crusade. Another important part was administering the various financial payments for the crusade. It was the job of the friars to collect monetary redemptions of crusade vows along with other papal taxes and voluntary contributions, to keep the money locked up in the priories, and to hand them over to papal or Teutonic representatives. In 1237, for instance, Pope Gregory IX enjoined all Dominican priors and friars, who were engaged with preaching against the pagan Livonians and who had received redemptions for crusade vows, to hand over the money to the Teutonic Order in Livonia for the knights to purchase arms and horses.74 Apparently, the redemption part of the friars’ work in Dacia was not restricted to the Baltic Crusade, as the pope in late 1243 ordered the prior of the convent in Lund to hand over collected redemption payments to a papal chaplain, John of Piacenza. This would indicate that this money was going to Rome—​and not to the Teutonic Order.75 It is uncertain whether this indicates that the Scandinavian Friars Preachers did in fact also preach the Crusade to the Holy Land at this time, although no known bull authorized them to do so. Of course, the inhabitants of Scandinavia were free to join or support whichever crusade they chose, no matter what was preached by the friars. Often the redemption was made on the deathbed, as in the case of the Swedish nobleman and justiciar, Folke Karlsson. In his last will and testament in 1282, Folke stated that two of his demesnes were to be sold, from which 30 marks silver should be used to redeem his vow of going on Crusade to the Holy Land, while 10 marks denariorum was to be given to the Friars Preachers in Skänninge for taking care of the redemption.76 The friars were also involved with the less voluntary contributions to the crusade, as in 1262, when Pope Urban IV instructed the Dominican prior provincial of Dacia to hasten the collection of crusade taxes in Scandinavia.77 The Dominicans were not alone in holding responsibility for collecting crusade tithes, taxes, and other tributes. Instead, the friars could be used to audit other collectors. In 1281, Pope Martin IV ordered the Cistercian abbot of Holme Abbey and the Dominican prior of Odense to investigate a case concerning the Benedictines in Odense, who had been excommunicated because of an inconsistency of 140 marks in their crusade accounts; if the audit should clear the monks, the abbot and the prior were authorized to absolve the papal excommunication.78

74 DOPD, May 30, 1237.

75 DOPD, December 31, 1243. 76 DOPD, April 25, 1282. 77 DOPD, May 15, 1262.

78 DOPD, September 30, 1281.

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Effect of Dominican Crusade Preaching in the Baltic Sea Region The derived effect of Dominican crusade preaching in relation to recruitment and financial support is difficult to measure. But to judge from the continuous stream of papal bulls for the Dominican Order to engage in the task, also in the Baltic Sea region, some positive outcome must have been felt by the involved interested parties throughout the thirteenth century. Otherwise, they would sooner have assigned the job to someone else, as was the case from around 1300 onwards. According to the aforementioned signs of a correlation between a number of Dominican convent foundations around the Baltic Sea and the progress of the crusades conducted by both the Teutonic Order, the Polish dukes, and the Scandinavian kings, it may even be that the Order of Preachers itself benefitted greatly from positioning itself as a key agent in the promulgation of Christian crusade. In terms of actual recruitment, the extant written sources are, however, relatively quiet, not least in Scandinavia. According to John Lind and his co-​authors, “no one in Denmark seems to have responded to the invitations,” especially not to the appeals for the Prussian-​Livonian Crusade.79 Although this may well be too negative a conclusion to draw from the silent sources, our main knowledge of Danes taking the Cross in the thirteenth century is from records of people redeeming their vows, often in their wills.80 Interestingly, the eight known Danish redeemers provide some interesting statistics, as two of them were high-​ranking clerics and three of them women. All of them belonged to the nobility, and from a Dominican perspective, it is worth noting that to judge from the wills, in which seven of the instances are found, they were all good friends of the Danish Dominicans. At least in one case, a Dane actually fulfilled his crusade vow. In 1232, the Danish nobleman and former marshal of the king, John Ebbesen, died as a crusader in Acre, and even though this is very early for any potential Danish-​Dominican endorsement to be involved, the Friars Preachers certainly had influenced him in some way, since he donated a sum of 40 marks silver to the order for the foundation of a Dominican priory in Roskilde.81 As a minimum, two Swedish noblemen seem to have responded to the calling of the Friars Preachers and joined the Teutonic Order. Karl Ulfsson, son of Earl Ulf Fase, fell as a Teutonic knight at the battle of Durbe in Livonia in 1260, and John Elovsson was a knight of the same order in 1281. At least for the latter, a Dominican influence on his recruitment to the Baltic Crusade is very plausible, since John was a personal friend of the famous Fr. Peter of Dacia in Skänninge. In addition, John expressed a great passion for the Friars Preachers in a letter from 1281 in relation to his own sister Ingrid’s efforts to establish a Dominican nunnery in Skänninge.82 As for the Crusade to the Holy Land, a will from 1286 tells of 79 Lind et al., Danske korstog, 296.

80 Lind et al., Danske korstog, 370 notes 482–83. 81 DOPD, 1232.

82 Gallén, La province de Dacie, 49 and 117–​18.

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another Swedish nobleman, Nils Ubbesson, who before leaving for the crusade donated 20 marks to the Friars Preachers in Sigtuna. Even if nothing explicitly is said about what or who convinced Nils Ubbesson to take the Cross, this donation along with the fact that two named Dominican friars from Sigtuna testified the letter, which was co-​ sealed by the entire convent, suggests a considerable Dominican influence on Nils’ religious life.83 That the friars were rather successful in collecting financial means for the Crusades is somewhat better evidenced by the numerous letters concerning redemption payments, donations, and collection of crusade taxes. This is, in fact, also indicated by one of the most critical contemporary voices heard against mendicant crusade preaching, namely that of the English Benedictine Matthew of Paris. In his work Rahel suum videns from the middle of the thirteenth century, Matthew reports how English crusade preachers gave the Cross to numerous people, of which many were old, sick, women, children, and even cripples, who could have no real possibility of going on the crusade. Such useless crusaders in spe would, therefore, immediately after taking the Cross be redeemed from their vows in return for money. Seen from the ecclesiastical point of view, this procedure was, however, anything but problematic, since it produced much-​needed financial support to the crusade from those groups in society, who could not fight themselves. In fact, the friars’ practice of an immediate subsequent redemption of the vow in return for money was very much appreciated by the Church, since it was otherwise often quite difficult to get the payment later, when the spirit of the moment had passed. Even worse, continued Matthew of Paris nonetheless, was the friars’ practice of luring or even forcing actual knights to redeem their genuine vows, all due to the brethren’s greed for money. This unchristian and huckstering behaviour of mendicant crusade preachers was even put forward as the main reason why Prince Alphonse of Poitiers (d. 1271) was not able to raise sufficient military support for the first failed crusade of his brother, King Louis IX. Surely, present-​day historians can find more plausible explanations for the lagging effort of Alphonse, and the Benedictine accusations may be due to a misunderstanding of the fact that the Curia had indeed ordered the friars to strive harder in demanding the financial redemption of those knights, who had taken the Cross, but obviously had no intention of going on the crusade.84

Epilogue

After the end of the thirteenth century, Dominican involvement with the Crusades in the Baltic Sea region fell to a barely noticeable level. One obvious reason for this was, of course, the fall of Acre in 1291. By itself, this must have had a devastating effect on faith in the cause from all sides, and even if the Curia advocated continued plans for retaking

83 DOPD, May 2, 1286.

84 Maier, Preaching the Crusades, 123–​24, 139, and 142.

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the Holy Land throughout the Late Middle Ages, the Dominican Order henceforth seems to have devoted its attention to more immediate challenges. Moreover, although crusades were still very much on-​going in the Baltic Sea region, Dominican relations with the Teutonic Order had deteriorated to a degree that the knights now preferred to rely on other clergy. In Scandinavia, for example, it would appear as if, after 1300, the Hospitallers of St. John were gradually rehabilitated as the main monastic agent in the field.85 Still, the idea that Dominican involvement ought to be found in a Baltic Sea region-​ crusade was still expressed in the mid-​fourteenth century by one of the most famous voices to come out of late medieval Scandinavia. After a failed crusade campaign by King Magnus Eriksson of Sweden (r. 1319–​1364) against Novgorod in 1348–​1351, St. Bridget of Sweden blamed him for having caused his own defeat by ignoring the recommendations that she had previously mediated to him on behalf of the Holy Virgin. One of these allegedly was that “brethren of the rules of Dominic, Francis, and Bernard should go out and follow the king to the pagans, since these three are primary for the call to pagans.”86 “The call to pagans” included, of course, more than just calling on good Christians to engage with pagans in the military form of a crusade. Since the earliest days of the Dominican Order, Friars Preachers had also been committed to a more peaceful conversion of pagans to Christianity through simple missionary preaching. Although the actual Dominican engagement with missionary endeavours to non-​Catholics in medieval Europe has been justifiably challenged by recent scholarship, apparently from the Late Middle Ages onwards the Order of Preachers increasingly liked to present itself as an order of missionaries. In addition, at least within the Baltic Sea region, this Dominican claim of henceforth converting pagans by the word rather than by the sword may not have been completely unjust—​but that is a whole other story.87

85 E.g., DOPD, June 9, 1309 and January 24, 1313. 86 DOPD, 1348–​51.

87 See Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen, “Dominican Mission in the Baltic Sea Region: With Comparative Looks to Mendicant Mission on the Entire East-​European Frontier,” Journal of Medieval Monastic Studies 7 (2018): 201–​35.

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Map 5.1. Map of Dominican convents in Scandinavia and the Baltic Sea region by the end of the thirteenth century, showing the division between the order’s provinces of Dacia, Teutonia, and Polonia. © Radosław Kotecki.

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Chapter 6

DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE IN LATE ROMANESQUE MURAL PAINTINGS IN DENMARK Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen* this chapter explores the connections between violence, war, and martyrdom, and ecclesiastical authority in late Romanesque Danish art in churches. In particular, it examines what these depictions might communicate to the congregation or visitor. It is noteworthy how the subject of fighting knights became a pronounced iconographical theme in the decades around 1200 in ordinary rural Danish churches. This subject has puzzled scholars and a long debate on the nature and meaning of these motifs has lasted for almost a century within Scandinavian scholarship. At the heart of the debate is of course the question of what these images of battle scenes are depicting in the first place:  a question which is not easy to answer as most of the pictures are more or less fragments of now lost larger decorations. While both sound and credible interpretations have been put forward by brilliant scholars, we thus ultimately cannot reach any absolute conclusion as to what these striking scenes on the church walls were intended to show. However, perhaps even more pertinent, we might ask why they were considered relevant decoration for the walls of rural parish churches in the first place. This is a central question here, and over the following pages I shall try to elaborate an interpretation that argues why violent self-​sacrifice became an important theme in late Romanesque art and ultimately had to do with ideas about Christianization and ecclesiastical authority. Most scholarship on these fighting and questing knights has not attempted to interpret the motifs as parts of larger decorative programmes, so that important points concerning their nature and meaning seem to have been overlooked. The way into the ensuing discussion passes through a close reading of a particular suite of paintings dealing with the martyrdom of Thomas Becket, which is accompanied by other motifs that emphasize the overall message to the beholder. Through this decoration we shall explore a number of other programmes before we finally end with * Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen (orcid.org/​0000-​0002-​3846-​7744) is a doctor of theology, and since 2012 an editor and researcher at the project of corpus publication series The Churches of Denmark (Danmarks Kirker) housed by the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen. He defended his PhD thesis at the Department of Church History, University of Copenhagen, Denmark, in 2011. A revised version of this thesis was published in 2018 with Brepols under the title Ritual and Art Across Danish Reformation: Changing Interiors of Village Churches, c. 1450 to 1600. He is publishing widely on the topics relating to Reformation, medieval, and early modern devotional culture and church art. He is currently engaged in a research and publication project on the development of negative forms of ideological expression in medieval and early modern religious iconography.

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118 Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen a discussion of how all of this points towards the notion of salvation and the entrance into the New Jerusalem.

Sacrifice and the Martyrdom of Thomas Becket

Sønder Nærå on the Danish island of Funen is a rural parish church that, besides its interesting Romanesque architecture, has a number of preserved murals from around 1200.1 Originally the paintings probably covered the entire interior, but today they are only extant on the north wall of the nave. The images have a long history in Danish research on church art, as they were rediscovered as early as 1893, having been painted over at some point in the Late Middle Ages after vaults had been inserted in the nave. Upon their discovery the murals were heavily retouched by Jacob Kornerup, one of the pioneers in the field of conservation in Denmark.2 Within a few decades the decoration had spurred an intense discussion on what they depicted, and the conversation was renewed in 1978–​1979 when hitherto unknown details were uncovered. This allowed scholarship to settle much of the debate over the iconographical content in the decoration, but as is to be argued here, more is still to be said about the programme and the meaning behind these pictures. The preserved images are divided into two tiers or bands, as is mostly the case with Romanesque wall-​paintings (fig. 6.1). In the upper band, which is the best preserved, we can now see a number of motifs or scenes depicting episodes from the last years of Thomas Becket’s life (d. 1170).3 There is no clear visual division of the scenes, which all take place under the same blue sky and on the same grey-​brown soil. However, the figure of an archbishop has convincingly been identified by art historian Ulla Haastrup as Thomas Becket. While the general narrative in the Becket frieze seems to be in place, the specific interpretation of the three first scenes is still uncertain, but they are likely to be read from west to east. The westernmost scene, which sits above the north door of the church, is almost covered by the later added vault, but we can still identify a standing man wearing what looks like the secular garb found elsewhere in the decoration. This man is facing another figure, which is badly damaged and thus not identifiable, but some sort of dialogue is taking place in the scene. To the west of these two figures, a wavy piece of cloth can be seen. How this cloth relates to the men cannot be determined, but it all seems to be part of the same motif. A partially erased medallion is furthermore painted at the bottom of the scene and clearly separated from the images above by a pronounced red frame. In the medallion a cloaked man (Christ or a prophet?) is shown 1 Danmarks Kirker. Odense amt (Copenhagen: National Museum, University of Southern Denmark Press, 1933–​), 3865–​79.

2 For more on Kornerup, see essays collected in Jacob Kornerup—​Maler, Arkæolog & Konservator, ed. Mette Høj (Copenhagen: The National Museum, 2013).

3 Concerning the life and political dimension of Thomas Becket I refer to Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1986); Wilfred L. Warren, Henry II (London: Methuen, 1973).

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Figure 6.1. The preserved late Romanesque wall-​paintings in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

with one hand raised in a speaking gesture; again, the meaning or connection with the rest of the imagery of the north wall is uncertain. The second part of the frieze is found east of the westernmost window of the north wall. Here the narrative seems to be on firmer ground. What we see here is probably Thomas leaving the monastery of Pontigny in France, where he stayed for two years during his exile from England. However, it could equally be his expulsion from Clarendon and hence the beginning of his exile that is shown (fig.  6.2). In the picture we see a white-​haired archbishop with a staff making a pointing gesture, accompanied by a host of clergy along with four men, two of whom have drawn swords.4 The dress of these two is richly patterned and seems to identify them as men of high status. The third stage or episode in the frieze shows the archbishop between two groups. Thomas is shown standing with his back to a group of well-​dressed men, the majority of them holding swords. Two bearded men in the foreground have their hands directed towards the bishop and one of them is wearing a peculiar hat, which Ulla Haastrup has 4 The bishop was originally, in a first draft for the images, equipped with another staff held obliquely. The shadow of this earlier staff now appears in the image, which affected the interpretation of the picture before the staff’s status as a discarded draft was recognized. On the bishop one also notes an earlier draft of a T-​shaped pallium that was discarded in favour of the ordinary Y-​shaped pallium.

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Figure 6.2. Scenes from the last year of Thomas Becket’s life in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

identified as a crown.5 In front of the bishop is a group of monks standing or kneeling before him. The scene probably depicts the moment at which Becket has been reconciled with Henry II (r. 1154–​1189) on the arrival of Louis VII (r. 1137–​1180) and he has now been allowed to return to Canterbury. Thus, the scene shows the English and French kings, accompanied by worldly lords who escort Thomas to Canterbury, where he is received by the canons of the church. The fourth scene is only a fragment, but still seems identifiable. A group of armoured men with sword and shield are gathered in front of a dressed podium, which can hardly be anything but an altar. Behind the altar another person is shown (the hiding Edward Grim?), while at the foot of the altar can be glimpsed the tip of an archbishop’s mitre. The episode undoubtedly represents the central scene in the narrative and shows the killing of Becket in front of the altar of Canterbury Cathedral. The slaughtered archbishop has disappeared, but he was clearly shown prostrate at the feet of the soldiers. A meander-​patterned frieze divides the two bands of images, and into this frieze small arcades are inserted, five of which are visible and in four of which figures are preserved, showing so-​called images of the labours of the month, representing situations 5 Ulla Haastrup, “Den hellige Thomas af Canterbury i Sønder Nærå på Fyn,” Iconographisk Post, no. 3 (1981): 1–​25.

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from agrarian life.6 While the scenes from the life of Becket are read from west to east, these images of labour are read the reverse way, with Adam and Eve expelled from the Garden of Eden by an angel with a flaming sword in the easternmost of the arcades. From there we can read the images westward and find a man picking grapes, a grain harvest and the last straws collected in the field. The image in the lower band, beneath the meandering frieze, is highly fragmented. Despite this it can with some certainty be determined as a battle scene, as the remains of the visible figures appear to be helmet-​clad and are shown fighting. One of the shields is, quite unusually for the period, shown with a lion rampant and thus represents a rather early example of the use of heraldry in a Danish context.7 We shall merely note the presence of such a battle scene beneath Becket’s story and return to it below. Two, now blinded, Romanesque windows are preserved in the north wall of the nave and they were also decorated with images. The paintings in the eastern window are difficult to access, because the opening is partially covered by the later added vaults of the nave. In the window we see the sacrifices of Abel and Cain. On the eastern side Cain is shown with a sheaf of hay in his hands. On the western side we see Abel with a lamb in his arms. In the top of the window, Christ is depicted making a gesture of blessing down towards Abel. Moving to the western window in the wall, we here see a man and woman depicted (fig. 6.3a–​b). To the east a beardless man is shown dressed in a tunic and a round hat. With one hand he grasps his sword firmly; with the other he raises an oversized coin. Towards the west a woman is depicted, her hair loose and wearing a long dress and gown. She has a sinuous pose and rests one hand on her hip, with the other she offers a large stylized lily upwards. At the top of the window, the recipient of the gifts is shown in the form of the Holy Ghost represented by a dove with a halo. The iconography of this programme is in some ways unusual. The depiction of saints is rare in Danish Romanesque wall-​paintings, but in fact they are often included in decorations that also have images of clashing knights or soldiers.8 It is furthermore striking how quickly the knowledge of Thomas Becket’s martyrdom had found its way into a rural church on the island of Funen. What we have preserved of the images at Sønder Nærå is clearly only a fraction, and much is lost, yet despite this it does seem 6 Concerning the iconography of such scenes, see James Carson Webster, The Labors of the Months in Antique and Mediaeval Art: To the End of the Twelfth Century (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1938). 7 Knud Prange, “De ældste heraldiske figurer. Sønder Nærå kirke og Højen kirke,” in Danske Kalkmalerier. Senromansk tid 1175–​ 1275, vol. 1, ed. Ulla Haastrup and Robert Egevang (Copenhagen: Ejlers, 1987), 154–​55.

8 Eigil Rothe, “Rytterbillederne i Ål Kirke samt andre middelalderlige Kampscener i danske Kirker,” Aarbog for Nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie. Series 2 23 (1908): 77–​116; Knud Hannestad, Korstogene: et møde mellem to kulturer (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1963); Else Klange, “Er det Roland, der kæmper i Ål? Et tolkningsforsøg,” Iconographisk Post, no. 3 (1980): 1–​9; Otto Norn, At se det usynlige: mysteriekult og ridderidealer (Copenhagen: Gad, 1982); Lise Gotfredsen, “Og Jorden skælver, da de rider frem,” Århus Stifts Årbog 21 (1983): 79–​99; Lise Gotfredsen and Hans Jørgen Fredriksen, Troens Billeder: romansk kunst i Danmark (Herning: Systime, 1988), 234–​52.

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  Figures 6.3a–​b. Emblematic representations of a man and a woman offering themselves and their goods to Christ in Sønder Nærå church on Funen, painted ca. 1200. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

possible to draw some conclusions about their meaning as a whole. The upper band of images, the so-​called crown frieze, is commonly considered the iconographically most important, and here we find the narrative of Becket’s martyrdom. As we know, his murder in Canterbury Cathedral, carried out by members of Henry II’s household, was almost immediately exploited for ecclesiastical politics, and Henry’s penance for the role he played in the assassination was, after the dust had settled, held up as an argument for or illustration of the Church’s supremacy over and independence from secular authority.9 Thus, while Becket around 1200 could be considered one of the fresh, new saints that kept surfacing throughout the Middle Ages, replacing old ones in the process,

9 See Barlow, Thomas Becket; Warren, Henry II.

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the context of his martyrdom added connotations to his presence that can be understood to convey to the beholder very specific ideas about authority. To paint the story of his death on the wall of the church was, therefore, an expression of support for the Church as an institution and for ecclesiastical authority, which of course ties in with the still ongoing quest for libertas ecclesiae and the reform.10 This point is supported by the other preserved elements in the decoration, and is further emphasized by the worldly figures in the western window who sacrifice their best to Christ (the Church). Becket was, allegedly, killed in front of the altar and thereby he channelled or echoed the sacrifice taking place at the altar during Mass.11 However, his martyrdom also underpinned the fact that sacrifice went through the altar and thereby through the Church. The good sacrifice was set apart, was a particular sacrifice, as we find illustrated through the story of Cain and Abel painted in the eastern window of the north wall; the window that gave light to that part of the nave and the side altar, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and without any doubt positioned nearby.12 The sacrifice to God, depicted in the window indirectly echoed the act of sacrifice taking place at the altar, and so did the death scene of Becket, whose martyrdom channelled both the killing of Christ and the killing of Abel.13 In the window located further westward in the nave, the man and woman bear similarities with the way donors are portrayed in contemporary mural programmes from the period. They have indeed been discussed in Danish scholarship at some length as donors, without coming to any convincing conclusions due to anomalies in the depictions, particularly concerning the appearance of the female and her gift.14 Yet, rather than seeing the man and the woman as depictions of specific, local figures who donated something to the church of Sønder Nærå, as many have argued, I will here propose that these figures are to be understood as generic representations meant to 10 See for instance the recent study by A. Edward Siecienski, The Papacy and the Orthodox: Sources and History of a Debate (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). 11 Barlow, Thomas Becket.

12 Ebbe Nyborg, “The Cult of St. Michael in Denmark and the Origin of Obits in Parish Church Liturgy,” in “Ora Pro Nobis”: Space, Place and the Practice of Saints’ Cults in Medieval and Early-​ Modern Scandinavia, ed. Nils Holger Petersen et al. (Odense: University of Southern Denmark Press, 2019), 99–​114.

13 The literature on the Eucharist and liturgical sacrifice is huge, but seminal discussion of the subject can be found in Josef Andreas Jungmann, “Missarum sollemnia.” Eine genetische Erklärung der römischen Messe, 2 vols. (Wien: Herder, 1952), 2:331–​40; Peter Browe, “Die Elevation in der Messe,” Jahrbuch für Liturgiewissenschaft 9 (1929): 20–​ 66; Peter Bowe, Die Eucharistischen Wunder des Mittelalters (Breslau: Müller & Seiffert, 1938). See also Michal Kobialka, This Is My Body: Representational Practices in the Early Middle Ages (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999); and Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, Ritual and Art across the Danish Reformation: Changing Interiors of Village Churches, 1450–​1600 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 257–​60. 14 The most recent study on the Danish material, where further references to the topic are listed, is Ulla Haastrup, “Stifterbilleder og deres ikonografi i danske 1100-​tals fresker. Kong Niels og Dronning Margrete Fredkulla malet i Vä Kirke (1121–​22) og elleve andre kirker med stifterfigurer,” Iconographisk Post, no. 4 (2015): 4–​51.

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124 Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen show specific gender ideals rather than specific persons. The man gives his goods and his life, represented by the coin and the sword, while the woman gives her chastity, represented by the lily, to Christ. The couple is also mirrored in Cain and Abel’s victims in the east window, where the sacrificial theme is clear and resounds as such throughout the whole programme of the paintings. The history of Becket is thus to be read from west to east where it culminates in the east end of the nave, by the entrance to the chancel and of course the holiest spot in the church, and Becket accordingly can be understood as the pious Christian who, metaphorically speaking, travels through the hardships of his life to ultimately give his life at the foot of the altar. We thereby here see the movement of coming to the church and paying allegiance to Christ. However, there are also images that are to be read from the east towards the west. In the middle section of the murals we find a scene beginning with Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Paradise. After this we see the consequences of the Fall through the generic depictions of man working in the sweat of his brow. Redemption from the lapsarian condition is at the core of this. When we see to the west the male and female figures lifting their gifts to God, it is an act of penance referring directly back to the depiction of the expulsion in the east end. All of this relates to the altar, and above all amounts to a univocal expression of the need for the congregation to understand that all penance and hope of sacrifice in this world is through this altar and thus through the Church as an institution.

War and Sacrifice

It is striking how Western Christianity came to be infused with a growing enthusiasm for an outward acting piety, beginning by the late eleventh century and continuing for a century to come. While monasticism promoted its vita contemplativa, the laity was spurred towards a vita activa in which they were encouraged to demonstrate their piety through action and good deeds.15 It was thus important to actively defend and define one’s faith through one’s conduct in the world. Perhaps the most prominent symbol or vehicle to couch this ideal was the knight; a transient figure who was as much part of 15 See for instance Jean Leclercq, The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture (New York: Fordham University Press, 1961); R. R. Post, The Modern Devotion: Confrontation with Reformation and Humanism, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1968); and the essays of A. N. Galpern (“Late Medieval Piety in Sixteenth-​Century Champagne”) and Marvin B. Becker (“Aspects of lay Piety in Early Rensaissance Florence”) in part two of The Pursuit of Holiness in Late Medieval and Renaissance Religion, ed. Charles E. Trinkaus and Heiko A. Oberman, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought 10 (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 141–​76 and 177–​99. See also Leen Breure, “Männliche und weibliche Ausdrucksformen in der Spiritualität der ‘Devotio moderna,’ ” in Frauenmystik im Mittelalter, ed. Peter Dinzelbacher and Dieter R.  Bauer (Ostfildern:  Schwabenverlag, 1985), 231–​55; Peter Dinzelbacher, “Zur Interpretation erlebnismystischer Texte des Mittelalters,” Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur 117, no. 1 (1988): 1–​23; Peter Dinzelbacher, “Rollenverweigung, religiöser Aufbruch und mystisches Erleben mittelalterlichen Frauen,” in Religiöse Frauenbewegung und mystische Frömmigkeit im Mittelalter, ed. Peter Dinzelbacher and Dieter R. Bauer, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 28 (Cologne: Böhlau, 1988), 1–​58.

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this world as the next.16 The upper tiers of society could readily insert themselves into this ideology and attempt to embody the role of defenders of the faith: but more to the point, the knight defending and fighting for Christ was employed as a symbol on a much more universal level as the miles Christianus—​a defender who represented all believers who each and every day had to battle with sin and the spiritual dangers of this world. On the one hand, the depictions and notions concerning the knight thereby represented what was very specific, tied to a particular aristocratic social group. On the other hand, the representation of knights had a much more general, emblematic meaning that transcended the specificity of the knight as a class figure.17 Thus scenes of battle could find their way into even small rural parish churches, not because they appealed particularly to the noble donors and patrons of the church—​at least not entirely—​but because they addressed a crucial facet of pastoral care of the church.18 At Sønder Nærå we saw the almost erased battle scene beneath the story of Becket’s martyrdom as part of a mural programme dealing with the willingness to sacrifice oneself in the name of Christ, and thereby also in the name of the Church. If the battle at Sønder Nærå is a mere fragment, in other places we find the motif in a much better state of preservation. In fact there are roughly ten decorations in Denmark that can be grouped together with the image at Sønder Nærå and we shall now turn to them.19 As stated in the introduction, the interpretation of these scenes has puzzled scholars who have attempted to identify them as specific depictions of everything from contemporary battles fought by crusaders and renderings of scenes from the Song of Roland, to the battles fought by the Maccabees described in Scripture. The warriors depicted are mostly portrayed in generic form and it is hard to tell the good from the bad in these scenes, which has only added to the confusion about the images. Nevertheless, I tend to agree with art historian Herman Bengtsson. He has recommended the open interpretation of these scenes, stating that the identification of them was perhaps variable depending on the context, and it is accordingly not the identification of the scenes that is to occupy us here, but rather what they communicate on a deeper level.20 16 See for instance Arno Borst, Das Rittertum im Mittelalter, 3rd ed. (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1998); Bernard McGinn, “ ‘Iter sancti sepulchri’: The Piety of the First Crusaders,” in Essays on Medieval Civilization, ed. Bryce D. Lyon, Bede K. Lackner, and Kenneth R. Philip, Walter Prescott Webb Memorial Lectures 12 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1998), 33–​71; Herman Bengtsson, Den Höviska Kulturen i Norden. En konsthistorisk undersökning, Antikvariska Serien 43 (Stockholm: Kungliga Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 1999); Joachim Bumke, Höfische Kultur. Literatur und Gesellschaft im hohen Mittelalter (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch, 1988; 2nd ed.: 1999), 430–​50. 17 For this topic examined more closely with regard to saintly figures, see Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, “Imagining St George Before and After the Reformation,” in “Ora Pro Nobis,” 119–​37. 18 The role of the rising pastoral care around 1200 can be found elucidated in William H. Campbell, The Landscape of Pastoral Care in 13th-​Century England, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 106 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). 19 For an overview, see references in n8 above.

20 Bengtsson, Den Höviska Kulturen i Norden, 86–​88.

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Figure 6.4. Clashing knights or warriors in Aal church in western Jutland, painted ca. 1200–​1225. © The Danish National Museum.

In a brief survey, then, of depictions of knights and battle in churches, the first and most famous is found in the church of Aal on the west coast of Jutland. Here the entire church was painted around 1200–​1225 in a late Romanesque style.21 As at Sønder Nærå, we find the decoration executed in two tiers or friezes. In the upper frieze, on the north wall, we see scenes from the life of St. Nicholas and a depiction of King David towards the east. Underneath these, in the lower frieze, we find scenes of knights in battle (fig. 6.4). Mounted men as well as troops on foot, all clad in armour, with shields, swords, or lances engage in combat, while we also see what could be a siege of some sort. The connection between what we find in the upper part of the decoration and the scenes in the lower part is not self-​evident, but once we consider what the images actually show we see a close parallel to those at Sønder Nærå. In the upper parts the images demonstrate how grace flows through a martyr such as St. Nicholas, whose deeds mirror the miracles performed by St. Peter, depicted on the south wall of the nave. The parallel to Sønder Nærå is clear, as again we see how saints are sacrificed for their faith while warriors struggle in the images underneath them. In fact, the images at Aal add a 21 Gotfredsen and Fredriksen, Troens Billeder, 240–​43.

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Figure 6.5. Pilgrims painted in the windows of Aal church in western Jutland, painted ca. 1200–​1225. © The Danish National Museum.

further dimension by showing pilgrims holding palm leaves and staffs with crosses in the windows of the south wall (fig. 6.5). In the upper frieze we here see the vita comtemplativa already mentioned above, and below, in the lower frieze of the north wall, the same ideal is explained through its externalized or outgoing equivalent. The knights at arms in other words express the outward-​going, active quest to embrace grace, not through the inward contemplation but through actually transforming this world and thus paving the way for the next.22 22 See for instance McGinn, “ ‘Iter sancti sepulchri.’ ”

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Figure 6.6. The preserved late Romanesque wall-​paintings in Hornslet church in eastern Jutland, painted ca. 1225–​1250. © The Danish National Museum.

In Hornslet church in eastern Jutland the two-​tiered disposition of the murals is repeated.23 Here however, on the north wall of the nave where the images are preserved, the late Romanesque wall-​paintings, dating from 1225–​1250, all seem to revolve around chivalric scenes without the presence of saints; the upper frieze recounts episodes from one or several narratives that seem hard to identify, whereas the lower frieze shows mounted knights attacking a castle or fortification (fig. 6.6). The narrative content of the preserved images is not as clear as those at either Sønder Nærå or Aal, art historian Otto Norn has nevertheless attempted to link the scenes to the Arthurian legend of the Holy Grail, without being entirely successful. Nonetheless, no matter what the battling knights in the lower frieze, along with the king in his bed 23 Norn, At se det usynlige, 27–​35; Gotfredsen and Fredriksen, Troens Billeder, 245–​52.

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and the sole rider in the upper frieze, represent, we gain an important indicator of an interpretation through the depiction painted in the window of two apostles receiving the Gospel from the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove. What we have here is, in all probability, an evocation of knights who dedicated their lives to Christ and fought for this; however, in which way specifically is now lost upon us. A broad interpretation of these images would accordingly be to see them as an illustration of the need for self-​ purification through active combat against sin in order to obtain the grace represented by the word of God, channelled through the apostles in the window. The knights and the characters connected with their story thereby become allegorical mirrors through which the congregation can seek inspiration. The final example to be discussed here is found in Skibet church, also in eastern Jutland, and does not show direct combat, but we certainly see questing knights.24 The decoration, dating from around 1175–​1200, is not in the nave like the previously discussed images but on the east-​end wall of the chancel, and consequently directly behind the high alter, giving the scenes a particularly charged meaning as to the celebration of the mass. The painting, rendered in two horizontal friezes, shows the Resurrection of Lazarus and the Transfiguration of Jesus in the upper part—​two stories of miraculous intervention and change from one state or shape into another. Beneath, in the lower frieze, we see a number of mounted knights involved in some sort of search or hunt. The frieze, culminating to the south in a depiction of an altar on which a container and two horns are placed, seems to tell us that what we have here is an imagining of the quest and discovery of the Holy Grail (fig. 6.7).25 The import of these pictures is more or less consonant with what has already been stated in the descriptions above, but the images at Skibet in a very clear way connect the active, warlike or aggressive, and outward-​going element of knighthood to the pursuit of the Grail and thus to Christ and the Church. The quest and conflict are in other words here represented as a way of finding and entering the church as well as the community of believers.

Violence and Spiritual Ideals

What we are to take from the imagery discussed so far is a shared focus in all of these murals on violence and sacrifice. Violence and the willingness to engage in violence are here portrayed if not as positive, then at least as necessary, which the emblematic figure at Sønder Nærå of a man giving his earthly goods and grasping his sword effectively 24 Norn, At se det usynlige, 18–​26; Gotfredsen and Fredriksen, Troens Billeder, 243–​45; Danmarks Kirker, 2713–​26. 25 Norn, At se det usynlige, 18–​ 26. See also Lars-​ Iver Ringbom, Gralstempel und Paradies. Beziehungen zwischen Iran und Europa im Mittelalter (Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand, 1951); Roger Sherman Loomis, The Grail: From Celtic Myth to Christian Symbol, rev. ed. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991).

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Figure 6.7. Questing knights painted in Skibet church in eastern Jutland, painted ca. 1175–​1200. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

communicates to us. What is particularly interesting, especially in the light of what has been discussed concerning the images at Sønder Nærå, is what this violence is intended to communicate to the churchgoer and what makes it relevant in that context. First and foremost, there is the general notion of sacrificing the self for Christ. This is the major theme in all the depictions discussed here and it can readily be identified in all the mural decorations featuring knights and soldiers that we find in Denmark. The images of the fighting and questing knights accordingly seem to urge the viewer to gird his loins and also to seek Christ through energetic engagement with the world and not only through inward prayer and meditation. They demonstrate, in other words, an ideal of piety for those who actually are to be in the world (but not of the world) without the option of withdrawing to the shelter of the monastery. When painted on the church walls these images were perhaps intended not so much as instruments of devotion for the congregation, as to set a certain atmosphere as moral and inspirational pictures. The battle scenes, whatever biblical, historical, or allegorical episodes they depicted, could bridge gaps between the Bible narrative and the here and now of the churchgoer. They show how the battle for Christ was still being fought and demonstrated how grace could be achieved or aimed for in the now of the beholder, through the means of spiritual reinforcement and good deeds. By this the questing and fighting knights were aligned with saints such as Thomas Becket and St. Nicholas, as examples of piety and pious souls who were willing to sacrifice themselves. In one sense these images were thus of

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a mimetic nature, heartening the beholder to copy what was shown. However, rather than doing so directly, I would argue that the images in a dialectical way facilitated a space where the faithful were encouraged to find ways in which they in their own lives could follow the same ideals as those expressed in both the individual scenes and the programmes as a whole.26 It was thus not a question of taking the Cross and going on crusade, but rather an affective call to be like a knight and with the valour and piety of the knight to combat sin in one’s own life. Thus, when looking specifically at the depictions of the fighting knights, they clearly have a strong evocative narrative element, not dissimilar to the mode of visual storytelling we find in late Gothic murals: but this element, I would argue, is not in itself as important in the fight scenes as the function of these images to tune the atmosphere in the church interior. Rather than depicting specific scenes or objectives, most of these paintings seem first and foremost to have had the ambition of setting a tone inside the church by which the congregation from the highest to the lowliest was to see how life in this world was a constant struggle with sin and the enemies of Christ and Church, just as in such often quoted biblical passages as: Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armour of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. (Ephesians 6:11–​17)

Quotes from Scripture, such as this one, were employed freely in sermons about crusading and warfare, but they certainly also had a function on the level of pastoral care.27 It is, of course, relevant to examine the images of fighting knights from a social perspective, because they clearly—​on a superficial level—​operate in or address an aristocratic social sphere that had little, if anything, to do with the everyday life of the majority of the rural population. Hence, we cannot disregard the connection between such images and the role the local gentry played as founders and donors of the early stone churches in Denmark. The Church of the eleventh and twelfth centuries has 26 A closer reading of such interactions can be found in Jürgensen, Ritual and Art, chap. 7. For very similar setting, see also clerical imaginative stories of devout bishops weeping and and praying for victory, when knights and peoples of their communities fight against the foreign and evil (especially pagan) forces, in Jacek Maciejewski’s chapter in this collection. For more about the figure of a pious churchman as a counterpart of warriors in martial struggles, see Radosław Kotecki, “With the Sword of Prayer, or How Medieval Bishop Should Fight,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 21 (2016): 341–​69.

27 Christopher Tyerman, God’s War: A New History of the Crusades (London: Penguin, 2007); Christoph T. Maier, Preaching the Crusades: Mendicant Friars and the Cross in the Thirteenth Century, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 28 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); M. Tamminen, Crusade Preaching and the Ideal Crusader, Sermo. Studies on Patristic, Medieval, and Reformation Sermons and Preaching 14 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018).

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132 Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen within Danish scholarship been understood traditionally as a top-​down structure, which first and foremost catered to the needs of the nobility and only invited the rest of the population into the churches as spectators of a sort at proceedings that were in every way beyond them.28 The painted scenes of battle and conflict have been read into this model of understanding as well, as they have been taken as direct representations and commemorations of historical conflicts. On some level this probably holds true, as images such as the murals showing knights at war clearly demonstrated to the viewer who held the physical power within the community and in society at large. The images in that sense mirror society outside the church, and reproduce the power structures surrounding the congregation in a religious framework.29 However, it seems overtly one-​ sided if not misguided to say that these images first and foremost were for the benefit of the nobles, and in particular the noble male churchgoers, as for instance is claimed by art historians such as Lise Gotfredsen, who insist on seeing the images as a call to the crusade and only secondarily as depictions of a psychomachia.30 To reduce the battle scenes to mere obtuse confrontations between good and evil seems to miss the point concerning the deep-​rooted, affective call for self-​improvement that resided in these images. Rather than singling out the fight scenes as somehow special and curious, it seems much more fruitful to analyze them as part of the decoration as a whole, as has been attempted here. In this light it seems clear enough, as we have already mentioned, that the Church was showing two modes of piety and engagement with Christ in the programmes under scrutiny here; one with the martyr accepting his (or her) fate, like the murdered Thomas Becket, while the second, active mode sees the pious engaging in direct conflict with the enemy, that is, with sin. Both modes lead to Christ and salvation, but one cannot help but notice the fact that the martyred saints are always depicted above the fighting knights and thus, in the rhetorical structure of the images, as of higher importance. This, of course, brings us back again to the paintings at Sønder Nærå, and that programme’s clear expression of Church authority. It would seem, then, as if the Church, by featuring these scenes of fighting knights, acknowledged the aristocracy as a major power and supporter of the Church, but at the same time clearly signalled her supremacy over the secular authority. One explanation does not, of course, exclude the other, and the images can freely be seen as calls to “take the Cross,” but this does seem like an uncharacteristically specific point for mural decorations that normally revolve around universal themes, themes relating to what actually takes place inside the church and not in the least pastoral care. To understand these images better we should therefore perhaps examine them from a more general perspective and merely note that in times of conflict, images of war and 28 See for instance Axel Bolvig, Kirkekunstens storhedstid. Om kirker og kunst i Danmark i romansk tid (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1992). 29 Concerning twelfth-​century society and elite culture in Scandinavia, see Bengtsson, Den Höviska Kulturen i Norden; Lars Hermanson, Bärande band. Vänskap, kärlek och brödraskap i det medeltida Nordeuropa ca 1000–​1200 (Lund: Nordic Academic, 2009). 30 Gotfredsen and Fredriksen, Troens Billeder, 337–​40.

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bloodshed could gain a particular relevance as immediate references, without this being their specific raison d’etre.

Martyrdom and the New Jerusalem

The scenes discussed here all point towards attuning one’s life to Christ and through good deeds, in whatever form, prepare the way for the world to come. Indeed, the next world, the New Jerusalem, is massively present in Romanesque churches and in Romanesque art.31 The images that have been under scrutiny here can be seen as the scenes leading up to the great revelation of the City of God, into which those who heard the call were to enter on the Day of Judgement. In order to understand the full implications of the imagery of slaughtered martyrs and fighting knights, we thus need to take a closer look at what the promise behind all of this was, and this is to occupy us in this last part of the chapter.32, The wall-​paintings, executed in late Romanesque style, in all likelihood remained visible in the church for a long time, and were only replaced around 1525 when the building received vaults and the whole interior was redecorated with new images (fig 6.8). As with the images at Sønder Nærå the murals on Funen have been known for a long time and have gained some notoriety in Danish research on medieval art: the conservator Jacob Kornerup by chance in 1895—​give us a sense of what the iconographical programme aimed to convey to the beholder. The visual heart of the decoration is a large, poorly preserved representation in the apse of Christ in an almond-​shaped mandorla, sitting on a rainbow with his hand raised in a gesture of blessing. Around him crowds of holy men, women, and angels worship their ruler. The importance of this decoration in the apse as the focal point of the whole programme can be difficult to understand today, as in the Late Middle Ages the apse was separated from the chancel by a wall, so that the apse came to serve as a sacristy and was no longer part of the church space as such.33 On the northern side of the chancel, Romanesque paintings are also preserved. The motifs are here, as usual, arranged in two wide tiers over which a band of small niches are painted. In these arches prophets stand with outstretched arms and proclaim the biblical episodes we find depicted in the tiers below.34 In the upper tier we find scenes from the New Testament: the Annunciation, 31 I have discussed the following more extensively in a previous publication. See Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, “The New Jerusalem and the Late Medieval Church Interior,” in The Holy City: Tracing the Jerusalem Code, vol. 1: The Holy City: Christian Cultures in Medieval Scandinavia (ca.  1100–​1536), ed. Kristin B. Aavitsland and Line M. Bonde (Berlin: De Gruyter, forthcoming in 2021). 32 Some initial thoughts on this subject can be found in Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen, “Åbenbaringer,” Skalk, no. 1 (2014):18–​27. The building history is elucidated in Danmarks Kirke. Odense Amt, 2916–30. 33 Danmarks Kirke. Odense Amt, 2926–​28.

34 Concerning the arch as a motif in Romanesque art, see Line M. Bonde, “Jerusalem Commonplaces in Twelfth-​Century Danish Rural Churches: What Urban Architecture Remembers,” in The Holy City, vol. 1 (forthcoming).

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Figure 6.8. The Romanesque decoration on the north wall of the chancel in Sanderum church on Funen. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

the Nativity, and the angel’s proclamation to the shepherds in the field. The images in the lower tier are in a sad state of preservation, but the motifs clearly belong to the Old Testament. We see Aaron with the repentant Miriam, who confesses her sins, and the scouts who return from Canaan carrying grapes. In the window in the north wall decorations are also still visible. The Holy Spirit in the guise of the dove is here painted in the top of the window, while Cain and Abel’s offerings to God are shown in a somewhat fragmented state on the west side. On the east side of the window, Abraham appears almost complete, shown with the souls of the dead in his lap and thus serving as an allusion to the souls in waiting for Judgement.35 In these images we meet a godhead that reveals itself in the world to mankind. A  huge figure of Christ sits in the apse with his hand raised in a gesture of blessing towards both the high altar and the church interior as a whole. His closest attendants are holy men and women along with angels who all inhabit the same celestial house as 35 Find this motif unfolded in relation to ideas about Purgatory, Paradise and the New Jerusalem in Jérôme Baschet, Le Sein du père. Abraham et la paternité dans l’Occident medieval. Le temps des images (Paris: Gallimard, 2000).

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him. From this seat in the holy of holies in the east of the building, we can follow the way—​albeit now fragmented—​the holy is making itself manifest in the church and, in transposed meaning, in the world as a whole. The upper tier of images on the north wall of the chancel shows Jesus’s own way into the world through Mary; how his arrival is proclaimed in both the Annunciation and the angel’s words to the shepherds, and not least through the depiction of the actual incarnation and birth. Underneath these scenes, in the lower tier, we also see the divine working itself into the world—​here in a soteriological perspective, shown through ancient testimonies of the Old Testament. Miriam recognizes her sin and is miraculously cured of sickness after Moses and Aaron have prayed for her, and the scouts return home with material evidence of the land of Canaan. The decorations in the window express the same. Here are both Cain and Abel to the west and Abraham to the east exposed to the Holy Spirit, shown as hovering above their heads, floating on the light from the window, which in this context without a doubt is a part of the illustration of how divinity filters into the world. The paintings tell of a holiness that manifests itself across time and space in salvation history. The enthroned Christ reaches out to mankind from beyond, and the images

Figure 6.9. Cain and Abel painted in the north window of the chancel in Sanderum church on Funen. Photo: Arnold Mikkelsen. © The Danish National Museum.

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136 Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen show how he is to be worshipped and praised, just as in the apse the prophets and the holy men, women, and angels do now and in the afterlife. The aspect of revelation is important here because it is through the allusions to tangible presence and form that the human being—​or perhaps in our context we might say the congregation—​can recognize the holy when gathering in front of the entrance to the chancel. During the celebration of the Mass, the congregation catches a glimpse of the pacis visio as a form of assurance of things to come. That is, a fleeting view of the blessed house of peace promised in the Bible and mentioned in one of the hymns sung during church dedications since the seventh century, and opening with the lines “Blessed city of Jerusalem, called Vision of Peace.”36 And exactly this vision of peace, flowing from the high altar in the east end of the church, is to be contrasted with the violence suffered and inflicted in the scenes of knights and martyred saints discussed here. Upon entering the church and facing east, the congregation find themselves embedded in an apocalyptic narrative of better things to come; a vision of peace and consolation flowing towards the community from the beyond, the reward for all the suffering and sacrifice they have endured in their terrestrial existence. The style of the paintings is dense and almost lavish in its use of colour, matching the saturated display of richness in the altar retables and frontals of the same period, where gilded metal studded with gemstones conveys the biblical description of the shining New Jerusalem.37 The evocation of the holy and the state of the soul in the afterlife through the rhetoric of material richness was very much a part of the way the early and high medieval Church communicated impressions of the New Jerusalem to the flock, and sought to lead them into devotion and longing for the next life. Thomas Aquinas famously stated in part one of his Summa Theologica, dating from the 1270s, that the soul cannot rise to behold the things invisible if it is not guided by reflections on the visible things.38 The French Benedictine monk Peter the Venerable expressed the same, if somewhat differently, in his treatise Contra Petrobrusianos hereticos, composed between 1139 and 1141, by stating that the soul of man is moved more by presence than by absence, and is moved more by having seen Christ than by having heard him.39 A  further and final example might be the opening lines of Alain of Lille’s famous poem De planctu naturae, probably written somewhere between 1167 and 1173: 36 “Urbs beata Jerusalem, dicta pacis visio.” See Chant and Its Origins, ed. Thomas Forrest Kelly (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), 106–​12.

37 This aspect is discussed in volumes such as Decorating the Lord’s Table: On the Dynamics Between Image and Altar in the Early and High Middle Ages, ed. Søren Kaspersen and Erik Thunø (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006); Image and Altar 800–​1300, ed. Poul Grinder-​ Hansen, Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeology and History 23 (Copenhagen: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2014). 38 Thomas Aquinas, Questio 84, article 7, in Summa Theologica, 5 vols. (Notre Dame: Ave Maria, 1981).

39 Peter the Venerable, Contra Petrobrusianos hereticos, ed. James Fearns, Corpus Christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 10 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1968), 119–​20.

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Every creature in the world Is like a book and a picture To us, and a mirror. A Faithful representation Of our life, our death Our condition, our end.40

This is, I would argue, the mindset behind the Romanesque decoration at Sanderum and the same mindset that is expressed in the battle scenes and depictions of martyrdoms such as those of Thomas Becket and St. Nicholas. By seeing how Christ, God, or the Holy Spirit was manifested in the world throughout history, the congregation was to sense and understand the divine presence around them and be moved to praise God and prepare themselves for their journey towards the celestial home. That is, a preparation through the Mass; the terrestrial equivalent of the eternal celebration of God by the angels and the saints in Heaven. Thus, when we see the celebration of Christ in majesty depicted in the apse, it is a reflection of the celebration already taking place in the beyond.

Conclusion

What I have tried to demonstrate here is how the Church, at least in medieval Denmark around 1200, tried to walk a thin line: on the one hand encouraging the laity to follow an outward active devotional practice that spurred action over contemplation. The Church as an institution thus handed over a considerable degree of control to the laity, in particular to those who, like the nobility, already wielded substantial secular power. On the other hand, the Church attempted to harness or direct this outward-​reaching piety and make sure that it was given form under its wing. War, violence, suffering, and any kind of self-​sacrifice could thereby be supported and understood as a means of achieving grace and bringing the New Jerusalem closer, but as is made perfectly clear in the murals of Sønder Nærå church, this had to happen with the knowledge that the Church was the ultimate authority and gateway leading to Christ and salvation. This in itself is nothing new, but what is worth stressing is how these knightly ideals of fighting for Christ and crusading could be transformed into a spiritual ideal also relevant to the rural population for which wars on foreign soil were surely of no account. While crusades and violence were very much part of the ideals and obligations of the nobility, the same ideals were transformed to include the large part of the population who instead of fighting with sword and shield were to conquer themselves in the guise of their own sinful nature. And as we know, exactly this personal battle came to be the prevailing ideal, which turned into the dominant modus of late medieval devotional 40 “Omnis mundi creatura /​Quasi liber et pictura /​Nobis est, et speculum. /​Nostrae vitae, nostrae mortis, Nostri status, nostrae sortis /​Fidele signaculum”: Alain de Lile, De planctu naturae, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 210 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1855), 579A. English translation after G. R. Evans, Alan of Lille: The Frontiers of Theology in the Later Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 151.

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138 Martin Wangsgaard Jürgensen culture. When we see these images of fighting knights in combination with martyred saints, they tell us about a change in the spiritual climate that was stirring. We here find broad developments in the devotional culture of Europe first and foremost translated into affective imagery, but secondly into a shape that would make sense to the rural population, which was the primary public for these evocative images.

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Chapter 7

RELIGIOUS RITUALS OF WAR IN MEDIEVAL HUNGARY UNDER THE ÁRPÁD DYNASTY* Dušan Zupka‡ War, Religion, and Ritual The inhabitants of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary were proud of their reputation as a courageous, warlike, and almost invincible nation. They had built their pride on their long history of successful military campaigns dating back to the age of the Magyar conquest in the tenth century. In addition, by acquiring the fictional inheritance of the Scythians and the Huns, they were also boosted by the famous victories of those warlike peoples. Moreover, after settling into their new homeland in Pannonia at the turn of the ninth century, and especially after the foundation of the Christianized monarchy during the reign of Prince Géza (r. ca. 970–​997) and his son, first Hungarian king, Saint Stephen (r. 997–​1038), the Hungarians remained warriors that their contemporaries feared. Between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, they expanded into new territories and acquired new lands from their neighbours in the Carpathian Basin and beyond.1 The rule and power of the Árpád kings had been closely linked with Christianity since the conversion of the country under Saint Stephen. The first king of Hungary expressed this ideological programme in his Admonitions, a “mirror of princes”-​like treatise written around 1015 for his heir-​to-​be Prince Emeric (d. 1031).2 Throughout the work, military rhetoric was used to stress the main ideas and to depict the features of * The research on this study has been sponsored by grants VEGA 1/​0814/​18 Dejiny diplomacie v ranom stredoveku and APVV 18–​0333 Databáza historickej terminológie k dejinám Strednej Európy.

‡ Dušan Zupka (orcid.org/​ 0000-​ 0003-​ 2699-​ 3736) is assistant professor at Faculty of Arts, Comenius University in Bratislava, Slovakia, and a researcher at the Institute of History, Slovak Academy of Sciences. Previously he worked in the Faculty of History, Oxford University, and he held research scholarships at Central European University in Budapest, Hungary, and Utrecht University in the Netherlands. Since 2017 he has been the general editor of the Brill series East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450. He is the author of the monograph Ritual and Symbolic Communication in Medieval Hungary under the Árpád Dynasty, 1000–​1301 (Brill, 2016). He has also published several articles on power, rulership, and communication in medieval Central Europe. 1 Attila Bárány, “Attempts for Expansion: Hungary, 1000–​1500,” in The Expansion of Central Europe in the Middle Ages, ed. Nora Berend, The Expansion of Latin Europe, 1000–​ 1500 5 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 333–​56. 2 Előd Nemerkényi, Latin Classics in Medieval Hungary: Eleventh Century, CEU Medievalia 6 (Budapest: Central European University, 2004), 31.

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a truly Christian ruler. Stephen, who spent a considerable part of his rule on horseback, granted his admonitions to his young son as to someone who had not yet experienced the fatigues of military campaigns and faced the incursions of diverse nations. After formulating that the Catholic belief is the most important virtue of royal dignity, Stephen encouraged Emeric with biblical words (Ephesians 6:16–​17): “If you raise the shield of belief, you have the helmet of salvation too.”3 These two spiritual weapons were supposed to help Emeric against both visible and invisible enemies. As a true Christian ruler, he was also supposed to imitate the habits of the old kings and pray to God to protect him and his realm from all enemies, and so to attain the status of an invincible king (invictissimus rex).4 Warfare, religion, and rituals belong to one of the most-​researched strands of medieval studies.5 Previous scholarship has persuasively showed the old and firm connection between religion and warfare.6 Since Ancient Greece and Rome, troops relied on support from the heavens. After Constantine’s conversion and Theodosius’s imposition of Christianity as the official cult of the Roman Empire, Christian ideology permeated the beliefs of soldiers throughout the continent. This process also continued after the fall of the Western Empire and persisted vividly in the Eastern part for 3 “Si vero scutum retines fidei, habes etiam galeam salutis”:  Libellus sancti Stephani regis de institutione morum ad Emericum ducem, chap. 1, ed. Josephus Balogh, SRH 1:621.

4 “Hac quidem oratione antiqui utebantur reges, tu quoque hac eadem utere, ut deus cuncta vitia a te aufferre dignetur, ut invictissimus rex a cunctis nomineris. Ora etiam, ut desidiam et ebetudinem a te depellat, et sublevamentum omnium tibi tribuat virtutum, quibus visibiles et invisibiles vincas inimicos. Ut securus et expeditus ab omni incursione adversariorum cum omnibus tibi subiectis cursum etatis tue vite cum pace possis finire”: Libellus sancti Stephani, 627.

5 For war in the Middle Ages, see Philippe Contamine, La Guerre Au Moyen Age (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1994); Norbert Ohler, Krieg und Frieden im Mittelalter (Munich: Beck, 1997); Jean Flori, Chevaliers et la chevalerie au Moyen Âge (Paris: Hachette, 1998). Recently Bernard S. Bachrach and David S. Bachrach, Warfare in Medieval Europe, c.400-​c.1453 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017). For war and religion, see Philippe Buc, Holy War, Martyrdom, and Terror: Christianity, Violence, and the West (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). For war, rituals, and liturgy, see Barbara Stollberg-​Rilinger, Rituale. Historische Einführungen, Historische Einführungen 16 (Frankfurt: Campus, 2013); Cecilia M. Gaposchkin, Invisible Weapons: Liturgy and the Making of Crusade Ideology (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017). Especially for medieval Hungary, see most recently Dušan Zupka, Ritual and Symbolic Communication in Medieval Hungary under the Árpád Dynasty, 1000–​1301, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 39 (Leiden: Brill, 2016).

6 In addition to works cited in the note above, see Friedrich Prinz, Klerus und Krieg im früheren Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zur Rolle der Kirche beim Aufbau der Königsherrschaft, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1971); Der König als Krieger. Zum Verhältnis von Königtum und Krieg im Mittelalter, ed. Martin Clauss, Andrea Stieldorf, and Tobias Weller (Bamberg:  University of Bamberg Press, 2015); Martin Hurbanič, “ ‘Exupergate etus fermentum Graecorum’. Náboženský rozmer normanských výprav na Balkán v rokoch 1081–​1108,” Studia Balcanica Bohemo-​Slovaca 7 (2017): 165–​76; Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S. Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018).

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centuries.7 Supportive examples from the Bible sanctified and legalized the combat of Christian soldiers. In addition, they encouraged the soldiers to perform the penitential and religious rites that were supposed to secure divine aid (as, for example, Jonas 3:1–​10; 1 Kings 7:1–​6). Since the publication of Michael McCormick’s seminal works on the Byzantine and Carolingian liturgies of war,8 several studies have brought to the fore the role, meaning, and use of religious rituals in medieval warfare.9 That scholarship has provided enough evidence to show that, as a rule, each military campaign required not only logistic preparations but also a distinct set of ritual practices designed to encourage individual soldiers before battle and to prepare the army as a whole to achieve victory. Such aspects have received a considerable degree of attention from scholars interested in the Carolingian or post-​Carolingian world of Western Europe, lately and most thoroughly by David S. Bachrach.10 One of the main problems anyone researching Árpád-​era Hungary faces, is the discouraging lack of contemporary sources, especially in comparison with neighbouring realms. There is a limited body of narrative sources (many of which are only preserved in later renditions), and diplomatic and normative evidence written by Hungarian authors.11 Most of the information on Árpád-​era warfare, therefore, can only be gleaned 7 See essays collected in Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion, ed. Johannes Koder and Ioannis Stouraitis, Veröffentlichungen zur Byzanzforschung 30 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2012).

8 Michael McCormick, Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Michael McCormick, “The Liturgy of War in the Early Middle Ages: Crisis, Litanies, and the Carolingian Monarchy,” Viator 15 (1984):  1–​24.

9 Eric J.  Goldberg, “ ‘More devoted to the equipment of battle than the splendor of banquets’: Frontier Kingship, Military Ritual, and the Early Knighthood at the Court of Louis the German,” Viator 30 (1999): 41–​78; Ohler, Krieg und Frieden im Mittelalter, 266–​74; Walter Pohl, “Liturgie di guerra nei regni altomedievali,” Rivista di storia del cristianesimo 5, no. 1 (2008): 29–​44; Jürgen Bärsch, “ ‘Pax Domini’ und ‘Depressio inimicorum’: Skizzen zu Krieg und Frieden im Spiegel der abendländischen Liturgie in Spätantike und Mittelalter,” in Friedensethik im frühen Mittelalter. Theologie zwischen Kritik und Legitimation von Gewalt, ed. Gerhard Beestermöller, Studien zur Friedensethik 46 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2014), 53–​84; Manuel Rojas Gabriel, “On the Path of Battle: Divine Invocations and Religious Liturgies Before Pitched Battles in Medieval Iberia (c. 1212-​c. 1340). An Introduction,” in Crusading on the Edge: Ideas and Practice of Crusading in Iberia and the Baltic Region, 1100–​1500, ed. Torben K. Nielsen and Iben Fonnesberg-​Schmidt, Outremer 4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), 275–​95; see also the thematic issue on cultures of war and liturgy in Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 21 (2016). Also, David S. Bachrach’s works cited below. 10 David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, c. 300–​1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003), David S. Bachrach, “Military Chaplains and the Religion of War in Ottonian Germany, 919–​1024,” Religion, State and Society 39, no. 1 (2011): 13–​31. Recently a comprehensive survey was provided by Bachrach and Bachrach, Warfare in Medieval Europe, 323–​28.

11 Dániel Bagi, “Problematik der ältesten Schichten der ungarischen Chronikkomposition des 14. Jahrhunderts im Lichte der ungarischen Geschichtsforschung der letzten Jahrzente—​einige ausgewählte Problemstellen,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 12 (2007): 105–​27.

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from outside sources, especially German, Bohemian, Polish, and Byzantine. Despite the lack of suitable source material, much previous attention has been paid to warfare in medieval Hungary. Since the second half of the twentieth century a comprehensive overview of Hungarian medieval warfare has been provided (focusing on Hungarian conquest and expansion, military organization, crusader movement, tactics, structure and numbers of the troops, knightly culture, etc.).12 Overall, we can summarize that only limited attention has been paid to the questions of religious rites, liturgies, and religious aspects of the military campaigns of the Árpád-​era Hungary.

With God’s Help Against the Enemy

One of the earliest mentions of the use of religious rites to obtain divine support in a military conflict comes from the reign of Saint Stephen. The first Árpádian king of Hungary was a devout Christian and a fervent supporter of spreading Christianity throughout territories under his rule. The legends describing his life, as well as historical works, depict Stephen as a man that always relied on the support of God and His saints in all of his political actions, as a devout founder of religious institutions (bishoprics, churches, and monasteries) and as a pious believer spending time on prayers, fasting, and almsgiving.13 On one occasion, both Hungarian and foreign sources give an account of the behaviour of Stephen in a time of crisis and serious threat to the realm. In the summer of 1030, Emperor Conrad II of the Holy Roman Empire set out on a campaign directed against the Kingdom of Hungary.14 Upon hearing the news of the Imperial army marching towards his borders, Stephen started to rally his troops from across the kingdom. As had been customary in this period when encountering similar events, the Árpád king did not rely solely on earthly forces. In time of a great crisis threatening his recently created Christian monarchy, he acknowledged the need to seek aid also from 12 Gyula Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi (Budapest: Zrínyi katonai Kiadó, 1986); Ágnes Kurcz, Lovagi kultúra Magyarországon a 13.-​ 14. században (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1988); László Veszprémy, Lovagvilág Magyarországon. Lovagok, keresztesek, hadmérnökök a középkori Magyarországon: válogatott tanulmányok (Budapest: Argumentum, 2008); Magyarország és a keresztes háborúk. Lovagrendek és emlekéik, ed. József Laszlovsky, Judit Majorossy, and József Zsengellér (Máriabesnyő: Attraktor, 2006); Vladimír Segeš, Od rytierstva po žoldnierstvo. Stredoveké vojenstvo v Uhorsku so zreteľom na Slovensko (Bratislava: Ministerstvo obrany Slovenskej republiky, 2004); András Borosy, “Hadsereglétszámok a X.-​XIV. Században,” Hadtörténelmi Közlemények 105, no. 4 (1992): 3–​32; Magyarország hadtörténete, vol. 1: A kezdetektől 1526, ed. Róbert Hermann (Budapest: Zrínyi, 2017).

13 Legenda maior sancti Stephani regis, chaps. 7, 10, and 12, ed. Emma Bartoniek, SRH 2:382, 385–​88; Legenda minor sancti Stephani regis, chaps. 3 and 4, ed. Emma Bartoniek, SRH 2:395–​96; Legenda sancti Stephani regis ab Hartvico episcopo conscripta, chaps. 14 and 15, ed. Emma Bartoniek, SRH 2:420–​23; Rodulfus Glaber, Historiarum libri quinque, 3.2, ed. and trans. John France (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), 96; Thietmari Merseburgensis episcopi Chronicon, 4.59, ed. Robert Holtzmann, MGH SS rer. Germ. NS 9 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1935), 199. 14 Herwig Wolfram, Conrad II, 990–​ 1039: Emperor of Three Kingdoms (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006), 231–​37.

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the heavenly powers. According to Conrad’s biographer Wipo of Burgundy (d. 1048), Stephen ordered prayers and fasting throughout his kingdom. These were supposed to gain the support of God and protect his subjects from the menace coming from the Empire.15 The author of Saint Stephen’s Legenda maior (ca. 1080), as well as Bishop Hartvic, the author of another life of Stephen (ca. 1112–​1116) provided further details on the pre-​war religious preparations. After taking advice from his bishops and principes the Hungarian ruler, knowing that nothing could be achieved without Christ, raised his hands and his heart to heavens and prayed to the Holy Virgin Mary for the sake of his kingdom and its people.16 The German troops advanced as far as Esztergom, but then suddenly decided to retreat without any military gain.17 According to Legenda maior, the Hungarian king, acknowledging the divine help in the course of those events, fell to the ground and thanked Christ and his Mother. It was especially to Mary that he commended his kingdom and its inhabitants.18 The fervent adoration of the Virgin Mary was a peculiar feature of eleventh-​century Hungary and pre-​dated the general spread of Marian devotion on the continent by a few decades. According to his vitae, Stephen had a special relation to the Mother of God.19 He dedicated to her all the major churches in his country, he also invoked her aid in his fight against internal and external enemies (Kopány in 997 and Conrad II in 1030). It was to the Virgin Mary that King Stephen commended his kingdom on his deathbed.20 In the political discourse, this must be understood in the context of papal claims to jurisdiction over the Hungarian realm. The subsequent Hungarian kings were always cautious to stress that the founder of their monarchy had dedicated Hungary to St. Mary, not to St. Peter.21 15 “Rex autem Stephanus minime sufficiens adversus imperatorem orationibus et ieiuniis in universo regno suo indictis praesidium Domini tantummodo flagitabat”: Wipo, Gesta Chuonradi II. Imperatoris, chap. 26, ed. Harry Bresslau, MGH SS rer. Germ. 61 (Hannover: Hahn, 1915), 44.

16 “Contra quem rex consultum habens episcoporum et principum, ad tuendam patriam armatos totius Ungarie contraxit. Prius tamen recolens se nichil posse sine suffragio Christi, manus et cor levans ad ethera, domine sue perpetue virgini, dei genetrici Marie iniurias commendans, talem erupit in vocem: Si placet tibi, domina mundi, tue hereditatis ab inimicis devastari et novellam plantationem christianitatis aboleri, non mee, precor, imputetur desidie, sed potius dispositioni voluntatis tue”: Legenda maior sancti Stephani regis, chap. 14, 389–​90; and also Hartvic, Legenda sancti Stephani, chap. 16, 423–​24.

17 Annales Altahenses maiores, ed. Wilhelm Giesebrecht and Edmund von Oefele, MGH SS rer. Germ. 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1891), 18; Hermann of Richenau, Chronicon, ed. Georg H. Pertz, MGH SS 5 (Hannover: Hahn, 1844), 121; Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 57–​58.

18 “Regredientibus adversariis, ubi sanctus respectu miserationis dei se visitatum intelligens, Christo sueque genetrici terre prostratus gratias egit, cuius se cum regni provisione tutamini precibus assiduis commendavit”: Legenda maior sancti Stephani regis, chap. 14, 390.

19 Legenda maior sancti Stephani regis, chap. 10, 385–​86.

20 See in more detail in Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 138.

21 Vincent Múcska, Uhorsko a cirkevné reformy 10. a 11. storočia (Bratislava: Stimul, 2004), 30–​34; György Székely, “Kronensendungen und Königskreationen im Europa des 11. Jahrhunderts,” in

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All sources depicting the events of the summer of 1030 in Hungary insist that the Imperial army, which outnumbered the Hungarian forces, was unsuccessful because of the religious rites performed by Stephen and his people.22 For the unknown author of Stephen’s Legenda maior, it provided an opportunity to stress the Christian belief of the first Hungarian king who acted as God’s chosen. It is not surprising in this respect that Stephen was the first medieval ruler-​saint who was canonized without martyrdom.23 From the German side, the same detail enabled the Germans to protect the reputation of the Imperial army in being shamefully defeated by the “despised Hungarians.” A peace treaty was eventually concluded between Stephen and Conrad’s son, the future King Henry III, in 1031.24 Seeking divine support in military campaigns remained a popular option for Árpád rulers throughout the eleventh century. The same is valid for the appropriate thanksgiving after a victorious battle, especially in those cases when victory was unexpected, in desperate situations, or against a numerically stronger enemy. An illustrative example is to be found in the events accompanying the famous battle at Ménfő (July 5, 1044).25 In the hot summer of 1044, German King Henry III invaded Hungary in alliance with Saint Stephen’s successor to the Hungarian throne, Peter Orseolo (r. 1038–​1041, 1044–​1046). Their attack was directed against the usurper Samuel Aba (r. 1041–​1044), who had deposed and exiled Peter in 1041.26 Although the German sources repeatedly stressed that Henry and Peter only came with a small army, they made their way through Hungary up to the river Rába. There they crossed the river and faced the numerically greater forces of Hungarians supporting King Aba. According to the Annales Altahenses maiores and to Hungarian sources (based on those annals), Henry’s troops fought bravely, but the main reason for their unexpected success was a Studien zur Machtsymbolik des mittelalterlichen Ungarn, ed. Zsuzsa Lovag et al., Insignia Regni Hungariae 1 (Budapest: Népművelési Propaganda Iroda, 1983), 17–​28.

22 It is noteworthy in this respect that Conrad II himself ordered penitential rites and prayers to God to be done by all his subjects before his campaign against the Luticians in 1035. See Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, 67–​68. 23 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, 134–​36.

24 The Hungarians pursued Conrad’s retreating troops as far as Wien. Annales Altahenses maiores, 18. For the conclusion of peace compare Wipo, Gesta Chuonradi II. Imperatoris, chap. 26, 44. Wolfram, Conrad II, 231–​34; Csaba Szabó, “Die militärischen Aspekte der deutsch-​ungarischen Beziehungen während der Salierzeit,” Ungarn-​Jahrbuch 21 (1993–​1994): 1–​18 at 14–​15.

25 For the historiographical overview, see Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 59–​60; more recently a good analysis was provided in Lajos Négyesi, “A ménfői csata,” Hadtörténeti Közlemények 107, no. 3 (1994):  136–​47.

26 “Ipso anno Ungarii perfidi Ovonem quendam regem sibi constituentes, Petrum regem suum occidere moliuntur”: Hermann of Richenau, Chronicon, 123; “Heinricus rex iterum Pannonias invadens, satisfactionem, obsides, munera, pacis per iusiurandum confirmationem accipiens, discessit”:  Annales Hildesheimenses, ed. Georg H. Waitz, MGH SS rer. Germ. 8 (Hannover: Hahn, 1878), 45–​46.

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strong whirlwind that appeared just before the decisive clash and threw clouds of sand and dust into the eyes of Aba’s Hungarian troops.27 Therefore, after achieving such a great triumph, the German king, together with his soldiers, fell on his knees and praised God for the miraculous victory. Henry fell on the ground, barefoot and in a woollen shirt, in front of the Holy Cross. He was followed by his leading men, as well as ordinary soldiers, who repeated the same penitential rituals and, in addition, confessed their sins and forgave each other.28 The same scenario was also repeated after Henry’s return to Regensburg, where, again barefoot and in penitential robes, in a solemn procession, he went through all the city’s churches and lauded God for granting victory.29 We can reasonably assume that Peter Orseolo did the same in Székesfehérvár. Just as in 1030, both German and Hungarian sources interpreted the victory of Henry and Peter not so much as a consequence of military superiority, but as a result of divine intervention (by means of a strong whirlwind and of fog).30 This version of history was still considered genuine by Simon of Kéza, a Hungarian chronicler writing 27 “Et ecce turbo vehemens ex parte nostratium ortus pulverem nimium adversariorum ingessit obtutibus”: Annales Altahenses maiores, 37. For the small number of German troops: “Rex Heinricus cum paucis Obbonem de bello fugavit, et lanceam, insigne regis, recepit. Petrum vero, quem Obbo expulerat, regno Ungarorum restituit”: Annales Leodienses, ed. Georg H. Pertz, MGH SS 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1841), 19; “Heinricus rex cum perparvis copiis Pannonias petiit”: Hermann of Richenau, Chronicon, 124. For the resonance of the battle amongst German sources: “Heinricus Hungariam subiugat magno praelio confecto”: Annales Laubienses, ed. Georg H. Pertz, MGH SS 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1841), 19; for more, see Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 59–​60.

28 “Denique caesar discalciatus et laneis ad carnem indutus ante vitale sanctae crucis lignum procidit, idem que populus una cum principibus fecit, ipsi reddentes honorem et gloriam, qui illis dederat tantam victoriam, tam mirificam, tam incruentam, sed et pro divino munere omnes omnibus dimiserunt, qui quippiam in se committentes eis debitores fuerunt”: Annales Altahenses maiores, 37. Similarly Chronici Hungarici compositio saeculi XIV, chaps. 76–​77, ed. Alexander Domanovszky, SRH 1:332 (hereafter Chron. Hung. comp.). 29 “Non prius gustavit ea die quippiam, quam templa omnia nudis pedibus et in laneis circuivit et altaria templorum singulis palliis vestivit. Non visa prius in ea urbe tanta divina exultatio plebis et principum, tam devota clericorum et monachorum et virginum Christi laudatio”: Annales Altahenses maiores, 37. See Gerd Althoff, Die Macht der Rituale. Symbolik und Herrschaft im Mittelalter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2003), 116.

30 Another contemporary chronicler, Rodulfus Glaber (d. ca. 1047), also stressed the small number of German troops, who were relying on the support of God. He also mentioned the presence of unarmed bishops on the battlefield. The clash had been influenced by the fog and darkness that fell upon Aba’s soldiers unexpectedly: “Postmodum uero gens Hungrorum, iam secundo predicto regi rebellis existens, aduersus eundem preliari disposuit. Contra quam egressus, licet impar numero, confidens tamen in Dei auxilio confligere cum ipsis non timuit. Non enim erant in exercitu ipsius plus quam sex milia uirorum, cum in Vngrorum falangibus estimarentur ducenta milia armatorum. Erant etiam cum rege quamplures episcopi cum clericis multis qui pietatis gratia inermes cum eo in certamen introierunt; initoque certamine, tanta caligo ac tenebre occupauerunt Vngrorum partem ut uix iuxta se positum quis illorum posset agnoscere. Exercitus quoque regis uidebatur clarissimo sole circum et infra perlustratus. Qui fortiter dimicans innumerabili cede prostrauit aduersarios fugauitque, cum de suis perpauci corruissent”: Rodulfus Glaber, Historiarum libri quinque, 5.23, 246–​48. Compare Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, 94.

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in the 1280s: “The battle was long and hard, but relying on God’s help the Emperor finally won the day.”31

Liturgy  of War

One of the most enlightening examples of the use of religious rites specially crafted for military purposes surrounds the famous battle at the river Leitha (1146), which brought the young king of Hungary, Géza II (r. 1141–​1162) and the Margrave of Austria, Henry Jasomirgott (r. 1141–​1156) face to face. The battle on the Leitha was one in a series of clashes between the Hungarians and their western neighbours, as Henry supported Boris (d. ca. 1154), the illegitimate son of King Coloman the Learned, who was trying to gain the throne in Hungary.32 Early in 1146, Boris and his troops captured the border town of Bratislava (Pressburg, Pozsony) and pillaged along the frontier. The young King Géza gathered all the forces of his kingdom to provide an adequate response and to quell the aspirations of his enemies. Still at a very young age (he was about 15 years old), Géza underwent his first military campaign as the leader of his country’s armed forces, and so the events can be regarded as a real rite of passage for him.33 The importance of the military encounter was emphasized by the accompanying religious preparations. In this case, we have reports from both German and Hungarian sources. According to a contemporary observer, the famous chronicler and Bishop Otto of Freising (d. 1158), the day before the decisive battle, King Géza went to a wooden church near the battlefield and there he received an episcopal blessing. He was then girded with a sword in ritual, which symbolized his transition from childhood to adulthood, his taking over the command of the Hungarian army, and also his position as the supreme and legitimate ruler of Saint Stephen’s realm “The next day the king went to a certain wooden church in the plain I have mentioned and, having there received from the

31 “Commisso igitur praelio diu et acriter, tandem caesar divino fretus adminiculo victoriam est adeptus”: Simon of Kéza, Gesta Hungarorum, 1.50, ed. and trans. László Vészprémy and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 1 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 1999), 118. 32 Otto of Freising and Rahewin, Gesta Friderici I. imperatoris, 1.31, ed. Georg H. Waitz, MGH SS rer. Germ. 46 (Hannover: Hahn, 1912), 48; Otto of Freising, Chronica sive Historia de duabus civitatibus, 7.21, ed. Adolf Hofmeister, MGH SS rer. Germ. 45 (Hannover: Hahn, 1912), 341–​43; Chron. Hung. comp., chaps. 161–​65, 447–​57; Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–​1526 (London: Tauris, 2005), 50–​51.

33 Compare Zupka, Ritual, 49–​54. For the significance of the rite of girding with a sword-​belt and its significance to religious and military ideology in the early Middle Ages, see Régine Le Jan, “Frankish Giving of Arms and Rituals of Power,” in Rituals of Power: From Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages, ed. Frans Theuws and Janet L. Nelson (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 281–​309; Zbigniew Dalewski, “The Knighting of Polish Dukes in the Early Middle Ages: Ideological and Political Significance,” Acta Poloniae Historica 80 (1999): 15–​43.

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bishops the priestly blessing designed for this purpose, was girt with his arms: for up to that time, since he was still a youth, he had not yet been knighted.”34 The Hungarian sources, based on Otto’s account, also provided information on religious ceremonies. Géza and his troops put their trust in God and marched against the enemies who were numerically superior. All the priests and clerics humbly and with contrite hearts beseeched the Lord Jesus Christ and His angels for aid. They earnestly prayed also to the Mother of God, because it was under her protection that Hungary had been committed since the age of Saint Stephen. Géza obtained a glorious victory over the Austrian troops for which he and his soldiers praised God immediately on the battlefield.35 The importance of the battle of Leitha was already obvious for contemporaries. It is also mentioned in the only annalistic work of the Árpád era, the Annals of Bratislava (Annales Posonienses).36 The battle on the Leitha River is very important for the study of religious rituals in Árpádian Hungary. It gives clear evidence of the need and importance that contemporaries attached to religious military rites. We can observe a close connection between warfare, political engagement, and religious ideology. The sacralization of Géza as the supreme commander of the Hungarian troops took place in a church, next to the battlefield. His status was confirmed by the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries—​ the (unspecified) bishops who provided a benediction for the occasion. In a time of crisis, under imminent military threat from a stronger enemy and led by a young and inexperienced commander, the Hungarian prelates made everything possible to beseech and eventually to obtain heavenly support.37 Still, in the sacral sphere of the church, Géza also received his military insignia—​the military belt and his sword. The close connection and dependence of warfare and religion could not have been expressed more explicitly. The battle on the Leitha is one of the first occasions where sources directly mention the presence of clerics in the army as well as on the battlefield. In Otto of Freising’s version of events, their role was to provide the necessary religious rites before the 34 “Altera die rex in predicto campo ad quandam ligneam aecclesiam accedit, ibique ab episcopis—​ nam eo usque in puerilibus annis positus nondum militem induerat—​ accepta sacerdotali benedictione ad hoc instituta armis accingitur”: Otto of Freising and Rahewin, Gesta Friderici, 1.33, 51. English translation after The Deeds of Frederick Barbarossa, ed. Charles Christopher Mierow (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 68.

35 “Rex autem cum universo exercitu suo posuit spem suam in Deo et ordinatis agminibus cepit ire contra hostes suos. Ed et sacerdotes et levite cunctique clerici, qui aderant, in spiritu contribulato et corde contrito implorabant adiutorium Domini nostri Iesu Christi et presidia sanctorum angelorum et maxime invocabant clementiam Dei genitricis Virginis Marie, cuius patrocinio beatus rex Stephanus Hungariam specialiter conmendavit. … Rex autem divina gratia felici potitus victoria, simul cum universa gente sua benedixit et glorificavit Deum”:  Chron. Hung. comp., chap. 165, 454–​55, 457. 36 “Geiza rex Thevtonicorum terram intravit et expugnavit herzog et exercitum eius fugavit”: Annales Posonienses, ed. Emericus Madzsar, SRH 1:127. 37 As befitted their position as royal bishops. Compare Radosław Kotecki, “With the Sword of Prayer, or How Medieval Bishop Should Fight,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 21 (2016): 341–​69.

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battle and to secure the connection between King Géza and the heavenly powers. The Hungarian sources added that priests were beseeching God on the battlefield and invoked God and the Virgin Mary (just as we have seen previously in 1030), as well as angelic powers.38 The rulers and commanders usually made everything possible to secure the most favourable conditions, including the support of not only earthly but also heavenly forces. The sacralization of their campaigns and the justifying of their war causes were meant to appease soldiers and to assure them that there were fighting a just war.39 The soldiers themselves were supposed to act according to the Christian ethic so that God might lend His mercy on them.40 That was also the reason for the soldiers to confess their sins, forgive each other’s trespasses, and thank God immediately after victory on the battlefield.41 Just as important as the presence of religious men, who performed prayers and rites for the troops, was the religious support given to soldiers on the “home front.”42 In the case of Árpád Hungary, sources are scarce and limited. The narrative sources mention some religious rites, such as prayers and alms, which were performed in times of great military threat, as in 1030 by Saint Stephen or in 1146 by Géza II. Several eleventh-​ century charters mention Hungarian rulers establishing religious institutions, because they expected their clerics would pray for the well-​being of the king and the stability of his realm.43 An echo of those liturgical rites can also be traced in the famous regulation in the second book of laws of King Coloman the Learned (r. 1095–​1116). The first section orders prayers by the population of Hungary on behalf of the ruler and the stability of his kingdom.44 Scholars agree that the synod responsible for that law took place at 38 For more details, see Magyarország hadtörténete, 1:127–​28; Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 78–​81. For more on the role of angels as military aides and their role in battlefield liturgy, see the analysis of Polish and Rusian evidence by Radosław Kotecki in this collection.

39 Bachrach and Bachrach, Warfare in Medieval Europe, 326; Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), 213–​57.

40 A rare case preserved in the contemporary sources related to Árpád Hungary we have in this respect is bound with St. Ladislaus I (1077–​1095). In Book III of his laws (issued after 1077), Ladislaus ordered that anyone caught stealing during a military campaign should lose his freedom and all his possessions. Decreta regni mediaevalis Hungariae, 2nd rev. ed., The Laws of Hungary. 1st ser., 1000–​1526 1 (Idyllwild: Schlacks, 1999), 19. On moral requirements during campaign, see Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, 19, 23, 38–​62; Bachrach and Bachrach, Warfare in Medieval Europe, 324–​25.

41 As attested with regards to the battles at Ménfő (1044), Mogyoród (1074), Trutina (1110), Kressenbrunn (1260), and Moravské pole (Marchfeld) (1278). 42 McCormick, “Liturgy of War,” 6–​16; McCormick, Eternal Victory, 237–​44; Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, 18–​19, 37, 78–​79, 122–​123.

43 Saint Stephenʼs charters from 1002, 1015, and 1019, see Codex Diplomaticus Hungariae ecclesiasticus ac civilis, ed. Georg Fejér, 11 vols. (Budapest: Typographia Regiae Universitatis Ungaricae, 1829–​1844) (hereafter CDH), 1:280, 296, 305; Ladislaus’s charter from 1091, CDH, 1:467. 44 “Ex authoritate apostoli pro regis nostri salute et regni ejus stabilitate, in omnibus quotidie ecclesiis orandum censemus”: Synodus Strigonensis, in Decreta regni mediaevalis Hungariae, 1:64.

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some point between 1105 and 1108. This was precisely the period of renewed conflict between King Coloman and his younger brother Álmos, which resulted in several military encounters. It cannot be ruled out that those provisions were intended for the particular situation at that time.45 The protracted confrontation between the Kingdom of Hungary and the Byzantine Empire also witnessed numerous military encounters, direct clashes on the battlefield, as well as lengthy sieges of towns and fortresses.46 The most explicit mention about home front engagement in religious ceremonies during military campaigns refers to one of those conflicts. Its fullest description is preserved in a contemporary Bohemian source. The author, Vincentius of Prague (fl. ca. 1140–​1170), described in detail the campaign of 1164, during which the Bohemian King Vladislav II (r. 1158–​1172) came to support the legitimate king of Hungary, Stephen III (r. 1162–​1172). At the specific request of Stephen III’s mother, Queen Euphrosyne, Vladislav decided to take up arms and defend the legitimate king against Stephen III’s uncle, Stephen IV (r. 1163–​1165), who had attempted to usurp the royal crown in Hungary with the assistance of his brother-​in-​law, the Byzantine Emperor Manuel Comnenos. When Vladislav II reached Stephen III’s troops, he prepared his soldiers for a direct encounter with the Byzantine forces. The Imperial army, just like the troops of Stephen IV, withdrew even before battle took place. The Bohemian soldiers stormed the Byzantine camp and captured precious booty including their enemies’ standard.47 Vincentius then turned to home front engagement during the campaign. While Vladislav marched together with Stephen III’s troops to encounter their enemies, his wife, Queen Judith, as well as his loyal Bishop Daniel of Prague performed a series of religious rites to support the campaign. Every Friday, the bishop, the canons, the priests, and the people of Prague fasted, prayed, and beseeched God. In the same manner, Queen Judith, worrying about her husband and king, prayed night and day, and spent all her time in monasteries, where she ordered that religious rites be performed for the protection of the king.48 Through the intercession of the king of Bohemia, Stephen III and 45 Múcska, Uhorsko a cirkevné reformy, 65. This was also the time of Coloman’s conquest of the Dalmatian cities in the Adriatic. Márta Font, Coloman the Learned, King of Hungary (Szeged: Szegedi Középkorász Műhely, 2001), 66, 79; Engel, The Realm of St Stephen, 36.

46 Alexandru Madgearu, Byzantine Military Organization on the Danube, 10th–​12th Centuries, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 149–​50; Magyarország hadtörténete, 1:114–​22; Ferenc Makk, The Árpáds and the Comneni: Political Relations Between Hungary and Byzantium in the 12th Century (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1989), 18–​30.

47 Vincentius of Prague, Annales, ed. Josef Emler, FRB 2 (Prague:  Museum Království českého, 1874), 454–​57. 48 “Interea domnus Daniel de suo rege sollicitus pro eo et exercituum eius incolomitate et prosperitate usque ad aduentum eius Prage manens, singulis septimanis sexta feria cum canonicis, clericis et populo celebrat ieiunia, orationibus et obsecrationibus uacans. Domna etiam Jvdita, regina Boemie, de domno suo rege sollicita die et nocte orationibus uacans, de monasteriis non recedebat et pro domni regis domni sui dilectissimi salute per omnia monasteria orations fundi exorat”: Vincentius of Prague, Annales, 457.

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Manuel concluded peace. After returning to Prague, the king of Bohemia was welcomed in a ceremonial manner by the clergy and the people. In acknowledgement of God’s support, Vladislav presented the church of St. Václav and other churches with precious gifts.49 As a matter of fact, we are informed of the campaign only from Bohemian and Byzantine sources.50 Therefore, it is not possible to determine with accuracy whether similar religious rites were performed in Székesfehérvár (or anywhere else within his domain) by Queen Euphrosyne and local clergy. We only know that she solemnly received her son together with the Bohemian king upon their return from the campaign. Subsequently, the queen showered Vladislav with lavish gifts, including gold, silver, and precious clothes, some of which were addressed to Queen Judith.51 In medieval East Central Europe, with the exception of Poland, a particular devotion to local, dynastic saints gained much popularity. In Bohemia, the troops of the Přemyslid rulers marshalled under the banners of St. Václav and St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert, as well as St. Procopius. These three saints were supposed to have helped the Bohemian army against the Hungarians at the battle at Kressenbrunn in 1260. Bohemian sources referred to several Czech and Hungarian soldiers who had seen those saints appearing on the battlefield during the decisive part of the encounter.52 In Hungary, the canonized rulers from the Árpád dynasty were among the most popular saints. In 1278, King Ladislaus IV (r. 1272–​1290) prepared to take part in the famous battle at Moravské pole (Marchfeld) alongside king of the Romans, Rudolf of Habsburg (r. 1273–​1291), against the Bohemian King Přemysl Otakar II (r. 1253–​1278). According to Ladislaus’notary and chronicler, Simon of Kéza, just before the battle the Hungarian king invoked the help of God, as well as that of his canonized relatives Stephen, Emeric, and Ladislaus.53 In addition, he ordered the royal military standard to be taken from the Székesfehérvár basilica and brought to the camp. During the battle, it was under the guard of Count Reynold. After the victorious battle, Ladislaus ordered his soldiers to take the shields and banners of the defeated Bohemians, Moravians, and Poles, in order for them to be displayed publicly in the Székesfehérvár basilica of St. Mary in commemoration of the great victory.54 49 Vincentius of Prague, Annales, 458.

50 Report from the other side of the conflict is provided by John Kinnamos, Deeds of John and Manuel Comnenus, 5.8, trans. Charles M. Brand (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 168–​69. The scholarship is divided on the interpretation of the campaign. See Josef Žemlička, Čechy v dobĕ knížecí (Prague: Nakladatelství Lidové Noviny, 1997), 261. 51 “His ita compositis rex Boemie cum rege Vngarie ad reginam matrem regis leti redeunt, ubi tam a rege quam a regina matre eius et Vngaris diuersis et innumerabilibus donator muneribus”: Vincentius of Prague, Annales, 458. 52 Příběhy krále Přemysla Ottokara II., ed. Josef Emler, FRB 2 (Prague: Museum Království českého, 1874), 318–​19; Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, 164–​65.

53 “In virtute Altissimi et proavorum suorum, scilicet Stephani, Emirici atque Ladislai regum et sanctorum votivis praesummens confidensque suffragiis”:  Simon of Kéza, Gesta Hungarorum, chap. 74, 150.

54 “Ut igitur in memoriam redeat regis Ladislai tam gloriosa triumphalisque victoria, in obprobrium sempiternumque dedecus Boemorum, Polonorum Morawanorumque scuta et vexilla

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The Mongol Disaster After centuries of building their reputation as invincible warriors and a relatively peaceful period during the late twelfth and early thirteenth century, the Hungarians found themselves completely unprepared for the biggest military threat of the Árpád period, namely the Mongol invasion of 1241–​1242.55 At least those were the usual explanations provided by eyewitnesses, who reported on the most disastrous episode in the history of Hungary before the battle of Mohács (1526).56 Archdeacon Thomas of Split (1200/​1201–​1268) wrote that the Hungarians did not take the reports of the devastating Mongol conquest of neighbouring regions seriously. Their overconfidence in their own military skills and reluctance to prepare appropriately for the upcoming campaign undermined Hungary’s defensive potential.57 The same line of argument appears in the work of another witness of the events, an Italian cleric living in Hungary known as Master Roger (1205–​1266, who later became archbishop of Split/​Spalato). In his words, the Hungarians underestimated the Mongol threat and did not react quickly enough to stop their conquest of Hungary.58 King Béla IV (r. 1235–​1270) finally summoned an army and prepared his troops to face the enemy near Muhi on the river Sajó in April 1241. Not even his presence on the battlefield, his last-​minute exhortations for the soldiers, and distribution of military banners to leading men59 could compensate for the tactical and strategic mistakes of the Hungarian army, which was wiped out in that battle on April 11, 1241.60 in Albensi ecclesia, sede regni ac solio in pariete suspensa in aeternum perseverant”: Simon of Kéza, Gesta Hungarorum, 154. Compare Magyarország hadtörténete, 1:166–​74. 55 István Vásáry, Cumans and Tatars: Oriental Military in the Pre-​Ottoman Balkans, 1185–​1365 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 69–​71; Tatársky vpád, ed. Richard Marsina and Miloš Marek (Budmerice: Rak, 2008), 9–​18; Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 111–​31.

56 Engel, Realm of St Stephen, 100; Segeš, Od rytierstva, 110–​12.

57 According to Thomas the Hungarians preferred to devote themselves to banquets, plays, and games, rather than to training their military skills. Archdeacon Thomas of Split, Spalatensis Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum, chap. 36, Latin text Olga Perić, ed., trans., and ann. Damir Karbić, Mirjana Matijević-​Sokol, and James R. Sweeney, Central European Medieval Texts 4 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2006), 254. 58 Master Roger, Carmen miserabile, chap. 14, see Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, ed., trans., and ann. Martyn C. Rady and László Veszprémy /​Master Roger, Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta, ed., trans., and ann. János M. Bak and Martyn C. Rady, Central European Medieval Texts 5 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 132–​228 at 156 and 158.

59 “Rex suos interim hortabatur, ut ad pugnam viriliter se heberent, vexilla non pauca manu propria maioribus assignando”: Roger, Epistola, chap. 28, 180. Compare Ohler, Krieg im Mittelater, especially chap. 8.

60 Kristó, Az Árpád-​kor háborúi, 121–​25; Magyarország hadtörténete, 1:138. For recent, alternative assessments of the battle, see Lajos Négyesi, “A muhi csata,” Hadtörténeti Közlemények 110, no. 2 (1997):  296–​310.

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The military potential of Hungary had been destroyed, powerful magnates and prelates killed (including two archbishops, five bishops, and many nobles, the king’s brother Coloman of Slavonia (r. 1208–​1241) being fatally wounded), and King Béla IV himself barely escaping with his life by fleeing to Dalmatia. It was in this state of complete chaos and despair, still under shock from the recent events, that Hungarians reached for divine support against their ravaging enemies. We can observe the deployment of religious rhetoric and religious rites on several different fronts and undertaken by various groups in the realm. The first attempts were performed by the clergy immediately after the failure to stop the invading Mongol troops by the country’s armed forces. When the invaders came to religious houses, the clerics “would come out to them, dressed in their sacred garments, singing hymns and chants, as if showing due honour to the victors, presenting gifts and offerings to incite mercy towards them.”61 However, all was in vain, the Mongols disrespected the Christian rites of submission—​cold-​bloodedly executing the priests and pillaging their sanctuaries. The Hungarian clerics had tried to act according to established rules of conduct in war-​time situations.62 A ceremonial submission accompanied with religious rites and prayers, and with appropriate gestures, was the usual way in which the defeated side tried to obtain the mercy of the victor. On the other hand, this was usually also binding on the conquerors, who were supposed to respond in a fitting manner, so as to show their magnanimity and mercy.63 In the case of the Mongols, this desired scenario evidently did not work. King Béla and the ruling elites of Hungary that escaped the massacre of the battle of Sajó River quickly acknowledged the need to request help from outside the country. They expressed their pleas in several letters sent across Latin Christendom.64 The first was sent only a few weeks after the tragedy, on May 18, 1241 by King Béla IV from Zagreb to Pope Gregory IX informing him of the catastrophic events in Hungary. The king implored Gregory to provide help and advice to the Christian people threatened by attacks from the pagan Mongols.65 Another letter was written on February 2, 1242 61 “Procedebat eis clericalis cetus, sacris stolis induti concinentes ymnos et cantica, quasi debitam honorificentiam victoribus exhibentes et parantes munera et exenia, ut eorum circa se misericordiam provocarent”: Thomas, Hist. Sal., 272.

62 This process can be witnessed in various sources from the thirteenth century. One of the best examples can be found in the Gesta Hungarorum of the anonymous notary of King Béla III (ca. 1200). Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, chaps. 10–​12, 28–​36. See introductory study on Anonymus and his reliability for the early thirteenth century in Kronika anonymného notára kráľa Bela. “Gesta Hungarorum,” ed. Vincent Múcska (Budmerice: Rak, 2000), 15–​30.

63 Zbigniew Dalewski, “Political Culture of Central Europe in the High Middle Ages: Aggression and Agreement,” in Political Culture in Central Europe (10th–​20th Century), ed. Halina Manikowska and Jaroslav Pánek (Prague: Institute of History, Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, 2005), 65–​85; Zupka, Ritual, 110–​11. 64 The correspondence is edited in Codex Diplomaticus et Epistolaris Slovaciae, ed. Richard Marsina, 2 vols. (Bratislava: Slovenská akadémia vied, 1971–​1987) (hereafter CDES), 2:65–​74 (no. 99–​110). Compare Tatárjárás, ed. Balázs Nagy (Budapest: Osiris Kiadó, 2003). 65 CDES, 2:65–​66 (no. 99).

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by the prelates and nobles of Hungary in Székesfehérvár and addressed again to the Vicar of St. Peter.66 Hungarians humbly implored for aid from the pope, which could help the besieged Christians.67 Pope Gregory IX had indeed proclaimed a crusade against the Mongols, granting the same privileges to these crucesignati as to those fighting in the Holy Land. Also, Emperor Frederick IIʼs son Conrad summoned a crusade, which was supposed to gather on July 1, 1241 in Nuremberg. As a matter of fact, especially because of the escalation of the conflict between the emperor and the pope, this crusade did not materialize. Another view is that it was supposed to help only Bohemia, Saxony and Austria, while Hungary was not included in these plans.68 The Hungarians had to make do with liturgical prayers, intercessory processions, and fasts ordered by the German, English, and Bohemian secular and ecclesiastical elites.69 To the very great disappointment of King Béla, as well as of the prelates and magnates of Hungary, the Holy See, just like each and every other ruler in the Latin world, remained indifferent to their supplications.70 The lost war with the Mongols and the consequent pillaging of the country that almost ended in the complete destruction of the Hungarian kingdom left strong traces in contemporary sources, and amongst the general population. One of the most peculiar sources that sheds light on the perception of the invasion is the famous Planctus destructionis Hungariam per Tartaros. The poetic work was probably composed during the Mongol invasion by a local author, most likely in the milieu of the royal court.71 In unison with Master Roger’s Carmen miserabile or Thomas of Split’s account, the work described the cruelty of the Mongol invaders, their cold-​blooded massacre of children, women, and priests and the abject inability of the Hungarian troops to face their enemy.72 The anonymous author of the Planctus (just like the two other mentioned sources) blamed the sinfulness of the Hungarians for the abominable state of the country and its

66 Unfortunately, Gregory IX had died in August 1241, while his successor, Celestine IV, reigned only for few days, from October 25, 1241 to November 10, 1241. The next pope, Innocent IV, was consecrated only in 1243. See Felicitas Schmieder, Europa und die Fremden. Die Mongolen im Urteil des Abendlandes vom 13.-​15. Jahrhundert (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1994), 73–​74. 67 CDES, 2:73–​74 (no. 110).

68 Peter Jackson, “The Crusade Against the Mongols (1241),” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 42, no. 1 (1991): 1–​18; Peter Jackson, The Mongols and the West (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), 65–​70. 69 Gaposchkin, Invisible Weapons, 220; Jackson, The Crusade, 16–​17.

70 The pope, the emperor, as well as the king of France were also indifferent to Béla’s supplication in the following years, as the rumours of another wave of Mongol incursions was spreading around the region. See CDH, 4.2:218–​24; Bárány, “Attempts for Expansion,” 352–​56. 71 Planctus destructionis regni Hungariae per Tartaros, ed. Ladislaus Juhász, SRH 2:589–​98. For the recent scholarship on the work, see Tatársky vpád, 128–​29. 72 “Arma duces, acceperunt, viri fortes convenerunt, hosti terga percussuri, vel ab hoste ruituri cuncti pari prelio. Sed cum belli lux illuxit, hostem Martem mox instruxit, Hungarorum cor expavit, castra timor perturbavit, fugit mens et ratio”: Planctus destructionis, 594.

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people.73 Their conclusion was that rescue could be found only in God and the support of His saints. Therefore, Planctus can be perceived as an intercessory prayer to God and to the Mother of God who were the only ones able to save Hungary from complete destruction. The anonymous author expressed this idea explicitly, making his plea a real war litany invoking Christ as a commander and fighter to lead the Hungarian army against enemies. In the final section of the work the author invokes Christ to rise against the enemy protected with arms and shield, to help the Hungarian kingdom. Then the Mother of God is invoked to intercede on behalf of the supplicants and to ask for forgiveness of their sins by her son, so that he comes and crushes the enemy, destroying his lance, bow, and other arms, to establish peace again after so many miseries suffered.74 There could not have been any better example of the importance contemporaries placed on divine intercession and aid in military campaigns. The Hungarians, brought to their knees by their alien pagan invaders, humbled and having their century-​long martial pride shattered, deprived of their military resources and left completely alone by their neighbours and allies, resorted to the only means left to them—​placing their fate in the hands of God through religious rites and prayers. The general belief that a victory in a military conflict did not depend exclusively on the armed forces, but also required a spiritual or better supernatural aid, is clearly documented in another thirteenth century source closely connected to the Árpád dynasty. The Legenda Margaritae dealt with the life of the ninth child of King Béla IV, future Saint Margaret (1242–​1270/​1271).75 The oldest version of the legend describes her parents, King Béla IV and Queen Mary Laskaris, being so desperate about the Mongol invasion, that they promised to offer their child-​to-​be-​born (Margaret) to the service of God.76 This rather exceptional case of oblation was supposed to gain divine help against 73 “Tibi venit hic eventus tanta peste turbulentus ob peccata, que fecisti, messuisti (!), meritorum premia”: Planctus destructionis, 594.

74 “Surge, Christe, rex virtutis fuga rei, spes salutis, arma, scutum apprehende et in hostes manum tende regali potentia. /​Salva nostram Ungariam gravem passam angariam, quam gens lesit Thartharina, tua sana medicina per celestem gratiam. /​Virgo mater, roga natum et peccatis irritatum tue prece fac placatum, nostrum salvat ut reatum et pellat mestitiam. /​Perdat hostem furibundum, reddat regnum letabundum, hastas, arcus, tela terat, veram nobis pacem ferat post tantarum (!) miserias”: Planctus destructionis, 597–​98.

75 The legend was written sometime before 1274. Richard Marsina, “Život blahoslavenej Margity Uhorskej. ‘Vita beatae Margaritae Hungaricae,’ ” in Ku koncepcii a vývoju slovenskej historiografie (Bratislava: Post Scriptum, 2013), 264. For more, see Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, 224–​25.

76 “Quam cum adhuc mater sua regina gestaret in utero tempore Tartarice persecutionis pro liberatione sua et regni partier cum rege marito suo quasi placulum quoddam si filia nasceretur, ut sanctimonialem eam facerent, devenerunt (= devoverunt)”: Quaedam legenda beatae Margaritae, 1.2, in Catalogus fontium historiae Hungaricae, vol. 3, ed. Ferenc Albin Gombos (Budapest: n.p., 1938), 2009. According to a later version of the legend (ca. 1330), Béla had come to this decision because: the Christian king piously contemplated on the fact that victory does not rely only on

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the intruders. The Mongols withdrew from Hungary in 1242, in the same year in which Queen Mary gave birth to a daughter called Margaret, who later entered the Dominican Order.77

Conclusion

Based on extant contemporary narrative, legal, and diplomatic sources (of both Hungarian and foreign provenience), we have been able to trace the close connection between religion and war in Árpád-​era Hungary. Since the creation of the Christian monarchy, religion, Christian rhetoric, and religious rituals have been present on the battlefields of Árpád rulers. Similar pre-​and post-​battle religious rites were well-​known to rulers in Central Europe, as they were also attested in many cases in neighbouring Poland and Bohemia.78 Support from heavenly powers was sought before decisive military encounters. This was done either by celebrating masses, the administration of the Eucharist, provision of special clerical (episcopal) benedictions for the belligerents and their arms, or by spontaneous imploration of aid from God and His saints. The Virgin Mary had a preeminent place in this respect. Besides the Mother of God, Árpád kings and dukes also sought intercession from traditional military saints such as St. Martin and St. George. In later periods, they also looked up to homegrown dynastic patrons—​Saint Stephen, St. Ladislaus, and St. Emeric. In spite of the (relative) lack of contemporary sources for Árpád-​era Hungary, the role, meaning, and structure of religious rites of war do not appear to have differed substantially from neighbouring Central and East Central European realms of the period. the numbers of the troops, but comes from the heavenly kingdom (“quod in multitudine non est exercitus belli, sed de celo victoria est”), and putting all of his hope and trust in the Lord of the Multitude, in whose name he acted and dearly wished to protect the faith and the believers, together with the queen he promised the Lord, that if the Almighty God liberates his kingdom and people from the ravaging of the Tatar (Mongol) nation, and if He blesses them with a daughter, they will consecrate her to God. Vita b. Margaritae Hungaricae, in Catalogus fontium historiae Hungaricae, 2481. 77 Later in 1252, Margaret was transferred to the convent on Rabbit Island near Buda. The seal of the convent from 1282 depicts Béla and Mary offering their daughter Margaret to the enthroned Virgin Mary. Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, 205–​6.

78 For example, Cosmas of Prague recorded religious rites of war during the campaign of Duke Břetislav I to Poland in 1038/​1039: Chronicon Boemorum, 2.2–​5, ed. Bertold Bretholz, MGH SS rer. Germ. NS 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1923), 82–​91. According to Cosmas’s continuator, Bohemian Duke Soběslav I prepared a massive celebration before the war with King Lothar III in 1126 and went into battle with the spear of St. Václav carried by a clergyman: Canonici Wissegradensis continuatio Cosmae, ed. Josef Emler, FRB 2 (Prague:  Museum Království českého, 1874), 203–​4. Similarly, according to Gallus Anonymus, the celebration of masses, bishops preaching to troops, and the administering of the Eucharist were performed on the campaign of Polish Prince Bolesław III to Bohemia in 1110: Gesta principum Polonorum, 3.23, ed., trans. and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2003), 262. For religious rites connected with war in Poland and Rus’, see also Radosław Kotecki’s chapter in this volume.

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Chapter 8

PIOUS RULERS, PRINCELY CLERICS, AND ANGELS OF LIGHT: “IMPERIAL HOLY WAR” IMAGERY IN TWELFTH-​CENTURY POLAND AND RUS’* Radosław Kotecki‡ in his classic

article Der Heilige als Schlachtenhelfer František Graus noted that Polish medieval narrative sources, unlike many local European historiographies, were devoid of a saint to take special military care of the nation and its rulers. In his opinion, this resulted from the ecclesiastical dominance over the cult of Polish Landespatronen, St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert of Prague and St. Stanisław of Kraków, both saintly bishops.1 As he observed, the situation was much different in neighbouring Bohemia. Here, St. Václav, a dynastic saint and dux perpetuus, served as the dominant saintly protector for his familia in battle.2 Graus’s attention was, however, drawn to the fact that medieval Polish sources have some references to mysterious, mostly unnamed angelic apparitions, which were * This work was supported by the National Science Centre, Poland grant no. 2014/​15/​B/​HS3/​ 02284. ‡ Radosław Kotecki (orcid.org/ 0000- 0002- 6757- 9358) is an assistant professor at the Faculty of History, Kazimierz Wielki University in Bydgoszcz, Poland. He has published a number of essays on the medieval Church, violence and culture, and recently on clerical warfare, military religion, and rituals of war. His research interests also include legal history, specifically canon law, medieval justice, and secular and ecclesiastical penalties. He is co-editor of several books, including “Ecclesia et Violentia”: Violence Against the Church and Violence Within the Church in the Middle Ages (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014), Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2018). He is now initiating a new publishing project called Religious Rites of War: Medieval Eastern and Northern Europe, 900–1500 (under contract with Brill for the series Explorations in Medieval Culture).

1 František Graus, “Der Heilige als Schlachtenhelfer. Zur Nationalisierung einer Wundererzählung in der mittelalterlichen Chronistik,” in Festschrift für Helmut Beumann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Kurt-​Ulrich Jäschke and Reinhard Wenskus (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1977), 330–​48 at 345–​46. In late eleventh and twelfth century, however, the cult of St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert had clear dynastic resonance in Poland, which is supported by both written accounts and the practice of putting his image on princely coins and leaden bullae. See, e.g., Aleksander Gieysztor, “Politische Heilige im hochmittelalterlichen Polen und Böhmen,” in Politik und Heiligenverehrung im Hochmittelalter, ed. Jürgen Petersohn, Vorträge und Forschungen 42 (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1994), 325–​41 at 334–​35; and more recently Tomasz Jurek, “Funkcje i symbolika polskich bulli książęcych,” in Moc a její symbolika ve středověku, ed. Martin Nodl and Andrzej Pleszczyński, Colloquia mediaevalia Pragensia 13 (Prague: Filosofia, 2011), 11–​31, especially at 16–​17, 28–​29. 2 Graus, “Der Heilige,” 341–​45. For the difference between Poland and Bohemia in this respect, see also Marcin R. Pauk, “Święci patroni a średniowieczne wspólnoty polityczne w Europie Środkowej,” in “Sacrum.” Obraz i funkcja w społeczeństwie średniowiecznym, ed. Aneta Pieniądz-​Skrzypczak and Jerzy Pysiak, Aquila volans 1 (Warsaw: Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2005), 237–​60 at 255–​59.

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160 Radosław Kotecki said to have helped Polish rulers in their martial struggles.3 Although Graus stated that angels could have served as military patrons of the polities or gentes, he did not consider such a possibility in the case of the Piast domain. Here, he merely provided a list of angelic interventions, mainly from late medieval Polish sources. Graus’s research also shows that military angelic patronage was characteristic of earlier periods—​Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages.4 He based his view on the example of the cult of St. Michael he had found among the Franks. It is, however, well known today that the military competence of angels attracted much wider interest across early medieval Europe. The origins of this phenomenon can be traced back to the special bond that was established with the Archangel by the Lombards, who were known for taking effigies or banners depicting St. Michael when going to war.5 Only after Charlemagne seized Italy did a similar custom develop amongst the Franks.6 These beliefs lasted in the eastern Frankish realm at least until the second half of the tenth century, when St. Maurice was associated with the Ottonian Holy Lance and became the main patron of the Empire. The accounts of Widukind of Corvey about the battles of Riade (933) and Lechfeld (955) encouraged readers to believe that the German kings, Henry I and his son Otto, considered the angel as their battlefield guardian against the Hungarians. The angel’s image was put on the royal standard carried in those battles, perhaps attached to the Holy Lance.7 Recent research has shown that analogical 3 Graus, “Der Heilige,” 346–​47n05. On such epiphanies in Polish sources, see also Paweł Żmudzki, “Książę Leszek Czarny w legendach rycerskich. Analiza przyczyn popularności księcia Leszka w tradycjach herbowych,” Przegląd Historyczny 86, no. 2 (1995): 131–​46; Tomasz Panfil, “Przejawy wiary w Bożą pomoc w czasie wojny w literaturze i obyczaju staropolskim,” Zeszyty Naukowe Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego 39, no. 3–​4 (1996): 73–​84.

4 Graus, “Der Heilige,” 333, 335–​36. On military aspect of the cult of St. Michael, see especially Wolfgang Haubrichs, “Michael—​Fürst der ‘militia caelestis’ und Patron der Ritterschaft,” in Helden und Heilige. Kulturelle und literarische Integrationsfiguren des europäischen Mittelalters, ed. Andreas Hammer and Stephanie Seidl, Germanisch-​romanische Monatsschrift 42 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2011), 1–​24.

5 Maria Radożycka-​Paoletti, “Początki kultu św. Michała wśród Longobardów,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 94, no. 2 (1987): 17–​28; Dick Harrison, “The Duke and the Archangel: A Hypothetical Model of Early State Integration in Southern Italy through the Cult of Saints,” Collegium Medievale 6 (1993): 5–​ 33; Panagiotis Antonopoulos, “King Cunincpert and the Archangel Michael,” in Die Langobarden. Herrschaft und Identität, ed. Walter Pohl and Peter Erhart, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 9 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2005), 383–​86.

6 Agobard of Lyon criticized this custom as idolatrous. See his Liber de picturis et imaginibus sanctorum, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 104 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1864), 225–​26. Also see Henry Mayr-​Harting, “Perceptions of Angels in History,” in Religion and Society in the Medieval West, 600–​1200, Collected Studies Series 942 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010), 1–​21 at 13.

7 Carl Erdmann, “Kaiserliche und päpstliche Fahnen im hohen Mittelalter,” Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken 25 (1933): 1–​48 at 21; Mieczysław Rokosz, “Wawelska włócznia Bolesława Chrobrego. Przegląd problematyki,” Rocznik Krakowski 55 (1989): 17–​44 at 39n71. It is a common belief that the banner depicted St. Michael. See, e.g., Andreas Heinz, “Saint Michel dans le ‘monde germanique’. Histoire—​Culte—​ Liturgie,” in Culto e santuari di san Michele nell’Europa medievale, ed. Pierre Bouet, Giorgio Otranto, and André Vauchez, Bibliotheca Michaelica 1 (Bari: Edipuglia, 2007), 39–​56 at 46; Haubrichs, “Michael,” 12; Stergios P. Laitsos, “War

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representation of Archangel’s military patronage was also popular at the royal courts of the Iberian Peninsula.8 Should, therefore, a significant number of references to angelic interventions in favour of Polish rulers lead to a hypothesis that the potential of angelic military patronage and of St. Michael was also acknowledged among the Piasts? This issue certainly deserves an in-​depth study to determine whether accounts of angels, especially St. Michael, providing support in battle are a continuation of the older tradition in late medieval Polish sources. It is not the main purpose of this essay, however, to provide a comprehensive answer to such questions. Yet, an attempt has been made to show that the influences of the military cult of angels—​guardians of gentes and rulers—​resonate in the Chronica Polonorum by Master Vincentius of Kraków (ca. 1150–​1223), one of the two eminent narrative sources depicting the early history of Poland.9 It contains the oldest, very intriguing, and still neglected description of an angelic intervention on behalf of one of the Piast dukes. The focus of this chapter will not only be on the form of this epiphany but also on the religious setting of the campaign during which the revelation is said to have taken place. It will be discussed whether the narrative can be considered an indication of the military worship of angels with its specific ritual context. For this purpose, the evidence will be juxtaposed both with Western sources and, firstly, with the tale of the great expedition of the Rus’ princes against the Polovtsi in 1111 included in the Povest’ vremennykh let. It is a source so far greatly overlooked in much of the literature on holy war in the Middle Ages. This story provides an account in some way very similar to Vincentius’s narrative. Thanks to its concreteness, it supports a claim that angelic military worship had found some ground in Eastern Europe when it had already become outdated in the centres of the Christian world.10 and Nation-​building in Widukind of Corvey’s ‘Deeds of the Saxons,’ ” in Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion, ed. Johannes Koder and Ioannis Stouraitis, Veröffentlichungen zur Byzanzforschung 30 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2012), 57–​68 at 66.

8 Patrick Henriet, “ ‘Protector et defensor omnium’. Le culte de Saint Michel en péninsule ibérique (haut Moyen Àge),” in Culto e santuari, 113–​32; Fermín Miranda García, “Sacralización de la guerra en el siglo X. La perspectiva pamplonesa,” Anales de la Universidad de Alicante. Historia Medieval 17 (2011): 225–​43; Fermín Miranda García, “Ascenso, auge y caída de San Miguel como protector de la monarquía pamplonesa, siglos X-​XII,” in Mundos medievales. Espacios, sociedades y poder, ed. Beatriz Arizaga Bolumburu, Dolores Mariño Veiras, and Carmen Diéz Herrera, 2 vols. (Santander: Publican, 2012), 1:759–​68. 9 On the chronicler and his work, see recent anthology: Writing History in Medieval Poland: Bishop Vincentius of Cracow and the “Chronica Polonorum,” ed. Darius von Güttner-​Sporzyński, Cursor Mundi 28 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017), with further literature.

10 It is significant that St. Michael and angels are only exceptionally considered military aides in crusading literature, as proved by the nearly complete lack of references to angels in recent monographs on the miraculous in crusade narratives. See Elizabeth Lapina, Warfare and the Miraculous in the Chronicles of the First Crusade (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2015); Beth C. Spacey, The Miraculous and the Writing of Crusade Narrative (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2020). See, however, Robert the Monk’s tale on Kherboga’s mother warning her son that God’s angel will lead the Christian army, just as it had led the armies of the ancient Israelites, and it will beat all crusader’s enemies: The “Historia Iherosolimitana” of Robert the Monk (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013), 61–​62. For discussion on the biblical source of Robert’s words, see

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Master Vincentius’s Narrative on the Campaign Against the Pomeranians Master Vincentius intertwined an angel’s revelation into the account of an expedition led by Prrince Bolesław III the Wrymouth (r. 1102–​1138) in 1109 against a strategic stronghold of pagan Pomeranians in Nakło. In the chronicle, this expedition was depicted as one of the greatest military successes of the ruler. According to Vincentius, the result was not only the conquest of Nakło, which would have better corresponded to reality, but also in a horrific slaughter, the taking of spoils, prisoners, and even the annexation of the whole of Pomerania to Poland.11 This is how Bolesław took revenge on the Pomeranians for their earlier raids on Polish lands. In particular, it was in response to an attempt to kidnap the metropolitan of Gniezno from a church located in the heart of Polish territory.12 Unfortunately, Vincentius did not reveal his source for the miraculous incident. Nothing indicates that he had any other written account of the expedition at his disposal, apart from the one by Gallus Anonymus written in the years 1112–​1116. This described the same campaign in detail, but did not mention an angel.13 Although Vincentius referred to some information that he had heard from unknown people, it is hard to believe that anyone living in his time could have known details of events from a century ago. It is worth noting, however, that Vincentius precisely specified both the place and the moment of the epiphany. This significantly distinguishes his account from Katherine Allen Smith, The Bible and Crusade Narrative in the Twelfth Century (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2020), 86–​87.

11 Master Vincentius, Chronica Polonorum, 3.14, ed. Marian Plezia, MPH NS 11 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1994) (hereafter Vincentius, Chron. Pol.), 101: “Quid ergo? linguis omnium loquar nec tante cedis modum uerbis assequar, quia numerum occisorum non aliter scire potes, quam si harenas maris uel celi stellas miseris in calculum. Super quo, si uacat, algoristas consule siue abacistas, quos calculandi agitat sollertia. Huius rei fidem etiam hodie astruunt aggeres instar montium ex inhumatis ossibus coaceruati. Multa insuper milia suis uincti loramentis in Polonie colonias transuecti. Extunc igitur et Nakel et alie quamplures illorum urbes huic regno accessere.” Vincentius considered this campaign a success, although in fact Duke Bolesław only achieved conquering the whole of Pomerania in 1123. The result of the 1109 campaign was much more modest.

12 Instead of the archbishop, the Pomeranians kidnapped his companion, an unnamed archdeacon, robbing also the liturgical paraments from the church where the two were hiding. The motif of vengeance on the Pomeranians was strongly emphasized by Vincentius, which distinguishes his account from the story by Gallus Anonymus. Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.14, 99: “Non iniuste igitur Boleslai seueritas in sacrilegos idolatras incanduit, non iniuste ultionem adiecit ultioni. Vix enim illa sacrilegii ultrix pestis quieuerat, cum nec sacre fidei reuerentiam nec pollicitis ullam tenuere fidem. Non timent inpudici apostate salutem fugere nec abhorrent canes persordidi ad uomitum reuerti.” 13 Gallus attributed the victory only to the intercession of St. Lawrence, whose feast was celebrated by the Polish army in the camp at Nakło (August 10). See Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, 3.1, ed., trans., and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2003), 221–​27 (hereafter Gallus, Gesta).

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“typical” stories about victories won “by the help of God.” The revelation is said to have occurred at the place of the army’s mobilization, within an important Piast stronghold in Kruszwica, just at the moment of their departure: Therefore, he draws [to Kruszwica] the entire strength of his [men] from everywhere; Bolesław comforts and assesses them. The units start marching against Pomerania, and the primipilarius in front of them announces [that] the matter of God, not of humans, is happening. There is the church (basilica) of St. Vitus in Kruszwica, on whose tower (pinnaculum) a young man of an extraordinary posture and beauty had been seen, whose unspoken glow illuminated, as they say, not only the city itself but also the outskirts. Diving down from this [tower] with a golden spear (aureum pilum), he was much ahead of the hosts, and quite a number of people noticed this obvious [divine] sign and in silent praise marvelled at the mystery of this thing, until [the young man] disappeared in front of Nakło castle, as if shaking (uibrans) the spear he held.14

Such a depiction of the miracle, linking it to a particular place and a specific sacred object, strongly suggests that it is not a simple invention by the chronicler, but a reference to a living oral tradition. Vincentius apparently mentioned a part of these tales in presenting Bolesław in triumphant glory over the pagans. Therefore, most likely it was a story of knightly or courtly origin.15 A story, the chronicler could easily have learnt about during his ministry as a chaplain or notary at the court of the youngest scion of the main hero of this story.16 How should we interpret this key fragment of the narrative? Vincentius does not name the miraculous young man, nor does he call him an angel. He mentions 14 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.14, 99–​100: “Omne itaque suorum undique robur contrahit, omnes omnium exacuit uires Boleslaus et ponderat. Surgunt castra contra Maritimam et duinam agi causam non humanam primipilarius antecurrens predocuit. Est enim beati Vitii Crusuicie basilica, in cuius pinnaculo quidam inestimabilis et habitus et forme uisus est adolescens, cuius inedicibilis, ut aiunt, splendor, non modo urbem set urbis quoque proastia illustrabat. Hic eo desiliens cum aureo pilo turmas eminus antecedit, non paucis claram numinis uirtutem cernentibus et rei tante misterium tacita ueneratione, donec ad urbem Nakel pilum, quod gestabat, quasi uibrans disparuit.” Own translation. It is not entirely clear what Vincentius meant by the word uibrans here. This term can be translated as “swing” or “shake” but also as “blink,” “gleam,” or “shine.” Compare the passage on the shining Holy Lance in Vita Bernwardi cited in n110 below. 15 In a similar vein Monika Juzepczuk, “Kult świętych a zwycięstwa militarne pierwszych Piastów (od X do początków XIII w.).” Saeculum Christianum 25, no. 1 (2018): 63–​76 at 71. Information about angelic aides is typical of knightly and courtly literature. See Maria Dobozy, “The Theme of the Holy War in German Literature 1152–​1190: Symptom of Controversy Between Empire and Papacy?,” Euphorion 80 (1986): 341–​62 at 346–​47, 351; Jean-​Claude Vallecalle, “Les formes de la révélation surnaturelle dans les ‘chansons de geste,’ ” in Littérature et religion au Moyen Age et à la Renaissance, ed. Jean-​Claude Vallecalle and Pascale Blum-​Cuny (Lyon: Presses universitaires de Lyon, 1997), 65–​94; Jean-​Claude Vallecalle, “Sacraliser la guerre. Remarques sur les révélations surnaturelles dans les ‘chansons de geste,’ ” in Guerres, voyages et quêtes au Moyen Age. Mélanges offerts à Jean-​Claude Faucon, ed. Alain Labbé et al., Colloques, congrès et conférences sur le Moyen Age 2 (Paris: Champion, 2000), 429–​37. 16 This also explains Vincentius’s familiarity with courtly culture. See Robert Bubczyk, “Values and Virtues: Church Life and Courtly Culture,” in Writing History in Medieval Poland, 221–​42.

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164 Radosław Kotecki some attributes, however, which could easily be associated with an angelic being,17 be it luminosity, exceptional beauty, and youthful appearance.18 This seems to be an unambiguous description of an angel—​also St. Michael, who has always been depicted as a young man, and associated with luminosity; being called the “prince of the angels of light,” or “Prince of Light,” the destroyer of Belial.19 The spear, especially a golden version, is also an established attribute of an angelic aide in battle. In Byzantium, angels of the Archistrategos’s cohort were portrayed as warriors with spears in hand and were also named “spear-​bearing” or “guardians.”20 Golden spears were regarded as a symbol of religious and military triumph in Imperial ideology.21 The spear was also an attribute of angels in the Bible. In the context of Vincentius’s account, the angel from 2 Maccabees 11:6–​11 who supported Judas Maccabeus in the war against the regent Lysias deserves special attention. It is worth quoting a fragment of this story, as it seems to have provided the chronicler with some inspiration for his description of the miracle of the Nakło campaign: But when Maccabeus and they that were with him understood that the strongholds were besieged, they and all the people besought the Lord with lamentations and tears that he would send a good angel to save Israel. Then Maccabeus himself first taking his arms, exhorted the rest to expose themselves together with him to the danger and to succour their brethren. And when they were going forth together with a willing mind, there appeared at Jerusalem a horseman going before them in white clothing, with golden armour, shaking a spear (in … armis aureis, hastam vibrans). Then they all together blessed the merciful Lord and took great courage, being ready to break through not only men but also the fiercest beasts and walls of iron. So they went on courageously, having a helper from heaven and the Lord, who shewed mercy to them. 22

17 This is perhaps why in the fifteenth century, Jan Długosz identified the young man as an angel. See Joannis Dlugossii Annales seu Cronicae incliti Regni Poloniae, bk. 4–​5, ed. Zofia Budkowa et al. (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1970), 264: “Boleslaus dux Polonorum ab angelo in Pomeraniam ductus Pomeranos ad internitionem caedit, castrum Nakel conquirit.” 18 Beauty, luminosity, and youthful body are typical characteristics of angels in medieval imagination. See Myrto Hatzaki, Beauty and the Male Body in Byzantium: Perceptions and Representations in Art and Text (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 86–​115.

19 E.g., The Pontifical of Egbert, Archbishop of York, ed. William Greenwell, Publications of the Surtees Society 27 (Durham, n.p., 1853), 90 (princeps lucis angelorum). St. Michael’s motif as “Prince of Light,” the leader of the angels’ army against the force of darkness, is known especially from Jewish literature. See Aleksander R. Michalak, Angels as Warriors in Late Second Temple Jewish Literature, Willey-​Blackwell Companions to European History 330 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 165–​69. 20 Robert Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013), 165. On gold as an attribute of angles, see Dominic Janes, God and Gold in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 75, 87–​88, 127. 21 Piotr L. Grotowski, Arms and Armour of the Warrior Saints: Tradition and Innovation in Byzantine Iconography (843–​1261), The Medieval Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–​1500 87 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 317n24, 330; Janes, God and Gold, 54.

22 The Vulgate Bible, vol. 5: The Minor Prophetical Books and Maccabees, ed. and trans. Angela M. Kinney, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 17 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012), 516–​19.

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Not only is a similar representation of the angel striking in this story, but also the context of the entire revelation is important. As in the case of the angel of Kruszwica, the angel standing on the side of the Israelites appeared when the army (previously arrayed and mobilized to fight) was leaving the camp. In the story of Vincentius, Prince Bolesław plays exactly the same role as Judas Maccabeus—​he comforts his knights and inspires them to fight. Angels also perform similar tasks. Therefore, it is not surprising that, according to Vincentius, Bolesław is said to have interpreted the appearance of a young man as a promise of future triumph (fiducia victoriae) and the miracle that “gives rise to courage in the most fearful hearts.” Hence, the angel-​like young man of Kruszwica can be considered both a battle aide and a herald of victory.23 It is not unreasonable to state that the chronicler wanted to include the image of an angelic figure in his description of the Nakło campaign from the very beginning. In an important commentary on this event expressed through a fictitious dialogue between twelfth-​century prelates, the archbishop of Gniezno, John (in office 1149–​1167/​ 1177), and the bishop of Kraków, Matthew (in office 1143–​1166/​1167), Vincentius even admitted it directly. Referring to a miraculous angelic intervention he knew from another place in the 2 Maccabees (10:29–​31), he expressed the view that the young man was sent by God to help the Polish duke. Archbishop John says: So, who do you consider to be, then, this guide of Bolesław, or those young men of Maccabeus, if not the servants of the higher, if not the highest Almightiness? Such is his care for His own ones that sometimes He fights for them with the visible heavenly powers. The Lord is making a miracle happen in front of our very eyes.24

A degree of ambiguity is introduced by Bishop Matthew. It should be emphasized, however, that this concern is related solely to the miraculous helpers whom Vincentius found in one of his favourite works, Justin’s Epitome.25 Matthew’s faith in the angelic nature of the young man, however, is undiminished: “I am not astounded that it is hardly infrequent for the righteous to go along with the righteous, and that people leading 23 Compare Wolfgang C.  Schneider, “ ‘Victoria sive angelus victoriae’. Zur Gestalt des Sieges in der Zeit des Übergangs von der antiken Religion zum Christentum,” in “Reformatio et reformationes.” Festschrift für Lothar Graf zu Dohna zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Andreas Mehl and Wolfgang C. Schneider, THD-​Schriftenreihe Wissenschaft und Technik 47 (Darmstadt: Technische Hochschule, 1989), 29–​64; Ruth Bartal, “Anges et louange du triomphe chrétien en Espagne,” in Les anges et les archanges dans l’art et la société à l’époque romane, Cahiers de Saint-​Michel de Cuxa 28 (Codalet: Association culturelle de Cuixa, 1997), 29–​39. 24 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.15, 101: “Quem ergo aut illum Boleslai precursorem, aut hos Machabei iuuenes estimare potes, nisi summe, nisi superexcellentis omnipotentie ministros? Adeo illi suorum cura est, ut pro illis uisibiliter nonnumquam celestibus pugnet uirtutibus. A Domino fit hoc et est mirabile in oculis nostris.” Own translation. 25 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.16, 102: “Repente omnes templorum antistites et ipse uates cum insignibus et infulis in primam pugnantium aciem procurrunt, aduenisse deum clamant eumque se uidisse. Cuius dum opem inplorant, iuuenem insignis pulcritudinis et duas comites uirgines armatas ex propinquis Diane et Minerue edibus occurrere conspicantur.” Travesty of Justinus, Epitome of Pompeius Trogus, 26.6–​8.

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166 Radosław Kotecki angelic life receive even visible help of angels.”26 The last word, however, belongs to Archbishop John who explains to Matthew the true nature of the pagan epiphany in Epitome, at the same time specifying the identity of the miraculous lad: “I am amazed by your amazement, since you know that the princes of darkness were changing into angels of light, pretending that they were doing works of light, so that they could even safer mix poisons in golden cups.”27 This discussion fully reveals the view of the chronicler. The young man whom Bolesław and his army were able to see was, according to Vincentius, an “angel of light”—​angelus lucis. This interpretation of the miracle differs from the approaches of today’s historians. In this tradition, the conviction prevails that Vincentius’s account derived directly from the local pagan practice. Three decades ago, Jacek Banaszkiewicz argued that the young man was a product of native culture, only superficially filtered by the mentality of the chronicler.28 This interpretation is now widely accepted, in so far that researchers interested in the idea of holy war in Vincentius’s work do not see the importance of this account for their research.29 However, Kurt Villads Jensen, unfamiliar with Polish discussions, has recently noticed that the framework in which Vincentius put the account corresponded clearly to the basic idea of the holy war as “revenging the sacred.”30 No doubt Jensen is right, however, that the ideological inspiration for the account may seem older than the crusade-​oriented one that he suggested.31 26 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.16, 101: “Ego uero non tam hec miror, quod non aliena sunt iustis iustorum consortia et angelice uite hominibus etiam uisibilia non desunt angelorum umminicula.”

27 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3.17, 102: “Set mirari te miror, cum noueris principes tenebrarum et in angelos lucis transfiguratos et lucis opera persepe mentitos, ut in aureis poculis insuspectius misceant aconita.”

28 According to Banaszkiewicz, the only Christian element in the story is the place of the angel’s appearance. He considered this element the chronicler’s conscious effort to conceal the supposedly pagan features of a young man. Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “Włócznia i chorągiew. O rycie otwierania bitwy w związku z cudem kampanii nakielskiej Bolesława Krzywoustego (Kadłubek, III,14),” Kwartalnik Historyczny 94, no. 4 (1987): 3–​24 at 6, reprinted in his W stronę rytuałów i Galla Anonima (Kraków: Avalon, 2018), 79–​110. 29 As in Mikołaj Gładysz, The Forgotten Crusaders: Poland and the Crusader Movement in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, The Northern World 56 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 29; Darius von Güttner-​Sporzyński, “Constructing Memory:  Holy War in the ‘Chronicle of the Poles’ by Bishop Vincentius of Cracow,” Journal of Medieval History 40, no. 3 (2014): 276–​91; there is no reference to the story in Darius von Güttner-​Sporzyński, Poland, Holy War, and the Piast Monarchy, 1100–​1230, Europa sacra 14 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). 30 Kurt Villads Jensen, “Holy War—​Holy Wrath! Baltic Wars Between Regulated Warfare and Total Annihilation Around 1200,” in Church and Belief in the Middle Ages: Popes, Saints, and Crusaders, ed. Kirsi Salonen and Sari Katajala-​Peltomaa, Crossing Boundaries 3 (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), 227–​50 at 237–​38. 31 It is hard to agree with the claim that the motif of revenge on pagans appeared in East Central Europe only around 1200 through crusading ideology. It is older. In a full form, it functioned in the Carolingian literature, where it has a direct link with the idea of auxilium Dei in war. See Thomas Scharff, Die Kämpfe der Herrscher und Heiligen. Krieg und historische Erinerung in der

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Before an attempt will be made to support such a view, attention should be paid to another key figure of the story, the mysteriously named primipilarius. Unfortunately, the account does not give the necessary detail to easily identify this character. His name drew from the Roman primipilus, the highest-​ranking centurion in the first cohort of a legion. This was one of the premises which pushed scholars towards pagan interpretation and provided fertile ground for further misleading ideas, such as the claim that it was a knightly standard-​bearer or signifer equipped with a spear embodying a warrior deity in the type of Mars-​Odin.32 Such an identification must, however, be rejected in advance, because the term primipilus had lost its original meaning early, perhaps when the religious functions assigned to primipili were taken over by the court clergy.33 In turn, close association of the primipilarius with the angel speaks clearly for his Christian identity. It should be emphasized that the primipilarius was the first to see the miracle, so we can think of him as a man of “of angelic life,” particularly authorized to witness God’s agent. What is more, he expertly tells the army of a miraculous omen, and “[he] announces (predocuit) the matter of God, not of humans, is happening.” The word praedoceo used here, meaning to teach, or inform beforehand, clearly suggests that the primipilarius had the competence to inform warriors about the supernatural phenomenon, as befitted clerics taking part in military endeavours.34 These observations give a sufficient reason to claim that the primipilarius was a clergyman who, because of his spiritual perfection and ministry, was granted the privilege of leading the army against the pagan foe in the first rank of soldiers. This view reveals to some extent the nature of the task that he carried out—​gaining God’s favour for the army and the prince. It was usually clergymen

Karolingerzeit, Symbolische kommunikation in der Vormoderne. Studien zur Geschichte, Literatur und Kunst (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002), 175–​78; Arnold Angenendt, “Die Reinigung Jerusalems, oder: Die ‘Pollutio’ als Kreuzzugsmotivik,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 49, no. 1 (2015): 301–​45 at 327–​28; Robert A. H. Evans, “Christian Hermeneutics and Narratives of War in the Carolingian Empire,” Transformation 34, no. 2 (2017): 150–​63 at 158–​59. Before Vincentius this theme was used by Gallus, Gesta, 3.34, 180. 32 Throwing such a spear is said to have started a battle. See Banaszkiewicz, “Włócznia i chorągiew,” 19; Andrzej Kuczkowski, “Magiczno-​religijne elementy sztuki wojennej u Słowian Zachodnich wczesnego średniowiecza,” Acta Militaria Mediaevalia 5 (2009): 7–​19 at 9–​11. It should be emphasized, however, that there is no mention of throwing a spear in the Vincentius’s account. It appears only in much later and misleading versions of the tale.

33 On the religious function of the primipili in the Roman army, see especially Jerzy Kolendo, “Le role du ‘primus pilus’ dans la vie religieuse de la legion,” Archeologia 31 (1980): 49–​60. After Constantine it was the clergy who supervised the cult in the army, along with task of carrying the sacred signa before the army. On the appropriation of the religious functions of Roman priests and standard-​bearers by court Christian clergy, see Ralph W. Mathisen, “Emperors, Priests, and Bishops: Military Chaplains in the Roman Empire,” in The Sword of the Lord, ed. Doris L. Bergen (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), 29–​43. 34 See, e.g., James B. MacGregor, “Negotiating Knightly Piety: The Cult of the Warrior-​Saints in the West, ca. 1070-​ca. 1200.” Church History 73, no. 2 (2004): 317–​45 at 327–​28.

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168 Radosław Kotecki enjoying the special trust of the rulers, their chaplains or curial bishops, who performed this function during royal or Imperial expeditions.35 It seems the key to interpret the primipilarius’s role seems his name. The word primipilarius could mean a standard-​bearer, but Vincentius’s well-​known passion for Roman terminology, and especially his encyclopedic education, encourage to consider a more literal reading.36 Following the chronicler’s claim that the primipilarius was at the very forefront of the army (antecurrens), we can think of him as the bearer of the first spear and a leader taking important position from an ideological point of view. The spear—​aureum pilum—​was, however, also in the hands of the angel who overtook the army. A special bond is felt between these objects and characters who wield them, the angel and the primipilarius37. This association attributes to the latter, and especially to his spear, a unique symbolic and religious meaning, representing the supernatural power hostile to pagan Pomeranians. We can suspect it is the power of this very object that plays a key role in attracting the miraculous aid and increasing the knights’ confidence in defeating the enemy. This clearly suggests that the primipilarius’s spear was a victory-​bringing object in the manner of signa victoriae.38

Povesť vremennykh let’s Narrative on the Campaign Against Polovtsi

The account of the Povesť vremennykh let about the great campaign against the Polovtsi at the turn of winter and spring 1111 will be discussed subsequently.39 Unlike in Vincentius’s account, the Christian character of this jointly-​led expedition by prince 35 For examples, see below in the main text of this chapter. Also, see David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, c. 300–​1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003); David S. Bachrach, “Military Chaplains and the Religion of War in Ottonian Germany, 919–​1024,” Religion, State and Society 39, no. 1 (2011): 13–​31. In addition, one may compare an example of the custom of carrying the Lord’s Cross before the Georgian royal army by the bishop of Chqondidi, who was at the same time the highest chancellor and royal chaplain. See Mamuka Tsurtsumia, “The True Cross in the Armies of Georgia and the Frankish East,” Crusades 12, no. 1 (2013): 91–​102.

36 According to medieval dictionaries primipilarius was a figure walking at the forefront of the army, leading armed forces, preceding standard-​bearers (antesignatus /​praecursor). See, e.g., Jean-​ Baptiste Gardin Dumesnil, Synonymes latins et leurs différentes significations avec des exemples tirés des meilleurs auteurs, ed. M. Jannet, 3rd ed. (Paris: Chez Aumont, 1813), 33. Joannes de Garlandia, Opus synonymorum, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 150 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1854), 1589: “Signifer, aut signarius, rem signat eandem, /​His primiferus, vexilifer associetur, /​Primus pila ferens est primipilus in istis.” 37 There is perhaps no coincidence that Vincentius called a spear belonging to an angel as aureum pilum, and not as lancea aurea or hasta (as in 2 Maccabees 11:8).

38 On such objects, see Klaus Schreiner, “ ‘Signa victricia’. Heilige Zeichen in kriegerischen Konflikten des Mittelalters,” in Rituale, Zeichen, Bilder. Formen und Funktionen symbolischer Kommunikation im Mittelalter, ed. Ulrich Meier, Gerd Schwerhoff, and Gabriela Signori, Norm und Struktur 40 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2011), 11–​63.

39 On the expedition, see especially Petr Tolochko, “Поход руских на половцев 1111 года,” Ruthenica 12 (2014): 29–​45.

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of Kiev Sviatopolk Iziaslavich (d. 1113), prince of Pereyaslavl Vladimir II Monomakh Vsevolodich (d. 1125), and David Sviatoslavich (d. 1123), the ruler of Murom and Chernigov, is doubtless and clear.40 The textual situation, however, is very different. In contrast to Vincentius, the contemporaneous Rus’ chronicler described the campaign in great detail, providing evidence of conscious creation of its religious character through a variety of means. We hear of prayers, religious practices, faith in the power of the Holy Cross, and the piety of the dukes and the army. In addition, accounts of supernatural help in the Povest’ are more straightforward and presented with expertise. The identity of the miraculous aid who appears during the expedition seems obvious. This was one of the angels (Анг҃ лъ) “who are sent forth by the command of God, according to the desire of the Lord and Creator of all things.”41 It is worth noting basic analogies between the Polish and Rus’ sources. The Rusian chronicler, unlike Vincentius, believed that the human eye was unable to see an angel directly. Yet in his narration the angel is also presented as a luminous being, looking more like a fiery pillar from the books of Old Testament.42 He is said to have appeared in Kiev a year before the expedition, when he descended from the sky over the Caves Monastery, and then went to the seat of Vladimir Monomakh in order to encourage his heart to fight the Polovtsi. He was seen for the second time during the march of the princes, when he was leading the army towards the Don River. The Povest’ in Laurentian Codex reads: On February 11 of this year, there was a portent in the monastery. A fiery pillar appeared which reached from earth to heaven; lightnings illumined the whole countryside, and thunder was heard in the sky at the first hour of the night. The whole populace beheld the miracle. The pillar first stood over the stone refectory, so that its cross could not be seen. Then it moved a little, reached the church, and halted over the tomb of Theodosius. Then it rose, as if facing to the eastward, and forthwith became invisible. This portent was not an actual pillar of fire, but an angelic manifestation. For an angel thus appears either as a pillar of fire or as a flame, even as David has said, “He maketh the winds his messengers and his ministers a flaming fire” [Psalms 104:4]. They are sent forth by the command of God, according to the desire of the Lord and Creator of all things. For an angel appears wherever there are blessed abodes and houses of prayer, and they there exhibit such portion of their aspect as it is possible for men to look upon. It is, indeed, impossible for men to behold an angelic form, even as the mighty Moses could not view the angelic being, for a pillar of cloud led the children of Israel by day, and a pillar of fire by night. This apparition indicated an event which was destined to take place, and its presage was later realized. For in the following year, was not an angel the guide of

40 Irina Moroz, “The Idea of Holy War in the Orthodox World (On Russian Chronicles from the Twelfth-​Sixeenth Century),” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 4 (1999): 45–​67 at 48–​52.

41 Povest’ vremennykh let. Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, Polnoe sobranie russkikh letopisei 1 (Leningrad:  Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR), 284–​85: “Как сказал Давид:  ‘Обращая ангелов своих в духов и слуг своих в огонь палящий, посылает их повелением Божьим владыка и творец всех, куда хочет.’ ”

42 Exodus 13:21–​22, 14:24, and 40:34–​38, Numbers 14:14, Deuteronomy 1:33, Nehemiah 9:12 and 9:19.

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170 Radosław Kotecki our princes against our pagan foes, even as it is written, “An angel shall go before thee” [Exodus 23:23], and again, “Thy angel be with thee?”43

The analogy between the two depictions of angels seems to be deeper and not only limited to the influence of the Old Testament. The place of revelation is the same. The young man of Kruszwica appeared in a holy place, on the tower of the basilica of St. Vitus. His appearance, therefore, reflects the idea of the Povest’ that “[f]‌or an angel appears wherever there are blessed abodes and houses of prayer, and they there exhibit such portion of their aspect as it is possible for men to look upon.”44 Both angels appeared above churches and each of them set a course against the pagans: the angel of Kruszwica, leading the army of Bolesław against the Pomeranian castle, whereas the angel of Kiev looked east. Even though he did not immediately head for the Steppes, he led the Rus’ army against the Polovtsi in the following spring. During the march, both angels were placed at the forefront of the army, so they both acted as guides and precursors. Finally, they both contributed to defeating the pagans. Although Vincentius did not note the angel’s participation in the battle at Nakło (as he disappeared after reaching the destination), in reporting the princely speech before the battle, he made the Bolesław say words emphasizing a conviction that the Pomeranians would melt away thanks to God’s help personified so far by the angel—​the guarantor of victory (fiducia victoriae).45 The hope soon came true when the Pomeranians were miraculously beaten by the less numerous and ambushed Poles. The account of the Povest’ is more suggestive once again. According to the Hypatian Codex: when there was a clash and a fierce battle, God, the Highest looked with anger at the inoplemenniki [foreigners], and they began to drop in front of the Christians. And so, the inoplemenniki were defeated, and many foes, our adversaries, dropped, from the Rus’ princes and warriors at the Degeya stream. And God helped the Rus’ princes. …

And when the Monday of the Holy Week came, the inoplemenniki gathered again their regiments in a great multitude, and appeared as great forests, thousands of thousands, and surrounded the Rus’ regiments. And God sent the angel to help the Rus’ princes. And the Polovtsi regiments and Rus’ regiments followed, and when the first ranks of the regiments collided, a crack as of a thunder spread. And the fight was fierce between them, and they died on both sides. And Vladimir entered with his regiments, and David, and the Polovtsi, seeing it, started to withdraw. And the Polovtsi died in front of Vladimir’s 43 Povest’ vremennykh let. Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 284–​85. English translation after The Russian Primary Chronicle: Laurentian Text, trans., Samuel H. Cross and Olgerd P. Sherbowitz-​Wetzor (Cambridge: Medieval Academy of America, 1953), 204–​5. 44 For a reference, see precedent note.

45 Vincentius, Chron. Pol., 3. 15, 100: “Si quid tamen uirium habent, nota uobis est illorum ignauia, nostri uirtute primipilarii et hodierni gloria martiris omne illud colliquescit, cum causa iustior et animet exanimes et meticulosissimis pariat audaciam.” However, it is difficult to say whether the word primipilarius refers here to an angel or a primipilarius mentioned previously who was also a kind of standard-​bearer. Assuming a close relationship between the two characters, the victory should be related to the grace of God, which Bolesław’s army clearly experienced during the march.

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regiment, invisibly beaten by an angel, as it was seen by many, and the heads invisibly cut off were falling to the ground.46

In both accounts, the angels act as God’s agents and guardians of the army, who contribute to the victory of the Christians in critical moments. Referring to the findings of Graus, one can see a model realization of the concept of supernatural help in both narratives. The source of help is always God—​the saints act as intermediaries and only perform His will.47 Finally, it should be emphasized that the revelation of the angel in the Povest’ also has its ritual context. The attention the chronicler paid to the devotion of the Rus’ princes, which ultimately resulted in the help of an angel, is clear. The author stated that the armies left Rus’ “hoping in God and in His Most Holy Mother, and in His holy angels.” This message conveys an echo of ritual actions connected with departure for war. Numerous Rus’ sources reported that before heading on the campaign, the princes visited sanctuaries to ensure the favour of God, took vows, and asked for support.48 Describing the campaign of 1107, the author of the Povest’ revealed that Prince Sviatopolk, “before he went forth to war …, made it a habit to kneel beside the tomb of Theodosius [in the Caves Monastery], and after receiving the blessing of the prior who was present, he proceeded with his errand.”49 In the Kievan Paterik, one can learn that the fathers of all three commanders visited the grave of Theodosius before the expedition against the Polovtsi in 1068, which seems to prove that such practice was simply an established custom.50 Therefore, we can be sure that thorough religious preparations preceded the discussed campaign. The author emphasized, however, that acts of devotion were also practiced during the march: They went out during the second week of Lent, and on Friday they were at the Sula. On Saturday, they moved forward to the Khorol, and there they left their sleds. On Sunday, upon which they kissed the Cross, they advanced to the Psyol, and thence took position on the Golta river. At that point, additional forces awaited them, and they went on to the Vorskla. There, upon Wednesday, the day following, they kissed the Cross, and with many tears placed all their hope upon it. During the sixth week of Lent, they traversed many rivers, and on Tuesday arrived at the Don. They marshalled themselves in battle array, aligned their troops, and approached the city of Sharukan. And they put on armour and prepared the regiments. And Prince Vladimir put his clergymen so that while riding at the forefront of the regiment, they could sing the troparia and kontakia of the Holy Cross and the canon of St. Mother of God.51

46 Letopis’ po Ipat’evskomu spisku, Polnoe sobranie russkikh letopisei 2 (St. Petersburg: Imperatorskaia archeograficheskaia komissia, 1908), 267. Own translation. 47 Graus, “Der Heilige.”

48 E.g., see Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 278; trans. Cross and Sherbowitz-​Wetzor, 201. 49 Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 282; trans. Cross and Sherbowitz-​Wetzor, 203–​4.

50 The Paterik of the Kievan Caves Monastery, trans. Muriel Heppell, Harvard Library of Early Ukrainian Literature 1 (Cambridge: Ukrainian Research Institute of Harvard University, 2011), 2.

51 Letopis’ po Ipat’evskomu spisku, 265–​66: Own translation. In the last sentence of the quoted passage, there is undoubtedly a copyist mistake, because it is not about regiments (полкъı) but

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172 Radosław Kotecki Particular attention should be paid to the key moment in the campaign, when the army arrived in the vicinity of the Polovtsi abodes after a long march. At this point, religious acts were intensified. The princes and warriors devoted themselves to collective religious practices, kissed the Cross, and placed all their hopes in it. Then, reaching the first enemy stronghold, they formed ranks and set off towards it with a group of clergymen chanting the liturgical hymns at the forefront. This last stage clearly resembles the situation in Kruszwica when the armies mustered by Duke Bolesław were moving out for Nakło with a primipilarius at the forefront crying out about the appearance of an angel. This figure, as it has been suggested, should be identified with a clergyman close to the monarch’s capella, who sought God’s favour for the success of the expedition. The purpose of the princely priests’ presence at the head of Vladimir’s army is analogous.52 In addition, both in the case of the Chronica Polonorum and in the Povest’, the position of the clergymen is ultimately taken by the angel who walked before the warriors going into battle. It is difficult to find an equally clear analogy for the object held by the primipilarius. It is important to note, however, that among the attributes of clergymen appointed to act as guides by Vladimir there is the Holy Cross, in honour of which troparia and kontakia were sung. This way priests worshipped the object accompanying the army. During the expedition, it was adored and kissed by the princes, so supposedly it was a reliquary containing fragments of the True Cross. At the beginning of the twelfth century, there were at least several such objects in Rus’. They remained in the hands of the rulers and the associated clergy who used them regularly to overcome conflicts by bringing peace with a ritual of kissing the Cross.53 The same objects also served as war trophies and were therefore taken by princes to war. Such was the case during the discussed campaign, and probably also several years later (1125), when, as reported by the Kievan Chronicle, the son of Vladimir Monomakh, Prince Iaropolk (d. 1139), defeated the priests (попы). The troparia and kontakia were hymns for the feasts of special saints sang during liturgical ceremonies by priests. For the latter issue, see Gregory Myers, Music and Ritual in Medieval “Slavia Orthodoxa”: The Exaltation of the Holy Cross, Varia Musicologica (Bern: Peter Lang, 2018), especially 73–​74 (on kontakion as processional hymn type) and 146–​48 (on troparia of the Holy Cross).

52 See Artem Yu. Grachev, “К вопросу о роли и месте духовенства в военной организации Древней Руси,” Pskovskij voenno-​istoricheskij vestnik 94 (2015): 43–​47, where there is more about clergymen dependent on Rus’ princes and their role during military actions.

53 Andrzej Poppe, Państwo i Kościół na Rusi w XI wieku, Rozprawy Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego 26 (Warsaw: Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1968), 219–​20; Andrzej Poppe, “Le prince et l’Église en Russie de Kiev depuis la fin du Xe siècle et jusqu’au début de XIIe siècle,” Acta Poloniae Historica 20 (1969): 95–​119 at 102–​4; Yulia Mikhailova and David K. Prestel, “Cross Kissing: Keeping One’s Word in Twelfth-​Century Rus,’ ” Slavic Review 70, no. 1 (2011): 1–​22; Norbert Mika, “ ‘Kpеcтьное целование’—​geneza i praktyka stosowania przez władców ruskich, polskich i węgierskich (do końca XII wieku),” in Rus’ and Countries of the Latin Culture (10th–​16th C.), ed. Vitaliy Nagirnyy, Colloquia Russica I 6 (Kraków: Jagiellonian University, 2016), 111–​29.

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Polovtsi “by the strength of the True Cross and St. Michael.”54 The author of the Povest’ knew of this function for the Holy Cross very well, since he stated: For great is the power of the Cross. By the Cross are vanquished the powers of the devil. The Cross helps our princes in combat, and the faithful who are protected by the Cross conquer in battle the foes who oppose them. For the Cross speedily frees from danger those who invoke it with faith, for devils fear nothing as much as the Cross.55

There are therefore strong grounds to believe that the clerics marching at the forefront of Vladimir’s regiment not only worshipped the Holy Cross, singing devotional songs, but also tried to use the power of this victory-​bringing relic and symbol against pagan Polovtsi. The same function was mentioned earlier with reference to the spear in the hands of the primipilarius leading Prince Bolesław’s army against Nakło. It can, therefore, be concluded that, despite different textual situations presented in the two accounts, it is possible to find surprisingly similar elements in both narratives. This provides strong grounds to believe that both chroniclers shared similar ideas about the factors shaping the religious character of the campaign against neighbouring pagans. They both bring to the fore the piety of the princes, taking the clergy and sacred objects for expeditions, and a desire for God’s support expressed through an angelic companion.

In Search for Ritual Sources for Polish and Rusian Narratives

Unfortunately, the sources of the early history of Poland and Rus’ are not detailed enough to determine the reasons for the similarity of the views of the chroniclers who were exposed to religious influences coming partly from different directions. To some extent, however, they can be found in the popularity of the cult of St. Michael, which was growing in both courts back in the eleventh century. Its first testimonies in Rus’ relate to Iaroslav the Wise (d. 1054), the grandfather of all three commanders of the 1111 expedition. The chapel dedicated to St. Michael and a series of wall paintings in St. Sophia’s Cathedral in Kiev prove the existence of St. Michael’s military cult at that time. A fresco in St. Sophia, for example, has the Archangel appearing to Joshua just before the Battle of Jericho (Joshua 4:13–​14).56 A generation later, Prince Vsevolod I (d. 1093), the father of Monomakh, was particularly devoted to the Archangel and built 54 Lisa Lynn Heinrich, “Kievan Chronicle: Translation and Commentary” (PhD diss., Vanderbilt University, 1978), 9. Other examples in Moroz, “The Idea of Holy War.” 55 Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 172; trans. Cross and Sherbowitz-​Wetzor, 149.

56 Sarah C. Simmons, “Rus’ Dynastic Ideology in the Frescoes of the South Chapels in St. Sophia, Kiev,” in From Constantinople to the Frontier: The City and the Cities, ed. Nicholas S. M. Matheou, Theofili Kampianaki, and Lorenzo M. Bondioli, The Medieval Mediterranean: Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 400–​1500 106 (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 207–​25 at 214–​18. On 216 Simmons concludes that all the frescos “emphasize Michael’s role in the Old Testament in bringing the promise of military victory to those loyal to God—​Jaroslav’s rise to power relied on his military prowess, and thus divine sanction of his victories remained an important aspect to his authority.”

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174 Radosław Kotecki Vydubychi Monastery in Kiev along with St. Michael’s church.57 According to Andrzej Poppe, St. Michael also became the patron of the Principality of Pereyaslavl, adjacent to the Polovtsi, and the main church of Pereyaslavl was raised to the rank of the episcopal see under the Vsevolod’s reign.58 The Archangel was also worshipped in the family of Vsevolod’s brother, Iziaslav (d. 1078). The Povest’ mentions that his son founded a wonderful church decorated with golden domes dedicated to St. Michael in Kiev (1108).59 Sviatopolk II, also bearing the name of Michael, had also particular devotion to the Archangel. His mother, Gertrude-​Olisava (1020/​1125–​1108) left a great testimony of reverence to St. Michael. In her famous prayers inscribed in the 1060s/​1070s in the Psalterium Egberti, St. Michael is at the forefront. Gertrude called him princeps noster who watched over the physical and spiritual security of her family.60 In another prayer, Gertrude asked God to support her older son, Iaropolk Iziaslavich, with an angel when he takes part in war: Lord, Holy Father, Almighty, Eternal God, be merciful to our pleas and send Iaropolk and his army Your holy angel to protect them in all adversities, and guard them in the service of Your holy name; that no enemy deceive him and his [people] on their way, that he may deserve to win over all foes and be granted Your mercy when fulfilling Your orders, so that he may successfully return to You with his companions.61

In this request one can see a very similar idea of the angel-​aide and guide, which has been found in the analyzed narratives. These prayers were created in Rus’ after the cult of St. Michael had been rooted for some time. However, as it has been shown, the influences of the Western angelological knowledge are present in the folia Gertrudiana.62 They seem to be natural. The princess of Kiev was the daughter of the Polish royal couple, 57 The Povest’ says that in 1093, the alliance of the princes against the Polovtsi was concluded in this church, see Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 219; trans. Cross and Sherbowitz-​Wetzor, 175–​76.

58 Poppe, Państwo i Kościół, 155–​56.

59 Lavrent’evskaiia letopis, 283; trans. Cross and Sherbowitz-​Wetzor, 204.

60 Liber precum Gertrudae ducissae e Psalterio Egberti cum kalendario, ed. Małgorzata H. Malewicz and Brygida Kürbis, Monumenta Sacra Polonorum 2 (Kraków:  Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 2002), 120–​21. According to Edward Skibiński, one of the missing pages of the prayer book presented a miniature depicting Sviatopolk prostrating himself in front of St. Michael, similar to the depiction of Gertrude’s elder son, Iaropolk, adoring St. Peter. See Edward Skibiński, “Modlitewnik Gertrudy jako źródło historyczne,” in Gertruda Mieszkówna i jej rękopis, ed. Artur Andrzejuk (Warsaw: Von Boroviecky, 2013), 23–​38 at 26. 61 Liber precum Gertrudae, 132: “Domine sancte pater omnipotens, eterne deus propiciare digneris supplicationibus nostris; et mitte angelum tuum sanctum cum petro et exercitu eius, qui eos ab omnibus aduersitatibus protegat, et in seruitio sancti nominis tui ubique custodiat: ut nullus eum et suos, in itinere inimicus decipiat, sed mereatur ab hoste omni triumphum et tuę semper miserationis subsidium quatinusc tua iussa complens sospes cum suis ad te redeat.” Own translation.

62 Artur Andrzejuk, “Angelologia w Modlitewniku Gertrudy,” in Gertruda Mieszkówna, 111–​22. Textual source of the cited prayer could have been a formulary containing prayer for the traveler’s safe return under God’s and angelic protection, such as recently studied by M. Cecilia Gaposchkin,

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Mieszko II (d. 1034) and Richeza of Lotharingia (niece of Emperor Otto III, d. 1063). She was educated in Kraków and on the Rhineland, and having married Iziaslav I of Kiev in 1043, she still maintained close relations with the Kraków court, her brother Kazimierz I (r. 1034–​1058), and her nephew, King Bolesław II (r. 1058–​1079, king from 1076). The Gertrude Codex is a testimony to these contacts as well. Apart from prayers, it contains a calendar listing holidays celebrated probably in Kraków at that time, including the most important feast of St. Michael—​Dedicatio sancti Michaelis Archangeli (September 29).63 This entry was written with golden Roman capitals, which is one of only three such cases in the whole calendar. It can be assumed that this distinction reflected the exceptional importance of the Archangel’s cult in the Kraków court. Two eleventh-​ century churches dedicated to St. Michael, erected within the capital agglomeration, further substantiate this argument.64 At least one of them was particularly significant. Ideologically, it can be compared only to other royal or Imperial churches dedicated to the victorious Archangel. These were usually built in the monarch’s residences or in their vicinity, such as Michaelion in Constantinople, chapels in Carolingian courts and monasteries, or the aforementioned churches in Kiev.65 The importance of this very church is reflected by its location exactly in the middle of the residential complex on the Wawel Hill, as well as by a mound raised up in its vicinity, the traditional place of ducal judgement and self-​presentation.66 Of no less importance is the fact that the church perhaps served as a court collegiate where the monarch’s chaplains and notaries resided. In addition to the thirteenth-​century document advocating the connection of

“Sacralizing the Journey: Liturgies of Travel and Pilgrimage Before the Crusades,” in Travel, Pilgrimage and Social Interaction from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, ed. Jenni Kuuliala and Jussi Rantala (Abingdon: Routledge, 2020), 205–​25. 63 Liber precum Gertrudae, 110. Recently the hypothesis about Kraków origin of the calendar (in its basic form) has been more firmly grounded by Grzegorz Pac, “Kalendarz z Kodeksu Gertrudy jako świadectwo dewocji monarszej. Wokół kultu świętych na styku chrześcijaństwa łacińskiego i wschodniego w XI wieku,” Roczniki Historyczne 84 (2018): 31–​68 especially at 60.

64 Churches of St. Michael stood in all most important centres of the Piast realm (Gniezno, Płock, Poznań, Wrocław). More on the early cult of St. Michael in Piast Poland, see Jerzy Kłoczowski, “Kult św. Michała Archanioła w Polsce średniowiecznej,” Zeszyty Naukowe Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego 14 (1971): 19–​27; Jacek Kowalski, “Le culte des anges en Pologne jusqu’au XIIIe siècle à travers des oeuvres d’art,” in Les anges et les archanges, 48–​62.

65 Scholars pointed to the Carolingian practice of dedicating chapels and westworks of churches important for the dynasty to St. Michael. See Heinz, “Saint Michel,” 51; Haubrichs, “Michael,” 12; Thomas Weigel, “Erzengel im Johannischor? Überlegungen zur kontroversen Interpretation der Sinopien und Stuckfragmente aus dem ‘Quadrum’ des Westwerks der ehemaligen Abteikirche zu Corvey,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 51, no. 1 (2017): 87–​139 especially at 119–​27.

66 On the importance of this place, see especially Zbigniew Dalewski, Władza—​przestrzeń—​ ceremoniał. Miejsce i uroczystość inauguracji władcy w Polsce średniowiecznej do końca XIV w. (Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Historii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1996), 51–​54.

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176 Radosław Kotecki this church with a ducal chancery,67 one can point to an analogy with the church of St. Michael at the Płock Castle Hill, most likely mid-​twelfth century foundation by Grand Prince Bolesław IV (r. 1146–​1173).68 This church was to serve similar courtly functions, which may also suggest that the court clergy could have shared a special devotion to St. Michael in twelfth-​century Poland; the same cadre responsible for performing liturgical service during military expeditions.69 Another trace could be a legend noted at the end of the thirteenth century by an anonymous author of the Silesian Chronicon Polonorum. It stated that Prince Kazimierz I, Gertrude’s brother, was supported by angels after he had gone to the church of St. Mary in Poznań Castle before the battle with Mazovians (presented here as semi-​pagans).70 The said church was a former palace chapel from the times of the monarchy founder, Mieszko I (r. ca. 960–​992), and later a court collegiate, an equivalent to St. Michael’s church on the Wawel Hill.71 In this context, the fact that the collegiate church of St. Vitus in Kruszwica, the very place of angelic manifestation during the Nakło campaign, ranked among churches performing courtly service is of much importance.72 Referring to the current knowledge about the character of the monarch’s capella in Poland in the Early Middle Ages, the staff of this church was the clergy very closely connected with the ducal court.73 They could serve as military 67 Tadeusz Wasilewski, “Kościół monarszy w XI-​XII w.  i jego zwierzchnik biskup polski,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 92, no. 4 (1985): 747–​68 at 758–​59; Magdalena Bilska-​Ciećwierz, Powstanie i organizacja kapituł kolegiackich metropolii gnieźnieńskiej w średniowieczu (Kraków: Societas Vistulana, 2007), 35–​36, 40–​41.

68 Throughout the thirteenth century, ducal chaplains and notaries still had benefices at the church, even if it was moved to a different place. See Czesław Deptuła, “Zagadnienia początków kolegiaty św. Michała w Płocku,” Notatki Płockie 4 (1959): 36–​43; Andrzej Tomaszewski, “Pradzieje architektoniczne płockiej ‘Małachowianki,’ ” Mazowsze 6, no. 11 (1998): 75–​88 at 81–​82. 69 It is significant that the majority of collegiate churches closely connected with the princely court had dedications characteristic for the military religion: Theotokos, St. George, St. Martin, St. Maurice, St. Michael. See Gieysztor, “Politische Heilige,” 328–​29.

70 On this legend, see, e.g., Norbert Kersken, “God and the Saints in Medieval Polish Historiography,” in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–​1300), ed. Lars B. Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), 153–​ 94 at 165–​ 66; Tomasz Jurek, “Nad legendą poznańskiego kościoła Najświętszej Marii Panny,” in “Gemma gemmarum.” Studia dedykowane profesor Hannie Kóčce-​Krenz, ed. Artur Różański. 2  vols. (Poznań:  Wydawnictwo Poznańskiego Towarzystwa Przyjaciół Nauk, 2017), 2:93–​110.

71 Also, the location of the princely throne on a mound close to the church and chancellor’s prebend in this church are similar to Wawel. See Roman Michałowski, “Princeps fundator.” Studium z dziejów kultury politycznej w Polsce X-​XIII wieku (Warsaw: Zamek Królewski, 1993), 129–​30.

72 A trace of this role is the chancellor’s prebend in this church, as well as permanent patronage of the ruler. See Bilska-​Ciećwierz, Powstanie, 35–​36. In the charter from 1268, the ducal chaplains are called the canons of St. Vitus. See Dokumenty kujawskie i mazowieckie przeważnie z XIII wieku, ed. Bolesław Ulanowski (Kraków: Akademia Umiejętności, 1887), 213 (no. 38).

73 The opinion that before the completion of the new church of St. Peter around 1140/​1150, a church of St. Vitus served as a temporary residence for the bishops of Cuiavia seems to be legitimate. See Jarmila Kaczmarek, “Początki architektury sakralnej w Kruszwicy,” in Początki

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chaplains, providing a proper setting for armed expeditions starting from Kruszwica. In addition, it is worth noting that the towers, westworks, and upper floors of the royal churches were customarily dedicated to St. Michael and angels74. We cannot say if this was the case in Kruszwica though.75 One can, therefore, conclude that the source of the prayer quoted in the Gertrude Codex reflects both the traditions of the religious culture of the Rurikids dynasty and, more likely, the devotion of the Piasts to St. Michael.76 It is worth asking, however, whether there are any testimonies connecting this cult to the Piasts’ military organization. We can only call upon two clues to support an affirmative answer, though both seem quite telling. Gallus Anonymus mentioned twice, with rare precision, that Gertrude’s nephew, Władysław I Herman (r. 1079–​1102), as well as his son, the hero from Nakło, Bolesław the Wrymouth, embarked on expeditions against Pomerania around the feast of St. Michael.77 More attention should, however, be paid to the formula Benedictio super architektury monumentalnej w Polsce, ed. Tomasz Janiak and Dariusz Stryniak (Gniezno: Muzeum Początków Państwa Polskiego, 2004), 311–​32 at 325. It is known, however, that the bishopric of Cuiavia did not exist in the year of the Nakło expedition (1109), as it was established only in 1124. Close relations between the clergy of Kruszwica and ruler’s family are independently confirmed also in other sources. See Marcin R.  Pauk, “ ‘Capella regia’ i struktury Kościoła monarszego w Europie Środkowej X-​XII wieku. Ottońsko-​salickie wzorce ustrojowe na wschodnich rubieżach łacińskiego chrześcijaństwa,” in Granica wschodnia cywilizacji zachodniej w średniowieczu, ed. Zbigniew Dalewski (Warsaw: Instytut Historii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2014), 211–​77 at 275–​76. 74 See n65 above.

75 The existence of such a custom following the Carolingian-​Ottonian pattern is suggested by Kowalski, “Le culte des anges,” 57–​59. It is also worth noting that Kruszwica could have been a place of St. Michael’s worship in the twelfth century. Still, during the lifetime of Bolesław III, the bishopric of Cuiavia received from the Prince Bolesław III a provostry at Wawel Hill dedicated to St. Michael, and its first two bishops probably came from Michelsberg Abbey in Bamberg. See Marek Derwich, “Kruszwica—​Włocławek—​Szpetal. Epizod kujawski w dziejach opactwa benedyktynów w Mogilnie,” Nasza Przeszłość 96 (2001): 263–​82 at 270. 76 This devotion dates back at least to the times of Gertrude’s father, Mieszko II. See Andrzej Pleszczyński, The Birth of a Stereotype: Polish Rulers and Their Country in German Writings, c. 1000 A.D, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 15 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 256–​63.

77 Gallus, Gesta, 3.3, 120 and 3.26, 282. See Wojciech Polak, “Czas w najstarszej polskiej kronice,” Zeszyty Naukowe Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego 39, no. 3–​4 (1996): 47–​72 at 48–​49, who noted that such a date cannot have been chosen randomly. Gallus mentions also an expedition undertaken on St. Mary’s day. Gallus, Gesta, 2.18, 152; also see Marek Stawski, “Religijność w Polsce XII wieku. Zarys problematyki,” in Pierwsze wieki chrześcijaństwa w Polsce, ed. Jan Tyszkiewicz and Krzysztof Łukawski (Pułtusk: Akademia Humanistyczna im. Aleksandra Gieysztora, 2017), 97–​112 at 104–​6, who noted correlation between the liturgical and military calendar. Also, later it was not uncommon practice to chose special holy time for a campaign. For instance, Teutonic Knights regularly set off on war expeditions around the days dedicated to St. Mary, their patroness. See Marian Dygo, “The Political Role of the Cult of the Virgin Mary in Teutonic Prussia in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries,” Journal of Medieval History 15, no. 1 (1989): 63–​80 at 67–​68; Gregory Leighton, “ ‘Reysa in laudem Dei et virginis Marie contra paganos’: The Experience of Crusading in

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178 Radosław Kotecki vexillum from late eleventh century Kraków Pontificale. This mentions the Archangel in a significant context of military endeavour: Lord Jesus, Saviour of all and Redeemer of souls, incline the ears of Your love to the prayers of our humility and through the intervention of the blessed Archangel Michael, and of all heavenly powers, extend to us the help of Your hand, that is You did bless Abraham when he triumphed against the five kings, and King David when he waged triumphal battle in the praise of Your name, so You may deign to bless and sanctify this vexillum which is carried for the defence of the Holy Church against the fury of its enemies. So that those who follow it, being faithful in your name and defenders of your people, may rejoice to have gained triumph and victory over their enemies through the virtue of the Holy Cross.78

The similarity of the quoted formula with Gertrude’s prayer79 and, even more, with the analyzed narratives is striking. Particularly noteworthy are analogies between the benediction and Vincentius’s account. The very nature of the Nakło expedition corresponds to the one in the benediction. According to Vincentius, Bolesław went against Nakło to avenge the Pomeranians’ sacrilege, desecration of the church, and an attempt to kidnap the Polish metropolitan. It was therefore a war fought “for the defence of the Holy Church against the fury of its enemies.” The text of the benediction also mentions a figure performing a function very close if not identical to that of the primipilarius in the chronicle. It holds a military sign (vexillum), which the Christian army follows just like the object of the primipilarius. It is not an ordinary military banner, but an artefact endowed with the virtus sanctae crucis, as was the Holy Cross in the Povest’ account. Thus, the vexillum is an object promising victory over the enemies of God and the Church—​a victory that is possible “through the intervention of Archangel Michael.” Prussia during the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 69, no. 1 (2020): 1–​25 at 11n45.

78 Pontificale Cracoviense saeculi XI, ed. Zdzisław Obertyński, Materiały źródłowe do dziejów Kościoła w Polsce 5 (Lublin: Towarzystwo Naukowe Katolickiego Uniwersytetu Lubelskiego, 1977), 69: “Inclina Domine Iesu Christe salvator omnium et redemptor, aures pietatis ad preces nostrę humilitatis et per interventum beati Mihachelis archangelis tui omniumque cęlestium virtutum pręsta nobis auxilium dexterę tuę, ut sicut benedixisti Abraham adversus V reges triumphantem atque David regem in tui nomine laude triumphales congressus exercentem, ita benedicere et sanctificare digneris vexillum hoc, quod ob defensionem sanctę ęcclesię contra hostilem rabiem defertur, quatinus in nomine tuo fideles et defensores populi tui illud sequentes per virtutem sanctę crucis triumphum et victoriam se ex hostibus adquisisse laetentur.” Own translation. 79 Both texts speak about war waged in God’s name: “in nomine tuo,” “in seruitio sancti nominis tui.” For possible Old Testament inspiration, see Exodus 23:20–​21, where God says to Moses he will send an angel before the Israelites: “Ecce ego mittam angelum meum, qui praecedat te, et custodiat in via, et introducat in locum quem paravi. Observa eum, et audi vocem ejus, nec contemnendum putes: quia non dimittet cum peccaveris, et est nomen meum in illo”:  The Vulgate Bible, vol. 1: Pentateuch, ed. and trans. Swift Edgar, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 1 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010), 398. The bold is mine. See also Michael Attaleiates’ story on the Emperor Michael VII’s expedition to Nikaia conduced “in the name of the Archistrategos” (cited in n101 below).

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Referring to the above formula, it should be remembered that the Kraków Pontificale served the need of the monarchy.80 With reference to the quoted text, it is all the more probable since this formula is rare in liturgical books from the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Its attractiveness from the point of view of the rulers could have resulted both from their devotion to the victorious Archangel and from the opportunity to sanctify religious preparations for military action.81 Despite the observed similarities, a general content of the benediction cannot provide us with any certainty as to whether this particular formula was used during preparations for the Piast military expeditions. It is not, thus, possible to use it with any degree of certainty as an explanation for Vincentius’s story. In no way can its influence on the Rus’ realities be ascertained either, despite the numerous family connections of the Piasts and the Rurikids at the turn of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The analogies, however, still seem to be significant. They suggest that in both chronicles one deals with a testimony of conceptually advanced ritual practices emphasizing the role of the rulers, their chaplains, signa victricia, and an angelic military aide. This leads to a search for a text which would combine all these elements in a clearer way. There is not enough space to discuss various connections between chronicle narratives and numerous texts of the liturgy of war.82 However, an exception should be made for a text that presents in detail the course of the early medieval liturgical rites accompanying the departure and the march of the army, namely Ordo qvando rex cvm exercitv ad prelivm egreditvr from the famous Visigothic Liber Ordinum with the Mozarabic liturgy resembling earlier Roman ceremonies. This text seems to be linked with the analyzed stories through clear analogies. The cross-​shaped golden reliquary with a particle of the Holy Cross, which played a key role in the ritual, perfectly corresponds to the spear of the primipilarius. During the rites in the royal church of Oviedo, the reliquiary was handed down by the bishop to the king and then to a priest who would carry it before the king during the army’s march: 80 Dalewski, Władza, 111–​20.

81 The formula belongs to the texts of the liturgy of war. For this reason, it is hard to agree with Zbigniew Dalewski (Władza, 126–​28) that the rite was used during the liturgical ceremony of a new duke ascending to the throne. Recently, this has been also noticed by Paweł Figurski, “Liturgiczne początki ‘Polonii’. Lokalna adaptacja chrześcijańskiego kultu a tworzenie ‘polskiej’ tożsamości politycznej w X-​XI w.,” in Oryginalność czy wtórność? Studia poświęcone polskiej kulturze politycznej i religijnej (X-​XIII wiek), ed. Roman Michałowski and Grzegorz Pac (Warszawa:  Wydawnictwa Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, 2020), 725–​96 at 792.

82 These texts have been the subject of many analyzes. See especially Michael McCormick, “The Liturgy of War in the Early Middle Ages: Crisis, Litanies, and the Carolingian Monarchy,” Viator 15 (1984): 1–​24; Michael McCormick, Eternal Victory: Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Michael McCormick, “Liturgie et guerre des Carolingiens à la première croisade,” in “Militia Christi” e crociata nei secoli XI-​XIII, Miscellanea del Centro di studi medioevali 13 (Milan: Vita e pensiero, 1992), 209–​40; Walter Pohl, “Liturgie di guerra nei regni altomedievali,” Rivista di storia del cristianesimo 5 (2008): 29–​44.

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180 Radosław Kotecki The deacon goes to the altar and raises the golden cross, in which wood of the Holy Cross is enclosed, which always goes with the king in the army, and bears it to the bishop. Then the bishop, having washed his hands, hands it to the king, and the king to the priest, who will bear it before him.83

When the army gathered in front of the church moved out under the command of the king, the same clergyman was at the forefront, carrying the reliquary of the Cross: And [clergy] sing before the king until he has gone outside the door of the church. But the priest or deacon who has taken the Cross from the king shall always go before him until he has mounted. And so, they begin the journey.84

Equally important are analogies in the prayers uttered by the celebrants. A request to God to send an angel to accompany the king and the army during the march can be found in the texts: May God be in your journey and His angel accompany you. …

Give [the king], O Lord, of Thy Spirit, to think of what are needful and to perform them, so that, fortified by Thy Protection, marching with his subject people and going out from this present church of Thy Apostles Peter and Paul with angel guardian, he may valiantly carry out the acts of war, so that, always adhering to Thee, he may triumph over his enemies.85

It is clear that the analyzed narratives about the military expeditions against the Pomeranians and the Polovtsi referred to the same ideas. Ordo and the tale of the Nakło campaign seem to be particularly linked, since the appearance of the angel in the latter perfectly corresponds to the abovementioned request and the intention of the whole ritual. This may serve as a stronger argument to acknowledge Vincentius’s account as a premise for using a similar departure ceremony in twelfth-​century Poland. In addition, a comparison of Vincentius’s work with Ordo ultimately reveals the identity 83 Le “Liber ordinum” en usage dans l’eglise Wisigothique et Mozarabe d’Espagne du cinquieme au onzieme siecle, ed. Marius Férotin, Monumenta Ecclesiae Liturgica 5 (Paris: Firmin-​Didot, 1904), 152: “Accedit diaconus ad altare, et leuat crucem auream, in qua lignum beate Crucis inclusum est, que cum rege semper in exercitu properat, et adducit eam ad episcopum. Tunc episcopus, lotis manibus, tradit eam regi, et rex sacerdoti, qui eam ante se portatus est”; English translation after J. N. Hillgarth, Christianity and Paganism, 350–​750 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986), 94–​95.

84 Le “Liber ordinum,” 153: “Et cantant eam ante regem euntes, quamdiu rex foras ostium ecclesiae egrediatur. Ille tamen sacerdos uel diaconus, qui crucem ipsam a rege acceperit, ante regem semper, quamdiu in equo ascendat, precessurus erit. Sique ingrediuntur iter”; trans. Hillgarth, 95. 85 Le “Liber ordinum,” 150, 151: “Sit Deus in itinere uestro, et angelus eius comitetur uobiscum. … Da ei, Domine, de spiritu tuo et cogitare que decent, et que conueniunt adimplere: ut manus tue protectione munitus, cum subiectis populis gradiens, et ab hinc de presentia ecclesie apostolorum tuorum Petri et Pauli procedens, ita munitus custodiis angelicis, acta belli ualenter exerceat: ut de in hostibus tibi semper inherens triumphator existat”; trans. Hillgarth, 94.

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of the primipilarius, who, as it has been hypothesized above, turns out to be a clergyman equipped with signum victoriae. The temporal and territorial distances between the text of the Visigothic liturgy and the chronicle accounts do not allow us to draw clearer conclusions as to the source of inspiration for the chroniclers, and, subsequently, for the participants and arrangers of such rituals. However, opinions that the Franks applied similar practices are indicative. The angelic motif appears in the formula of Missa in profectionem hostium eontibus in prohelium, known from Gellone Sacramentary, which belonged to the Carolingian court.86 Although the text of this formula contains only invocations read during the mass and there is no description of the ceremony, its title, and content point to the identical context of these prayers. The angel, for whom the prayer asks, bears an even clearer resemblance to the aides of the Polish and Rus’ armies because of their luminous character and role as a guide: Grant light, oh Lord, to your army advancing into darkness, so that you may increase the will of those who are marching forward, and just as you granted the protection of security to Israel hastening out of Egypt, thus place an angel, giver of light (lucis auctorem), over your Chosen People going into battle, so that he would not depart from [them] either by day or night thanks to the brightness of your column of clouds and fire. Let their march be effortless, their path without fear, their courage unwavering, upright their will to war; and after they have been victorious by the leadership of Your angel, let them not honour their own power, but give thanks for the triumph to the victorious God, Who fought for his faithful in battle.87

According to Ernst Kantorowicz, the quoted formula is the last testimony of the war ritual that combined the former Roman rite profectio bellica, the march of the emperor in the company of the goddess Victory, with the Old Testament picture of the People of Israel led by an angel to the Promised Land.88 Acceptance of such a view would mean that the Polish and Rus’ narratives contain traces of rites that developed independently, which, for obvious reasons, should be rejected. The lack of the formulae in later liturgical books does not mean the rites were not practiced. Recent studies show that similar 86 Pohl, “Liturgie di guerra,” 38; Bachrach, Religion, 39–​40; Janet L. Nelson, “Religion in the Age of Charlemagne,” in The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity, ed. John Arnold (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 490–​514 at 497.

87 “Prebe domine exercitui tuo eunti in tenebris claritatem, proficiendi augeas voluntatem, et sicut israheli properanti ex egypto securitatis prebuisti munimen, ita tuo predistinato eunti in prelio populo lucis autor[m]‌adicias angelum, ut diem adque noctem qui nubis ignisque claritatis tue columne non deserat. Sit it [in] erandi[s] sine labore proiectus, ubique providus eventus, meditatus sine fortitudine, conversatio sine fastidio, sine terrore copia proeliandi voluntas, ut cum tuum duce angelum victur exteterit, non suis tribuat viribus, sed victori domino gratias referat de triumpho qui fuit belliger fidelibus in conflictu”: Liber sacramentorum Gellonensis. Textus, ed. Antoine Dumas, Corpus Christianorum. Continuatio mediaevalis 159 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1981), 431. English translation after Carl Erdmann, The Origin of the Idea of Crusade, trans. Marshall W. Baldwin and Walter Goffart (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 82. For a slightly different version of this text, see Smith, The Bible and Crusade Narrative, 117. 88 Ernst H.  Kantorowicz, “The ‘King’s Advent’ and the Enigmatic Panels in the Doors of Santa Sabina,” Art Bulletin 26, no. 4 (1944): 207–​31 at 219.

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182 Radosław Kotecki rituals were still used in the armies of Iberian rulers at the end of the tenth century. The reliefs discovered in the hermitage of St. Michael in Villatuerta near Pamplona, founded by the rulers of Navarre, provide additional evidence. They depict the march of an army led by a clergyman with a crozier in hand (bishop?), riding on horseback and a winged angel (St. Michael?), at the same time exposing the meaning of the Holy Cross as a sign of victory.89 Angel accompanying the army is also mentioned in the late Carolingian manuscript with the exhortation texts for the army.90 In this context, one can also consider the accounts of Widukind of Corvey regarding the preparations of German rulers to fight the Hungarians. These highlight the presence of a banner with an image of an angel. In the Deeds of the Saxons, one can read that before the Battle of Riade the king [Henry I] brought up his army and exhorted the men to commit their hopes to divine mercy, and not to doubt that divine aid would be there for them as it had been in all their other battles. … The soldiers were emboldened by this rousing oration. Then the men in the first rank, then in the second, and then in the last saw the emperor and an angel flying before him. For the large banner was marked with the angel’s name and image. They took great comfort and resolve from this.91

The same or similar banner accompanied Otto I’s army in the Battle of Lechfeld: when the army moved out, “the victory-​bringing angel … marched in front of the legion.”92 Although Widukind’s words are not very precise, they correspond to the previously cited sources to such an extent that it is possible not to agree with Hagen Keller that their source lies only in the chronicler’s desire to present the German rulers as the new 89 Bernabé Cabañero Subiza and Fernando Galtier Martí, “ ‘Tuis exercitibus crux Christi semper adsistat’. El relieve real prerrománico de Luesia,” Artigrama 3 (1986): 11–​28; Carlos Laliena Corbera, “Rituales litúrgicos y poder real en el siglo XI,” Aragón en la Edad Media 16 (2000): 467–​76; Miranda García, “Ascenso, auge y caída,” 764; J.  Santiago Palacios Ontalva, “Cultura visual e iconografía de la Reconquista. Imágenes de poder y cruzada,” Anales de la Universidad de Alicante. Historia Medieval 17 (2011): 303–​62 at 312–​14; Marta Serrano Coll, “Imagen y propaganda en las primeras amonedaciones del rey de Aragón,” Anuario de Estudios Medievales 45, no. 2 (2015): 915–​53 at 938–​40.

90 “Viri, fratres et patres, qui christianum nomen habetis et vexillum crucis in fronte portatis, attendite et audite! … Si enim vos in ipso itinere, quod modo ambulatis, certare pro Deo vultis, in hoc ut in lege Dei permaneatis et taliter agite, ut Christo delectet apud vos angelum suum dirigere, qui vos in fortitudine defendat, et kastra vestra auxilio pietatis suae protegat, et contra inimicos vestros ipse sit armatura. Protegat vos scutum pietatis suae et defendat vos de adversariis vestris. … scitote, quia deus non deserit vos, quia adversarii vestri, qui contra vos pugnant, non tantum contra vos pugnant, sed contra deum, quia persecutores christianorum et ecclesiarum et vexillum sanctae crucis dispiciunt”: ed. Albert Michael Königer in his Die Militärseelsorge der Karolingerzeit. Ihr Recht und ihre Praxis, Veröffentlichungen aus dem Kirchenhistorischen Seminar München 4.7 (Munich: Lentner, 1918), 72–​73; also see Bachrach, Religion, 53–​54. 91 Widukind of Corvey, Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres, 1.38, ed. Hans-​Eberhard Lohmann and Paul Hirsch, MGH SS rer. Germ. 60 (Hannover: Hahn, 1935), 57. English translation after Deeds of the Saxons, trans. Bernard S. Bachrach and David S. Bachrach (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014), 56. 92 Widukind, Res gestae, 3.44, 125; Deeds of the Saxons, 125.

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Maccabees.93 Similar conclusions can be drawn from the sources describing the course of Henry III’s campaign of 1044 against Hungary. These provide information about the clergy going with the king to the battle “because of their piety,” of miraculous light illuminating the army during the march, and public adoration of signum victoriae—​the Lord’s Cross.94 In this context, the words of congratulation that Bern of Richenau sent to the emperor in the wake of his victory at Ménfő, comparing him to King David whom God had supported with an angel in the war against Sennacherib, are also telling.95 Similarly, according to vita of Henry II from the middle of the twelfth century, angelus percutiens, like an angel beating the Assyrians, is said to have led the German army against the Slavic “barbarians.”96 We can see, therefore, that the sources support the hypothesis of grafting of the ritual of departure and march for war known more fully from the early medieval Western sources, onto East Central Europe, together with the associated image of an angel-​aid. In the case of Poland, this scenario is even more probable as the Imperial court was the most attractive source of ideological models for the Piasts. Despite a certain openness of Rus’ to cultural influences of the West between the tenth and the twelfth centuries,97 it is difficult to follow the same path when trying to determine the sources of religious war rites in the Rurikids’ army. The influence of the Byzantine Empire on warfare and religion in Rus’ was clearly dominant. This can be seen in the devotion to the military saints worshipped in the Eastern Empire, as well as in the reception of the military aspects of the cult of Theotokos, St. Michael and the Holy Cross.98 93 Hagen Keller, “ ‘Machabaeorum pugnae’. Zum Stellenwert eines biblischen Vorbilds in Widukinds Deutung der ottonischen Königsherrschaft,” in “Iconologia sacra.” Mythos, Bildkunst und Dichtung in der Religions-​und Sozialgeschichte Alteuropas. Festschrift für Karl Hauck zum 75. Geburtstag, ed. Karl Hauck, Hagen Keller, and Nikolaus Staubach, Arbeiten zur Frühmittelalterforschung 23 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1994), 417–​37 at 424–​26.

94 Annales Altahenses maiores, ed. Edmund von Oefele, MGH SS rer. Germ. 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1891), 86‒87; Bonizo of Sutri, Liber ad amicum, ed. Ernst Dummler, MGH Libelli de lite imperatorum et pontificum 1 (Hannover: Hahn, 1891), 583; Rodulfus Glaber, Historiarvm libri quinqve, 5.23, ed. and trans. John France and Paul Reynolds (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 246‒49. 95 Diplomata Hungariae Antiquissima, ed. György Gyorffy (Budapest: Akadémjai Kiadó, 1992), 131–​33.

96 Vita sancti Heinrici regis et confessoris, chap. 4, ed. Marcus Stumpf, MGH SS rer. Germ, 69 (Hannover: Hahn, 1999), 238–​39. Unlike Kurt Villads Jensen (“Creating a Crusader Saint: Canute Lavard and Others of That Ilk,” in Of Kings and Chronicles: National Saints and the Emergence of Nation States in the Early Middle Ages, ed. John Bergsagel, David Hiley, and Thomas Riis (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2015), 51–​72 at 54–​55), I would not consider the account a crusade reminiscence so easily. The narrative can be also associated with the cult of an Archangel due to the author of emperor’s vita, perhaps a monk in Michelsberg Abbey in Bamberg. 97 Christian Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe: Kievan Rus’ in the Medieval World, Harvard Historical Studies 177 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012), but with the important reservations of Roman K. Kovalev, “Reimagining Kievan Rus’ in Unimagined Europe,” Russian History 42, no. 2 (2015): 158–​87.

98 See Monica White, Military Saints in Byzantium and Rus, 900–​1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), especially chap. 4.

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184 Radosław Kotecki Irina Moroz’s research shows that the Byzantine influence contributed to the spread of notions of the war against pagans, specific to the Eastern Imperial court.99 At the same time, however, one cannot ignore the undeniable analogies between the analyzed narratives that make it possible to claim that the Rus’ sources confirm their practicing a similar ritual. This claim seems to be acceptable since all the noticeable differences between the two accounts can be easily explained by the two-​stage rituals of war preparation in the Early Middle Ages observed by Walter Pohl. According to his findings, the first stage involved the proper ritual of departure and preparations preceding it, while the second stage took place after reaching the place of the battle.100 In the light of these conclusions, it is obvious that Vincentius focused on the first stage, whereas the author of the Povest’ emphasized the second. Nevertheless, the ritual setting of the campaign described in the Povest’ could have had its roots in the rich tradition of military ceremonies in Constantinople. A thorough examination of this issue has yet to be undertaken. At present, however, it is possible to support Michael McCormick’s assertion that the ritual of departure, similar to the ceremony described in the Visigothic Liber ordinum, was still practiced in the second half of tenth-​century Byzantium.101 Therefore, the Povest’s tale can be considered a trace of the reception of this rite in Rus’ via Constantinople. It is supported by the strong emphasis placed on the role of the reliquary Cross, undoubtedly following the example of the Eastern emperors, which played an important role in the princes’ power in Kievan Rus’.102 99 Moroz, “The Idea of Holy War.”

100 Pohl, “Liturgie di guerra,” 42–​43.

101 McCormick, Eternal Victory, 248–​49. To the evidence provided by McCormick one should add a story of Michael Attaleiates (written. ca 1079) about the miracle during Michael VII’s expedition to Nikaia. The passage from the story reads as: “This miracle [i.e. the subordination of the Turks and their service in the vanguard] persisted all the way to Nikaia, with the adored sign of the Cross preceding the entire column in the name of the Supreme Commander [Archistrategos, i.e. St. Michael] and, in protective fashion, opening up the roads, broadcasting the solid and unshakable faith of the emperor in him, and demonstrating the miraculous grace that had been granted to him on account of his actions”: Michael Attaleiates, The History, ed. and trans. Anthony Kaldellis and Dimitris Krallis, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 16 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012), 482–​83. The role of clerics as standard-​bearers is confirmed in Theophanes Contunuatus’s relation on the Imperial campaign against the Bulgarians (917). The story states that relics of the Cross were carried in front of the army by Imperial protopapas. See Theophanes continuatus, ed. Immanuel Bekkeri (Bonn: Weber, 1838), 388–​89. On the practice of bearing the Cross before the army by the clergyman, see also Tsurtsumia, The True Cross, especially 92–​94. 102 Nadiežda A.  Soboleva, “Znaki władzy książęcej na Rusi Kijowskiej,” in “Imagines potestatis.” Rytuały, symbole i konteksty fabularne władzy zwierzchniej, ed. Jacek Banaszkiewicz, Colloquia mediaevalia Varsoviensia 1 (Warsaw: Instytut Historii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 1994), 170–​84 at 171; M.  Bartnicki, “Atrybuty władzy książąt ruskich XIII w.  jako elementy prestiżu,” Соціум. Альманах соціальної історії 8 (2008): 21–​31 at 22; Mikhailova and Prestel, “Cross Kissing,” 5. On a central role of the True Cross in military and courtly life in Byzantine Empire, see Jean Gagé, “ ‘Σταυρος νικοποιος’. La victoire impériale dans l’empire chrétien,” Revue d’histoire et de

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The spear, much more characteristic of the representation of power in the West, never had such a function among the insignia of the Rurikids.103 It does not seem accidental, therefore, that the attributes of the clerics leading the Polish and Rus’ armies to fight are the spear and the cross, respectively. This does not mean that one should look for any fundamental difference between these artifacts in the symbolic layer. The Ottonian spear could be regarded as an effective signum victoriae only because of the “victory-​ bringing nails” in its head.104 For this reason, we would suspect that a spear carried at the head of the army of Prince Bolesław against Nakło was also an object with Christological connotations. Is it possible to identify this artifact? Holy spears entered the symbolic realm of the rulers of East Central Europe under the influence of the German kings. The Árpáds, the Přemyslids, and the Piasts had their spears, although the sources explaining their meaning and history are quite random.105 This applies also to the Polish spear (fig. 8.1), though only in Poland has an object of this type been preserved. Gallus Anonymus was the first to have mentioned it in his chronicle. It is said to have been a present from Emperor Otto III—​“a gift of the nails from the cross of our Lord with the lance of St. Maurice”—​given to Prince Bolesław I the Brave at the Summit of Gniezno in 1000 “as a philosophie religieuses 13 (1933): 370–​400; Nicole Thierry, “Le culte de la croix dans l’empire byzantin du VIIe siècle au Xe dans ses rapports avec la guerre contre l’infidèle,” Rivista di studi bizantini e slavi 1 (1981): 205–​28; Christopher Walter, “IC XC NI KA: The Apotropaic Function of the Victorious Cross,” Revue des études byzantines 55, no. 1 (1997): 193–​220; Robert S. Nelson, “ ‘And So, With the Help of God’: The Byzantine Art of War in the Tenth Century,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 65–​66 (2011): 169–​92; Paul Stephenson, “The Imperial Theology of Victory,” in A Companion to the Byzantine Culture of War, ca. 300–​1204, ed. Yannis Stouraitis, Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 23–​58 at 39–​44. 103 Bartnicki, “Atrybuty władzy,” 21–​31.

104 According to Liutprand of Cremona, during the Battle of Birten (939) Otto I prayed “ante victoriferos clavos, manibus domini et salvatoris nostri Iesu Christi adfixos suaeque lancae interpositos”:  Liber Antapodosis, 6.23, ed. Georg. H. Pertz, MGH SS 3 (Hannover: Hahn, 1838), 322. According to Landulf of Milan, in the Battle of Langensalza (1075) all Imperial soldiers were killed, “preter illos, quibus lancea, in qua Dei clavus erat inclusus Romani imperii stabilimentum ab hostibus durissimis, curabatur”: Landulphi Senioris Historia Mediolanensis, ed. Ludwig Bethmann and Wilhelm Wattenbach, MGH SS 8 (Hannover: Hahn 1848), 98. On the Holy Lance as signum victoriae, see Schreiner, “ ‘Signa victricia,’ ” 46–​49; also Karen Blough, “The Lance of St Maurice as a Component of the Early Ottonian Campaign against Paganism,” Early Medieval Europe 24, no. 3 (2016): 338–​61; Antoni Grabowski, Construction of Ottonian Kingship: Narratives and Myth in Tenth-​Century Germany (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2018), 223–​35.

105 Among many studies, see especially Wilhelm Wegener, “Die Lanze des heiligen Wenzel. Ein Versuch zur Geschichte der mittelalterlichen Herrschaftszeichen,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-​Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Germanistische Abteilung 72, no. 1 (1955): 56–​ 82; Rokosz, “Wawelska włócznia”; Marek Dulinicz, “ ‘Lancea sacra’—​wędrówka idei i przedmiotów,” in Wędrówki rzeczy i idei w średniowieczu, ed. Sławomir Moździoch, Spotkania bytomskie 5 (Wrocław:  Instytut Archeolgoii i Etnologii Polskiej Akademii Nauk, 2004), 61–​84; Stanisław Suchodolski, “Włócznia świętego Stefana,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 112, no. 3 (2005): 91–​110.

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186 Radosław Kotecki triumphal banner.”106 Gallus’s account, however, seems to be a response to the political realities of the beginning of the twelfth century, which makes it difficult to consider it fully credible.107 Consequently, it should be assumed that the words of the chronicler rather confirm the important role of the spear in the times of Bolesław III. According to Przemysław Wiszewski, the function of a spear as a trophy and “triumphal banner” could have been adopted during the wars of Bolesław III—​the conqueror of Nakło from Vincentius’s story—​with the Pomeranians.108 Is it enough to state that in Vincentius’s account the primipilarius carried this very spear? This hypothesis was eventually abandoned by Wiszewski who succumbed to the view expressed by Banaszkiewicz on the pagan character of the spear from the Nakło story.109 The present discussion allows, however, to question Banaszkiewicz’s case. Therefore, identifying the artifact from Vincentius’s account with the spear of the Piasts seems more legitimate. The way Gallus characterized the spear suggests that it was believed in his times that the Polish spear was by no means inferior to the Imperial Holy Lance; therefore, he probably thought it was used in a similar manner—​as a “triumphal banner.” One can also indicate the evidence of entrusting the Holy Lance to the clergy of the Imperial chapel during a military struggle. Most telling is the account of the Vita Bernwardi on the siege of Tivoli in 1001. According to this source, Otto III’s army was led by an Imperial arch-​ chaplain, Bishop Bernward of Hildesheim, who “armed himself to set out as standard-​ bearer with the Holy Lance at the forefront of the column.”110 Another account comes from the time of Henry IV. According to Landulf of Milan, in 1073, when the emperor was animating his army to fight the Saxons, the chaplain of the Imperial court, Tedald, was responsible for guarding the Lance.111 In 1089, near Gleichen, in turn, it was carried by Burchard, the bishop of Lausanne and at the same time the chancellor of Italy.112 106 Gallus, Gesta, 1.6, 36: “Pro vexillo triumphali clavum ei de cruce Domini cum lancea sancti Mauritij dono dedit.”

107 Sven Jaros, “ ‘… sicut in libro de passione martiris potest propensius inveniri’. Die vermeintliche Quelle und der politische Kontext der Darstellung des ‘Aktes von Gnesen’ bei Gallus Anonymus,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 62, no. 4 (2013): 555–​80.

108 Przemysław Wiszewski, “Domus Bolezlai”: Values and Social Identity in Dynastic Traditions of Medieval Poland (c. 966–​1138), East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 415. 109 Przemysław Wiszewski, “Domus Bolezlai,” 415n61.

110 “Bernwardus episcopus dominicam hastam subiit … signifer ipse cum sancta hasta in prima fronte aciei egredi parat.” The next day the bishop went to battle “cum sancta hasta in principio terribiliter fulminante”: Vita Bernwardi episcopi Hildesheimensis auctore Thangmaro, chap. 24, ed. Georg H. Pertz, MGH SS 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1841), 770.

111 “Cum altera autem dies venisset, imperator Henricus summo die crepusculo suorum militum universorum viribus collectis et animatis, et domno Tealdo sanctae Mediolanensis ecclesiae notario lanceam ipse custodiente”: Landulfi Historia Mediolanensis, 99. The emperor appointed Tedald as the archbishop of Milan in 1075.

112 “Ibi Burchardus Losannae episcopus, qui in ea die sacram imperatoris lanceam ferebat, occisus est”: Frutolfs und Ekkehards Chroniken und die anonyme Kaiserchronik, ed. Franz-​Josef

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Figure 8.1. Piast spear or the so-​called Lance of St. Maurice. © Wawel’s Cathedral Museum

In addition, in twelfth-​century Bohemia we hear of a custom (mos)—​developed perhaps under the influence of Imperial tradition—​of entrusting a local holy lance, attributed to St. Václav, to ducal capellanus during battle.113 It can be seen, therefore, that Vincentius’s remark on the spear wielded by the primipilarius (identified here with clergyman associated with the princely court) against the Pomeranians closely corresponds to Schmale and Irene Schmale-​Ott, Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters 15 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1972), 104. 113 That was the case during the Battle of Chlumec in 1126. See Canonici Wissegradensis continuatio Cosmae, ed. Josef Emler, FRB 2 (Prague: Museum Království Českého, 1874), 204: “Unus capellanus, probus, nobili genere, nomine Vitus, qui tenebat hastam eiusdem sancti praememorati, ut mos est”;

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188 Radosław Kotecki the Imperial custom. This is another argument for its identification with the spear mentioned by Gallus Anonymus.

Conclusion

The presented reflections suggest that liturgical rituals typical for the Imperial ideology of holy war were known in Poland and Rus’. Numerous details of the narrative by Master Vincentius and the Povesť vremennykh let allow us to believe that their reception must have been comprehensive and not only limited to formal imitation. It also involved visions of God who would help and send an angel from the cohort of St. Michael. It is telling that these accounts turn out to be the latest and, at the same time, very impressive testimonies of the old Imperial rituals. These rituals changed in the course of the eleventh century in the centres of the Christian world and were slowly replaced by crusading war rites.114 However, in twelfth-​century Poland and Rus’, the old Imperial models could still have been attractive. Their realization could not have been limited only to spontaneous acts of devotion. They also required the rulers to have clerics well acquainted with the principles of the war liturgy, who were able to effectively acquire supernatural forces for the purposes of the army. It can be assumed that such tasks were fulfilled by chaplains present with the rulers, as well as by the clergy of the churches located in important centres of the state, perhaps not excluding episcopal cathedrals.115 The churchmen who accompanied the monarch most probably exercised constant supervision over the victory-​bringing relics, as did the chaplains of the Carolingians, the Ottonians, and the Eastern emperors. The question remains whether St. Michael was regarded as a special military patron in twelfth-​century Poland, as was undoubtedly the case in Rus’. This research allows us to formulate such a hypothesis with greater confidence. For the Piasts, as early as in the eleventh century, the cult of the Archangel was undoubtedly important, and some of its connections with the war against pagans seem undeniable. see Graus, “Der Heilige,” 342–​43; Marie Bláhová, “Vidění kanovníka Víta—​zjitřené emoce nebo promyšlená inscenace?,” in “Fontes ipsi sitiunt.” Sborník prací k sedmdesátinám archiváře a historika Eduarda Mikuška, ed. Petr Kopička (Prague: Scriptorium, 2016), 35–​41. See also Marcin R. Pauk (“ ‘Capella regia,’ ” 231–​33), who noted Frankish analogy.

114 The changes in the war rites of the crusade period have been presented recently by M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, Invisible Weapons: Liturgy and the Making of Crusade Ideology (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017). The material analyzed by Gaposchkin clearly indicates that angels did not play any role in the crusading rituals. For distinctive features of crusading rites, see also Susanna A.  Throop, “Christian Community and the Crusades:  Religious and Social Practices in the ‘De expugnatione Lyxbonensi,’ ” Haskins Society Journal 24 (2012): 95–​126, especially at 100–​111. 115 In the light of new research, in Poland the existence of such a network of churches forming the monarch’s capella seems more likely. See Pauk, “Capella regia,” 267–​68. Compare also Anglo-​Saxon practice in James Lloyd, “The Priests of the King’s Reliquary in Anglo-​Saxon England,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 67, no. 2 (2016): 265–​87, especially at 282–​83.

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Chapter 9

RELIGION AND WAR IN SAXO GRAMMATICUS’S GESTA DANORUM: THE EXAMPLES OF BISHOP ABSALON AND KING VALDEMAR I Carsten Selch Jensen* Because other nations are in the habit of vaunting the fame of their achievements, and joy in recollecting their ancestors, Absalon, archbishop of Denmark, had always been fired with a passionate zeal to glorify our fatherland; he would not allow it to go without some noble document of this kind and, since everyone else refused the task, the work of compiling a history of the Danes was thrown upon me, the least of his entourage; his powerful insistence forced my weak intellect to embark on a project too huge for my abilities.1

this opening quote illustrates how Saxo Grammaticus presented his grand narrative on the deeds of the Danes—​the Gesta Danorum—​probably completed shortly after 1208. He had been given the task of compiling this history by the head of the Danish Church, Archbishop Absalon (in office 1178–​1201) who himself became one of the leading characters in the latter part of the chronicle. Gesta Danorum is, without doubt, the most famous text of the entire Danish medieval period, having influenced many later national narratives as well as intrigued professional * Carsten Selch Jensen (orcid.org/0000-0002-1778-3078) is associate professor in Church History and Acting Dean at the Faculty of Theology, University of Copenhagen, Denmark. In his research, he has mainly focused on medieval history, especially the history and historiography of the Baltic Crusades. He has published a number of works on various aspects of the processes of Christianization and Crusading in the Baltic Region. The most recent of these include: Fighting for the Faith—The Many Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Carsten Selch Jensen and Janus Møller Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et Mediævalia, 2018); “The Lord’s Vineyard: Henry of Livonia and the Danish conquest of Estonia,” in Denmark and Estonia 1219–2019. Studien zur Geschichte der Ostseeregion, vol. 1, ed. Jens E. Olesen (Greifswald: Universität Greifswald, 2019) and “The Early Church of Livonia, 1186-c. 1255,” in Die Kirche im Mittelalterlichen Livland, ed. Radosław Biskup, Johannes Götz, and Andrzej Radzimiński (Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika w Toruniu, 2019). He has also a forthcoming book Theology and History Writing in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia (ca. 1227) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021).

1 “Cum cetere nationes rerum suarum titulis gloriari uoluptatemque ex maiorum recordatione percipere soleant, Danorum maximus pontifex Absalon patriam nostram, cuius illustrande maxima semper cupiditate flagrabat, eo claritatis et monumenti genere fraudari non passus mihi comitum suorum extremo ceteris operam abnuentibus res Danicas in historiam conferendi negocium intorsit, inopemque sensum maius uiribus opus ingredi crebre exhortationis imperio compulit”: Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, Preface, 1.1, ed. Karsten Friis Jensen, trans. Peter Fisher, Oxford Medieval Texts, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 1:2–​3 (hereafter Saxo, Gesta).

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historians for generations.2 In this chapter, the focus will be on the relationship between religion and war in the latter part of Saxo’s Gesta Danorum. Here the chronicler recounts key events during the lifetimes of Absalon and his foster brother King Valdemar I (r. 1154–​1182), when Valdemar became sole regent in 1157 following several years of internal turmoil and civil war.3 It is also a period in which the campaigns against the pagan Wends east of the river Elbe intensified, culminating in 1168 with the conquest of the main Wendic settlement of Arkona on the island of Rügen—​an event that plays a very prominent role in Gesta Danorum. Following this, the chronicle covers the destruction of the other important pagan strongholds and the conquest of the remaining Wendic lands, at which point the focus turned further east towards the lands of the Estonians in the early 1170s. This prompted the beginning of nearly two hundred years of Danish continuous involvement in the northernmost Estonian provinces, which however lies outside the overall narrative frame of Saxo’s work.4 Saxo was far from being the only one to compose a “national narrative” in the high medieval period. Such national narratives became of paramount importance among those nations who had only recently become part of Christendom. In more recent research, these narratives—​chronicles, saints’ lives, etc.—​are often referred to as “foundational

2 For a historiographical overview of the Scandinavian research into Saxo, see Anders Leegaard Knudsen, “Saxo-​forskning gennem 800 år,” in Saxo og hans samtid, ed. Per Andersen and Thomas Heebøll-​Holm (Århus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 2012), 17–​34. A seminal work on Saxo was the publication by Curt Weibull, “Saxo. Kritiska undersökninger i Danmarks historia från Sven Estridsens död till Knut VI,” Historisk Tidskrift för Skåneland 6 (1915): 1–​286. Weibull’s work came to set the lines for several generations of historians until scholars like Karsten Friis-​Jensen suggested new approaches, “Saxo Grammaticus’s Study of the Roman Historiographers and His Vision of History,” in Tra storiografia e letteratura (Bevagna, 27–​29 settembre 1990), ed. Carlo Santini (Rome: Il Camolo, 1992), 61–​81 and Inge Skovgaard-​Petersen, Da Tidernes Herre var nær. Studier i Saxos historiesyn (Copenhagen: Den danske historiske forening, 1987). See also Sigurd Kværndrup, Tolv principper hos Saxo. En tolkning af danernes bedrifter (Copenhagen: Multivers, 1999); Lars Hermanson, “Makten, individen och kollektivet. Ett alternatit perspektiv på det danska 1100-​talets politiska historia,” in Ett Annat 1100-​ tal. Individ, kollektiv och kulturella mönster i medeltidens Danmark, ed. Peter Carelli, Lars Hermanson, and Hanne Sanders, Centrum för Danmarksstudier 3 (Gothenburg: Makadam, 2004), 61–​99 at 74–​78; Karsten Friis-​Jensen, “In the Presence of the Dead: Saint Canute the Duke in Saxo Grammaticus’s ‘Gesta Danorum,’ ” in The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000–​1300), ed. Lars Boje Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), 195–​216; Lars Boje Mortensen, “The Status of the ‘Mythical’ Past in Nordic Latin Historiography (c. 1170–​1220),” in Medieval Narratives Between History and Fiction: From the Centre to the Periphery of Europe, c. 1100–​1400, ed. Panagiotis A. Agapitos and Lars Boje Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2012), 103–​39 at 112–​14. 3 For a basic introduction to the period in Danish, see Inge Skovgaard-​Petersen, Aksel E. Christensen and Helge Paludan, Danmarks historie, vol. 1: Tiden indtil 1340 (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1977), 287–​98 and 328–​52. From a crusading perspective, see also Ane L. Bysted, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North: Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100–​1522, Outremer 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), especially 66–​76.

4 Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, 139–​43, 195–​225 (Estonia) and 227–​41 (Prussia). More specifically on the Wendic Crusades, see, e.g., Janus Møller Jensen, “The Second Crusade and the Significance of Crusading in Scandinavia and the North Atlantic Region,” in The Second Crusade: Holy War on the Periphery of Latin Christendom, ed. Jason T. Roche and Janus Møller Jensen, Outremer 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015), 155–​81; Herman Kamp, “Der Wendenkreuzzug,” in Schwertmission. Gewalt und Christianisierung im Mittelalter, ed. Herman Kamp and Martin Kroker (Paderborn: Schöningh,

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stories.”5 They would help the newcomers among the Christian people reinterpret and rewrite their history to make it all fit into an overall scheme of a distinctly Christian grand narrative. This process often involved the retelling of local national stories as continuations of a divine master plan and grand history of mankind with close allusions to the main narratives of the Bible.6 In the opening part of his chronicle, Saxo quite openly referred to this need for a (Latin) history of the Danes following their “recent” adoption of Christianity by stating that [w]‌hat man could have committed Denmark’s history to writing? Only lately had it entered the Christian community, and still lay listlessly averse to religion as much as to the Latin tongue. Even when church worship brought Latinity, the Danes’ sluggishness matched their former ignorance and they were as wretchedly slothful now as they were ill-​educated before.7

In some ways, however, Saxo differed from the general scheme of these foundational stories in as much as he did not copy the biblical narratives as an overall framework for his own Gesta Danorum. Instead, he seems to have been leaning more towards a classical adaption of Roman history as the overall setting for his specific narrative. Still, there is a powerful correlation between religion and war in his narrative, predominately with regards to the campaigns against the Wends. They are viewed within a distinct framework of holy war and crusading. Moreover, in the retelling of the final military power struggles of the civil wars, Saxo ascribed a certain degree of divine support to King Valdemar I. 2013), 115–​38; Kurt Villads Jensen, “Bring dem Herrn ein blutiges Opfer. Gewalt und mission in der dänischen Ostsee-​Expansion des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts,” in Schwertmission, 139–​58.

5 See especially Lars Boje Mortensen, “Introduction,” in Making of Christian Myths, 7–​16; Lars Boje Mortensen, “Sanctified Beginnings and Mythopoetic Moments: The First Wave of Writing on the Past in Norway, Denmark, and Hungary, c. 1000–​1230,” in Making of Christian Myths (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2006), 247–​73. See also Ildar H. Garipzanov, “History Writing and Christian Identity on a European Periphery,” in Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in North, East-​Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–​1200), ed. Ildar H. Garipzanov, Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 1–​70.

6 Hans-​Werner Goetz, “Constructing the Past: Religious Dimensions and Historical Consciousness in Adam of Bremen’s ‘Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum,’ ” in Making of Christian Myths, 17–​ 51. See also Hans-​Werner Goetz, “Der hochmittelalterliche Geschichtsschreiber und seine Quellen. Zur historiographischen Praxis im Spiegel von Geschichtverständnis und Geschichtsbewusstsein,” Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch 32, no. 2 (1997): 1–​18; Patrick J. Geary, “Reflections on Historiography and the Holy: Center and Periphery,” in Making of Christian Myths, 323–​29 at 326–​27; Norbert Kersken, “God and the Saints in Medieval Polish Historiography,” in Making of Christian Myths, 153–​ 194 at 153–​54; Volker Scior, “Die Deutung von Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Hochmittelalterliches Geschichtsbewusstsein nördlich der Elbe,” in Nordlichter. Geschichtsbewusstsein und Geschichtsmythen nördlich der Elbe, ed. Bea Lundt, Beiträge zur Geschichtskultur 27 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2004), 137–​58 at 148; Lutz E. von Padberg, “Geschichtsschreibung und kulturelles Gedächtnis. Formen der Vergangenheitswahrnehmung in der hochmittelalterlichen Historiographie am Beispiel von Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 105, no. 43 (1994): 156–​77, especially at 171. 7 Saxo, Gesta, Preface 1.1, 1:2–​3: “Quis enim res Danie gestas literis prosequeretur, que nuper publicis initiata sacris ut religionis, ita Latine quoque uocis aliena torpebat? At ubi cum sacrorum ritu Latialis etiam facultas accessit, segnicies par imperitie fuit, nec desidie minora quam antea poenurie uitia extitere.”

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This chapter will focus on these aspects of religion and war in the Gesta Danorum in relation to the campaigns against the pagan Wends with a few remarks on the overall idea of King Valdemar being God’s chosen champion and a true Christian knight. Following some remarks on Saxo, his work and contemporary chronicles, the chapter offers a short overview of the historical context of the latter part of the chronicle. There then follows in succession a discussion on how Saxo legitimized the different wars, how he described God’s intervention in these conflicts, how the true king is endowed with a certain divine power and finally how the chronicler portrayed prelates—​bishops and archbishops—​as key actors in the various military encounters.

Saxo Grammaticus and His Narrative on the Deeds of the Danes

As mentioned above, Gesta Danorum is, without doubt, the most well-​known text from the entire medieval period in Denmark. It was begun on the initiative of Archbishop Absalon, but Saxo was not able to complete this huge task in the lifetime of his master and thus dedicated the completed chronicle to his successor, Archbishop Anders Sunesen (in office 1201–​1228).8 Saxo himself is believed to have been a canon at the archiepiscopal see in Lund. Some have speculated if he was also a former knight of the royal household due to his excessive interest in military matters. This idea, however, has been dismissed by more recent scholars arguing that his knowledge of politics and warfare was no more that could be expected from a learned cleric of his time.9 Furthermore, Saxo is writing in very eloquent classical Latin on a far more advanced level than could be expected from a former layman and trained knight.10 The first part of Gesta Danorum described the early history of the Danes before the advent of Christianity in the region. To some extent, Saxo compared this early history of his kin to the history of the Romans, portraying them as a proud, independent, and sophisticated people with their own grand history. When Christianity came to the Danes it was adapted by them, seemingly as the obvious next step in an on-​going history towards a strong society with powerful kings supported by an equally powerful, all-​ embracing Church. Consequently, the heroes in this latter part of Gesta Danorum are those who were supportive of King Valdemar I and his friend and ally Absalon from the powerful Zealandic Hvide-​family. It is, therefore, hardly a surprise that the celebration of the king’s father, Knut Lavard (1096–​1131), as saint in June 1170 is one of the high points in Gesta Danorum when at the same time the king had his eldest son, Prince Knut, 8 Saxo, Gesta, Preface 1.2, 1:2–​3.

9 As an example, one could point to the writings of John of Salisbury (d. 1180), a cleric and near contemporary to Saxo with an equally impressive knowledge of military matters, see John D. Hosler, John of Salisbury: Military Authority of the Twelfth-​Century Renaissance, History of Warfare 89 (Leiden: Brill, 2013).

10 See Eric Christiansen, “Introduction,” in The Works of Sven Aggesen, Twelfth-​Century Danish Historian, trans. Eric Christiansen, Viking Society of Northern Research 9 (London: University College, 1992), 1–​30 at 3.

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anointed as his successor. This was the first time that the Danish magnates accepted hereditary rule, which added considerably to the stability of the royal house and would last for nearly a hundred years. Furthermore, this particular event also underlines the fundamental idea in the chronicle of a certain divine blessing and support of King Valdemar through the canonization of his father as a saint. The religious, as well as the political, manifestation of the legitimacy of King Valdemar’s reign could hardly have been stronger. Contrary to the claim in the opening lines of the Gesta Danorum, Saxo was neither the first nor the only one to write about the deeds of the Danes. An important predecessor being the Chronicon Roskildense from about 1140 who would inspire Saxo some fifty years later. There is, moreover, also a lesser known chronicle, contemporary to Saxo, that should be mentioned here representing in many ways one of the opposing parties in the rough civil wars that preceded Valdemar I’s assumption of power in 1157. The so-​called Compendium of the Danish Kings, in Latin Compendiosa regum Daniae historia, was composed by Sven Aggesen. Hardly anything is known about Sven Aggesen himself apart from the fact that he was a member of another of the most prominent and powerful families in Denmark in middle of the twelfth century, the Thrugots.11 The leading member of this family during this very crucial period in Denmark was Eskil (ca. 1100–​1182), archbishop of Lund in 1138–​1177. On several occasions, Eskil was in direct opposition to King Valdemar even if he also at times sought reconciliation. When we, for example, in Gesta Danorum read about the canonization of the kings’ father, it seems to be a rather reluctant archbishop performing the celebration in Ringsted Cathedral.12 Not long after this event, several of Eskil’s close relatives were accused of conspiring against the king, severely curtailing the family’s power and influence, and even condemning some of them into exile.13 The following year, Eskil resigned as archbishop and went to live as an ordinary monk in the monastery of Clairvaux in France, leaving the archiepiscopal see to Bishop Absalon of the rival Hvide-​family.14 It is, therefore, no wonder that Sven Aggesen offered a slightly alternative narrative in his chronicle to Saxo’s exclusively supportive tribute to the Hvide-​family found in the Gesta Danorum. Still, Sven Aggesen did make some flattering remarks about King Valdemar as “the scion of holy blood, the son of Knut of Ringsted.”15

11 See the discussion in Christiansen, “Introduction,” especially at 18; see also Mortensen, The Status of the “Mythical” Past, 110–​12. 12 Saxo, Gesta, 14.40.12, 1323.

13 This happened in 1176, see Christiansen, “Introduction,” 1. 14 Christensen, Danmarks historie, 349.

15 Sven Aggesen, Compendiosa regum Daniae historia, chap. 16, ed. Martin Clarentius Gertz, Scriptores minores historiae Danicae medìi aevi 1 (Copenhagen: Kildeskriftselskabet, 1917–​1918), 94–​141; trans. Christiansen, The Works of Sven Aggesen, 48–​74 at 71.

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Civil Wars, Fratricide, and Crusades: Denmark in the First Half of the Twelfth Century The first half of the twelfth century was a period of great unrest in Denmark with several powerful families and factions of the royal family fighting for power and ultimately for the crown. As indicated above, the hereditary element in the royal family was very weak and claimants to the throne had to rely on the support of powerful families and magnates in the different regions of the realm, notably Scania, Jutland, Funen, and Zealand.16 In 1076 King Sven II17 (r. 1047–​1076) died and was followed by no less than five sons in succession until King Niels (r. 1104–​1134), the last of the sons was killed in an uprising in 1134. These events were the immediate result of a bloody feud amongst the male descendants of the sons of King Sven II. One of those being Knut Lavard, son of King Eric I Egoth (r. 1095–​1103) and the father of the future King Valdemar I. In 1131 Knut had been killed by one of his rivals, Magnus Nilsson, son of the ruling King Niels. When Knut was killed, his wife was pregnant and very shortly after gave birth to Valdemar. One of the most powerful magnates in Denmark—​Asser Rig (d. ca. 1148), head of the Hvide-​ family—​raised the young Valdemar as his own, and Asser Rig’s own two sons, Esbern Snare (d. 1204) and Absalon, would be the most prominent among the supporters of Valdemar on his way to the crown. It would, however, take little more than twenty years for Valdemar to fight his way to the position of sole regent of Denmark in 1157. That same year he had, according to both Saxo and Sven Aggesen, barely escaped an attempted murder on him in Roskilde by one of his last remaining rivals, Sven III Grathe (r. 1146–​1157). Another rival, Knut V Magnussen (r. 1146–​1157), was killed at the same event whereas Valdemar got away—​ alive but badly wounded. Later that same year Valdemar managed to gather an army and defeat his last remaining rival in the battle of Grathe Moor in Jutland, in which Sven was killed by some peasants as he fled the battlefield.18 As early as in the second book of Gesta Danorum, Saxo mentions the Wends as a powerful foe waging war on the Danes.19 All available sources—​both written texts and archaeological findings—​testify to some very close bonds between the Danes and the Slavic Wends. Not only through military encounters and mutual raids, but more often through trading and even dynastic alliances between the leading families of the two communities. Both the Danes and the Wends had been exposed to political and military pressure from the Carolingians and later the Ottonians in the ninth and tenth centuries.20 Simultaneously, Christian missionaries established the first churches 16 Christensen, Danmarks historie, 287–​98 and 328–​30. With regards to civil wars as holy wars, see Bjørn Bandlien’s chapter in this volume. 17 Christensen, Danmarks historie, 269–​86.

18 Aggesen, Compendiosa regum Daniae historia, chaps. 16–​17; Saxo, Gesta, 14.18.1–​11, 2:1087–​ 97 and 19.15, 2:1108–​11; Christensen, Danmarks historie, 293. 19 E.g. Saxo, Gesta, 2.5.2, 1:106.

20 Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, 23.

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among both peoples. A joint revolt by Danish King Harald Bluetooth (d. ca. 987) and Abodrite Duke Mstivoj (d. 995) against the Ottonians in the second half of the tenth century resulted in the two peoples taking different paths. Seemingly, this and other revolts among the Wends were followed by a major rejection of Christianity, whereas the Danes generally adhered to Christianity as a powerful bulwark against the political and military aspirations of the German emperors.21 Consequently these revolts placed the Danes and the Wends on opposing sides in the great missionary endeavours that came to characterize the next generations, which brought an element of holy war into future military conflicts between them.22 The conquest of Jerusalem in 1099 by the first crusaders seemingly inspired similar thoughts about crusading in the borderlands between Christendom and paganism in the North. For example, as early as 1108 there seems to have been plans to organize a crusade against some of the Wendic tribes by the Archdiocese of Magdeburg. A single letter written by the archbishop apparently summoning some of the local Christian magnates to commit themselves to a fight against the pagans has fortunately survived. With a direct reference to the conquest of Jerusalem nine years earlier, the archbishop even promised the participants that they would be able to save their souls (“animas uestras saluificare”) by fighting the pagans. This first example of a planned crusade against the Wends probably never materialized but it testifies to the rapid spread of the novel concept of crusading as a special type of penitential warfare.23 The concept of crusading quickly took root among the Danes, conveniently fusing older ideas of just and holy wars with the novel idea of a penitential war offering spiritual rewards to those who took part in the fight against the enemies of the Church. These pagan enemies were often also seen as a major threat by secular powers who regarded themselves as the true guardians of their realms, which made them very receptive to the new ideas on penitential warfare! The Danes conducted several campaigns against the Wends in the first half of the twelfth century, notably in the 1120s and later also in the 1130s when King Eric II Emune (r. 1134–​1137) attacked Rügen.24 According to Saxo, the king did not insist on the destruction of the local pagan idol, thereby failing in his primary mission to make the people join Christendom. This strikes a strong chord 21 Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, 26.

22 See, e.g., Friedrich Lotter, “The Crusading Idea and the Conquest of the Region East of the Elbe,” in Medieval Frontier Societies, ed. Robert Bartlett and Angus Mackay (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989), 267–​306; also Kurt Villads Jensen, “Danske korstog før og under korstogstiden,” in Ett Annat 1100-​tal, 246–​83.

23 Diplomatarium Danicum, various editors and publishers (Copenhagen, 1938–​) (hereafter DD), 1st ser., 2:42–​43 (no. 39); Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, 29.

24 For a discussion on King Erik Emune as a crusader, see Janus Møller Jensen, “Fra korsfarer til skurk—​Saxo, Erik Emune og korstogene,” in Saxo og hans samtid, 133–​54; Janus Møller Jensen, “King Erik Emune (1134–​1137) and the Crusades: The Impact of Crusading Ideology on Early Twelfth-​Century Denmark,” in Cultural Encounters During the Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Kirsi Salonen, and Helle Vogt, University of Southern Denmark Studies in History and Social Sciences 445 (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2013), 91–​104.

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with the critique by St. Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153) in the 1140s, chastening the Saxon noblemen and magnates for not insisting on the conversion of the pagan Wends after defeating them in battles.25 The Danish king actually installed a Christian priest in Arkona and had several of the locals baptized. Saxo, however, dismissed this as a mere ruse from the side of the pagans, tricking the king into believing that they had in fact converted to Christianity. Eventually, this would legitimize new crusades against these apostates and false Christians. The Wendic Crusade of 1147 initiated by Bernard of Clairvaux and Pope Eugenius III would, therefore, sound a new phase in the crusading movements in the North, entailing a more thought-​through and solid theological foundation. There was also some mention made of Danish participation in the Crusade of 1147, but more importantly from a Danish perspective are the crusading activities that followed King Valdemar I’s ascension to power in 1157. According to Saxo, the campaigns—​or more properly the “raids”—​against the Wends seems to have been an annual event, perhaps even an all-​year-​round event with Danish ships raiding and counter-​raiding the Wends who did their best to repay in kind. A culmination came in 1168 with the aforementioned conquest and destruction of the main settlement of Arkona of which Saxo has a very elaborate account. The wars did not come to a formal end, however, until King Knut VI (r. 1182–​1202) forced Duke Boguslav I of Pomerania (r. 1155/​1156–​1187) to pay homage to the Danish king and becoming his vassal in 1185.26 As mentioned above, the conquest and subjection of the Wendic lands did not put an end to Danish crusading activities.On the contrary, during the later years of King Valdemar I, and during the reigns of his sons King Knut VI and King Valdemar II (r. 1202–​1241), the idea of crusading came to set the scene for the conquest and Christianization of the peoples of Estonia and Livonia, together with Finland.27

The Sanctioning of War and Crusading

As introduced earlier, Saxo wrote with equal enthusiasm about the internal civil wars that paved the way for the young King Valdemar and the external wars against the pagan Wends. Both types of combat are portrayed by him as just wars fought on behalf of the rightful king and as a defence against the barbarous (according to Saxo) pagans threatening to devastate Danish lands. In this way, it can be argued that the inner political stability and peace could not be separated from the attempts to subdue and Christianize external pagan enemies, which made this later fight a divine obligation for King Valdemar and his close friend and ally, Bishop Absalon. A prominent example is a description by Saxo of the appointment of Absalon as bishop of the important episcopal 25 Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North, 46–​53. 26 Saxo, Gesta, 16.8.1–​10, 2:1530.

27 Saxo also has references to the coming wars against these Baltic people when referring to Estonians and Curonians engaged in piracy against their Christian neighbours, see Saxo, Gesta, 14.40.3, 2:1314–​16. The Baltic Crusades are especially addressed in the chapters by Sini Kangas, Kristjan Kaljusaar, and Anti Selart in this volume.

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see of Roskilde in 1158 following Valdemar’s final victory in the civil wars. The king now had the chance to repay his foster brother by supporting him in the election process.28 According to Saxo, the election of a new bishop literally filled the Roskilde community with murders prompting King Valdemar to hurry to the scene with an army.29 The king stayed in Roskilde until the canons unanimously and based on free will (at least according to Saxo) chose Absalon as their new bishop. Saxo then continued his narrative by telling how Absalon immediately showed himself to be not only an important and powerful prelate but also a great naval warrior dedicated to the maritime defence of the kingdom.30 In the words of Saxo, Absalon thought it wrong to defend the Church at home if one was not at the same time ready to shield it abroad by defeating the pagans: “[d]‌riving off the enemies of the state religion is just as important a part of priestly duties as safeguarding its ceremonies.”31 This quite obviously marked Absalon both as a great warrior and a great bishop in the eyes of Saxo. Absalon’s first military clash with the pagans as a bishop, however, ironically did not take place at sea, but on land outside a small village called Boeslunde on the west coast of Zealand. With only eighteen mounted warriors, Bishop Absalon defeated and routed a much larger band of Wends from no less than twenty-​four ships that were plundering the local farms and villages. Furthermore, we are told that this particular fight took place on the day before Palm Sunday. According to Saxo, the bishop was able to commence the important Easter celebration through the miraculous destruction of a great pagan host that had been threatening the heartlands of the Danish realms. In this way and through a carefully laid out narrative, the chronicler creates a parallel between Christ as the ultimate sacrifice celebrated at Easter, and a newly appointed bishop ready to sacrifice himself for his flock.32 In contemporary missionary chronicles, we have similar examples of significant Church festivals and important saints days closely associated with the fight against the enemies of God.33 Along similar veins, Saxo also referred to the story about an old warrior who regretted only having received three wounds on his body, all from the combat he had been involved in against the pagan Wends. Had he only received two more wounds, on Domesday he would have been able to proudly display the same number of wounds as Christ himself.34 Here the parallel to the Passion is even more obvious in the religious setting of the chronicle. Throughout the chronicle, Saxo claims that the overall aim of the wars against the pagan Wends was to secure peace. At one point in his chronicle he directly states that 28 Saxo, Gesta, 14.21.1–​2, 2:1114–​16.

29 Saxo, Gesta, 14.21.1, 2:1114–​15: “cum mutuis caedibus civitas exundaret.” 30 Saxo, Gesta, 14.21.3, 2:1116–​19.

31 Saxo, Gesta, 14.21.3, 2:1116–​17.

32 Saxo, Gesta, 14.21.4, 2:1118–​19.

33 Carsten Selch Jensen, Med ord og ikke med slag. Teologi og historieskrivning i Henrik af Letlands krønike (ca. 1227) (Copenhagen: Publikom, 2017; and Gad, 2018), 286–​87.

34 Saxo, Gesta, 14.35.4, 2:1256–​59.

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in contrast to the pagans, the Danes did not fight to gain more land abroad, rather they fought to defend their own lands and to obtain a mutual peace.35 Similarly, other passages in the Gesta Danorum seem to support this view. For example, it is described how the coastal regions were in need of protection from marauding Wendic pirates who were attacking the easily accessible lands burning, looting, and taking slaves whenever they found a suitable target.36 A lead tablet found in the grave of King Valdemar also promulgates the notion of the king as the supreme guardian of the realm, whose task it was to secure peace amongst his subjects.37 Some scholars have viewed such statements as a sure sign that the campaigns against the Wends cannot be considered as proper crusades since the main objective quite clearly was not the conversion of the pagans. Rather, they were military campaigns to secure the Danish realms from outside attack (and perhaps even to conquer new territories).38 It would be problematic, however, to accept such references to internal and external peace as merely a matter of political or military stability. From other dedicated crusader and missionary chronicles, the idea of peace is known to contain much more than a mere absence of war and violence. In theological terms, true peace was associated with the idea of the adoption of the Christian faith. For example, the acceptance of the Christian baptism among the pagan peoples living outside the Christian lands can be considered to be an expression of a true peace.39 In general, any pagan idols should either be destroyed or handed over to the Danes, any Christian slaves should be given their freedom (not so, if they were pagans!) and the defeated Wends should, of course, submit to the one

35 Saxo, Gesta 14.37.2, 2:1264–​65: “sed mutuae pacis commercium affectare.”

36 Saxo, Gesta, 14.6.1, 2:1024–​25. In this specific case, Saxo is referring to King Sven.

37 The initial wording from ca. 1183 on the lead tablet reads as follows: “Hic iacet Danorum /​rex Waldemarus, primus /​Sclauorum expugnator et /​Dominator, patrie liberator, /​pacis conseruator. Qui filius /​sancti Kanuti Rugianos expugnauit et ad fidem Christi primus /​conuertit. Obiit autem anno dominice /​incarnationis MCLXXXII, regno sui anno /​XXVIIIII Idus Maii.” The text of the epitaph was expanded slightly ca. 1202: “Hic iacet Danorum rex Wal /​demarus primus, sancti Kanuti fi /​ lius, Sclauorum potens expugnator, /​ patrie oppresse egregius liberator, /​ pacis reparator et conseruator. /​ Hic Rugianos feliciter expugnauit /​ et ad fidem Christi eosdem primus destruc /​tis ydolis conuertit. Murum quoque ad tocius /​regni presidium, qui wlgo Danewerch /​ dicitur, ex lateribus coctis primus construxit; /​et castellum in Sproga edificauit. /​Obiit autem anno dominice incarnationis /​MCLXXXII, regni sui XXVI /​IIII Idus Ma.” For edition of both epitaphs, see http://​danmarkshistorien.dk/​leksikon-​og-​kilder/​vis/​materiale/​blypladen-​fra-​valdemar-​den-​ stores-​grav-​1183-​og-​senere/​. The Knýtlinga Saga has the exact same appraisal of Valdemar when referring to the king’s death, see Knýtlinga Saga, the History of the Kings of Denmark, chap. 127, trans. Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards (Odense: Odense University Press, 1986), 125. Like Saxo, the Knýtlinga Saga writes extensively on the king’s military campaigns against the pagan Wends, especially in chaps. 119–​23. 38 See, e.g., Hal Koch, Kongemagt og Kirke 1060–​ 1241, Politikens Danmarkshistorie 3 (Copenhagen: Politikken, 1963), 339–​40. 39 Jensen, Med ord og ikke med slag, 258–​59.

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true faith.40 Saxo is very explicit in his detailed description of the final destruction of the notable pagan sanctuary in Arkona, on Rügen. First, we are offered a very thorough, if not entirely unbiased, description of the local pagan cult and how it is practised among the Wends. The chronicle mentions valuable offerings to a supreme pagan deity named Svantevit.41 The wooden figure is described by Saxo as huge and with four heads on one neck housed in a richly decorated temple in Arkona.42 Heavy drinking and eating was apparently part of the cultic rituals and Saxo even states that it was a sacred duty to become drunk during the annual festivals in honour of Svantevit who himself was a god of war riding into battle on a magnificent mount.43 Saxo also explains that Svantevit had other temples amongst the Wends, guarded by local pagan priests that ranked lower than the supreme priest in Arkona.44 In many ways, Saxo’s descriptions of the local pagan cult and rituals among the Wends bear great resemblance to the stories about the local pagan deities found in the chronicle of Helmold of Bosau written some thirty years before Gesta Danorum.45 What appear to be images of pagan deities with two or more heads have been excavated by archaeologists in the regions once inhabited by the Slavic Wends, which seemingly confirming parts of the narratives of Saxo and Helmold. There is, however, no way to ascertain what is a true (if biased) representation of actual pagan rituals among twelfth century Wends and what is pure invention by Saxo and Helmold. Certainly, the name list of pagan deities found in Helmold seems slightly imaginative, whereas Saxo suggested that Svantevit was in fact a localized and syncretistic version of the monk St. Vitus of Corvey. St. Vitus had been among the first to attempt to Christianize these pagans following the missionary wars of Charlemagne.46 Saxo continued his narrative by stressing that the destruction of the rampart and palisades of Arkona was considered to be part of the destruction of the entire local pagan cult: when Arkona was razed to the ground then paganism would also have been crushed and Christianity could take over as the true religious belief.47 Consequently, Saxo offers a vivid description of how the wooden statue of Svantevit was hacked into bits and used as firewood to heat the cooking pots of the Danish crusader army.48 At the same time, the wood from the 40 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.25, 2:1292–​93: “omniaque verae religionis momenta Danico ritu celebranda susciperent.” 41 See the detailed description in Saxo, Gesta, 39.1–​13, 2:1272–​85. 42 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.3 and 7–​8, 2:1276–​77 and 1278–​81.

43 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.6 and 9–​10, 2:1278–​79 and 1280–​81. 44 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.9, 2:1280–​81.

45 Helmold of Bossau, Chronica Slavorum, ed. Heinz Stoob, Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters 19 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983). In chap. 52 Helmold enumerates an entire list of pagan deities supposedly worshipped amongst the Wendic people. See also chap. 108 on the pagan cult of the people on the Island of Rügen. 46 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.13, 21282–​85. The story about St. Vitus is also mentioned by Helmold in chap. 108. 47 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.12, 2:1282–​83.

48 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.34, 2:1300–​301.

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siege-​engines used by the Danes to overcome the walls of Arkona was used for the construction of a church. All the priests who had followed the army on campaign were then tasked with the job of baptizing the local people of Rügen, as well as founding a number of new churches replacing the former pagan temples.49 Not surprisingly Saxo considers this compulsion of an entire people to submit to the Christian Church to be the greatest victory of all.50 That Saxo actually considered the campaigns against the Wends along the lines of a proper crusade can be seen also in the description of a special guild specifically aimed at fighting the Wendic pirates. The guild’s founder was a man named Vedeman, a local nobleman based in Roskilde. Not much is known about him and his fellow pirate hunters apart what is mentioned in Saxo’s text.51 He seems to have played an important part in some of the later campaigns initiated by Bishop Absalon who relied on him to gather information on the whereabouts of the enemy fleets and in general referring to him as “the pirate Vedeman” (Wethemannum, piraticae).52 The term “pirate” suggests that Vedeman was considered a very capable seafarer with great skills in seaborne warfare.53 Saxo mentioned in some detail the rules that applied to the members of this sea warriors guild—​for example, that they were allowed to confiscate local ships without the consent of the owner but they had to repay him one eighth of all booty captured during a specific raid. More importantly, the chronicle is very explicit about the spiritual preparations of the guild members before setting sail and embarking on raids against their pagan opponents: “they used to lament the sins of their past life to a priest; as soon as they had performed the penance laid on them by the Church, they would receive Holy Communion at the altar as if they were shortly to die.”54 The ritual had the character of the last rites—​viaticum—​preparing the men for the holy task of fighting the pagans or die trying. Saxo hardly anywhere referred to the praxis of offering indulgence in preparation for a crusade. We do however have such examples as Vedeman and his followers receiving absolution before their military endeavours.55 Along a similar vein, Saxo mentioned one incident during which Archbishop Eskil actually threatened to ban (“admodum exsecratus”) anyone who would not follow King Valdemar into battle 49 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.34 and 45, 2:1300–​301 and 1308–​11. 50 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.28, 2:1296–​97.

51 Saxo, Gesta, 14.6.2, 2:1024–​25.

52 See, e.g., Saxo, Gesta, 14.23.14 and 19, 2:1136–​37 and 1140–​41.

53 For a detailed discussion on the use of the term “pirate” in twelfth-​century Danish chronicles, see Thomas K. Heebøll-​Holm, “Between Pagan Pirates and Glorious Sea-​Warriors: The Portrayal of the Viking Pirate in Danish Twelfth-​Century Latin Historiography,” Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 8 (2012): 141–​70. See also Niels Lund, Lid, leding og landeværn. Hær og samfund i Danmark i ældre middelalder (Roskilde: Vikingeskibshallen, 1996), 226 and 237. 54 Saxo, Gesta, 14.6.2, 2:1024–​25.

55 It is of course hard to differentiate between ordinary spiritual preparations of the fighting men before the various campaigns and battles and the special cases such as Vedeman and his companions.

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against the pagans seemingly putting all the power of the Church behind the royal campaigns against the enemies of God.56

War and Divine Intervention

Following this overall divine sanctioning of the on-​going wars, it is no great wonder that Saxo on more than one instance assures his readers that God not only supported the Danish king and his kinsman Bishop Absalon, but also played a very active role supporting these two men and the Christian armies fighting paganism. On one occasion in his narrative, Saxo related a story about a Danish knight named Eskil who took part in a campaign against the Wends, during which he followed the fleeing pagans into a swampy marsh. Saxo is very explicit in stating that Eskil was on foot and heavily armoured, contrary to the fleeing Wends who were only lightly armed. Still the Wends could not escape this brave and seemingly extraordinary fleet footed knight; not only did he catch one of the Wends killing him instantly, Eskil then returned to dry land having not even a mud stain on his shoes. This was nothing short of a miracle according to Saxo, stating that this could not merely be the achievement of a skilled Christian knight acting on his own. Rather God had intervened on behalf of the crusaders letting this heavenly miracle happen in their midst as an expression of godly favour.57 According to Saxo, God also intervened in more subtle ways during these wars. On one occasion King Valdemar wanted to embark on a punitive expedition against some of his own subjects on the island of Falster who were said to have acted in concert with some of the pagan Wends against one of the king’s servants. The accusations, however, were false, but no one could persuade the king to abandon this vengeful attack. Only godly intervention could prevent Valdemar from his wrongful intentions, so God struck the king with sickness, forcing him to abandon all his plans.58 So ill was he that his close friend Bishop Absalon had to perform a full mass on the king’s behalf, having him devour the host. Only then did the king begin to recover and eventually Valdemar and Absalon would offer thanks to God for having chastened them and preventing them from carrying out the murderous and unjust attack on the people of Falster.59 In a similar fashion, Saxo also ascribed violent storms as God’s punishment against sin among the Christian warriors and crusaders.60 The weather, however, could also be a godly blessing 56 Saxo, Gesta, 14.23.2, 2:1124–​25. It is likely that the ban referred to a possible excommunication of those who would not follow the king. Later, the chronicle once again mentioned Archbishop Eskil as part of the king’s crusader army. Here Saxo stressed that the archbishop was sporting a long beard due to his recent return as a pilgrim from the Holy Land, thereby emphasizing his status as a pious and devout man. Saxo, Gesta, 14.45.1, 2:1364–​67. 57 Saxo, Gesta, 14.32.5, 2:1244–​45.

58 Saxo, Gesta, 14.22.1–​6, here especially chap. 4, 2:1118–​23. 59 Saxo, Gesta, 14.22.5–​6, 2:1122–​23.

60 See Saxo, Gesta, 14.23.9, 2:1130–​31.

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when a sudden fog eventually made it possible for the Danish army to overcome their enemies and be victorious in battle.61 On several occasions, Saxo also stressed that the celebration of masses and other religious services were essential to the Danish armies when on campaign, especially during activities against the Wends.62 A very famous and often quoted example is that of Bishop Absalon deciding to leave his ship during one of his numerous expeditions against the Wendic lands to be able to celebrate mass on a beach in enemy territory. When he was informed that an enemy fleet was fast approaching and already within sight, the bishop immediately recalled his servants carrying the garments and all the other equipment for the mass and alerted his own warships to prepare themselves for imminent battle. Accordingly, Absalon then proclaims that it was now time to make a sacrifice to God, “not with prayers but weapons,” prompting Saxo to ask the question “What kind of sacrifice could we imagine more pleasing to the Almighty than the slaughter of [evildoers]?”63 This very prominent and interesting comparison between the service of the mass and the service of the sword is to some extent rather special and unique in the chronicle of Saxo. As will be seen shortly, however, Saxo actually has a lot to say on the actual involvement of Bishop Absalon and his fellow prelates in the on-​ going military campaigns against the Wends. It then becomes clear, that this particular parallel expressed by Absalon between performing a holy ceremony and fighting against the enemies of God is not at all unique. In the chronicle, in general, there are several examples of the importance of liturgical services within an army on campaign, such as when Saxo stated that Absalon began his day by celebrating matins before meeting the king or making any other preparations for the on-​going campaign.64

The Lord’s Anointed: King Valdemar and God’s War

Previously we touched very briefly on the fact that divine intervention was not exclusively reserved for the crusades against the Wends. Throughout the chronicle, Saxo relates various incidents during which one of his main characters acknowledged the help of God in the struggle for what they considered rightfully theirs by the same divine providence, such as the position as sole regent of the kingdom, bishop, or even archbishop. One obvious example is that King Valdemar could not be killed by any man since he was in 61 Saxo, Gesta, 14.24.1, 2:1150–​51.

62 With regards to the importance of wartime liturgy and religious rites, see also Dušan Zupka and Radosław Kotecki in this volume.

63 Saxo, Gesta, 16.5.1, 2:1512: “Quo abeunte, cum Absalon diuine uenerationi uacaturus littus scapha petisset, repentino nuntio per Iarimari familiarem suscepto cognoscit Pomeranicam aduentare classem, que, si nebule densitas non obstaret, cerni cominus posset. Igitur reuocatis, qui sacra gestabant, cupide concitatam classem obuiam hosti in altum direxit, armis, non precibus deo libamenta daturus. Quod enim sacrificii genus scelestorum nece diuine potentie iocundius existimemus?” For English translation, see 1513. 64 Saxo, Gesta, 14.23.11, 2:1132–​33.

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everything protected by divine providence.65 Other sources bear testimony to a certain spiritual concern by the king following the final defeat of his enemies since there are several documents testifying to the urge of King Valdemar to atone for his sins during all these acts of violence through very precious donations to the Church.66 A somewhat more peculiar testimony to possible divine support from the side of God can be seen in the description of King Valdemar’s visit to Metz in 1162 on his way to see the German emperor. Here Saxo recounted how superstitious mothers would line the roads when the king was passing wanting him to touch their babies. Some peasants even believed the king to be especially blessed so that he could make the crops grow better in the fields! Saxo certainly has an ironic detachment to these stories, but still seems proud that the Germans actually considered King Valdemar to be such a pious and blessed man.67 As a sort of counter-​story, Saxo told how King Sven Grathe, during a campaign on Rügen, paid a visit to the temple of Svantevit and offered some precious drinking cups to the pagan deity. According to Saxo, he was thus relying more on the goodwill of a pagan idol than sticking to the God of the Christians. Through this the king prepared the way for his own downfall—​at least that seems to be the conclusion by Saxo when comparing this story to the story of King Valdemar’s journey to Metz.68

Prelates as Warriors in the Chronicle of Saxo

As has been introduced earlier, Bishop Absalon was not only a prince of the Church but also a warrior who took upon himself the defence of the realm. Going through Gesta Danorum it is remarkable how often Absalon was in fact portrayed as a warrior bishop spending—​it seems—​quite a lot of his time preparing and conducting raids against the Wends. On one occasion Saxo even stated that Absalon had spent nine whole months out of a full year combatting the Wendic pirates.69 We also previously saw the one example in which the bishop exclaimed that to fight the pagans was of equal worth to God as celebrating the mass. A recurrent theme in Gesta Danorum is Absalon acting as a sort of scout and pathfinder for the king’s army, not sparing himself the dangers of being at the forefront of the army gathering intelligence on the whereabouts of the enemy and probing the best possible points of attack.70 At one point Saxo even wrote that Bishop Absalon, due to his extraordinary courage and exceptional military skills, would always command 65 Saxo, Gesta, 14.54.5, 2:1394–​97.

66 DD, 1st ser., 2:121 (no. 120). In this charter, King Valdemar made a donation to the founding of the Cistercian monastery of Vitskøl out of gratitude for having survived the war and emerging as the sole regent. 67 Saxo, Gesta, 14.28.13, 2:1222–​25. 68 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.8, 2:1280–​81.

69 Saxo, Gesta, 14.44.14, 2:1364–​65. Bishops as warriors are also discussed by Judit Gál, Gabor Barabás, Sini Kangas, and Jacek Maciejewski in this volume. 70 See, e.g., Saxo, Gesta, 14.42.7 and 15–​19, 2:1337–​38 and 1340–​45.

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the vanguard of the army during an attack, and would always take charge of the rear-​ guard when the army would withdraw again.71 In the same paragraph, Saxo also claimed that King Valdemar was a cautious and disciplined strategist, commanding the main elements of the army when on campaign. That Absalon was a daring warrior, gladly exposing himself to the dangers of war is touched upon several times in the chronicle as has been seen in some of the previous examples mentioned above. Logically, Saxo stated that Absalon would be wearing full armour when leading either the entire army or just his chosen men in a raid.72 The presence of a high-​ranking prelate seems not to have lessened the cruelties of these constant raids into the lands of the enemy. In one instance, it is related that a fleet of Danish ships commanded by Absalon ravaged the lands of the Wends to such extent that the regions around Tribsees were, according to Saxo, still deserted in his day because of the Danish raids.73 Obviously being a bishop did not make Absalon act any gentler in war than secular leaders of the army. The enemy had to be crushed, his farms and goods destroyed, women and children taken captive, and the men killed if they did not accept baptism. This was the only way, according to Saxo, that paganism could be truly wiped out and replaced with Christianity. Similarly, this was the only proper way to retaliate against the plundering of the Danish coastal areas by marauding Wendic pirates. Only in a few cases was a certain restraint presented as being in order. One of these cases was when King Valdemar saw fit to offer a truce to the inhabitants of Arkona during the siege in 1168. If they would surrender, accept Christianity, and pay a yearly tax the siege would end.74 This proposal immediately caused a riot among the common Danish crusaders who did not want to lose the opportunity of a rich plunder from the defeated city should the inhabitants decide to give up fighting. Again, Bishop Absalon proved himself as a wise man arguing that it would be better to show mercy to the people in Arkona, accepting their surrender on the said conditions than to have to conquer the fortress through a hard-​fought and bloody siege. This would hopefully also persuade other Wendic towns and strongholds that it would be better to surrender and not to oppose the Danish crusaders. In the chronicle, this view is supported by Archbishop Eskil, who was also present at the siege, stating that the common people should obey their master and not the other way around. It was for the king to decide what he wanted to do with Arkona regardless of his men’s lust for plunder.75 Another case in which restraint and caution were appropriate, according to Saxo, was when the Danes encountered Christians among their enemies. One such incident happened during a raid on the settlement of Oldenburg sometime after the conquest 71 Saxo, Gesta, 14.32.3, 2:1242–​43.

72 Saxo, Gesta, 14.47.7, 2:1378–​79. 73 Saxo, Gesta,14.34.1, 2:1248–​49.

74 With regards to political subjugation expressed through the imposing of taxes, see also a more in-​depth discussion by Anti Selart in this volume. 75 Saxo, Gesta, 14.39.27–​28, 2:1294–​97.

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of Rügen. When the Danes attacked some of the locals fled the town to seek refuge in a nearby church. Saxo states that it would have been all right for the Danes to seize from these locals what was not rightfully theirs, but none of the Danes dared to attack the church out of fear for committing sacrilege in their lust for plunder.76 Following this incident, Saxo even relates how some of the Danish knights did not want to kill their Christian foes fearing that they would endanger their own salvation if they killed a Christian. Therefore, the solution was simply to use the blunt end of their lances to unhorse their opponents without actually hurting or killing them.77 As indicated above, Bishop Absalon was not the only high-​ranking prelate who took part in these campaigns against the Wends. Archbishop Eskil was also present on some of these occasions, proving himself to be anything but timid.78 According to Saxo, Archbishop Eskil was even prepared to take up arms against the Danish supporters of the German Anti-​Pope Victor IV, standing by Pope Alexander III.79 During the raid on Oldenburg, the archbishop also showed himself to be a courageous man; not however like Absalon being among the first to engage himself into actual battle. Rather we are told that Eskil did not want to neglect his daily prayers and liturgical services even in face of an on-​going battle: “His mind had conceived such utter scorn for his foes that when he was with the troops, he wore a priestly robe instead of mail.”80 Obviously, Saxo did not think poorly of those prelates who took a very active part in the combat against the pagan Wends.81 He even praised Absalon for his eagerness to fight for God and protect the Danish Church. He also seems to have accepted and perhaps even condoned lesser clerics when they gave up their priesthood to become warriors. One such example—​not even related to the crusades against the Wends—​is the story about a man called Sverre who had for some time been a priest on the Faroe Islands before he decided to lay down his clerical garments to become a warrior in the civil wars in Norway (king from 1184 to 1202).82 Another prelate who is praised for his great piety and commitment to the just cause of fighting the pagans was Bishop Frederick of Schleswig (in office 1167–​1179). During an early campaign against the pagans, parts 76 Saxo, Gesta, 14.45.3, 2:1366–​69.

77 Saxo, Gesta, 14.45.6, 2:1370–​71.

78 See, e.g., Saxo, Gesta, 14.25.20, 2:1172–​75. 79 Saxo, Gesta, 14.26.4, 2:1182–​85.

80 Saxo, Gesta, 14.45.3, 2:1366–​69.

81 A very interesting discussion on Saxo’s portray of Bishop Absalon is found in Heebøll-​Holm, “Between Pagan Pirates and Glorious Sea-​Warriors,” 162–​64. Heebøll-​Holm is open to the question of whether or not Absalon actually took part in the fighting himself but still concluded that “since Absalon was Saxo’s patron, it must be assumed that this was how he wanted to be remembered. Thus, they show without the shadow of doubt that Absalon was proud to be portrayed as a pirate or … a Christian Viking bishop,” (p. 164). Moreover, the Knýtlinga Saga portrays Bishop Absalon as actively taking part in various military campaigns, see, e.g., The Knýtlinga Saga, chaps. 121 and 123 (in which the bishop is involved in fights against both the Wends and the Cours). 82 Saxo, Gesta, 14.53.1, 2:1390–​91. On Sverre, see chapter by Bjørn Bandlien in this volume.

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of the Danish fleet were hit by a severe storm, destroying several ships. Among these was the vessel of Bishop Frederick who drowned together with almost all of his men. Saxo tells us that whilst most of the drowned people were soon recovered, the bishop’s body was nowhere to be found. Only during Whitsun did Frederick’s body wash ashore on Zealand—​far from the place where the ships had sunk and Saxo remarked that the body was still intact and in no way decomposed, neither did it smell or look bad. This was portrayed by the chronicler as a divine statement on the bishop’s holiness that was further underlined by that fact that he was found during Whitsun, a holiday that had been especially dear to him when alive.83 As a counter story, Saxo related another incident in which one of the king’s enemies was killed during a revolt and his rotten body was found unburied on the ground.84 Quite clearly holy men allied to the Danish king would receive a proper burial whereas the enemies of the king (and God!) would be left decaying on the ground, denied a proper burial.85

Conclusion

Saxo Grammaticus deserves his fame as the most prominent Danish medieval chronicler. His Gesta Danorum is a fascinating and highly detailed narrative about the Danish people from antiquity until the chronicler’s own times. This chapter has brought out just a few examples of how Saxo talked about war and religion in a very crucial period in Danish medieval history in the twelfth century. It was a period when the country was riven by civil wars, which eventually enabled King Valdemar I to establish a powerful hereditary dynasty that would last well into the thirteenth century. Saxo knew his classics and wrote in eloquent Latin. He was, however, also a man who knew how to write about war and warfare, dealing both with the practicalities of the common soldiers and the commanders, as well as with the theological framework legitimizing these wars—​whether they were fought against inner political enemies or pagans raiding the Danish coastal regions. Future studies will hopefully enhance our understanding of this particular topic in Saxo, permitting us to better understand the complex interrelationship of war and religion in a very crucial period in the Middle Ages.

83 Saxo, Gesta, 15.1.1, 2:1444–​47.

84 Saxo, Gesta, 15.2.1, 2:1450–​53.

85 Something similar can be seen in the treatment the enemy dead in the Baltic Crusades in Estonia and Livonia, see Jensen, Med ord og ikke med slag, 302–​5.

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Chapter 10

RHETORIC OF WAR: THE IMAGINATION OF WAR IN MEDIEVAL WRITTEN SOURCES (CENTRAL AND EASTERN EUROPE IN THE HIGH MIDDLE AGES) David Kalhous* and Ludmila LuňákovᇠO the wretched gods of fearful men! They have occupied the hill in vain, they who lack strength and military skill. Nor will the hill help them if their courage is weak. Notice that they do not dare to meet you on a level field. Indeed, if I am not mistaken, they are now ready to flee. But before they flee, rush over them in a sudden attack, and do it in the usual way so that you trample them under your feet like paltry blades of grass. Take care lest you pollute brave spears with the blood of the cowardly. Instead send up the birds you carry in order to terrify the army like doves trembling before falcons.

these were words the mythical Vlastislav, duke of Luczane-​gens, directed to his men before the battle with the Bohemi.1 His speech was, of course, never spoken. It was

* David Kalhous (orcid.org/​0000-​0002-​6903-​9371) is an associate professor at the Institute of Auxiliary Historical Sciences, Faculty of Arts, Masaryk-​University in Brno, Czech Republic. He received his PhD in Medieval History in 2006 from the same university and defended his habilitation degree work in History at Palacký University Olomouc in 2016. His doctoral dissertation was published in 2012 as Anatomy of a Duchy with Brill, and his habilitation book, inspired by Wien medievalists Walter Pohl, Herwig Wolfram, Helmut Reimitz about the establishment and transformation of identities in high medieval Přemyslid realm was published 2018 with Austrian Academy of Sciences. He worked in several academic institutions in the Czech Republic and Austria, in 2018 he finished his Lise-​Meitner Post. Doc. in the Institute for Medieval Research, Austrian Academy of Sciences (in cooperation with Walter Pohl). ‡ Ludmila Luňáková graduated with a History degree from Masaryk-​University in Brno (2014), Czech Republic, where she is now finalizing her PhD thesis on festive days in medieval Bohemia (till 1198) under the supervision of Professor Martin Wihoda. Since 2019 she works at the Institute of History, Czech Academy of Sciences. Her research focuses on the history of East Central Europe in the High Middle Ages and especially on the narrative historical sources. Her main publications include “Práce s časem v díle Prvního Kosmova pokračovatele” [“Handling Time in the Work of Cosmas’ First Successor”], Český Časopis historický 114, no. 4 (2016): 899–​918; and “Násilí mezi přemyslovskými knížaty” [“Violence Between the Přemyslid Dukes”], Časopis Matice moravské 136, no. 2 (2017): 209–​34. 1 Cosmas of Prague, Chronica Boemorvm, 1.12, ed. Bertold Bretholz, MGH SS rer. Germ. NS 2 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1923) (hereafter Cosmas, Chronica), 26: “O miserabiles timidorum hominum manes, frustra prendunt colles, quibus desunt vires et bellice artes, nec iuvat collis, si est virtus debilis. Cernitis, quia in planis vobis non audent occurrere campis; nimirum si non fallor, iam fugere parant. Sed vos, prius quam fugiant, irruite super eos impetu repentino et, sub pedibus vestris ceu frivola o stipularum ut conterantur, facite more solito. Parcite, ne ignavorum a sanguine polluatis

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invented by Cosmas (ca. 1055–​1125), who wrote his chronicle on the Bohemians in Prague, the capital of the Přemyslid principality, as a dean of episcopal St. Vitus chapter, in the first quarter of the twelfth century.2 These words should be contrasted with the first speech of Tyro, leader of the Bohemians, who led his people to victory. Together, they offer an insight into the chronicler’s attitude towards military conflicts. Traditionally, studies on attitudes towards war in the Middle Ages have generally drawn from contemporary theological treatises, or legal texts. In comparison, narrative sources have mostly been used to illustrate the course of armed conflicts, military tactics, and strategy. Yet, medieval chroniclers did not focus so much on data collection (even though they sought accuracy) as on offering an insight into their imaginations.3 As chroniclers were almost exclusively recruited from the clergy (and represented different ecclesiastical institutions), they also provided their readers with neat correlations to canon law.4 Notably, canon law defined the relationship between the Church, its clergy, and war. In this chapter, we scrutinize the imagination of war through selected medieval chronicles and histories written between 950 and 1120 in East Central and Eastern Europe. Firstly, the problem of how much space was given to armed conflicts in the selected medieval narratives must be addressed. Then, the rhetoric devices (vocabulary, metaphoric, body language, etc.) used by medieval chroniclers to describe a war will be analyzed. Finally, we will ask under which conditions a war was not condemned but appreciated as the solution of a conflict, which focuses on chroniclers’ understanding of “just war.” The role armed conflicts played in the high medieval chronicles in that area also requires to be put in wider context. This allows it to be used as a springboard for final thoughts on the strategies early and high medieval chroniclers and hagiographers used to integrate secular elites, which primarily presented themselves as warriors, into the image of—​ideally peaceful—​Christian society. Whereas traditionally, the high medieval concept of knighthood serves as an innovative attempt to integrate warriors as a full-​bodied stratum of Christian society with models of its own, it is our ambition to highlight the earlier roots of that process, where the legitimation of the armed conflict played an important role. In all this, we do not forget the influence of the disintegration of the Carolingian empire. fortia tela, sed pocius submittite que portatis volatilia, ut perterrefaciatis falconibus pavidas acies ut columbas.” English translation after Cosmas of Prague, The Chronicle of the Czechs, trans. Lisa A. Wolverton (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2009), 57, however, we prefer the translation Bohemi or Bohemians for the inhabitants of Přemyslid Bohemia. The Czechs seems to have too narrow a meaning connected with the modern nation established during the nineteenth century, rather than with the medieval polity of Bohemia. 2 For Cosmas and his chronicle, see especially Lisa A. Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague: Narrative, Classicism, Politics (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2015).

3 See Hans-​ Werner Goetz, Vorstellungsgeschichte. Gesammelte Schriften zu Wahrnehmungen, Deutungen und Vorstellungen im Mittelalter, ed. Anna Aurast et al. (Bochum: Winkler, 2007).

4 See, e.g., Friedrich Prinz, Klerus und Krieg im frühen Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zur Rolle der Kirche beim Aufbau der Königsherrschaft, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 2 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1971).

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Similarities and differences, or general trends and specifics can only be recognized through comparison. We will, therefore take into consideration not only Cosmas of Prague and his chronicle, which will be used here as a main reference text, but also sources written in contemporary Poland (Gesta principum Polonorum by so-​called Gallus Anonymus) and in Kievan Rus’ (Povest’ vremennykh let or the Tale of Bygone Years), and also the Saxon history written by Widukind of Corvey for Ottonian rulers more than a century and half earlier. The analyzed texts written by Widukind of Corvey in 960’s Saxony,5 by Gallus Anonymus in 1110’s Poland,6 by Cosmas of Prague in 1110’s Bohemia,7 or by monks of Kievan Caves Monastery in the same decade8 represent different genres of medieval historiography. Cosmas of Prague and the Kievan authors wrote chronicles, meaning that they organized their texts strictly chronologically. However, most of the records exceed the typical length of annalistic records. Gallus and Widukind avoided a chronological approach and aimed at the genre of gesta principum or historia respectively. In addition, the profile of the authors differed substantially. Whereas Widukind and the authors of the Povest’ were monks coming from Saxon and Kievan milieus respectively, Cosmas was a native of Prague and represented the highly positioned secular clergy. The origin of Gallus is disputable—​all that can be said is that he was not born in Poland and came there via the Kingdom of Hungary and perhaps 5 Widukind of Corvey, Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres, ed. Paul Hirsch, Hans-​Eberhard Lohmann, MGH SS rer. Germ. 60 (Hannover: Hahn, 1935) (hereafter Widukind, Res gestae); for Widukind’s chronicle, see Helmut Beumann, Widukind von Korvei. Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung und Ideengeschichte des 10. Jahrhunderts, Abhandlungen zur Corveyer Geschichtsschreibung 3 (Weimar: Böhlau, 1950).

6 This edition and English translation will be used throughout: Gallus Anonymus, Gesta principum Polonorum, ed., trans., and ann. Paul W. Knoll and Frank Schaer, Central European Medieval Texts 3 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2007) (hereafter Gallus, Gesta). On Gallus, see Eduard Mühle, “ ‘Cronicae et gesta ducum sive principum Polonorum’. Neue Forschungen zum so genannten Gallus Anonymus,” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 65 (2009): 459–​96; Eduard Mühle, “Neue Vorschläge zur Herkunft des Gallus Anonymus und zur Deutung seiner Chronik,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 60, no. 2 (2011): 267–​85. 7 See n2 above.

8 The recent critical edition of the Povest’ vremennykh let, is by Donald Ostrovsky et al. internet edition, http://​pvl.obdurodon.org/​browser.xhtml (hereafter Povest’ vremennykh let). In this chapter, we will identify quotations from this text by the incarnation year and the year since the creation of the world. See Oleksiy Tolochko, “On ‘Nestor the Chronicler,’ ” Harvard Ukrainian Studies 29 (2007): 1–​31; for the Povest’, see especially Alexey A. Gippius, “Reconstructing the Original of the ‘Povest’ vremennyx let’: A Contribution to the Debate,” Russian Linguist 38, no. 3 (2014): 341–​66; Oleksiy P. Tolochko, “Christian Chronology, Universal History, and the Origin of Chronicle Writing in Rus’,” in Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery Early History Writing in Northern, East-​Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–​1200), ed. Ildar H. Garipzanov, Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 211–​27, or Donald Ostrowski, “Pagan Past and Christian Identity in the Primary Chronicle,” in Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in North, East-​Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–​1200), ed. Ildar H. Garipzanov, Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 229–​53.

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held a prominent position of some kind under Bolesław III. Even though they all focused on ruling dynasties and their connection with a gens, they wrote their chronicles and histories from different perspectives and with different intentions. These differences are, also, mirrored in the frequency in which they wrote about armed conflicts or in their appraisal of wars. Still, their focus on the history of the dynasty and gens (and partially also their contemporaneity) make them suitable for further comparison.9

Representation of Warfare in the Chronicles

Let us focus first on a basic quantitative analysis of the above-​mentioned texts.10 The chronicler Cosmas introduced his work with a narrative of a mythical past—​in this case not only of the ruling dynasty but also of the gens of the Bohemi. The degree to which Cosmas described armed conflict raises from book to book, but it still remains relatively low (ca. 1: one-​seventh, 2: one-​fifth, 3: three-​tenths; in total slightly above thirty times in 180 pages). Moreover, the majority of this content described fights for the Prague throne between members of the ruling dynasty. A similar trend can be tracked in Gesta principum Polonorum. In the first book armed conflicts are mentioned in only seven chapters out of thirty-​one, but in the second book this rises to exceed 50 percent. In the third book, two-​thirds of the chapters include narration about a war, mostly a battle with the Mazovians and Pomeranians (in total fifty-​three times in 110 pages). A brief analysis of the content provides an explanation for this trend. The first book predominantly describes the mythical, humble rural origins of Piast dynasty, which are—​in their description—​entirely peaceful,11 as is the rule of Mieszko I (r. ca. 960–​992) and his son Bolesław I the Brave (r. 992–​1025). In the Deeds of the Saxons, armed conflicts, however, are mentioned in every third chapter (in total fifty times in 100 pages) and this frequency does not change significantly over time. In distinct contrast, in Povest’, the frequency with which armed conflicts are mentioned decreases over time (seventy-​four times in 170 pages in total). The number 9 The Kingdom of Hungary was not reflected due to the fact that the alleged royal gesta from ca. 1100, which would otherwise be suitable comparative material, did not survive and is only known through texts from the thirteenth and fourteenth century. The Austrian monastic annals strongly focus on the ruling Babenberg dynasty, though, their thin records are difficult to compare with extensive narratives of Cosmas, Gallus, or Widukind. 10 As there are translations available of all these texts in Czech published in the same series and format, we used the number of pages in that series as a criterion that enabled me to compare the frequency of the direct speeches without counting the characters, or characters per page. Otherwise, we are of course using the critical editions mentioned above.

11 Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “Slavonic ‘origines regni’: Hero the Law-​giver and Founder of Monarchy,” Acta Poloniae Historica 60 (1989): 97–​ 131; Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “Königliche Karrieren von Hirten, Gärtnern und Pflügern. Zu einem mittelalterlichen Erzählschema vom Erwerb der Königsherrschaft,” Saeculum 33 (1982): 265–​86.

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of campaigns against external enemies was quite high at the beginning of the work but lowered in favour of content covering internal struggles as time passed. If we compare the ratio of the chapters or records with an armed conflict in above-​mentioned texts, we realize that the Chronicle of Cosmas deviates strongly from the rest (approximately 19 vs. 44–​50 percent).

Gestures  in War

The behaviour in war included body language, rituals, as well as their implementation into the communication between the characters. Those elements also became an important part of the communication between the audience and the chronicler. Of particular interest to the authors was how hands and hand gestures were used by the protagonists. As mentioned, for Widukind war seemingly presented a possible solution to conflict and might legally help to fulfil the needs of the Saxons. Betrayal (or perhaps a ploy) is the foundation for the Saxon success.12 Once the king of Franks had managed to collect his army, he greeted his enemies, the dukes of the Saxons, and gave his right hand to them as a sign of his friendship.13 Cosmas understood that gesture—​shaking 12 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.4–​ 6, 5–​ 7. See Jacek Banaszkiewicz, “Widukind on the Saxon Origins: Saxo, Thuring, and ‘Landkaufszene’ (‘Res geste Saxonice’ 1,5),” Acta Poloniae Historica 91 (2005): 25–​54; for parallel, compare Hungarian story about white horse “sold” to Svatopluk or Menumorout, recorded in most of the medieval Hungarian chronicles. Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, 1.38, in Anonymus, Notary of King Béla, Gesta Hungarorum, ed. trans. and ann. Martyn C. Rady and László Veszprémy /​Master Roger, Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta, ed. trans. and ann. János M. Bak and Martyn C. Rady, Central European Medieval Texts 5 (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2010), 82.

13 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.9, 15: “Et ingressi duces in castra, singuli cum centenis militibus, reliqua multitudine extra castra dimissa, salutant Thiadricum verbis pacificis. Quod cum Thiadricus hilarior suscepisset, dextris datis et acceptis, copiam viris fandi concessit. At illi: ‘Populus’, aiunt, ‘Saxonum tibi devotus et tuis parens imperiis misit nos ad te; et ecce assumus parati ad omne quodcumque tibi voluntas suggesserit, parati, ut aut hostes tuos vincamus aut, si fortuna aliud iusserit, pro te moriamur. Aliam enim causam nullam Saxonibus esse scias, nisi vincere velle aut certe vivere nolle. Neque enim gratiam maiorem amicis exhibere possumus, quam ut pro eis mortem contempnamus. Et ut hoc experimento discas, omnino desideramus.’ ” For rituals and gestures in tenth-​and eleventh-​century historiography, see among others Konrad Leyser, “Ritual, Ceremony and Gesture: Ottonian Germany,” in his Communications and Power in Medieval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottonian Centuries, ed. Timothy Reuter (London: Hambledon, 1994), 189–​213, here especially 205–​13; Gerd Althoff, “Rules of Conflict among the Warrior Aristocracy of the High Middle Ages,” in his Rules and Rituals in Medieval Power Games: A German Perspective, Medieval Law and Its Practice 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 42–​60. For gestures and rituals related to the signing of the peace or reconciliation, see also Jenny Benham, Peacemaking in the Middle Ages: Principles and Practice, Manchester Medieval Studies 13 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011), 69–​113; or on the importance of hand gestures, see especially Yvonne Friedman, “Gestures of Conciliation: Peacemaking Endeavors in the Latin East,” in “In laudem Hierosolymitani”: Studies in Crusades and Medieval Culture in Honour of Benjamin Z.  Kedar, ed. Iris Shagrir and Benjamin Z. Kedar, Crusades. Subsidia 1 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 31–​48.

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the hand—​in similar way. For him, it was a gesture of peace-​signing as well.14 In his text, however, he used it to further degrade the image of Prince Vratislav II. The chronicler insists that the Přemyslid should have shaken hands with his enemy. Even though this should have been the signal of an end to enmity and a guarantee of peace and safety for Vratislav’s opponent, he was soon killed by princely retinue. Thus, the gesture of peace was only misused by the—​allegedly treacherous—​prince to provide the enemy with the feeling of safety, reducing his vigilance and facilitating the plot.15 The gestures also demonstrate cultural differences. Although the kiss of peace was used across Europe, as it has roots in the Bible (Romans 16:16; 1 Corinthians 16:20; 2 Corinthians 13:12; I Thessalonians 5:26; 1 Peter 5:14) and liturgy, not all chronicles analyzed in this chapter used this gesture with the same frequency and in the same situations. The kiss of peace enjoyed particular prominence in the Povest’.16 It is, however, difficult to find any specific traces of a customary system of gestures related to war. It is unclear exactly how diplomacy was conducted, as the manner in which peace was concluded was not systematically recorded by contemporary authors in the region of interest. In all four chronicles, military leaders held speeches to encourage their warriors, the most frequent beaviour that accompanied war.17 Yet their frequency differed in all works, as did the character of their motivation.

Condemning War, Appreciating War?

The analysis of the frequency with which the above-​mentioned chroniclers described armed conflicts seems to be a good starting point for an examination of their attitude towards war. 14 For a brief summary, see Martin Wihoda, “Obtížné příbuzenství. Konflikty a smiřování přemyslovských knížat,” in Rituál smíření. Konflikt a jeho řešení ve středověku, ed. Martin Wihoda and Martin Nodl, Země a kultura ve střední Evropě 8 (Brno: Matice moravská, 2008), 71–​83.

15 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.40, 144: “Accepit eum fraudulenter rex manu dextra et ducit seorsum extra castra, quasi ibi secreta locuturus.” See Dietmar Peil, Die Gebärden bei Chrétien, Hartmann und Wolfram. Erec—​Iwen—​Parzival, Medium aevum 28 (Munich: Fink, 1975), 83. For the related gesture of giving a gauntlet, see Martin Nodl, “Zaniklý svět rukavic. Kosmas, Gall Anonym a knížecí ‘gesta,’ ” in Středověká Evropa v pohybu. K poctě Jana Klápště, ed. Ivana Boháčová and Petr Sommer (Prague: Archeologický ústav Akademie věd České republiky, 2014), 397–​407.

16 For more on this practice, see Yulia Mikhailova and David K. Prestel, “Cross Kissing: Keeping One’s Word in Twelfth-​ Century Rus’,” Slavic Review 70, no. 1 (2011): 1–​ 22; Norbert Mika, “ ‘Kpеcтьное целование’—​geneza i praktyka stosowania przez władców ruskich, polskich i węgierskich (do końca XII wieku),” in Rus’ and Countries of the Latin Culture (10th–​16th C.), ed. Vitaliy Nagirnyy, Colloquia Russica. Series I 6 (Kraków: Jagiellonian University, 2016), 111–​29.

17 For a useful overview, see John R. E. Bliese, “Rhetoric and Morale: A Study of Battle Orations from the Central Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval History 15, no. 3 (1989): 201–​26; also David Kalhous, “ ‘Tunc dux extendens manum suam super sacram tumbam sic orsus est ad populi turbam…’:  Towards the Communication in the ‘Chronicle of Cosmas’ and His Contemporaries,” in Historiography and Identity, vol. 5: The Emergence of New Peoples and Polities, 1000–​1300, ed. Walter Pohl and Francesco Borri, Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming in 2021). On battle rhetoric in Gallus, see Kazimierz Liman, “Die Feldherrenreden in der Polnischen Chronik des Anonymus Gallus,” Philologus 133 (1989): 284–​302.

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Cosmas of Prague On one hand, Cosmas praises the first generations of Bohemians, who only used their weapons for hunting,18 condemning those who just fought for glory and loot,19 and indirectly criticizing Moravian Prince Svatopluk I (r. 871–​895) for rising up against his lord emperor.20 On the other hand, he extolled the military leadership of his heroes,21 emphasizing that the fight for homeland should also be understood as a fight for safety of its inhabitants—​especially those, who were unable to protect themselves.22 Sometimes, warriors in his chronicle were portrayed as preferring to die in combat rather than to give up their swords.23 Cosmas, however, only engaged in an extensive narrative about armed conflict on two occasions. Firstly, he described the war between the Bohemi and their enemies the Luczane, who had inhabited Bohemia in a mythical past (and still lived there under a new name). The tale of the conflict begins with the Luczane being presented in a position of superiority but ends with their defeat. The complicated story of the conflict included a personal history of one of the Luczane-​warriors, who following the advice of his stepmother was the sole survivor of the defeated Luczane-​army. After his survival, however, this warrior also realized that he had redeemed/​ransomed his life by forfeiting the life of his wife.24 This micro-​story can be read as a criticism of war, which destroys families. We have already noted the parallel between the speech of the proud leader of the Luczane, Vlastislav, and that of the prince of Rus’ in Gallus’s Gesta, which invoked hunting metaphors, signals—​as the reader later realizes—​of the false prevalence that plays with Luke 14:11.25 [Břetislav I] sending throughout the province of all of Bohemia a collar of twisted cork as a sign of his command, he immediately pronounced a terrible sentence: that, once the signal was given, whoever came out to camp sluggishly would know without a doubt that he would be hanged by such a collar in the gallows. They gathered into one in an instant—​in the twinkling of an eye and to a man—​and Břetislav entered the land of Poland, widowed of its prince, and invaded it as an enemy.26

18 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.3, 8.

19 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.12, 27.

20 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.14, 32–​ 33. For more, see Martin Wihoda, První česká království (Prague: Nakladatelstvi Lidové Noviny, 2015), 35–​36. 21 E.g., by Boleslav II (972–​999), or by Břetislav I (1034–​1055), compare Cosmas, Chronica, 1.32, 57; 1.40, pp. 73–​75; 2.1, pp. 81–​82.

22 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.12, 27; 3.36, pp. 207–​8.

23 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.36, pp. 208–​9; 3.56, 230. 24 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.12. 26.

25 See n1 above; comparison with Gallus, Gesta, 1.10, 50.

26 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.2, 83: “Bracizlaus … inito consilio cum suis eos invadere statuit statimque terribilem dictat sentenciam tocius Boemie per provinciam mittens in signum sue iussionis torquem de subere tortum, ut quicumque exierit in castra segnius dato signaculo, sciret procul dubio tali

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With these words, Cosmas introduces his second extensive war-​story, which covered the expedition of Bohemi in Poland in 1039. It is a carefully constructed narrative, which was used by Cosmas to demonstrate the unity of the Bohemians and their willingness to accept the religious and moral requirements formulated by St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert as bishop of Prague (in office 983–​997), whose body they grabbed from the Gniezno Archcathedral and transported to Prague along with “all the treasures of Poland.”27 Against them stood the Poloni, whom Cosmas portrays as having rejected Christianity. One can read the story as a struggle between chaos and order, where the organized body of Bohemian warriors “must have” defeated the disorganized, princeless Poloni. It is also possible to interpret it as an exhortation to the Bohemi, who were torn apart in different internal struggles when Cosmas wrote his chronicle. The description of the war itself is short, as the Poloni were quickly defeated due to a lack of unity and leadership.28 He only repeated the message from the beginning of his chronicle: “What should limbs do without a head, or warriors in battle without duke?”29; the main message of those stories, however, concerned Cosmas’s “politology” and “sociology,” war was only used as a tool to present them. An interesting problem is how Cosmas perceived and characterized the internal struggles (civil wars) of the Přemyslid principality.30 Lately, Lisa Wolverton has focused on the politological dimension of the chronicle and stressed Cosmas’s criticism on contemporary politics.31 Here, we would like to demonstrate that although we are in general agreement with her argument, Cosmas’s chronicle also combines this approach with authorial likes and dislikes. They are mostly described in the second and third torque se suspendendum in patibulo. Quibus in momento, in ictu oculi congregatis in unum et usque ad unum intrat terram Polonie suo viduatam principe et eam hostiliter invasit ac velut ingens tempestas furit, sevit, sternit omnia, sic villas cedibus, rapinis, incendiis devastavit, vi municiones irrupit. … in ictu oculi congregatis in unum et usque ad unum intrat terram Polonie suo viduatam principe et eam hostiliter invasit.” The bold is ours. Translation after Wolverton, 112.

27 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.2, 83. Compare Widukind, Res gestae, 1.14, 24: “Si autem universale bellum ingruerit, sorte eligitur, cui omnes obedire oportuit, ad administrandum inminens bellum. Quo peracto, aequo iure ac lege propria contentus potestate unusquisque vivebat.” The bold is ours. For hypothesis that the translation of relics was also an attempt to translate the archbishopric seat, see among others Agnieszka Kuźmiuk-​Ciekanowska, “Święty Wojciech wraca do Pragi—​ relacja Kosmasa o przeniesieniu relikwii świętego biskupa,” Historia Slavorum Occidentis 1(2) (2012):  94–​103.

28 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.2, p. 83: “In ictu oculi congregatis in unum et usque ad unum intrat terram Polonie suo viduatam principe et eam hostiliter invasit.” The importance of the Piasts for Polish success, due to their role as guarantors of God’s grace, is stressed also by Gallus. See Zbigniew Dalewski, “A New Chosen People? Gallus Anonymus’s Narrative about Poland and Its Rulers,” in Historical Narratives and Christian Identity, 145–​66 at 163–​65. 29 Cosmas, Chronica, 1.12, 26: “Quid facerent membra sine capite aut milites in praelio sine duce?” English translation after Wolverton, trans., The Chronicle of the Czechs, 57. 30 That Cosmas did not avoid comparison, was clearly demonstrated by Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, 208–​9.

31 Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, 81–​169.

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books of his chronicle in which he covered times that he had personally experienced—​ leaving out older conflicts known from contemporary sources.32 Whilst his admiration for characters who protected Bohemia against an external threat is clear, it is important to know if he also praised those who participated in these internal conflicts and if he might have understood them as “just” or justified. On three occasions Cosmas referred to conflicts as “a war worse than civil”—​a phrase he borrowed from Marcus Annaeus Lucanus.33 Lucanus used it to criticize Caesar’s methods in his rise to power, as he disliked internal conflicts in general and understood them as struggles amongst relatives.34 A similarly critical approach was adopted by Cosmas of Prague, yet it is worthy of further investigation to see if participation in these conflicts has any impact on his taking a positive approach to their participants. The first time he wrote about “a war worse than civil,” he described the expedition of Vratislav II (r. 1061–​1092) against his brother Conrad I, prince of Brno. During the siege of Brno, Vratislav’s son Břetislav II (r. 1092–​1100) murdered his father’s advisor Zderad. Through this felony, he probably not only took revenge for an earlier insult,35 but attacked the position of his father, who preferred one of Vratislav’s siblings as his heir.36 In a stirring speech, Conrad’s wife, Wirpirk warned Vratislav about becoming a “second Cain” and convinced him to spare the life of his brother.37 Cosmas used a similar parallel between Cain and Boleslav I (r. 935–​972), who murdered Václav (r. 921–​935), his older brother and later patron-​saint of the Bohemians.38 The Classic term thus found a biblical parallel—​those, who fight against their brothers have much common with Cain. Although 32 Compare as an example of the conflicts among Boleslav III, Jaromír and Oldřich-​Udalrich, the sons of Boleslav II (972–​999), described by Thietmar of Merseburg, Chronicon, 5.23(15), ed. Robert Holtzmann, MGH SS rer. Germ. NS 9 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1935), 247–​49; 5.29(18), 253–​55; 6.83(50), 372–​73; Annales Hildesheimenses, ed. Georg H. Waitz, MGH SS rer. Germ. 8 (Hannover: Hahn, 1878), 37–​38; Annales Altahenses maiores, ed. Edmund von Oefele, MGH SS rer. Germ. 4 (Hannover: Hahn, 1890), 18–​19; Gallus, Gesta, 1.6, 16. For more, see Ludmila Luňáková, “Násilí mezi přemyslovskými knížaty,” Časopis Matice Moravské 136 (2017): 209–​34 at 212–​14. 33 Cosmas most probably knew the complete version of Pharsalia, although other Roman classics were known to him only from florilegia, see Antonín Kolář, “Kosmovy vztahy k antice,” Sborník filosofické fakulty University Komenského v Bratislavě 3, no. 28 (1925): 21–​99 at 27, 46–​48; Libor Švanda, “K recepci antiky v Kosmově kronice,” Greaco-​Latina Brunensia 14, no. 1–​2 (2009): 331–​40 at 335. 34 Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, Pharsalia, 1.1.

35 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.43, 149–​50. More recently, see Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, 142–​44, 206–​7, 210–​13; for didactic layer in the chronicle and for the ideal of the prince, see Dušan Třeštík, Kosmova kronika. Studie k počátkům českého dějepisectví a politického myšlení (Prague: Academia, 1968). 51; Martin Wihoda, Morava v době knížecí, 906–​1197 36 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.44, 150–​ (Prague: Nakladatelstvi Lidové Noviny, 2010), 146; Martin Wihoda, První česká království, 21–​22, 219. 37 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.45, 151–​52.

38 For more on this, see Luňáková, “Násilí mezi přemyslovskými knížaty,” 226.

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in recounting Wirpirk’s speech Cosmas also criticized Břetislav II for this violent crime,39 he did not condemn Břetislav II’s rebellion against his father, even though it nearly led to a civil war, which was only prevented by Bohemian patrons St. Václav and St. Vojtěch-​ Adalbert.40 Instead, as one of Cosmas’s heroes, Břetislav II’s behaviour is excused by the chronicler. In his text, Cosmas assigned clear roles to the characters. Whereas Vratislav II had caused the civil war and represented a bad king,41 his son Břetislav II is presented positively, although he caused similar troubles. Moreover, in the conflicts that followed between him as ruling prince and his Moravian cousins, Cosmas favoured him—​again signalling his preference early on through his description of Oldřich and Litold as “rebels.”42 This shows that the internal struggles were not condemned by Cosmas per se, but might have been skillfully orchestrated to demonstrate Cosmas’s sympathy towards the members of the Přemyslid dynasty and their politics. Yet, Cosmas’s thinking was even more complex. His description of the struggles between 1105 and 1109, in which prince Svatopluk (r. 1107–​1109) fell victim is illustrative.43 He again used the story to replace the struggle amongst the members of the Přemyslid dynasty with the conflict between the Přemyslid and their “eternal” enemies, the Vršovci, who played a negative role in his chronicle.44 When Cosmas described the conflict between Bořivoj II (r. 1100–​1107 and 1117–​1120) and his Moravian cousin, Svatopluk, he criticized them both and compares them with Scylla and Charybdis.45 Cosmas had to face an even more difficult problem in describing the conflict between Bořivoj II and Vladislav I (r. 1109–​1117 and 1120–​1125). On one hand, Bořivoj was older and had a better claim to the Prague throne. On the other hand, Cosmas seemingly did not like him a lot and wrote his chronicle during the reign of his younger brother Vladislav I, which violated the succession principles proclaimed by Břetislav I (r. 1034–​1055).46 Cosmas described Vladislav, therefore, as trying to avoid civil war, but failing to do so. In 39 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.45, 151–​52. 40 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.47, 154.

41 Martin Wihoda, “Herrschaftslegitimation im böhmischen Fürstentum des 11. Jahrhunderts. Kontinuität und Wandlungen,” in Das Charisma. Funktionen und symbolische Repräsentationem, ed. Pavlína Rychterová et al. (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2008), 385–​404, is of the view that Vratislav provoked the Bohemian elites (and among them Cosmas) with his attempt for new princely representation, which reduced/​hindered their role in the princely succession.

42 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.9, 169–​70; 3.12, 172–​73.

43 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.27, 196. Compare Gallus, Gesta, 2.15. 142–​43.

44 Petr Kopal, “Kosmovi ďáblové Vršovsko-​přemyslovský antagonismus ve světle biblických a legendárních citátů, motivů a symbolů,” Mediaevalia Historica Bohemica 8 (2001): 7–​41 at 17, 30–​31. For the murder of Břetislav II, see Cosmas, Chronica, 3.4, 165; Luňáková, “Násilí mezi přemyslovskými knížaty,” 214–​18. 45 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.21, 187; this parallel comes from Vergilius, Aeneis, 3.684.

46 This might have been the cause of his unwillingness to write more about the deeds of Vladislav. Cosmas, Chronica, 3.28, 198.

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a more general description of that conflict, Cosmas paralleled the Přemyslid princes to the sons of Pelops, who were renowned by their cruelty.47 Finally, Cosmas described the conflict between Vladislav I and his brother Soběslav I (r. 1125–​1140). As Soběslav is described as an excellent young man, he is generally understood to be one of the positive heroes of Cosmas’ chronicle.48 However, in the beginning, his role in the chronicle is negative. We are told that he struggled with the prince, his older brother, and murdered an innocent nobleman Vacek, who, he believed, was conspiring against him.49 He is prone to anger50 and he is compared to a wolf, who “tucks tail and returns to the forest.”51 Cosmas tried, however, to improve his image in the succeeding chapters. In 1110, Soběslav attacked Bohemia with the support of a Polish prince. Although Soběslav gained the victory, Cosmas only ascribed the pillaging of Bohemia that followed to the Poles with Soběslav’s name disappearing from the narrative.52 This provided Cosmas with a chance to praise the Přemyslid for the military victory and the defeated Bohemians for their courage.53 In summary, Cosmas used the term “a war worse than civil,” when he described conflicts between relatives (especially brothers) and to damn them. He also denounced them and all other disputes among members of Přemyslid dynasty for ruining Bohemia. Something that was only welcomed by Bohemian enemies, who enjoyed peace in that time.54 Of course, Cosmas was not the only one who used the term “a war worse than civil”55 and neither was he the only one to criticize it. This is unsurprising, from clerical point of view all fighting between Christians was condemned, not to mention fights between brothers. It was these fratricidal struggles for power that the Church was attempting to prevent by promoting the concept of “fraternal love.” Cosmas, as an ecclesiastical dignitary, would have been expected to condemn such fights, yet we do find one exception to this approach in his chronicle. This was the clash between Břetislav II and his father Vratislav II. This suggests that Cosmas’s attitude towards these conflicts was differentiated. He predominantly used his description of these struggles to express his sympathies towards its actors—​those princes he disliked were shown as 47 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.31, 201. Compare also Kolář, “Kosmovy vztahy k antice,” 34. 48 Dušan Třeštík, Kosmas (Prague: Svobodné slovo 1966), 164. 49 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.39, 211. 50 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.40, 213. 51 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.51, 224.

52 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.35–​36, 206–​9.

53 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.36, 207–​9. Cosmas based his description of the battle on Roman models (Horatius and Vergilius). See Kolář, “Kosmovy vztahy k antice,” 62. Also, compare Wolverton, Cosmas of Prague, 65–​66. 54 Cosmas, Chronica, 3.20, 185.

55 E.g., Gallus, Gesta, 2.5, 72. For the use of this term in Polish chronicles, see Jacek Maciejewski, “Biskup krakowski Pełka a bitwa nad Mozgawą w 1195 roku,” Kwartalnik Historyczny 124, no. 3 (2017): 411–​38 at 424.

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ruining Bohemia through their conflicts with other Přemyslids;56 those he liked, on the other side, were merely protecting their legal claims. He did not necessarily express his feelings explicitly as he often used parallels with Greek, Roman, or biblical characters. Widukind

In contrast, for Widukind, violence was a legitimate tool; if it was for example used in the interest of the community he identified with.57 Thus, he was able to appreciate the deceitfulness of the Saxon leader and the victory of Saxons over their deceived enemies.58 Widukind also accepted the fight for land and glory.59 In general, he did not criticize combat itself, but the fact that someone had dared to attack the Saxons or their legitimate king.60 Yet there were exceptions. Widukind often expressed his sympathies for specific Saxon rebels, especially Wichmann II Billung, whose honorable death in battle with the Poles Widukind described in the last chapter of his chronicle.61 The enemies of the Saxons were often called “barbarians,” which helped Widukind to de-​legitimize them and, at the same time, legitimize the conflicts that led to their submission.62 Gallus Anonymus

One of the important motifs in Gallus’s Gesta was the defence of Polish lands against various neighbouring, especially pagan, nations—​be it Mazovians or Pomeranians.63 The author’s heroes amongst the Polish princes were potent warriors, war leaders, and 56 Soběslav I cannot be excluded from that list.

57 See, e.g., Widukind’s (Res gestae, 1.15, 25) description of the Christianization of the Saxons. See Matthias Becher, “Rex,” “Dux” und “Gens.” Untersuchungen zur Entstehung des sächischen Herzogtums im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert, Historische Studien 444 (Husum: Matthiesen, 1996), 50–​66. 58 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.4–​7, 5–​7; also 1.9, 15.

59 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.9, 16–​17: “Istis pro patria, pro uxoribus ac natis, postremo pro ipsa vita pugnantibus, Saxonibus vero pro gloria et pro terra adquirenda certantibus, attollitur clamor virorum invicem exhortantium, fragor armorum et gemitus morientium, talique spectaculo tota dies illa trahitur.” The bold is ours.

60 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36, 52: “Quo facto omnes barbarae nationes erectae iterum rebellare ausae sunt.” The bold is ours.

61 Widukind, Res gestae, 3.69, 145. For more, see Gerd Althoff, Die Macht der Rituale. Symbolik und Herrschaft im Mittelalter (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2013); Karl Leyser, “Ritual, Ceremony and Gesture: Ottonian Germany,” in idem, Communications and Power in Medieval Europe: The Carolingian and Ottonian Centuries, ed. TimothyReuter (London: Hambledon, 1994), 189–​213 at 191–​92; Andrzej Pleszczyński, The Birth of a Stereotype: Polish Rulers and Their Country in German Writings c. 1000 A.D., East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 15 (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 44–​51. 62 Widukind, Res gestae, 1.36, 52; 2.20, 84; 2.30, 91.

63 E.g., Gallus, Gesta, 1.20, 80–​86; 2.34, 178–​80; 2.42–​43, 194–​96; 2. 48–​49, 204–​8; 3.24, 268.

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defenders of the homeland portrayed as supported by God.64 The bravery of the prince was highly appreciated by Gallus and military capabilities were, from the chroniclers’ point of view, obligatory characteristics for a Piast prince.65 For Gallus, however, not only were Piast princes heroes, but so was every member of the community they led. This point of view underpins a remarkable narrative about the conflict with Rus’. In the description of the battle between the Poles and Rusian army, he plays with different literary motifs to make the Polish victory all the more surprising, enhancing the abilities of the Poles and the incompetence of the Rusians. Firstly, he emphasized Rusian pride; we are told that the Rusian prince compared fighting the Poles with hunting and mentioned that he and his army would be able to defeat the Poles with dogs and huntsmen.66 For three days, nothing happened, as both armies pitched their camps on opposite sides of the river. Finally, Polish “cooks, kitchen-​hands, servants, and camp-​followers” could no longer withstand the insults of the Rusian warriors, borrowed the weapons of the Polish warriors, crossed the river, and crushed the Rusian army.67 The fall of the Rusians could not have been deeper—​they, who expected to defeat the Polish army with dogs, were themselves vanquished by Polish cooks. The story also signals Polish moral prevalence—​Rusian pride had to be crushed, as “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”68 Gallus uses this motif in different forms several times. In the description of the conflict between Bolesław III the Wrymouth (r. 1102–​1138) and the Pomeranians, he highlighted the low numbers of the Polish army and the lack of experience of its leader, who was still able to escape from his enemies’ trap.69 He also negatively labelled the enemies of the Polish princes, mostly Prussians, Bohemi, Pomeranians, or Mazovians, who were called barbarians, a treacherous nation, or pagans. We are also told that the Poles fought not because of perfidy like their enemies did, but for justice and victory.70 64 Gallus, Gesta, 1.9, 48: “Hec erat Bolezlaui regis magnificencia militaris, nec inferior ei erat virtus obediencie spiritalis.” Compare also Gallus, Gesta, 1.8, 46–​48, where he used the characteristics of Bolesław I the Brave as a leader of a powerful army to create an image of the “golden age” of the Polish state. See also Dalewski, “A New Chosen People?,” in Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in Northern, East-​Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070–​1200), ed. Ildar H. Garipzanov, Medieval Texts and Cultures of Northern Europe 26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), 145–​66. 65 E.g., Gallus, Gesta, 1.7, 42; 3.5, 232; 3.23, 260–​68.

66 Gallus, Gesta, 1.10, 50–​52. 67 Gallus, Gesta, 1.10, 52–​54.

68 Luke 14:11. For a similar comparison based on this known biblical parallel, see Cosmas, Chronica, 1.12, 57–​58. 69 Gallus, Gesta, 2.33, 178; also 1.20, 82–​84.

70 Gallus, Gesta, 2.42, 194: “Igitur in Prusiam, terram satis barbaram, est ingresus, unde cum preda multa factis incendiis, pluribusque captivis, querens bellum nec inveniens, est reversus. Sed cum forte contigerit regionem istam in mencionem incidisse, non est inconveniens aliquid ex relatione maiorum addidisse. Tempore namque Karoli Magni, Francorum regis, cum Saxonia sibi

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For the very same reason, he compared the Poles with the Maccabees, as did Widukind when describing Otto’s army during the battle of Lechfeld.71 Parallels between the Franks, Romans, and Poles played a similar role. All of this was to persuade the audience that the Poles were the followers and the heirs of Charlemagne or of the Roman emperors72 but also to present the aggression of the Piasts as a form of “just” if not “holy” war. Descriptions of war is, beyond any doubt, an important element in Gallus’s narrative. In his Gesta it is acknowledged as a legitimate medium for politics, but only under certain circumstances. Povest’ vremennykh let

Virtually every yearly record in the Povest’ vremennykh let, or at least in their early part before 1000, begins “in year X, the prince of Kiev led the expedition in Y.” As with Gallus, the military competence of the Rusian princes was very important to contemporary Kievan chroniclers, who also favoured their princes’ aggressive politics. rebellis existeret, nec dominacionis iugum nec fidei christiane susciperet, populus iste cum navibus de Saxonia transmeavit et regionem istam et regionis nomen occupavit. Adhuc ita sine rege, sine lege persistunt, nec a prima perfidia vel ferocitate desistunt”; 2.48, 204:  “Poloni pro iustitia et victoria sic acriter insistebant, Pomorani pro naturali perfidia et pro salute defendenda resistebant. Poloni gloriam appetebant, Pomorani libertatem defendebant.” The bold is ours. Compare Widukind, Res gestae, 2.20, 84–​85. The parallel could be from Sallust, Jugurthine War, chap. 94. On Gallus’s imagination of “others,” see Anna Aurast, “Gäste, Fremde, Feinde. Fremdbilder in der Chronik des Gallus Anonymus,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 43 (2010): 439–​52. On the motif of Maccabees in Gallus, see especially Dalewski, A New Chosen People?, 161–​62; Przemysław Wiszewski, “Domus Bolezlai”: Values and Social Identity in Dynastic Traditions of Medieval Poland (c. 966–​1138), East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 294–​95. In a similar context, the motif of Maccabees is also present in Master Vincentius of Kraków’s Chronica Polonorum. Compare with Radosław Kotecki’s chapter in this volume.

71 Gallus, Gesta, 2.34, 80: “Tandem sicut Machabeorum imitator, diviso exercitu et patrie defensor extitit et iniurie vindicator.” To that motif, compare Hagen Keller, “ ‘Machabeorum pugnae’. Zum Stellenwert eines biblischen Vorbilds in Widukinds Deutung der ottonischen Königsherrschaft,” in “Iconologia sacra.” Mythos, Bildkunst und Dichtung in der Religions-​und Sozialgeschichte Alteuropas. Festschrift für Karl Hauck zum 75. Geburtstag, ed. Hagen Keller and Nikolaus Staubach, Arbeiten Zur Frühmittelalterforschung 23 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1994), 417–​37. In the same way Polish foes were compared to Amalekites, see Gallus, Gesta, 2.49, 206–​8 at 208: “Et sicut antiquitus filii Israel Amalechitas orationibus Moysi devicerunt, ita nunc Mazouienses de Pomoranis victoriam, sui pontificis adiuti precibus, habuerunt.”

72 Gallus, Gesta, 2.42, 194: “Igitur in Prusiam, terram satis barbaram, est ingresus, unde cum preda multa factis incendiis, pluribusque captivis, querens bellum nec inveniens, est reversus. Sed cum forte contigerit regionem istam in mencionem incidisse, non est inconveniens aliquid ex relatione maiorum addidisse. Tempore namque Karoli Magni, Francorum regis, cum Saxonia sibi rebellis existeret, nec dominacionis iugum nec fidei christiane susciperet, populus iste cum navibus de Saxonia transmeavit et regionem istam et regionis nomen occupavit. Adhuc ita sine rege, sine lege persistunt, nec a prima perfidia vel ferocitate desistunt”; 3.24, 268: “Item inpiger Bolezlauus yemali tempore non quasi desidiosus in otio requievit, sed Prussiam terram aquiloni contiguam, gelu constrictam, introivit, cum etiam Romani principes in barbaris nationibus debellantes, in preparatis munitionibus yemarent, neque tota yeme militarent.”

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After the death of Vladimir I (d. 1015), the narrative became dominated by internal struggles between members of the Rurikid dynasty. Yet, armed conflicts remained an opportunity for a demonstration of the unity amongst members of the Rurikid dynasty, such as in 1111. Here, the chronicler recounted that it was God Himself who inspired Prince Vladimir II Monomakh (d. 1125) to ask his brother Sviatopolk to join him in an expedition against the “pagans” the following spring.73 Sviatopolk discussed it with his retinue and they persuaded him not to set out at that time, because it would disturb spring ploughing. Vladimir, again inspired by God, managed to convince the retinues and both armies set out on the expedition. Prince Vladimir ordered his priests to precede the army and sing liturgical songs—​the expedition thus acquired a strong religious basis in the chronicle and was transformed into a kind of procession.74 Before the battle, the princes entrusted their lives to God and promised each other loyalty—​they followed Christ, exchanged the kiss of peace, and raised their eyes to heaven. In the following fight, they were presented as being supported by heaven with God sending invisible angels to kill their enemies. The author revisits the expedition once more in the chronicle when describing how an angel, in the form of a column of fire, appeared in the Cave Monastery in Kiev and “spurring the heart of Vladimir” on that military enterprise “against the foreigners” (innoplemienniki).75 On closer investigation, we see that the author placed a strong emphasis on the legitimacy of the conflict once again. The ruling prince, following the contemporary view of the ideal ruler, discussed it first with his retinue and managed to convince them. Once the chronicler categorized the enemies, he mixed the categories of culture and ethnicity (“foreigners”) and religion (“pagans”) to signal the distance between “them” and “us.” He also made the reader aware of the alleged links between the Rusian Prince Vladimir and the supernatural power of God. Finally, the author used this short story to demonstrate to his audience the strength of the united princes of Rus’, weakened in previous decades by internal struggles. This effort, again, indicated that armed conflict was legitimate for the author only under certain conditions.

Conclusion

We have noticed that, although it is widely accepted that war was condemned by churchmen before the Crusader movement, and that secular elites were followed with suspicion by the ecclesiastical authorities,76 its individual clerics were far more 73 Povest’ vremennykh let, 6619/​1111. For analysis of that narrative, see Irina Moroz, “The Idea of Holy War in the Orthodox World (On Russian Chronicles from the Twelfth-​Sixteenth Century),” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 4 (1999): 45–​67 at 48–​52.

74 For more in-​depth analysis on this episode in the Povest’, see a chapter by Radosław Kotecki in this volume. Compare also the description of the arrival of the Bohemian army to Prague in 1039, Cosmas, Chronica, 2.5, 90–​91. 75 Povest’ vremennykh let, 6619/​1111.

76 E.g., Hrabanus Maurus was not sure if even a killing in war does not require a penance, but later, he decided to differentiate between the legitimate ruler and tyrant. Whereas killing in service of the

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tolerant of this phenomenon. Unlike Widukind, or the anonymous authors from Poland and Kievan Rus’, who proudly emphasized the shrewdness of their leaders, the bravery of the Saxons in their fight for new land, or their courage as pillagers in distant lands, Cosmas portrayed the Bohemians in his chronicle as fighting with less enthusiasm, although he did not let the wars pass in complete silence. From the above-​mentioned authors, who were all monks or members of the clergy, only Cosmas of Prague did not spend too much ink on the extolment of heroic successes gained in war. Yet, even he acknowledged that “just as a warrior without arms lacks his office, so too a duke without warriors has only the title of a duke.” He also understood why his hero, Břetislav II, “preferred to seek his bread with them [his retinue] abroad than to have peace with his father at home and be alone without a warrior.”77 In comparison, all of his fellow historian-​clerics at least tried to legitimize the wars led by their communities. They mostly based their belief on the legitimacy of the conflict and on presenting a negative image of the enemy—​an enemy that was introduced as culturally backward, pagan, or as an aggressor, or all three. That means that the chroniclers sought legitimacy, once they described a war, but they also accepted it as a regular and legitimate part of life. The problem of war, its legitimacy, and its perception by the ecclesiastical elites rises another question: what role did the secular elites in general play in the scholarly discourse on knightly ideal before it was widely established? Traditionally, the medievalists assume that it was this process of the establishment of the chivalric culture, that transformed the (self-​)perception of the secular elites and contributed to the “Christianization” of their values, and thus legitimized war in the eyes of the ecclesiastical elites. Specialists of the Carolingian era have already demonstrated how important the role of Christian virtues and values was among the lay audience.78 Does this all mean that the ethos of secular elites, whose members presented themselves primarily as a military class, might not necessarily have been fully subordinated to ideal of a Christian society before the legitimate king was allowed, it was not permitted when in the service of a tyrant. See Poenitialium liber, chap. 15, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 112 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1852), 1412. See Raymund Kottje, Die Bussbücher Halitgars von Cambrai und des Hrabanus Maurus (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1980), 240–​44; Stuart Airlie, “The Anxiety of Sanctity: St Gerald of Aurillac and his Maker,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 43, no. 3 (2009): 372–​95. 77 Cosmas, Chronica, 2.48, 155: “Videns autem Bracizlaus, quia sicut miles sine armis suo officio caret, sic dux sine militibus nec nomen ducis habet, maluit cum eis extraneum querere panem, quam solus sine milite cum patre domesticam habere pacem.” English translation after Wolverton, trans., The Chronicle of the Czechs, 177.

78 Compare, e.g., Rachel Stone, Morality and Masculinity in the Carolingian Empire, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 81 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Andrew J. Romig, Be a Perfect Man: Christian Masculinity and the Carolingian Aristocracy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017). With key insight in the issue of holy laymen and scrutiny of possible transformation of the noble ideal under the influence of hagiographical models.

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twelfth century, but were primarily based on the alleged pagan “Germanic” or “Slavic” ideals of its own?79 One important indicium against this assumption is provided by hagiographies. Even before the tenth century, we can find laymen presented as holy men. These were mostly royal saints, but their sanctity was either based on an imitation of monks, or on their alleged martyrdom in defence of the Christian faith.80 During the tenth and eleventh centuries, however, medieval scholars precised the ideal of the secular sanctity.81 This model was not necessarily independent of the previous monastic-​ ascetism based models, but it acknowledged the autonomous value of secular leadership—​as long as it was lived/​followed in accordance with the Bible and an ideal of its own.82 One can agree with Stuart Airlie, who doubts that St. Gerald of Aurillac represented this new model of secular sanctity, as this holy man renounced the activities that defined the nobility of its time and was merely following the ideal of monastic sanctity.83 However, there were other holy men among the secular elites, who fit better to that effort of combining a more active role in society with sanctity. The hagiographers started to appreciate that the work done on behalf of the community took priority over the personal development—​from now on, it was possible to write “At that time [St. Václav] set his heart on journeying to Rome where the pope might allow him to don a monk’s cassock and hand over the reign to his brother. However, he could not do so due to the above-​ mentioned church, as it was not yet finished.”84 On the other hand, seeking the ideals of another social group, which conflicted with the values of one’s own, might have led to

79 Compare Chris Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400–​800 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 176–​78; François Bougard, Geneviève Bührer-​ Thierry, and Régine Le Jan, “Elites in the Early Middle Ages: Identities, Strategies, Mobility,” Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 68, no. 4 (2013): 1079–​1112. 80 Compare Susan J. Ridyard, The Royal Saints of Anglo-​Saxon England: A Study of West Saxon and East Anglian Cults, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 9 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), especially at 74–​95. 81 For more ancient roots of that trend, see Martin Heinzelmann, “ ‘Sanctitas’ und ‘Tugendadel’. Zu Konzeptionen von ‘Heiligkeit’ im 5. und 10. Jahrhundert,” Francia 5 (1977): 746–​52.

82 This was probably paralleled by much the older process of the growing appreciation of the active role of the episcopacy in its role of as shepherds. All these processes were part of the Christianization of all parts of the life, which required more socially conformist figures as role models.

83 Stuart Airlie, “The Anxiety of Sanctity”; Odo of Cluny, De vita sancti Geraldi Auriliacensis comitis libri quatuor, ed. Jacques-​Paul Migne, PL 133 (Paris: apud J.-​P. Migne editorem, 1881), 639–​710, here, e.g., 2.8, col. 675: “Fateor enim vobis, quoniam incomparabiliter melior est bonus laicus quam sui propositi transgressor monachus … si … monachi perfecti sunt, beatis angelis assimilantur.”

84 Crescente fide christiana, chap. 6, ed. Josef Emler, FRB 1 (Prague: Museum Království Českého, 1874), 186: “In tempore autem ilo voluit ire Romam, ut papa eum indueret vestibus monasticis, et pro Dei amore relinquere voluit principatum et dare illud fratri suo. Sed non potuit propter ecclesiam praenominatam, quia nondum perfecta esset.” For more, see David Kalhous, Anatomy

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the criticism.85 From now on “just war” also became part of that moral code and even a saint could be venerated as a successful warlord.86 Even though the monastic ideal might still have been the most venerated, and we continue to find ascetic characteristics in the portrayals of secular saints, as the consciousness of the independent role of each social group, of their value(s) and their own ideals, grew stronger.87 A fine summary of that process was formulated by František Graus, who once wrote: “While (Merovingian queen and holy woman) Radegund flies from her queenly state (Ottonian queen and holy woman) Mathilda becomes a new holy queen; two worlds emerge.”88 Less evident is the parallel between the attempts to legitimize the conflict and ethnogenetic processes within the borders of the former Carolingian empire, but also in the regions adjacent to it, where new principalities emerged between ca. 800 and 1100. A  closer look at these processes reveals that these new polities confirmed their position within the Christian Europe by way of conflict with “others,” including the Roman Empire and its heirs. Such conditions required not only military efficiency but also ideological strategies of forming one’s identity. Here, the available (mostly Carolingian) patterns were used of imagining themselves as a new Israel, Jerusalem, or Rome. It is also noteworthy that the chroniclers promoted the ideal of the unity of of a Duchy: The Political and Ecclesiastical Structures of Early Přemyslid Bohemia, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 19 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 237–​62; Anne C. Stinehart, “ ‘Renowned Queen Mother Mathilda’:  Ideals and Realities of Ottonian Queenship in the ‘Vitae Mathildis reginae’ (Mathilda of Saxony, 895?–​968),” Essays in History, Corcoran Department of History at the University of Virginia 40 (1998), http://​etext.lib.virginia.edu/​journals/​EH/​EH40/​ steinh40.html.

85 Dudo of St. Quentin, De moribus et actis primorum Normanniae ducum, 3.36–​46, ed. Jules Lair (Caen: Le Blanc-​Hardel, 1865), 179–​91 and his image of William Longsword, duke of Normandy. Compare Mark Hagger, Norman Rule in Normandy, 911–​1144 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2017), 5; Leah Shopkow, History and Community: Norman Historical Writing in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1998), 73–​74, 75–​78.

86 Legenda Christiani. Vita et passio sancti Wenceslai et sancte Ludmile ave eius, chap. 10, ed. Jaroslav Ludvíkovský (Prague:  Vyšehrad, 1978), 100–​102. Ludvíkovský proves that this miracle already appeared in the original version of this legend, see Jaroslav Ludvíkovský, “Souboj sv. Václava s vévodou kouřimským v podání václavských legend,” Studie o rukopisech 12 (1973[1975]): 89–​100. Compare also Hugh MacGennis, “Warrior Saints, Warfare, and the Hagiography of Ælfric of Eynsham,” Traditio 56 (2001): 27–​51; Vita Gangulfi, martyris Varennensis, chap. 3, ed. Wilhelm Levison, MGH Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum 7 (Hannover: Hahn, 1920), 159. 87 Heinzelmann (“ ‘Sanctitas’ und ‘Tugendadel,’ ” 745–​46) has shown that ascetism and ecclesiastical office are not contradictory.

88 František Graus, Volk, Herrscher und Heiliger im Reich der Merowinger. Studien zur Hagiographie der Merowingerzeit (Prague:  Nakladatelství Československé akademie věd, 1965), 411. The problem is, of course, more complex, as the two nearly contemporary images of Radegund substantially differ—​whereas Bishop Venantius presented a humble ascetic, nun Baudovinia portrayed an influential and active woman. See Sabine Gäbe, “Radegundis: ‘sancta’, ‘regina’, ‘ancilla’. Zum Heiligkeitsideal der Radegundisviten von Fortunat und Baudonivia,” Francia 16 (1989): 1–​30.

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their communities and, through their stories, they taught their audience the advantages of unity for the common good. The imagination of the conflict based on four selected chronicles from the tenth to the twelfth century analysed in this chapter can thus be also understood as a contribution to the complex issues of post-​Carolingian political thinking and social imagination.

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Chapter 11

CIVIL WAR AS HOLY WAR? POLYPHONIC DISCOURSES OF WARFARE DURING THE INTERNAL STRUGGLES IN NORWAY IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY Bjørn Bandlien* in 1130, king Sigurd Magnusson of Norway, nicknamed Jerusalem-​Traveller (Jórsalafari), died in Oslo. His only son, Magnus was hailed as king in the traditional manner at an assembly in Oslo following the burial of his father. However, another claimant, Harald Gille, had arrived from the British Isles a few years earlier, claiming he was the half-​brother of King Sigurd. When he learned of the events in Oslo, he had himself hailed as a king at another assembly in Tønsberg. Harald Gille and Magnus Sigurdsson were acknowledged as co-​regents in the following year, but soon the hostility between the two kings and their followers became apparent. In 1139, both Harald Gille and King Magnus were killed along with a third pretender. The three young sons of Harald Gille became kings of Norway, but after reaching maturity their rivalry and mistrust led to a new phase of warfare. The death of King Sigurd Jerusalem-​Traveller has been seen as the start of a century of “civil wars” in Norway. During the same period, Norwegian kingship evolved from being based on a kings’ personal qualities and ability to win battles, to a more bureaucratic and institutional state organization. This development was supported by the growing power of the Church, especially in the wake of the establishment of the first archbishopric in Norway in 1152 or 1153. Although the reforming archbishops sought autonomy for the Church, historians have traditionally emphasized the alliance of Church and kingdom, as seen in, for example, the crowning and anointing of the young king Magnus Erlingsson in 1163 or 1164 (r. until 1184), the importance of the clergy in royal administration, and in the introduction of a new legitimation of kingship in the idea of rex iustus.1 * Bjørn Bandlien is a professor of history at the University of South-​Eastern Norway. He defended his thesis “Man or Monster: Negotiations of Masculinity in Old Norse Society” for the Dr.philos.-​ degree at the University of Oslo in 2005. He has published Strategies of Passion: Love and Marriage in Medieval Norway and Iceland (Brepols, 2005), an edited volume on Queen Eufemia of Norway, and several studies on crusades, memory, gender, and identity in Viking Age and medieval Scandinavia, and co-​edited Approaches to the Medieval Self: Representations and Conceptualizations of the Self in the Textual and Material Culture of Western Scandinavia, c. 800–​1500 (De Gruyter, 2020). 1 For this classical interpretation of the period, see the overview of Knut Helle, “The Norwegian Kingdom: Succession Disputes and Consolidation,” in The Cambridge History of Scandinavia, vol. 1: Prehistory to 1520, ed. Knut Helle (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 369–​91.

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228 Bjørn Bandlien The internal struggles have generally been attributed to rivalry between classes, co-​rulers, regions, and/​or aristocratic families for controlling the resources of a growing royal power. During the last decades, there has been a renewed interest and debate about the impact of the Church on warfare in the twelfth-​century Scandinavia. On the one hand, the internal struggles are interpreted as dominated by personal ties, factions, and networks, which include those of the clerical elite. Ideas of holy war and the subordination to a just king were only slowly integrated into this political culture.2 On the other hand, some argue that crusading and holy war changed the perception and legitimation of warfare in Norway. Religious rites and the carrying of relics became more frequent, and political factions were seeking divine authority for their cause.3 The aim of this study is not to revisit all aspects of the Church’s role in these internal struggles, but rather to discuss the relations between some of the contemporary perceptions, narratives, and concepts of warfare after the introduction of the doctrine of holy war in twelfth-​century Norway. Several discourses on war can be identified in the sources, and it will be argued here that these could be more interrelated, ambiguous, and complex than often assumed.

Ambiguous and Hybrid Discourses of Warfare

The earliest recorded chronicles and sagas on the history of Norway were written in the latter half of the twelfth century and the early thirteenth century. In these works, the turbulent period following King Sigurd Jerusalem-​Traveller’s death in 1130 was integrated into at least three distinct discourses. In Latin historiography associated to the archbishopric of Nidaros, past events and kings were interpreted and valued from a perspective of classical and biblical models. A prominent representative of this tradition is Theodoricus Monachus, who had probably studied at the Abbey of Saint-​Victor in Paris and who dedicated his chronicle to another Victorine, Archbishop Øystein Erlendsson (in office 1161–​1188).4 Theodoricus refused to pass on any information on the ominous times ensuing King Sigurd’s reign:  “I deem it utterly unfitting to record for posterity the crimes, killings, perjuries, parricides, desecrations of holy places, the contempt for 2 See, e.g., Sverre Bagge, “The Structure of Political Factions in the Internal Struggles of the Scandinavian Countries During the Middle Ages,” Scandinavian Journal of History 24 (1999): 299–​320; Hans Jacob Orning, Unpredictability and Presence: Norwegian Kingship in the High Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 2008).

3 See for instance Bjørn Bandlien, “A New Norse Knighthood? The Impact of the Templars in Twelfth Century Norway,” in Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. Tuomas M. S. Lehtonen and Kurt Villads Jensen (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2005), 175–​84; Trond Norén Isaksen, Hellig krig om Norges krone. Tronstrid, borgerkrig og korstog fra Sigurd Jorsalfare til kong Sverre (Oslo: Historie & kultur, 2017).

4 Theodoricus was probably an Augustinian canon close to the circle of Archbishop Øystein of Nidaros, to whom he dedicated his story. The date of the work remains uncertain, but internal evidence suggests a date in the late 1170s, Sverre Bagge, “Theodoricus Monachus—​Clerical Historiography in Twelfth-​Century Norway,” Scandinavian Journal of History 14 (1989): 113–​33.

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God, the plundering no less of the clergy than of the whole people, the abductions of women, and other abominations which it would take long to enumerate.”5 Theodoricus was horrified by the violations to God, to the clergy, and to the defenceless people. He understood the struggles as a most unholy war, a state of affairs that threatened the Christian community, marked by the slaying of kinsmen and paralleled only by the crumble of the Roman Republic.6 In contrast to Theodoricus, the Icelandic chieftain and saga writer Snorri Sturluson was not shy of exploring the turmoil of this time. In Heimskringla, written ca. 1230, Snorri presented the struggles in a more traditional way, where kings were motivated by hereditary claims, seeking riches, power, and honour, or revenging wrongs directed against them. Sverre Bagge, in his study of Heimskringla, states that Snorri regarded King Sigurd’s death less as a turning point than as “the beginning of a series of important events, because of his numerous descendants and their different fates and mutual rivalry.”7 However, the king’s sagas also included passages where the battles seem to draw on notions of just or holy war. We see this for instance in the very first battle of the so-​called civil wars, led by Harald Gille and Magnus Sigurdsson at Fyrileiv in August 1134. King Magnus had a piece of the Holy Cross carried before his army, while in the subsequent battle in Bergen, Harald Gille prayed for the assistance of the royal martyr of Norway, St. Olav, and promised to build a church in his honour if he defeated King Magnus.8 Some decades later, the warriors of King Magnus Erlingsson and his father Erling Skakke received Holy Communion at the battlefield and expected martyrdom if they died, while their opponent King Sverre (r. 1184–​1202) had a battleship filled with precious relics that made it comparable to Roland’s legendary sword Durendal.9 In a recent study, Carl Phelpstead argues that the kings’ sagas, such as Heimskringla, consist of several genres and voices within the same work. For example, the three discourses mentioned above are seemingly separated, opposed, and belong to different genres; and yet, we find them in the same text. Theodoricus repeatedly referred to 5 Theodoricus Monachus, “Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium”: An Account of the Ancient History of the Norwegian Kings, trans. David McDougall and Ian McDougall, Text Series 11 (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 1998), 53. Latin text in Monumenta historica Norvegiæ, ed. by Gustav Storm (Kristiania: Brøgger, 1880), 67: “Nos quoque hujus schedulæ hic finem facimus, indignum valde judicantes memoriæ posterorum tradere scelera, homicidia, perjuria, parricidia, sanctorum locorum contaminationes, Dei contemptum, non minus religiosorum deprædationes quam totius plebis, mulierum captivationes et ceteras abominationes, quas longum est enumerare.” 6 See Theodoricus Monachus’s Historia, chap. 34. Theodoricus cited the words of Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, who in his De Bello civile had advised poets to leave out the evils of war. 7 Sverre Bagge, Society and Politics in Snorri Sturluson’s Heimskringla (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 197.

8 Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, Íslenzk fornrit 26–​28, 3 vols. (Reykjavík: Hið islenzka fornritafélag, 1941–​1951), 3:281, 286.

9 Bandlien, “A New Norse Knighthood.”

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230 Bjørn Bandlien the “hereditary right” of pretenders as an explanation for their struggles, while Snorri included passages on war that draw on hagiography. Instead of treating hagiographic traits and religious rhetoric as superficial and estranged to the saga style, they can rather be seen as polyphonic.10 Mikhail M. Bakhtin distinguished polyphony into levels of interaction; heteroglossia, dialogue, and hybridity. Heteroglossia implies coexistence of styles and voices that sometimes tend to be organized in a hierarchy. Dialogue is genuine exchange of ideas between different genres or groups, an effect that according to Phelpstead was created in the kings’ saga through direct speech, the insertion of skaldic poems, and a mix of styles and genres. Third, hybridity stresses the way in which utterances can be double-​voiced: What we are calling a hybrid construction is an utterance that belongs, by its grammatical and compositional markers to a single speaker, but that actually contains mixed within it two utterances, two speech manners, two styles, two “languages”, two semantic and axiological belief systems. … It frequently happens that even one and the same word will belong simultaneously to two languages, two belief systems that intersect in a hybrid construction—​and consequently, the word has two contradictory meanings, two accents.11

It is this more complex sense of polyphonic discourses on war, utterances, and concepts that belong to various languages, practices, and belief systems, which is the primary interest of this study. In a situation of political conflict, these could be highly politicized and hierarchical, while in certain contexts they are used for dialogue and fusion of previously separated or opposing concepts. Here, I will take as my point of departure, formulations related to the legitimation of war in the constitutional documents written in connection to or shortly after the coronation of Magnus Erlingsson, son of the magnate Erling Skakke and Kristin, daughter of King Sigurd Jerusalem-​Traveller, in 1163/​1164. These are the Oath of Coronation, the Letter of Privileges to the Church, and the Law of Royal Succession. These were important to the institution of kingship at a time when Magnus Erlingsson’s claim to the royal title was disputed since he was not the son of a king, but of a king’s daughter. Magnus Erlingsson was supported by Archbishop Øystein of Nidaros, as well as by the papal legate Stephen of Orvieto who attended the coronation. The constitutional documents were most likely formulated carefully with several groups in mind, the reform-​minded clerics at Nidaros, the closest advisors to the king, and a wider group of magnates and warriors. For the purpose of this study, I will focus primarily on two of the key concepts of these documents and its use by central agents in the conflicts: first, the regulation and legitimation of authority and involvement of clergy in warfare, and second the concept of the king as a knight of St. Olav.

10 Carl Phelpstead, Holy Vikings: Saints’ Lives in the Old Icelandic Kings’ Sagas (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 2007). 11 Mikhail M. Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 304–​5.

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The Ambiguous Vocabulary and Practice of Holy War King Magnus Erlingsson’s coronation oath performed in 1163/​1164 has been regarded as an expression of his subordination and obedience to the Church.12 The oath was performed while the king, only about seven years old at the time, touched the holy relics of St. Olav in Nidaros. Magnus promised to be faithful to the pope and be just to churches, clerics, and the people of the realm, especially widows and orphans. Moreover, he was to serve the Church and the kingdom of Norway according to divine law and the law of men (instituta divine et humane legis). He was not to demand any service from the Church, besides those that the holy canons allowed, unless the Church voluntarily granted such service to the king.13 Although this oath presents the Church as a more independent institution than before, a key point for the king seems to be the exceptions concerning the support of the Church in the canons. The provincial canons, Canones Nidrosienses, were probably written between 1163 and 1177 with Archbishop Øystein as the redactor.14 One of the most elaborate of these canons concerned the resources of the churches and the participation of clerics in the case of war. It stated that bishops, priests, and “other fighters of the Church,” should be distinct from secular warriors and not be forced by the king to join his army. Clerics should not be hurt by warriors, and those men of the Church who had shed blood were to be expelled from their office. However, there were three exceptions. First, clerics and monks were supposed to accompany the king at meetings called stepnoleidinge; when the king held negotiations with another ruler attended by his armed forces. In this case, bishops or priests could act as negotiators, but still were part of the military force. The second exception is if a heathen army attacked the kingdom. Then bishops and abbots should accompany the military expedition against the heathens, or alternatively support the army with men or supplies. In the third exception, it is stated that bishops, abbots, and other clerics should have a more active role. They should goad people to fight against those who were excommunicated or were violators of the peace. Clerics were then supposed to preach war to lay people and remind them that, if they died when protecting peace and 12 Sverre Bagge, From Viking Stronghold to Christian Kingdom: State Formation in Norway, c.  900–​1350 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 2010), 167.

13 Latinske dokument til norsk historie fram til år 1204, ed. and trans. Eirik Vandvik (Oslo: Samlaget, 1959) (hereafter LD), 62–​64 (no. 10).

14 I follow here Sverre Bagge’s argument that they belong to the reign of Magnus Erlingsson (1161–​1184), and that its redactor was Archbishop Øystein, see his “Den heroiske tid—​kirkereform og kirkekamp 1153–​1214,” in “Ecclesia Nidrosiensis” 1153–​1537. Søkelys på Nidaroskirkens og Nidarosprovinsens historie, ed. Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Tapir, 2003), 47–​80. See also Odd Sandaaker, “ ‘Canones Nidrosienses’ i intermesso eller opptakt?,” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 67 (1988): 2–​37, where detailed examination of clauses is provided. Sandaaker believed the Canones belong to the middle of 1180s and are not a promulgated statute but a draft or protocol. Recently, also Louisa Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law: The Military Activities of Prelates in High Medieval Norway,” Scandinavian Journal of History 7, no. 2 (2019): 1–​23.

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232 Bjørn Bandlien the patria, they would receive a place in the heavenly kingdom. Thus, just war could be turned against Christians who violated the peace of the country, as much as against heathens. Furthermore, every priest and those of the lower clergy could themselves decide if they wanted to accompany the king’s army. They should not carry weapons but were supposed to “carry the king and his men in prayers.”15 The canon appears greatly indebted to Gratian’s Decretum.16 In the corresponding paragraphs in Decretum, it is stated on the one hand that clerics were not to fight with sword in their hand, with reference to a letter of Pope Nicholas I that bishops should have nothing to do with the secular wars, even against pirates and heathens. Still, there were just wars that the Church should support, and also cited is the letter of Pope Leo IV from 853 where it was stated that men who fought on behalf of God could be assured of salvation if they died in battle. Just as bishops could owe kings support when they were his vassals (“giving to Caesar what is owed to him”), they should also follow his army into war. Decretum also examined quite systematically the individual morality of the warrior in relation to the reasons by which war can be justified. What is exceptional about the Norwegian law, compared to its provenance in Decretum, is that priests and the lower clergy could follow the king’s army even without consulting the bishop.17 There was one exception to the loyalty to the king that can be found in the Law of Succession. As a rule, the eldest son of the former king should inherit the kingdom. However, if evil and ignorance (illzka ok úvizka) took power over the king, an assembly of bishops and the wisest men from all parts of the country should choose a new king and banish the former king. This law has an analogue to John of Salisbury’s comments on tyrants in Policraticus (1159), where a tyrant could be deposed. It has been suggested that both the Norse words alluded to iniustus and the lack of prudentia, concepts central to ideas of rulership and rex iustus.18 However, illzka ok úvizka is also a phrase found in secular laws. There, the meaning seems more generally to break or be ignorant of laws.19 Even though these words would remind the learned audience of tyrants in the manner of John of Salisbury and Augustine,—​and the Archbishop Øystein would have learned this 15 LD, 42–​44 (no. 7.ii). On the issue of licit forms of clerical behaviour in military struggles, see Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law,” as well as chapters gathered in the first part of this volume, especially by Jacek Maciejewski and Sini Kangas, where also further discussion of legal and cultural norms is provided.

16 See Vegard Skånland, Det eldste norske provinsialstatutt (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1969), 84–​100; Erik Gunnes, “Erkebiskop Øystein som lovgiver,” Lumen 39 (1970): 127–​49; Sverre Bagge, “Den heroiske tid,” 69; Haki Antonsson, “Some Observations on Martyrdom in Post-​Conversion Scandinavia,” Saga-​Book 28 (2004): 70–​94 especially at 79–​87.

17 Skånland, Det eldste norske provinsialstatutt, 100.

18 The most detailed study of this law remains Torfinn Tobiassen, “Tronfølgelov og privilegiebrev. En studie i kongedømmets ideologi under Magnus Erlingsson,” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 43 (1964):  181–​273.

19 Claus Krag, “Skikkethet og arv i tronfølgeloven av 1163,” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 54 (1975):  153–​80.

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usage well after his studies in Paris, the more general audience could have interpreted this in accordance to the usage of secular laws as a king that was not respecting the laws.20 The participation of the clerics in warfare was clearly an issue on which Archbishop Øystein felt he needed guidance. He sent a letter to Pope Alexander III asking whether clerics could return to office in any way, even if they had “only” killed a heathen. This letter itself is lost, but in his response, Alexander III stated that such a priest could not serve at the altar since the blood polluted his service.21 A new letter on this issue was sent some years later, probably in 1188, to which Pope Clement III repeated that clerics should not participate in warfare, besides giving penitence and other sacraments, as well as urging warriors to avoid evil deeds.22 Despite these clear answers, the queries imply that this issue was hotly debated within the Norwegian archdiocese at the time. Archbishop Øystein seemed to explore the limits of clerical participation especially in wars against those defined as heathens, and he saw it as quite likely that clerics could spill blood during battles. Indeed, in the kings’ sagas we find several clerics participating in warfare, for example Ivar Kalvsson who fought in the army of King Magnus Sigurdsson in 1139.23 Ivar Kalvsson, nicknamed skrauthanki (“ornamented hasp”), became bishop of Nidaros in the 1140s and was the father of Eirik, later a student at the Abbey of Saint Victor in Paris and the archbishop of Nidaros (in office 1188–​1205). At a battle in 1180, the magnate and cleric Nicholas Arnesson led one part of the army of King Magnus Erlingsson against King Sverre’s forces, as well as negotiating between the kings the following year.24 Nicholas became bishop of Oslo in 1190 (in office until 1225), and later led the uprising against King Sverre with weapons in his hands and a helmet on his head. Although the papal ban on clerics fighting with weapons other than prayers and piety should have been known to a high-​ranking and well-​connected cleric, Nicholas would probably have considered his fight against Sverre as even more important, and even sanctioned by papal authority. Sverre had been excommunicated, probably on the instigation of Eirik, archbishop of Nidaros (in office 1189–​1205), who had been forced into exile in the 1190s. In 1194, Pope Celestine III sent a letter to Archbishop Eirik where he stated that bishops, abbots, and clerics in some circumstances could carry arms and 20 Alexander Moltubakk Kempton, “ ‘Rex Dei Gratia’. Makt, ideologi og tvetydighet i diskursen rundt Magnus Erlingssons kongedømme” (MA thesis, University of Oslo, 2008), 64–​66.

21 LD, 74 (no. 16). The dating of the letter is uncertain, but sometime in the late 1160s seems likely. For more on whether clerics involved in the death of another could retain their office, see Atria A. Larson, “Killing a Career: Homicide and the Development of Medieval Clerical Discipline,” The Jurist 74, no. 2 (2014): 265–​88. 22 LD, 84–​86 (no. 24).

23 Heimskringla, 3:316–​17.

24 Sverris saga, chap. 46, ed. by Þorleifur Hauksson, Íslenzk fornrit 30 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska fornritafélag, 2007), 71–​72.

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234 Bjørn Bandlien fight themselves. There should be grave causes that made this necessary, and it had to be approved by the bishop and the wisest men of the clergy.25 Pope Innocent III commented on this theme further in a letter sent to Icelandic bishops in 1198. He warned them against supporting Sverre. If they did so, they would become like “mute dogs,” choosing to lie in filth rather than be carried on scarlet. Sverre was termed “a limb of the devil” (membrum diaboli), and apostate, and a raging wind from the north. Against the demonic forces of such sinful rulers, the clergy are urged to resist them, just as Paul the Apostle had once done when fighting wild animals in Ephesus, or else risk their salvation.26 There would be no better time for Bishop Nicholas to combine his skills on the battlefield and his episcopal office—​even if this required some bending of the papal rules on clerics in warfare. It was an exceptional situation with his opponent seen as something diabolical or a beast which must be beaten to save the Church. Models for such martial leadership would be found near at hand, in Scandinavia, as well as on a wider territory around the Baltic.27 In Denmark, Archbishop Absalon of Lund (in office 1178–​1201) was hailed as a leader in the wars against the Wends, while in Trier, Archbishop Albero (in office 1132–​1152) fought heroically to the defend the liberty of the Church.28 Considering the context and language used against Sverre in this correspondence, Bishop Nicholas would indeed find legitimation for carrying arms against the Birchlegs—​the enemy of the Church and Christian community in Norway. Thus, civil war became holy war, in which even clerics could take up arms. There are, moreover, several echoes of the oath and the use of the Canones Nidrosienses in the narrative sources. In 1163, shortly before the coronation of his son 25 LD, 98 (no. 29). Bishop Nicholas claims papal authority for carrying weapons in Sverris saga, chap. 131, 196–​97.

26 LD, 114 (no. 35), see I Corinthians 15:32. This letter, with some minor variations, was also sent to the Icelandic chieftains.

27 Some telling examples of twelfth-​and early thirteenth-​century warring bishops in the Baltic region are provided in Sveinung K. Boye, “Kirkens stridsmenn—​Geistlighet, vold og krigføring i den norske borgerkrigstiden,” Fortid 7, no. 4 (2010): 12–​17; R. Kotecki, “Lions and Lambs, Wolfs and Pastors of the Flock: Portraying Military Activities of Bishops in Twelfth Century Poland,” in Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, John S. Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 303–​340; Carsten Selch Jensen, “Clerics and War in Denmark and the Baltic: Ideals and Realities Around 1200,” in Fighting for the Faith: The Many Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Carsten Selch Jensen, and Janus Møller Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et mediævalia, 2018), 187–​217; Taylor, “Bishops, War, and Canon Law”; as well as in chapters by Carsten Selch Jensen, Kristjan Kaljusaar, Sini Kangas, and Jacek Maciejewski in this volume. 28 On Absalon, see Karsten Friis-​Jensen, “Saxo’s Portrait of Absalon,” in Archbishop Absalon and His World, ed. Karsten Friis-​Jensen and Inge Skovgaard-​Petersen (Roskilde: Roskilde Museum, 2000), 159–​79, and Carsten Selch Jensen’s chapter in this volume. On Albero of Trier, see Jörg R. Müller, “Vir religiosus ac strenuus.” Albero von Montreuil, Erzbischof von Trier (1132–​1152), Trierer historische Forschungen 56 (Trier: Kliomedia, 2006); A Warrior Bishop of the Twelfth Century: The “Deeds of Albero” of Trier, by Balderich, trans. Brian A. Pavlac (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2008), 67–​68.

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Magnus, Erling Skakke fought a battle at Re in Vestfold against his opponent Sigurd of Rør, a supporter of the pretender Håkon Herdebrei (“Broad-​Shouldered”). In a speech held at an assembly in Tønsberg shortly before the battle, one of Erling’s men admonished his audience to send their enemies to Hell. At the battlefield, Erling Skakke had his army sing Pater Noster and Kyrie Eleison and pray that the side be victorious that was the most proper.29 According to Sverris saga, Archbishop Øystein had promised that any man that died on the battlefield in defence of King Magnus Erlingsson would become a martyr before their blood cooled.30 Although this claim is put in the mouth of his rather sarcastic opponent, King Sverre, there is no reason to doubt that this promise was any less real. King Magnus also referred directly to his oath of coronation when he rejected an offer from King Sverre to make peace by dividing the kingdom between them. Sverre’s proposal was not surprising; co-​regency had after all been a usual situation in Norway. Magnus turned the offer down, primarily because he had promised the Church to fight “evil men” and their desire for power, not to cooperate with them. To do so would be to break his oath and imply that he was a coward not to uphold it.31 This is also in accordance with Magnus’s promise in the Letter of Privilege to the Church to protect the patria against other pretenders and not yield to any enemy of the kingdom. However, this was a vulnerable rhetoric—​when Sverre was victorious after the battle of Fimreite in 1184, Sverre could claim that it was he that was supported by God and St. Olav.32 In this way, he could legitimize his warfare as a holy war, using the rhetoric of the Canones Nidrosienses of the unsuitable king who was not only a rex iniustus and tyrant, with all the learned implications this concept would evoke, but also a law-​breaker who did not respect legal heritage rights. Furthermore, Sverris saga negotiated John of Salisbury’s interpretation of how David succeeded Saul. David had showed enduring patience towards Saul and refused to kill the anointed king, but the tyrant king was defeated at the Battle of Gilboa by divine providence, committing suicide after realizing his army was losing. Sverre himself is presented as a second David through his dreams early in Sverris saga (see further below). The anointed Magnus, like Saul received bad omens before the battle of Fimreite and preferred to jump into the sea and die instead of fighting to the end.33 Canones Nidrosienses is an early testimony of the attempts to exert authority over what was just war and how the clergy own members should act in warfare.34 29 Heimskringla, 3:389. 30 Sverris saga, chap. 38, 61–​64. 31 Sverris saga, chap. 60, 96.

32 LD, 60 (no. 9).

33 Sverris saga, chap. 93 and 95, 144–​45 and 146–​47. Lars Lönnroth, “Sverrir’s Dreams,” Scripta Islandica 57 (2006): 97–​110. See also the discussion in Jan van Laarhoven, “ ‘Thou Shalt Not Slay a Tyrant!’: The So-​Called Theory of John of Salisbury,” in The World of John of Salisbury, ed. Michael Wilks, Studies in Church History. Subsidia 3 (London: Blackwell, 1994), 319–​41. 34 On the quite extensive independence of the archbishops of Nidaros in relation to papal authority, see Anthony Perron, “ ‘Ius Metropoliticum’ on the Norwegian Periphery from Nicholas

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236 Bjørn Bandlien Clerical participation was generally recognized if it was a just cause; against heathens, excommunicates, violators of the ecclesiastical privileges, liberties, and peace, and, according to the Law of Succession also against unjust or arrogant rulers. If the cause was just, the Church should wholeheartedly support it by preaching to lay people and also assisting warriors at the battlefield. Still, the idea of the deposition of an unsuitable king could potentially legitimatize a claimants’ fight for the throne in a wider sense than was the intention in the learned discourse at Nidaros.

Two Discourses on Being the Knight of St. Olav

In the Letter of Privileges to the Church, formulated in connection to his coronation in 1163/​1164, or some years later, the young King Magnus Erlingsson promised to defend the saint’s realm against all offenders.35 Magnus pledged to be a knight in St. Olav’s army (tamquam eius miles) and imitate the virtues (virtutum imitator) of the martyr King Olav who himself was the knight of God. Magnus further pledged to guard the holy king’s inheritance and uphold his peace by fighting lawbreakers and usurpers. This subordination and service would help him in fulfilling his duties as a king and defend him against his enemies. Moreover, the crown should return to the saint’s altar at the cathedral of Nidaros after his death. It was in itself considered a relic, and the archbishop was supposed to guard it on behalf of St. Olav until a new king was chosen—​implicitly a king that the Church and St. Olav would approve of. Thus, the crown belonged to the saint, and the Church was to protect his interests. Most likely, it was Archbishop Øystein himself who formulated this letter of privilege. This is indicated not only by the important privileges granted to the Church and some linguistic peculiarities found in his other writings, but also by the close affinities of the Letter of Privileges with relationship of the French kings as vassals of Saint-​Denis and their submission to the abbey during the twelfth century. Øystein had himself studied in Paris, most likely at the Abbey of Saint Victor, and seems to have had substantial knowledge of the developments of the theology of rulership.36 To understand what the implications of imitating St. Olav and being his warrior had at this time, we have to investigate how the virtues of this royal saint were presented. The authority of St. Olav was undisputed by both the Church and kingdom in the latter half of the twelfth century, but the meaning of being his knight could be ambiguous. Archbishop Øystein himself, the probable architect of the Letter of Privileges, the Coronation Oath, and the provincial canons, authored a short Passio and miracle collection of St. Olav, as well as redacting liturgical texts to his honour. In his Office of St. Olav, he is presented as an ideal king, righteous, humble, and wise (vir iustus, humilis, Breakspear to William of Sabina,” in Frontiers in the Middle Ages, ed. Outi Merisalo and Päivi Pahta, Textes et études du Moyen Age 35 (Louvain-​le-​Neuve: Fédération Internationale des Instituts d’Etudes Médiévales, 2006), 237–​58. 35 LD, 60 (no. 9).

36 Erik Gunnes, Erkebiskop Øystein. Statsmann og kirkebygger (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1996), 122–​28.

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sapiens). These virtues became more elaborately linked to his life story in Passio Olavi.37 According to this version, Olav was born a pagan but had a certain nobility of mind that made him follow the path of righteousness. Learning the purity and truth of the Gospel he went to Rouen to be baptized. There he “became a different man,” and “walked in newness of life.”38 He became ignorant of worldly pleasures and the glory of earthly kingship; his mind turned instead towards the love of divine law and heavenly bliss. He demonstrated no signs of royal pride or tyranny but exercised his royal duties with great humility and mildness. Much space is given to the description of heathens, as well as a striking juxtaposition of geography, religion, and character. The heathens in Norway were savage and stubborn, with cold and fierce hearts. The Passio places Norway as the region most close to the ultimate north; that same north from where Jeremiah had said every evil would come from. The prophets had once promised that God finally would overturn the reign of the “boaster” in the north and to “build His city” even in the land farthest north.39 For Øystein, the tool for building the city of God in the midst of evil was of course St. Olav, and his inheritors as kings should follow his example unless evil should again reign in this exposed realm. Still, Øystein never depicted St. Olav as a proper warrior fighting with material weapons. The martyr king is presented in terms similar to a successful and stern preacher, using his tongue rather than his sword. Many were converted, not by of the threat of the sword, but because they were “softened” by the warmth of his faith, subdued by his sweet words, and roused by his peerless conduct. Even at his last battle at Stiklestad, he was clad for spiritual, not physical, warfare. Only then, “bold as a lion,” he could face the rash fury of the heathens. The wars of St. Olav in Passio Olavi were very much connected to the fight between good and evil, wickedness and righteousness, mildness and haughtiness, God and devil. He became a part of the great history of salvation, as the saviour of the north that the prophets had envisioned. Those who refused to convert were led by delusions and their own folly, being irrational worshippers of idols; fierce, vicious, and full of pride. They were not only personal enemies or political opponents of the saint, but also of the true faith and righteousness. St. Olav is presented as an ascetic ruler, a warrior king that seems more as an example for the ordained elite than for warriors. 37 Passio Olavi has a complex textual history, see Lenka Jirouškova, Der heilige Wikingerkönig Olav Haraldsson und sein hagiographisches Dossier. Text und Kontext der Passio Olavi, Mittellateinische Studien und Texte 46, 2 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 2014). 38 A History of Norway and the Passion and Miracles of the Blessed Óláfr, trans. Carl Phelpstead and Devra Kunin, Viking Society for Northern Research 13 (London: Viking Society for Northern Research, 2001), 27. 39 Passio et miracula beati Olaui, ed. Frederick Metcalfe (Oxford: Clarendon, 1881), 67–​68; compare Jeremiah 1:13–​14 and Jesse 14:13. On this theme, see Vegard Skånland, “Calor Fidei,” Symbolae Osloenses 32 (1956): 86–​104; Lars Boje Mortensen, “The Language of Geographical Description to Twelfth-​Century Scandinavian Latin,” Filologia mediolatina 12 (2005): 103–​21.

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238 Bjørn Bandlien However, for a lay audience this version of St. Olav was less relevant for direct imitation. True, Olav died in defence of the faith, justice, and equity, achieving martyrdom by the spears of the wicked. He was pious and brave in face of death but had only moderate military success. In this way, Passio Olavi is less polyphonic than most works in late twelfth-​century Norway, as its focus on war does not include martial heroism at all. It is foremost a discourse on spiritual warfare and martyrdom perhaps directed at canons in Nidaros and learned clerics abroad. Other texts associated to Nidaros attempted more successfully to fuse the warrior and holy aspects of St. Olav. In July 1153 the Icelandic priest, retainer and poet Einarr Skúlason performed the poem Geisli (“Sun-​beam”) in honour of St. Olav in front of an assembly of important clerics, abbots, and magnates, the first Norwegian archbishop, and the three kings of Norway; Øystein, Sigurd, and Inge, the sons of Harald Gille.40 Geisli presents St. Olav as Christ-​like, but also as “God’s knight.”41 Three of the miracles told by Einarr concern the role of the St. Olav in warfare. The first of these concerns the great battle of Magnus, son of Olav, against the heathen Wends at Lyrskogshede in 1043 (stanzas 27–​30). St. Olav appeared in a dream and promised that he would support his son against the heathens. Magnus was victorious, and this was caused by his prayers, as well as his bravery.42 The second martial miracle is that performed by another of the saint’s relatives, his nephew Guttorm (stanzas 31–​34). The reason for this fight is not clear from the poem but it seems to have been known to the audience. In later sources it is explained as a fight between Guttorm and his companion, an Irish king, over some booty they had gathered in the British Isles during raiding. Guttorm called on his holy uncle to help him against the Irish “tyrant,” and despite being outnumbered he managed to win over the entire “horde of savages.” There is no mention of heathendom in this miracle, and it seems to be far from what would be sanctioned as a holy war.43 Still, the point in the story seems to be that prayers to St. Olav helped warriors on the battlefield. It also suggests that his royal descendants had a special relationship with him during warfare. In the third miracle concerning war, which is the lengthiest episode in Geisli, Varangian troops in the Byzantium army are said to have fought with little success against the heathens, and in their peril, they vowed that they would build a church in honour of the Virgin Mary if they were granted victory. The saint appeared at the battle 40 Einarr Skúlason, Geisli, ed. and trans. Martin Chase, in Poetry on Christian Subjects, ed. Margaret Clunies Ross, Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages 7 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007), 7–​65.

41 Martin Chase, “ ‘Framir kynnask vátta mál’:  The Christian Background of Einarr Skúlason’s ‘Geisli,’ ” in Til heiðurs og hugbótar. Greinar um trúarkveðskap fyrri alda, ed. Svanhildur Óskarsdóttir and Anna Guðmundsdóttir (Reykholt: Snorrastofa, 2003), 11–​32.

42 In Heimskringla (Magnúss saga góða, chap. 27–​ 28, 3:43–​ 45), it is said that the Wends outnumbered Magnus’s forces, but St. Olav appeared in a dream and told his son not to be afraid. Magnus used the battle-​axe of his father, called “Hel,” with great success. The battle-​axe was later placed beside the altar in Christ Church in Nidaros as a relic. 43 For this version, see Passio et miracula beati Olaui, 75–​76.

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and became the standard-​bearer for the Christians. The pagans, greatly outnumbering the Varangians, were struck by divine terror and defeated.44 Gerd Wolfgang Weber has interpreted this miracle in the light of crusading ideology. He proposed that St. Olav had become the guardian of the military brotherhood of the Varangians in the first half of the twelfth century. According to Geisli the Greek emperor himself learned about a miraculous sword that had been owned by St. Olav and revered it as a relic after the battle. Of special interest is Einarr’s kenning for the sword:  gómsparra gylðis kindar—​“the jaw-​spike of the kin of the Fenrisúlfr.”45 Fenrir had become a symbol of the devil in the twelfth century, a monstrous force that was now opposed to Christian heroes rather than the heathen gods. The saint’s sword then functioned as a symbol of their power over the evils of the heathens and the devil. Geisli thus established the Norwegian Church and the Norwegian saint as defensores pacis and defensores Christianitatis.46 Under the relic of St. Olav’s sword, the Varangians became akin to knights who had taken the Cross against the heathens, but as a militia Olavi. These three miracles illustrate the development of calling upon St. Olav for assistance in battles. The second miracle seems out of order, since the battle is not directed against heathens; the saint helps his relative in what does not seem to be considered a holy war. In a broadened sense, and especially for warriors who had experience from battles and dividing the spoils between them, it could be perceived as a just war, since the opponent deprived Guttorm his share of the booty. Even though it was hardly a holy war according to canon law, the inclusion of this episode in a series of miracles concerning warfare would impose the discourse of divinely sanctioned warfare on similar situations. In the other two miracles St. Olav assisted Christians against heathens, where the enemy is threatening both the king/​emperor and the Christian community. The message to an audience of warriors remains that a friend of St. Olav, who offers prayers and gifts to the saint, will receive help in return. 44 Einarr Skúlason, Geisli, stanzas 43–​56. For a discussion of the historical background of this miracle, see, e.g., Odd Sandaaker, “Mirakelet på Pezina-​vollene,” Collegium Medievale 4 (1991): 85–​97. In several of the crusading narratives, warrior-​saints appear as standard-​bearers for the Christian armies, see James B. MacGregor, “Negotiating Knightly Piety: The Cult of the Warrior-​Saints in the West, ca. 1070–​ca. 1200,” Church History 73 (2004): 317–​45; Beth C. Spacey, “The Celestial Knight: Evoking the First Crusade in Odo of Deuil’s ‘De Profectione Ludovici VII in Orientem’ and in the Anonymous ‘Historia de Expeditione Friderici Imperatoris,’ ” Essays in Medieval Studies 31, no. 1 (2015): 65–​82. St. Olav is also riding a white horse in the “Beatus Initial” of the Carrow Psalter (ca. 1250), as well as on the ivory travel altar, made in Norway ca. 1300, depicting the king riding with a cross on his shield ahead of the Varangians. For the figures of supernatural standard-​bearers, see also discussion on angels leading armies into battles in Radosław Kotecki’s chapter in this volume. 45 Einarr Skúlason, Geisli, stanza 48.

46 Gerd Wolfgang Weber, “Saint Óláfr’s Sword—​Einarr Skúlason’s ‘Geisli’ and Its Trondheim Performance AD 1153: A Turning Point in Norwego-​Icelandic Skaldic Poetry,” in Sagas and the Norwegian Experience, ed. Jan Ragnar Hagland (Trondheim: Noregs teknisk-​ naturvitskaplege universitet. Senter for middelalderstudier, 1997), 655–​61.

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240 Bjørn Bandlien

King Sverre as St. Olav’s Successor This rhetoric of just war was countered by Sverre Sigurdsson, a pretender who claimed to be the illegitimate son of King Sigurd Munn. The life of Sverre, king of Norway from 1177 until his death in 1202, was truly worth a saga. Sverris saga, written by Karl Jónsson, abbot at the Benedictine monastery Þingeyrar in Iceland, is wholly devoted to the life of Sverre and his many battles and conflicts. His progression to the Norwegian throne was remarkable. He grew up in the Faroe Isles as the son of a comb-​maker and his Norwegian wife. Being raised and educated by his uncle, the bishop of the Faeroes, he was ordained a priest probably in his early twenties. After his mother had told him about his royal ancestry, he became a leader of the Birchlegs, a small warrior group who had supported a pretender who had, shortly before Sverre’s arrival in Norway, been killed in a battle against King Magnus Erlingsson. Seven years later, Sverre had defeated both Magnus and his father Erling Skakke, and as king he managed to defend himself against ecclesiastical authorities and several new pretenders. His turbulent life made him both stern enemies as well as loyal followers. While his enemies would often call him a coward, a limb of the devil, and an apostate, he was on his memorial plaque remembered as an ornament of manhood and Christian faith.47 These widely different interpretations of Sverre make him an important case of how a marginalized pretender challenged the ideologies of kingship and legitimation of warfare at the end of the twelfth century. The first part of Sverris saga is called Grýla, a term that elsewhere—​and later in Icelandic folklore—​usually referred to a troll-​woman. The name is probably deduced from “terror,” proposing the wider meaning of a divinely supported ruler who struck terror in his opponents.48 This theme is important in the first part of the saga. In the vision that initiated his journey to Norway, Sverre dreamed that St. Olav himself fought against King Magnus and his father, Erling Skakke. This support made Sverre able to put fear into his enemies’ minds. Such terror-​striking appearance is also found in the vision where the prophet Samuel anointed Sverre. Samuel made Sverre tremble, but Samuel himself explained that he had come to bring peace.49 This combination of bringing peace through terror is later claimed as one of his greatest achievements.50 Striking terror is also a feature of St. Olav as depicted in the so-​called Legendary Saga of St. Olav, probably written at Nidaros shortly after 1200. After his fall at Stiklestad, Olav’s body had such an intensively bright and frightening appearance that one of those who killed him lost his sight and converted.51 These episodes emphasize the fear brought on those who 47 Sverris saga, chap. 182, 281.

48 This interpretation is supported by Sverre Bagge, From Gang Leader to the Lord’s Anointed: Kingship in “Sverris saga: and “Hákonar saga Hákonarsonar,” The Viking Collection 8 (Odense: Odense University Press 1996), 58. 49 Sverris saga, chap. 10, 16–​18.

50 This is a main point in the speech of Svine-​Peter in Sverris saga, chap. 96, 148–​49.

51 “Olafs saga hins helga.” Die “Legendarische saga” über Olaf den Heiligen, chap. 86, ed. and trans. Anne Heinrichs et al. (Heidelberg: Winter, 1982), 204.

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were disloyal, heathens, or opposing a true follower of St. Olav. Sverre is in this meaning predestined to be the messenger sent out by God to spread terror among the enemies of St. Olav. In one of his dreams, Sverre also saw himself as the saints’ standard-​bearer.52 This is also the first time Sverre is given the name Magnus, a second name he later included on his coins and seal. This suggests that the name Magnus did not only allude to Charlemagne (“Karlamagnús” in Old Norse), but also that St. Olav had taken Sverre as his new “son,” recalling that Magnus, the son of Olav was the first king of that name in Norway.53 From then on, there are several analogues between Sverre’s career and the saint’s life as described in Legendary Saga. Shortly after his dream, Sverre managed to win the standard from the ignorant peasants of Nidaros.54 Sverre followed the footsteps of St. Olav, first when he travelled to Selja, the holy place where also St. Olav first stepped on Norwegian soil as a king, and then when he in a Gideon-​like manner excluded all those among his followers who were only interested in raiding—​just as St. Olav had excluded all those who did not want to be baptized before the battle of Stiklestad.55 Before a battle against a great peasant-​army, he also adopted the same battle cry that St. Olav had used, according to the Legendary Saga: “Forward, forward christmen, crossmen, and the holy king Olav’s men!”56 By this close analogue between the career of Sverre and St. Olav, Sverris saga shows that he was the saint’s true warrior and successor. This was further emphasized by Sverre’s conduct in war as well as in peacetime. His new order is indicated by his willingness to give peace to his enemies. The saga stresses repeatedly that Sverre gave peace (grið) to those of his enemies who would receive it, and forgiveness and a Christian funeral to those who had died.57 It has previously been noted that to give mercy was a traditional political weapon in twelfth-​ century politics; those who were forgiven would owe the king their lives and thus be loyal to him.58 However, Sverris saga also emphasizes this act of grace as religiously motivated. Sverre’s adversaries on the other hand, especially Erling Skakke and King Magnus, are depicted as much more reluctant to offer grið or a Christian funeral to fallen enemies. Although this makes sense according to their depiction of Sverre’s followers as enemies of the anointed king and hence also of St. Olav and his realm, this behaviour 52 Sverris saga, chap. 5, 8–​9.

53 Fredrik Paasche, “Sverre prest,” Edda 3 (1915): 197–​212. 54 Sverris saga, chap. 15, 24–​26.

55 Sverris saga, chap. 6, 11, 10–​12 and 18–​20; “Olafs saga hins helga,” chap. 19, 72–​73, 66–​68, 174–​78.

56 Sverris saga, chap. 163, 254.

57 For example, after his first battle in 1177 see Sverris saga, chap. 15, 25–​26.

58 Hans Jacob Orning, “Statsutvikling i Norge og på Island og på Island i høymiddelalderen belyst ut fra en analyse av Þórðr kakali Sighvatssons og Sverre Sigurdssons vei til makten,” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 76 (1997): 469–​86.

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242 Bjørn Bandlien becomes in the discourse of Sverris saga a sign of immoral, uncontrolled behaviour and a failure to restore order and make peace. This habit of giving grið to those who asked for it functions as a contrast to how his opponents wanted to see the dead bodies of the Birchlegs being eaten by dogs, wolves, and ravens.59 In Sverris saga this conventional discourse of the battlefield and the traditional peacemaking by giving grið gets a new, Christian significance as an attribute of the unjust ruler who does not possess Sverre’s mercy and respect for any Christian soul.60 In this way, mercy may be a concept that was interpreted differently by a mixed audience of clerics and warriors. Related to the self-​control is Sverre’s reluctance to drink heavily. Sverre never drank so much that he lost control over himself.61 His moderation in drink was, as Sverre Bagge has pointed out, a political innovation that signaled a more authoritarian monarchy, “stressing respect and obedience to the king rather than the egalitarian solidarity of the drinking parties.”62 Still, the saga also values this as a sign of self-​control and firmness, and indicates that it made Sverre both morally and military superior to his opponents who often are weakened by drunkenness.63 His moderate drinking seems to have been important in Sverre’s political rhetoric against his opponents. More explicit condemnations of drinking are found in the contemporary Old Norwegian Homily Book, compiled around 1200, where it is stated that the devil prospers wherever the mead rules over man.64 This connects Sverre with the existing ascetic virtues of his days, and made him appear morally superior to his rivals. In summary, Sverris saga makes a very good case for Sverre’s suitability as a king and supported the claim that it was King Magnus and his father who fought an “unjust war” (rangliga vandræði) against Sverre.65 Sverre’s moderation in drinking, his bravery in battle, his willingness to give grið, and his asceticism and self-​control, are virtues used in the saga as signs of sincerity and right intention in warfare. As Sverre reputedly said in one of his speeches, he could not be called a lord over the realm if he was not able to control himself or his men.66 The narrative strategy of Sverris saga was to emphasize 59 Sverris saga, chap. 47, 53, 62, 69, 86, 180, 72–​74, 84–​85, 100–​101, 109, 133, 279.

60 Again, we find the closest parallels in the Legendary Saga of St. Olav. Here St. Olav was fierce against his opponents but would offer them grið if they asked for it, see “Olafs saga hins helga,” chaps. 21, 24, 26, 28, 70, 74, 78, 80–​82. 61 Sverris saga, chap. 181, 280.

62 See Bagge, From Gang Leader, 73–​74 on the political significance of drinking fellowship and segregation.

63 See, e.g., the conduct of Erling Skakke before the Battle of Kalvskinnet in 1179, Sverris saga, chap. 34, 56. See also chaps. 31, 33, 39, 64, 70, 76, 50, 53–​55, 64, 103–​4, 109–​10, 116–​19.

64 Gamal norsk homiliebok, ed. Gustav Indrebø (Oslo: Kjeldeskriftfondet, 1931), 33–​34, Paasche, “Sverre prest,” 205–​6. 65 Sverris saga, chap. 38, 61–​64.

66 Sverris saga, chap. 133, 198–​200.

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of how he was exalted to the kingdom by the instigation of St. Olav. The image of St. Olav in the saga is complex and polyphonic, with intertextual references to legislation, hagiography, biblical examples, and to the Legendary Saga. This is not to say that the King Sverre simply transformed from a traditional discourse of war into a discourse of holy war—​both can be found in the saga. It is rather the dialogue between the traditional discourse of warfare and the importance of a royal authority based on a hybrid concept of the king being the knight of St. Olav that characterizes the rhetoric of royal authority in Sverris saga.

Conclusion

The discourse of holy war can already be seen in the early stages of the civil wars in Norway, such as when Harald Gille called for help from St. Olav while his opponent Magnus Sigurdsson sought help from the Holy Cross. This kind of holy assistance on the battlefield was developed further in the late 1150s and early 1160s. At this stage, the Church under the leadership of Archbishop Øystein Erlendsson tried to make an ideological fortress around the young king Magnus Erlingsson. Any war against usurpers to the crown of St. Olav could be seen as just and to fight against them would lead to martyrdom. This discourse could also support clerics bearing arms in certain circumstances, as in the case of Bishop Nicholas who claimed papal authority for his fight against King Sverre. At this stage, any claim to royal power had to be legitimized by having a just cause for war and by the claimant showing himself in some way as an imitator and standard-​ bearer of St. Olav. The concept of miles Olavi was crucial in the constitutional documents, but the meaning and practice of this were at the same time vaguely and ambiguously defined. As there were several discourses of war, there were also negotiations, dialogues, and conflicts between them. This made it possible for pretenders to shape various narratives in their claim, and more difficult for the archbishops of Nidaros to control the communication of its concepts. King Sverre could thus pursue his own version of being a miles Olavi, imitating St. Olav of the Legendary Saga. Sverris saga shaped a hybrid concept that combined hereditary rights with martial bravery, divine support, piety and self-​control. In the polyphonic political culture of the late twelfth-​century Norway, King Sverre and his saga employed the potential for dialogical discourse better than most of his rivals.

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Chapter 12

MARTYRDOM ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE IN LIVONIA DURING THIRTEENTH-​CENTURY HOLY WARS AND CHRISTIANIZATION: POPULAR BELIEF AND THE IMAGE OF A CATHOLIC FRONTIER Kristjan Kaljusaar* amidst many wondrous subjects to excite the medieval mind, martyrdom stood out as a phenomenon most magnificent. It was an incentive that drove the actions of many, and an issue that caused disputes amongst others. This chapter examines the controversial topic of acquiring a martyr’s crown in battle,1 more specifically when fighting against the pagans  of Livonia in the thirteenth-​century crusades.2 From the viewpoint of the official doctrine of the Church, there is actually nothing to discuss: the papacy canonized only two people as martyrs in the thirteenth century, and neither had been killed in battle.3 The works of authors writing about the Livonian Crusades, however, told a different story—​one where devout warriors were sometimes awarded * Kristjan Kaljusaar is a PhD student at the University of Tartu, Estonia. He is writing his doctoral dissertation on the nobles and vassals of thirteenth century Livonia, mainly concentrating on their political and communication networks in the Baltic Sea region, as well as the feudal strategies and policies of the local liege lords—​princes of the Catholic frontier. His research interests include power structures in borderland societies, modi operandi of Christianisation in Northern Europe, and the accompanying imagology. He has published articles on hostages and hostageship in the Baltic Sea region, among them “The Lives of Hostages and their Influence on the Conversion and Acculturation of Livonia and Prussia During the Baltic Crusades in the 13th Century,” Acta Historica Universitatis Klaipedensis 33 (2016): 23–​46. Currently, he is engaged in projects exploring intercultural influences in medieval Livonia. Research for this chapter was supported by Eesti Teadusagentuur (grant no. PUT 1422).

1 For a cursory overview of the issue, see the essays collected in Palgrave Advances in the Crusades, ed. Helen J. Nicholson (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 22–​ 23; Norman J. Housley, Contesting the Crusades (Malden: Blackwell, 2006), 41–​42. For a more comprehensive analysis of thirteenth-​century ideas, see Caroline Smith, “Martyrdom and Crusading in the Thirteenth Century: Remembering the Dead of Louis IX’s Crusades,” Al-​Masāq 15, no. 2 (2003): 189–​96.

2 The term Livonia is used here for the historical-​geographical area in North-​Eastern Europe that roughly corresponds to the territories of modern day Estonia and Latvia. For an overview of crusades and conversion in Livonia, see Tiina Kala, “The Incorporation of the Northern Baltic Lands into the Western Christian World,” in Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, 1150–​1500, ed. Alan V. Murray (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), 3–​20; Marek Tamm and Anu Mänd, “Introduction: Actors and Networks in the Medieval and Early Modern Baltic Sea Region,” in Making Livonia: Actors and Networks in the Medieval and Early Modern Baltic Sea Region, ed. Anu Mänd and Marek Tamm (Abingdon: Routledge, 2020), 1–​13.

3 André Vauchez, Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages, trans. Jean Birrell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 415.

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with the heavenly crown in the midst of combat. The current chapter explores what exactly did contemporaries regard as a true martyr’s death in battle, and how did authors in the day make use of such popular perception of martyrdom to attract crusaders and create saints’ cults for newly converted Livonia.

Martyrdom and Crusading

Martyrs have understandably always been considered the most pious among saints. Since the early days of Christianity’s spread throughout the ancient world, those willing to suffer unto their own death in witness of Christ’s divinity were revered as the holiest among believers—​“Christus in martyre est,” proclaimed Tertullian.4 Their cults continued to flourish after the religious emancipation and eventual conversion in Rome, and for Augustine and his contemporaries martyrs were—​as Peter Brown has put it—​“membra Christi par excellence.”5 They ranked high in the “hierarchy of holiness” prevalent by Carolingian times: right below apostles and evangelists, and above other saints, such as confessors.6 Meanwhile, accepted opinions about who could become a martyr changed, especially in the last centuries of the first millennium. The conviction that a prerequisite for martyrdom was suffering death without resisting one’s tormentors became diluted, and warriors who fell fighting against Muslims or Vikings were also revered as martyrs. The eleventh-​century reform papacy embraced this image that a true Christian knight (or miles Christi) could suffer martyrdom in battle. Pope Leo IX even attributed eternal crowns to men who died in the Battle of Civitate in 1053, fighting against fellow Christians—​Sicilian Normans who endangered the political ambitions of Rome.7 In such an ideological environment, it was virtually inevitable that the participants of the First Crusade adopted a popular belief that their comrades who fell in battle ascended to heaven as martyrs, even though the popes avoided making it official ecclesiastical doctrine.8 4 Tertullian, De Pudicitia, 22.6, in Quinti Septimi Florentis Tertulliani Opera, ed. Eligius Dekkers, 2 vols., Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina 2 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1954), 2:1329. For an overview of early Christian and medieval cults of martyrs, see Peter Gemeinhardt, “Märtyrer und Martyriumsdeutungen von der Antike bis zur Reformation,” Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 120 (2009):  289–​322.

5 Peter Brown, The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 72. 6 Herbert E. J. Cowdrey, “Martyrdom and the First Crusade,” in Crusade and Settlement ed. Raymond C. Smail and Peter Edbury (Cardiff: University College Cardiff Press, 1985), 46–​56 at 46–​47. 7 On these general developments, see Christopher J. Tyerman, God’s War: A New History of the Crusades (London: Penguin, 2007), 33–​51; Jonathan Riley-​Smith, The First Crusaders, 1095–​1131 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 23–​52.

8 Jonathan Riley-​Smith, “Death in the First Crusade,” in The End of Strife, ed. David M. Loades (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1984), 14–​31; Colin Morris, “Martyrs of the Field of Battle Before and During the First Crusade,” Studies in Church History 30 (1993): 93–​104. There is no consensus whether Pope Urban II promised a martyr’s crown to those who die in the First Crusade: Jonathan

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The beliefs of the first crusaders truly bloomed within the emerging culture of chivalry in the twelfth century. The strongest influence upon popular thought at that time was the secular knightly literature, the chansons de geste that often claimed all warriors can become martyrs in battle with basically no reservations. In epic poems like the Song of Roland, an eternal crown was promised to every Christian, should they perish fighting the infidels. Tales of previous crusades commonly called all participants killed in battle martyrs.9 In the perception of Catholic bellatores, potential martyrdom therefore became a natural element of holy war. As far as we know, such was the imagery occupying the minds of Christian knights on the eve of the Livonian Crusades—​in the 1180s when North German missionaries established a foothold on the river Dauguva (Düna, Dvina) and began preaching among local Finnic and Baltic tribes.10 Since the endeavours of Christianization in Livonia were largely supported by religious military orders, initially by the locally founded Sword Brethren (officially Brothers of the Militia of Christ—​Fratres militiae Christi Livoniae) and later by the Teutonic Order, the perception of battlefield martyrdom in such organizations also deserves our attention. Popular opinion surrounding their members—​overflowingly positive in the twelfth century11—​readily attributed to them a martyr’s crown, should they fall in the struggle against enemies of the faith. The author Orderic Vitalis (d. ca. 1142) said that Knights Templar “are daily prepared for martyrdom,”12 and Bernard of Clairvaux (d. 1153), one of the leading theologians of his time, found that most noble among the Templars were their “martyrs who die in battle.”13 Riley-​Smith and Norman Housley do not think so (Riley-​Smith, First Crusaders, 72–​74; Housley, Contesting the Crusades, 41), Colin Morris considers it a possibility (Morris, “Martyrs of the Field of Battle,” 95), Helen Nicholson asserts that dogmas of the Church were not adequately formulated in that regard at the time (Nicholson, Palgrave Advances, 22). 9 Cowdrey, “Martyrdom,” 47–​50; Caroline Smith, Crusading in the Age of Joinville (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006), 30–​35, 99–​100. See also James B. MacGregor, “Negotiating Knightly Piety: The Cult of the Warrior Saints in the West, ca. 1070-​ca. 1200,” Church History 73, no. 2 (2004): 317–​45.

10 On the early missionary work and accompanying warfare, see Carsten Selch Jensen, “The Nature of the Early Missionary Activities and Crusades in Livonia, 1185–​1201,” in Medieval Spirituality in Scandinavia and Europe: A Collection of Essays in Honour of Tore Nyberg, ed. Lars Bisgaard et al., University Studies in History and Social Sciences 234 (Odense: Odense University Press, 2001), 121–​37; Peep Peter Rebane, “From Fulco to Theoderic: The Changing Face of the Livonian Mission,” in The North-​Eastern Frontiers of Medieval Europe: The Expansion of Latin Christendom in the Baltic Lands, The Expansion of Latin Europe, 1000–​1500 4 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), 85–​116.

11 Helen J. Nicholson, Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights: Images of the Military Orders, 1128–​1291 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1995); Giles Constable, “Military Orders,” in his Crusaders and Crusading in the Twelfth Century (Farnham: Ashgate, 2008), 165–​82.

12 The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, 12.29, ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. 80), 6:310. See also Gemeinhardt, “Märtyrer und (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969–​ Martyriumsdeutungen,” 313; Riley-​Smith, First Crusaders, 162.

13 Bernard of Clairvaux, Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae, ed. Jean Leclercq and Henri M. Rochais, in Sancti Bernardi Opera, vol. 3: Tractatus et opuscula (Rome: Editiones Cistercienses,

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By the turn of the thirteenth century, the practice of crusading became institutionalized and acquired a legally defined form. The spiritual and temporal privileges and penitential merits it offered were sanctioned and regulated by Rome, and martyrdom was not usually mentioned amongst them.14 At the same time, the Holy See monopolized the right to make canonizations—​previously shared by local bishops.15 Pope Innocent III repeatedly declared that “[t]‌he approval of the Roman pontiff is necessary before anyone can be deemed a saint”16 and stipulated that two prerequisites for sainthood are the candidate’s virtuous behaviour (virtus) and the performing of miracles, that had to be certified by witnesses.17 Since the pontifex maximus was deeply reluctant to grant official approval to sporadic cults,18 this policy of the Roman curia clashed with the popular perception of what could constitute true martyrdom. Official doctrine of the Church only had a limited effect on common beliefs in the thirteenth century, however, and tales of battlefield martyrdom remained prevalent in the chansons de geste that were still vastly popular. A crusading knight who was killed in Acre in 1266 had many such epic poems in his possession, for example.19 In the holy wars on the Iberian Peninsula, Christians imagined that a glorious martyrdom might await them in battle against Muslim armies,20 and the English chronicler Roger Wendover reported that all crusaders who were killed in Egypt during the siege of Damietta in 1218 became martyrs.21 In Northern Europe, the Knýtlinga saga expresses similar views. Two rival pretenders to the Danish throne made peace among themselves and went on a crusade together against pagans, expecting immediate ascension to heaven, should they die.22 Although the saga describes mid-​twelfth-​century events, it 1963), 213–​39 at 215. For an English translation, see In Praise of the New Knighthood, trans. Conrad Greenia (Kalamazoo: Cistercian, 2000). 14 Housley, Contesting the Crusades, 48–​74.

15 Donald S. Prudlo, Certain Sainthood: Canonization and the Origins of Papal Infallibility in the Medieval Church (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2015), 13–​61. Vauchez, Sainthood, 22–​32.

16 Eric Waldram Kemp, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church, Oxford Historical Series. N.s., 18 (London: Oxford University Press, 1948), 102. 17 Michael Goodich, “Vita perfecta”: The Ideal of Sainthood in the Thirteenth Century, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 25 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1982), 21–​23.

18 Vauchez, Sainthood, 413–​18; James Ryan, “Missionary Saints in the High Middle Ages: Martyrdom, Popular Veneration and Canonization,” Catholic Historical Review 90, no. 1 (2004): 1–​28 at 1–​5. 19 Smith, Crusading in the Age of Joinville, 10, 98–​100.

20 Joseph F. O’Callaghan, Reconquest and Crusade in Medieval Spain (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 188.

21 Roger Wendover, Liber qui dicitur Flores historiarum ab anno domini MCLIV annoque Henrici Anglorum regis secundi primo, ed. Henry G. Hewlett, 3 vols. (London: Longman, 1886–​ 89), 2:230, 238. 22 Knýtlinga saga, chap. 108, ed. Carl Petersen and Emil Olsen, in Sogur Danakonunga (Copenhagen: Háskóli Íslands, 1919–​1925), 29–​294 at 284–​85. An English translation is also

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was written in the 1250s and probably reflects the views quite widespread in the Baltic region or especially in Scandinavia of its own time.23

The Image of Livonia

The first North German crusaders arrived on the eastern shores of the Baltic Sea in the last years of the twelfth century, and in 1202 the Order of the Sword Brethren was formed in Riga—​the newly founded capital of the young bishopric. From this base of operations, the bishop of Livonia quickly extended both his religious and secular sphere of influence, subjugating and baptizing local rulers and elites. The first decades of holy war and conversion are best described by the well-​known chronicler Henry of Livonia who probably wrote his Latin work to support the Rigan church against Danish rivals that were also expanding into eastern Baltic lands, more particularly Estonia, at the time.24 In addition to Henry’s Chronicon Livoniae, another valuable source is the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, a verse work in Middle High German, written by a member of the local branch of the Teutonic Order at the end of the thirteenth century.25 Before delving into the works of the two main authors, however, we should explore the image of Livonia itself, and the connotations it may have had on the ideas about martyrdom. The distant land behind the Baltic Sea was commonly seen as a perilous place, savage and available: Knýtlinga Saga: The History of the Kings of Denmark, trans. Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards (Odense: Odense University Press, 1976).

23 Carl Phelpstead, “Converting to Europe:  Christian Themes in ‘Knýtlinga saga,’ ” Viking and Medieval Scandinavia 1 (2005): 163–​77. See also Anne L. Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North: Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100–​1522, Outremer 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), 89–​135, 171–​84. It is worth noting, however, that such a motif is suspiciously absent in twelfth-​ and thirteenth-​centry historical writings describing the holy wars waged by the Poles with pagan Pomeranians, Prussians, and Jatvings. On this, see Danuta Zydorek, “Obraz śmierci rycerskiej w kronikach Anonima Galla i mistrza Wincentego Kadłubka,” in Historia bliższa i dalsza. Polityka—​ społeczeństwo—​wojskowość, ed. Stefan Kowal, Gerard Kucharski, and Marian Walczak (Poznań: Uniwersytet im. Adama Mickiewicza, 2001), 107–​24. There is not even a trace that Prince Henry of Sandomierz was considered a martyr, although he was seen as a pious and devot crusader, and he was killed during the expedition to Prussia in 1166/​1167. 24 Henry of Livonia, Chronicon Livoniae, ed. Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, MGH SS rer. Germ. 31 (Hannover: Hahn, 1955) (hereafter Henry, Chron. Liv.). An English translation is available: The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, trans. James A. Brundage, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003). About the intended purpose of the chronicle, see James A. Brundage, “Introduction: Henry of Livonia, the Writer and His Chronicle,” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 1–​22 at 7. On the legal nature of the text, see Mihkel Mäesalu, “A Crusader Conflict Mediated by a Papal Legate: The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia as a Legal Text,” The Medieval Chronicle 8 (2013): 233–​46. 25 Livländische Reimchronik, ed. Leo Meyer (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1876) (hereafter Reimchronik). An English prose translation is available: The Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, ed. Jerry C. Smith and William L. Urban, Uralic and Altaic Series 128 (Bloomington: Indiana University, 1977). About the chronicle and its author, see Alan V. Murray, “The Structure, Genre and Intended Audience of the ‘Livonian Rhymed Chronicle,’ ” in Crusade and Conversion, 235–​51 at 235–​42.

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untamed, where the young church had no respite from the abuses of pagans.26 Although defence of fellow Christians was always a legitimate and necessary cause for a crusade, it may have seemed truly urgent in Livonia.27 The Lippiflorium, a biographical verse eulogy written in Westphalia in the 1240s to commemorate Bernard of Lippe, a nobleman who took part in the mission and holy war, really drives this image home. One can read how in Livonia “[f]‌erocious nations often provoke Christians into bloody quarrels” and “the land is wild and treacherous, few live there and foreigners surround it.”28 For pious knights, this may have seemed like a place where dying in defence of the tormented local church could earn them a heavenly crown. The Lippiflorium certainly reflected such beliefs, announcing how “[m]any shed their blood here and perished by the swords, the eternal light of martyrdom shines upon them.”29 On the other hand, the image of Livonia included one most amiable element—​ the unique providence of Virgin Mary. From the early days of conquest, Livonia was presented as the land of the Holy Mother and sacralized as such.30 Mary was the patroness of the Rigan church and the Teutonic Order (that entered the Livonian stage in the 1230s),31 crusaders marched to battle under her banner,32 and Henry almost ecstatically listed in his chronicle all foes the Virgin had vanquished.33 Taking into consideration Mary’s increasing popularity in the High Middle Ages, this image most 26 For the perception of Livonia, see Linda Kaljundi, “Waiting for the Barbarians: Reconstruction of ‘Otherness’ in the Saxon Missionary and Crusading Chronicles, 11th–​13th Centuries,” The Medieval Chronicle 5 (2008): 113–​27. See also Nils Blomkvist, The Discovery of the Baltic: The Reception of a Catholic World-​System in the European North (AD 1075–​1225), The Northern World 15 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 97–​201.

27 Marek Tamm, “How to Justify a Crusade? The Conquest of Livonia and New Crusade Rhetoric in the Early Thirteenth Century,” Journal of Medieval History 39, no. 4 (2013): 431–​55 at 437–​40.

28 Das “Lippiflorium.” Ein westfälisches Heldengedicht aus dem dreizehnten Jahrhundert, ed. and trans. Hermann Althof (Leipzig: Dieterich, 1900), lines 771–​74, 64: “Quae non inproprie Livonia dicitur, in qua /​ Gens fera Christicolis proelia crebra movet. /​ Terra rudis neque firma fide, paucis habitatur /​Indigenis, populus advena munit eam.”

29 Das “Lippiflorium,” lines 869–​70, 68: “Hic multos gladio prostratos sanguine fuso. /​Martyrii palma perpete luce beat.”

30 Christopher J. Tyerman, “Henry of Livonia and the Ideology of Crusading,” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing, 23–​44 at 32–​34; Tamm, “How to Justify a Crusade,” 445–​48.

31 Anu Mänd, “Saints’ Cults in Medieval Livonia,” in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. Alan V. Murray et al. (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 191–​226 at 194–​99; Udo Arnold, “Maria als Patronin des Deutschen Ordens im Mittelalter,” in “Terra Sanctae Mariae.” Mittelalterliche Bildwerke der Marienverehrung im Deutschordensland Preußen, ed. Gerhard Eimer et al., Kunsthistorische Arbeiten der Kulturstiftung der deutschen Vertriebenen 7 (Bonn: Kulturstiftung der deutschen Vertriebenen, 2009), 29–​56; Gregory Leighton, “ ‘Reysa in laudem Dei et virginis Marie contra paganos’: The Experience of Crusading in Prussia during the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 69, no. 1 (2020): 1–​25.

32 Henry, Chron. Liv, 11.6, 54; Reimchronik, lines 8423–​24, 10 680–​81, 193 and 244.

33 Henry, Chron. Liv., 25.2, 178–​81. According to Angus MacKay, this uncharacteristically fierce image of Mary could be interpreted as a reflection of the perceived barbarity of Livonia—​as

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likely appealed to potential armed pilgrims, and in the beginning of his work, the author of the Rhymed Chronicle specifically dedicated some verses to praising the Virgin for bringing many crusaders to Livonia.34 Among such men was one who was apparently willing to be martyred for Mary. The unnamed Westphalian knight probably arrived in Livonia in 1279 and soon witnessed an attack on Rigan lands by the local tribe of Semigallians. Heading out to retaliate, he proclaimed: “by nones today, I will dine in the company of our Lady before the throne of heaven.”35 As might be presumed, the knight was indeed killed in battle by the pagans. The mentality expressed here was in itself not really unique: the French chronicler Jean of Joinville, for example, spoke about the crusading bishop of Soissons “whose great desire was to be with God,” who also is told to have “felt no wish to return to the country he was born.” In Egypt, the prelate “made haste to be with God” and charged the Muslim forces alone, suffering a martyrdom as a result.36 In Livonia, however, such devotion was apparently sometimes directed towards Mary. Miri Rubin has explained how Mary “offered a human and accessible face to projects that were complex, bureaucratic, and abstract, like crusades, the extirpation of heresy, conquest, and conversion of new lands.”37 A “common crusader” who came to Livonia did not have to occupy his mind with the complex political struggles between the Rigan and Danish factions, or with the technicalities of baptizing and subjugating local peoples. He could simply fight for the Virgin—​and should he be killed by the local pagans, become a martyr for her. Such prospects were in all likelihood accentuated by preachers who sought to attract crusaders to the eastern coasts of the Baltic Sea—​among them the third Livonian bishop, Albert (in office 1199–​1229), who spent most of his pontificate overseas in Germany, recruiting armed pilgrims for his holy wars.38 opposed to the Iberian Peninsula, where crusades also took place under her auspices, but the Virgin was portrayed as a caring protector. See Angus MacKay, “Religion, Culture, and Ideology on the Late Medieval Castilian-​Granadan Frontier,” in Medieval Frontier Societies, ed. Robert Bartlett and Angus MacKay (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 217–​43 at 230–​32. However, the veneration of Mary did take on a rather violent nature in the Iberian and New World conquests as well. See Amy G. Remensnyder, “La Conquistadora”: The Virgin Mary at War and Peace in the Old and the New Worlds (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. 34 Reimchronik, lines 445–​51, 11.

35 Reimchronik, lines 9345–​48, 214. Nones is the fifth of the seven canonical hours.

36 Jean sire de Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, Credo, et lettere a Louis X. Texte original, accompagné d’une traduction, 77.393, ed. Natalis de Wailly (Paris: Didot, 1874), 214. 37 Miri Rubin, Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 278.

38 Gisela Gnegel-​Waitschies, Bischof Albert von Riga. Ein Bremer Domherr als Kirchenfürst im Osten, 1199–​1229, Nord-​und Osteuropäische Geschichtsstudien 2 (Hamburg: Velmede, 1958). See also Carsten Selch Jensen, “ ‘Verbis non verberibus’:  The Representation of Sermons in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia,” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing, 179–​206; Mark Tamm, “Mission and Mobility: The Travels and Networking of Bishop Albert of Riga (c. 1165–​1229),” in Making Livonia, 17–​47.

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The contents of the sermons used to draw crusaders to Livonia are unknown to us, but there are many contemporary examples from other regions. Preachers of the crusades, commonly mendicant friars, frequently touched upon the topic of martyrdom in holy war. Their sermons oftentimes bordered on conflicting with official Church doctrine39 and it can be expected that Bishop Albert had a similar approach—​after all, his goal was to mobilize warriors, not to teach theology. Albert’s contemporary James of Vitry, who was most active preaching crusades against Cathar heretics, is known to have announced: “Whenever people die for the defence of the Church, they are reckoned to be martyrs.”40 Analogous arguments could have been employed in sermons about saving the imperilled Livonian diocese. Speaking in the 1240s and 1250s, another preacher Gilbert of Tournai stated that “[t]‌rue crusaders, who are truly contrite, have confessed their sins and prepare for the service of God and then die, are considered true martyrs.”41 One may speculate that Livonian churchmen made similar promises in their sermons as well.

Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia

Marek Tamm has pointed out that death and dying were something of an obsession for the Rigan chronicler Henry, saying “it is difficult to find a page in the chronicle that does not contain a mortuary scene.”42 The author was especially fascinated with martyrdoms, describing in total fourteen such events, some in great detail.43 Despite this and Henry’s apparent interest in warfare (which could be attributed to his probable origin from a family of martial ministeriales44), he seldom speaks of martyrs who fell in combat. Only two deaths that took place in battles of the Livonian Crusades merit descriptions evocative of martyrdom in his chronicle, and even the sanctity of those few cases is insinuated rather than clearly presented.

39 Christoph T. Maier, Preaching the Crusades: Mendicant Friars and the Cross in the Thirteenth Century, Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought. 4th ser., 28 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 3; Smith, “Martyrdom and Crusading,” 190.

40 Jacob of Vitriaco, Sermones vulgares Tusculani episcopi, sermo 37, in Analecta novissima Spicilegii Solesmensis altera continuatio, vol. 2, ed. Jean-​Baptiste Pitra (Paris: Typis Tusculanis, 1888), 412. 41 Gilbert of Tournai’s, Sermo I, ed. Christopher T. Maier, in his Crusade Propaganda and Ideology: Model Sermons for the Preaching of the Cross (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 176–​91 at 188–​89. 42 Marek Tamm, “Martyrs and Miracles: Depicting Death in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia,” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing, 136–​56 at 136. 43 Tamm, “Martyrs and Miracles,” 149.

44 Brundage, “The Writer and His Chronicle,” 2, 12. Paul Johansen, “Die Chronik als Biographie. Heinrich von Lettlands Lebensgang und Weltanschauung,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 1 (1953): 1–​24 at 9.

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The first person martyred on the battlefield in Henry’s chronicle is Berthold, the second bishop of Livonia.45 He was appointed to the recently established episcopal seat in the winter of 1196/​1197, after the death of Meinhard, the founder of the new diocese. When he first arrived in Livonia, Berthold was met with hostility by the locals, so he fled and returned in the summer of 1198—​this time with a crusader army. A confrontation with a native tribe of Livs46 then grew into a battle, which the foreigners easily won, although they suffered one important casualty—​Berthold himself.47 Henry provides us with a detailed overview of these events, but in this part of the chronicle he actually avoided calling the bishop a martyr. Only in a later chapter, when the author wrote about the church of Üxküll,48 where both Meinhard and Berthold were buried, he said: “the first was a confessor and the second a martyr who, as is related above, was killed by the same Livs.”49 This last description is connected to another, more “traditional” martyrdom: the death of two neophyte Christian Livs who were tortured and killed by their own tribesmen. Henry tells us “there is no doubt that they received eternal life with the holy martyrs for such a martyrdom.”50 The men were laid to rest alongside Meinhard and Berthold, and by reminding how the latter was also martyred by the Livs earlier, Henry created a certain sacred narrative connecting the actions of the bishop that led to the conversion of the native people, and the subsequent firm belief of the neophytes who were willing to suffer for Christ themselves. But why did Henry not emphasize that Berthold earned an eternal crown in his description of the battle? Was there a specific reason to talk about such an imperative matter in retrospect? The reason why Henry turned to the issue of Berthold’s sanctity later in his chronicle may have been the circumstances of the bishop’s death. Although prelates are known to have fought in battles and led armies throughout the Middle Ages, all clerics were actually forbidden to shed blood and engage in bellicose activities according to canon law. Ecclesiastical legislation was refined and clearly codified over the course of the twelfth century, and employed firmly by the powerful legist popes. The influential 45 Bernd Ulrich Hucker, “Der Zisterzienserabt Bertold, Bischof von Livland, und der erste Livlandkreuzzug,” in Studien über die Anfänge der Mission in Livland, ed. Manfred Hellmann, Vorträge und Forschungen. Sonderband 37 (Sigmaringen: Thorbecke, 1989), 39–​64.

46 In this chapter, “the Livs” is preferred to the alternative “the Livonians” for clarity—​the former term has a specific ethnic meaning while the latter could apply for both the native Finnic people and the residents of later medieval Livonia. See also Jüri Kivimäe, “Henricus the Ethnographer: Reflections on Ethnicity in the ‘Chronicle of Livonia,’ ” in Crusading and Chronicle Writing, 77–​106. 47 Henry, Chron. Liv., 2.1–​6, 8–​10.

48 About Üxküll, the first seat of the Livonian bishops, see Jensen, “Early Missionary Activities,” 124–​27.

49 Henry, Chron. Liv., 10.6, 36. For crusading context of episcopal martyrdom at the hands of pagans, compare Sini Kangas’s chapter in this volume. 50 Henry, Chron. Liv., 10.5, 35–​36.

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Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 may have reinforced the ban on clerics engaging in bloodshed, although this view has also been disputed.51 Hence, it may have influenced the way Henry spoke about Berthold. The Rigans needed local saints in order to create a new Christian holy space in Livonia, and establish that they (and not the Danes, for example) had converted the land.52 Their endeavors would have certainly been hallowed by the spilling of a true and official martyr’s blood, but Henry was faced with a challenge of presenting a death that did not comply with canon law as a martyrdom that could be confirmed by the Holy See. Whilst Henry’s education, likely acquired in the monastery of Segeberg in Saxony, was not particularly thorough,53 the chronicler was probably aware of the fundamental trends in the Church of his time. Additionally, in the winter of 1205/​1206, he had an opportunity to discuss theology with Anders Sunesen, the bishop of Lund, who had studied in the universities of Bologna, Paris, and Oxford.54 Most importantly, Henry personally accompanied Bishop Albert to the Fourth Lateran Council.55 Taking into consideration that he knew how important local saints were for newly converted Livonia, Henry presumably made an effort to familiarize himself with the intricacies of the canonization protocol in Rome. In the thirteenth century, the influence and rhetoric of individual pressure groups became essential in acquiring approval for a canonization from the curia,56 and Henry may have been preparing to present the arguments of the Rigan church in the most convincing manner—​especially if a spontaneous cult had already developed around Berthold by the time that the Fourth Lateran took place. 51 Thomas Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer. Der Klerus im Konflikt zwischen Orient und Okzident 1095–​1221. Heidelberg Transcultural Studies 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2012); Lawrence G. Duggan, Armsbearing and the Clergy in the History and Canon Law of Western Christianity 44; Craig M. Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen of Medieval (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2013), 102–​ England, 1000–​1250: Theory and Reality (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016), 99. See also Brundage, “The Writer and His Chronicle,” 17–​19. Conversely Lawrence G. Duggan (“Armsbearing by the Clergy and the Fourth Lateran Council,” in The Fourth Lateran Council and the Development of Canon Law and the ‘ius commune’, ed. Atria A. Larson and Andrea Massironi, Ecclesia militans 7 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), 63–​75) finds that the Fourth Lateran instead discreetly allowed clerics to shed blood in defence of the faith and themselves. 52 Carsten Selch Jensen, “How to Convert a Landscape:  Henry of Livonia and the ‘Chronicon Livoniae,’ ” in The Clash of Cultures, 151–​68, especially 162–​64. See also Kurt Villads Jensen, “Sacralization of the Landscape: Converting Trees and Measuring Land in the Danish Crusades against the Wends,” in The Clash of Cultures, 141–​50. 53 Brundage, “The Writer and His Chronicle,” 2–​ 5, 11–​ 12; Johansen, “Die Chronik als Biographie,” 10–​11.

54 Henry, Chron. Liv., 10.13, 43–​44. Torben K. Nielsen, “The Missionary Man: Archbishop Anders Sunesen and the Baltic Crusade, 1206–​21,” in Crusade and Conversion, 95–​118 at 99–​100, 105–​10. See also Peep Peter Rebane, “Archbishop Anders Sunesen and the Danish Conquest of Estonia,” Yearbook of The Estonian Learned Society in America 5 (1968–​1975): 24–​38. 55 Henry, Chron. Liv., 19.5–​7, 127–​32. 56 Vauchez, Sainthood, 40–​41.

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It appears that Berthold was revered as a martyr despite a lack of official approval by Rome. After all, Henry technically said so, and another chronicler, Arnold of Lübeck also spoke about the death of the bishop and additionally provided a story about the miraculous preservation of the prelate’s dead body57—​hence fulfilling the papal canonization criteria for miracles. There are other indicators of Berthold’s—​as well as Meinhard’s—​cult in thirteenth-​century Livonia as well, such as their later reburial near the altar of the Riga Cathedral.58 Since the bishop belonged to the order of Cistercians, tales of his martyrdom spread along their extensive and centralized network of monasteries. Alberic, the abbot of Trois-​Fontaines in Champagne, wrote about Berthold as well, calling him a martyr on two occasions in his own chronicle.59 Furthermore, death in combat may have been crucial to Berthold’s cult. A medieval battle always belonged to the sphere of the supernatural and holy—​it was a manifestation of God’s will.60 The result of the divine ordeal of 1198 attested that Christianity shall prevail over paganism in Livonia. Henry also fluently followed up on a report of the battle with the baptism of the Livs in his narrative.61 The city of Riga, seat of the Livonian bishops, was founded on the very battlefield—​hence, Henry could present it as a “city of God”62 resting on land sanctified with the blood of the martyr. As Carsten Selch Jensen has neatly described, Riga “functioned as a gate, so to speak, through which clerics and crusaders would pass on their way to Livonia to fulfil their religious vows.”63 It is easy to imagine that pilgrims who arrived there venerated Berthold, who was, in a sense, the local proto-​crusader. What about Berthold’s presentation in the Chronicon Livoniae, then? It is thought that Henry wrote his work for the papal legate, William of Modena, who was appointed

57 Arnold of Lübeck, Chronica Slavorum, 5.30, ed. Johann Martin Lappenberg, MGH SS rer. Germ. 14 (Hannover: Hahn, 1868), 215; for English translation, see The Chronicle of Arnold of Lübeck, trans. Graham A. Loud, Crusade Texts in Translation (Abingdon: Routledge, 2019), 224–​25. 58 Hermann von Bruiningk, “Die Frage der Verehrung der ersten livländischen Bischöfe als Heilige,” in Sitzungsberichte der Gesellschaft für Geschichte und Altertumskunde der Ostseeprovinzen Russlands aus dem Jahre 1902 (Riga: Häcker, 1903), 3–​36; Mänd, “Saints’ Cults,” 220–​21.

59 Alberic of Trois-​Fontaines, Chronica, MGH SS 23, ed. Paul Scheffer-​Boichorst (Hannover: Hahn, 1874), 879, 887. About the Cistercian monastic network, see Marek Tamm, “Communicating Crusade: Livonian Mission and the Cistercian Network in the Thirteenth Century,” Ajalooline Ajakiri, no.  3–​4(129–​30) (2009):  341–​72.

60 Stefanie Rüther, “Heilige im Krieg. Zur Sakralisierung von Kriegsschauplätzen im Mittelalter,” in Heilige, Liturgie, Raum, ed. Dieter R. Bauer et al., Beiträge zur Hagiographie 8 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2010), 247–​68; Martin Clauss, “Der Krieg als Mittel und Thema der Kommunikation: Die narrative Funktion des Gottesurteils,” in Gottes Werk und Adams Beitrag. Formen der Interaktion zwischen Mensch und Gott im Mittelalter, ed. Thomas Honegger, Gerlinde Huber-​Rebenich, and Volker Leppin, Das Mittelalter. Perspektiven mediävistischer Forschung 1 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2014), 128–​41. 61 Henry, Chron. Liv., 2.7, 10–​11.

62 Henry, Chron. Liv., 9.4, 28. Henry uses this grandiose expression only once, though. 63 Jensen, “How to Convert a Landscape,” 161.

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to Livonia in mid-​1220s.64 How did he present Berthold, the bishop who in battle “rode at the head of his followers in a knightly fashion, like a true lord,”65 as we can read from the Rhymed Chronicle, to the officials of the Holy See? Henry apparently avoided the whole issue of martyrdom in the chapter about Berthold, and instead focused on the feats he performed during his life—​the virtus demanded of saints by Rome.66 Despite the attempts of the locals to kill the bishop upon their first meeting,67 Berthold did not abandon his duty and in the vein of the missionaries of old gave his life to bring Livonia into the fold of the Church. His tragic death was an apostolic finale to a virtuous life and when describing Berthold as a martyr later in his chronicle, Henry is simply stating the fact of an already achieved sainthood. The emphasis on virtue in earlier life is shared by the other battlefield martyr in Henry’s chronicle. This was Arnold, marshal of the Order of the Sword Brethren who was killed during the siege of the Estonian fortress Viljandi (Fellin) in 1211.68 Struck down by a stone, he “crossed over to the brotherhood of the martyrs,” and Henry continued: “He was an extremely religious man and was always praying. He found, as we hope, that for which he prayed.”69 One may deduce that Arnold himself was hoping for martyrdom (“that for which he prayed”) or ascent to paradise in case he was killed by pagans, and it was hence something considered in reach for the pious warriors in Livonia. Henry’s choice of words—​“as we hope”—​is a careful way of speaking about a heavenly crown. The prospect of sainthood, however, is left open-​ended. As Caroline Smith has demonstrated, contemporaries were aware of the controversies surrounding the topic of battlefield martyrdom and in writing often described perceived saintly deaths with caution. For example, French king Louis IX (r. 1226–​1270) (probably on the recommendation of his clerical advisors) wrote about his brother who was killed in battle: “his companions believed and wished that he had been crowned a martyr.”70 Even if Henry thought that Arnold had earned a place among martyrs, he also spoke about it tentatively. It seems rather unlikely that Henry sought to make an official case for the canonization of Arnold, but his portrayal of the knight’s life certainly highlights virtus. One can read from the chronicle how, in 1206, the marshal was the first man to brave the spears and 64 James A.  Brundage, “The Thirteenth-​Century Livonian Crusade:  ‘Henricus de Lettis’ and the First Legatine Mission of Bishop William of Modena,” in his The Crusades, Holy War and Canon Law (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorum, 2010), chap. 14. 65 Reimchronik, lines 566–​68, 14. 66 Goodich, “Vita Perfecta,” 23. 67 Henry, Chron. Liv., 2.2, 8–​9.

68 Lutz Fenske and Klaus Militzer, Ritterbrüder im livländischen Zweig des Deutschen Ordens, Quellen und Studien zur baltischen Geschichte 12 (Cologne: Böhlau, 1993), 88. 69 Henry, Chron. Liv., 14.11, 84.

70 Smith, “Martyrdom and Crusading,” 190.

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stones of the Livs, attacking the fortress of Holm and inspiring his fellow Christians.71 Four years later, Arnold rallied the Rigan forces who were ambushed by Estonians in the Battle of Ümera.72 Devotion and valour in the face of pagans were qualities of a true miles Christi, and Henry added that he was “an extremely religious man and was always praying.” The contemporary author Caesarius of Heisterbach (d. ca. 1240) could have well said that Arnold’s “good life” in service of Christ culminated in a “good death” fighting against pagans.73 The detail of him being struck down by a stone even evokes parallels with the proto-​martyr Stephen who was killed the same way. In line with more traditional definitions of martyrdom, Henry leaves an impression that the two men were not in an aggressive state of mind when they were killed. Berthold is told to have lost control of his horse, so the steed carried the bishop to the middle of the fleeing Liv host.74 It is apparent that the prelate was not passive during the battle: he was likely already in pursuit of the foe when he lost control of his mount, but Henry invokes a feeling of helplessness when Berthold suddenly found himself in the middle of enemies, was pulled from his horse, and driven through with a spear. Similarly, Arnold was killed during a lengthy siege, not in the heat of battle. The fact that the marshal’s death was caused by a stone could even suggest that he was not wearing a helmet, and was therefore disengaged from actual combat. This leads one to ask, are there actually any cases of true battlefield martyrdom in the chronicle of Henry at all. Perhaps that was the aim of the author—​to blur the lines so that war, while an essential part of the narrative, would not be central to the deaths of key protagonists. The style hints that Henry was likely knowledgeable of the workings of the canonization protocol of his time and that he employed literary techniques to make his cases for sainthood more acceptable. This could especially hold true for Berthold whose death had probably given grounds to a local cult and who could easily be presented to Rome as an appealing candidate for official canonization.

The Livonian Rhymed Chronicle

In his work written in High Middle German verse, the anonymous author of the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle focused on the militant heroism of foreign crusaders, as well as on his own brothers in the Teutonic Order who were continually engaged in a struggle against local Baltic tribes from the 1230s onwards. The Rhymed Chronicle is related to the chansons de geste and similar chivalrous literature, so one should not be surprised by the fact that it expresses a remarkably lax approach towards battlefield martyrdom. 71 Henry, Chron. Liv., 10.8, 38. 72 Henry, Chron. Liv., 14.8, 79.

73 About Caesarius’s typology of life and death, see his Dialogus miraculorum, 11.1, ed. Joseph Strange, 2 vols. (Cologne: Heberle, 1851), 1:266; Tamm, “Martyrs and Miracles,” 137. 74 Henry, Chron. Liv., 2.6, 10.

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As a commander of the order says in the work: “it would not be right to mourn all the brothers who have been slain in Livonia. Many chivalrous warriors become soldiers of God. They save their souls and ride to the kingdom of heaven with a martyr’s crown.”75 References to battlefield martyrdom are actually not as common in the text as one might assume, however. The above-​mentioned crusader who became a martyr for Virgin Mary is described in person, but where did “many chivalrous warriors” suffer martyrdom, exactly? When describing a battle with the Lithuanians in 1257, the author commemorated fallen brothers: “I do not mourn them, however, for they exchanged this wretched life for the Kingdom of Heaven. As comrades of the martyrs their joy shall never fade, but rather endure forever. There is no doubt that they shall rejoice with God.”76 The other occasion is the Battle of Durbe against the Samogitians in 1260: “many an undaunted hero was surrounded and suffered a martyr’s fate there. … The master, along with one hundred and fifty of his Brothers, was martyred. There were also many crusaders who suffered the same fate.”77 The goal of these descriptions was clearly not presenting virtuous individuals for official canonization. The author seems to be saying that such pious deaths “simply” wash away all sins and grant entry to paradise. In the words of Norman Housley: “[w]‌hen crusaders were described as martyrs the word was perhaps being used in a celebratory rather than a technical sense. It was a way of emphasizing the full measure of their personal sacrifice, and hence confirming the remission of their sins and their entry into paradise, rather than making a formal claim that these individuals should henceforth enjoy the status of martyr.”78 This was actually quite similar to official papal policy that had granted Livonian crusaders a plenary indulgence since 1217.79 It was also a common tendency in thirteenth-​ century chronicles to associate martyrdom with groups of people rather than individuals—​authors were easier off speaking about collective sanctity than judging the internal disposition of each person.80 This style of writing sits well with the ideals of military orders, where the collective always dominated over the individual. No saints were born out of their ranks.81 Such organizations did not want their members recklessly charging into battle for any reason, including for the prospect of an eternal crown—​discipline had to be maintained at all times.82 Teutonic Knights could only be martyred in corpore. 75 Reimchronik, lines 10 759–​66, 246: “zû dem himelrîche vert /​von der martir crône.” 76 Reimchronik, lines 4516–​24, 104.

77 Reimchronik, lines 5647–​59, 130.

78 Housley, Contesting the Crusades, 41. See also Tamm, “Martyrs and Miracles,” 151. 79 Tamm, “How to Justify a Crusade,” 436–​37.

80 Smith, Crusading in the Age of Joinville, 141.

81 Helen J. Nicholson, “Saints Venerated in the Military Orders,” in Selbstbild und Selbstverständnis der geistlichen Ritterorden, ed. Roman Czaja and Jürgen Sarnowsky, Ordines militares 13 (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2005), 91–​113.

82 Nicholson, “Templars,” 118–​19.

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It could therefore follow that martyrdoms reflect the woes of the order83—​calamities that affect the whole organization, such as the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Durbe in 1260. One hundred and fifty knights perished there, including the Master of Livonia. The expansion of the last twenty years was reversed, and revolts broke out in all corners of the order’s domain. It took the Teutonic Knights three decades to restore their former strength.84 This catastrophic defeat was certainly associated with martyrdom: chronicles recounting the battle in 1320s and 1330s tell how it was promised to the brothers before the fight that their clothes will be “dyed red with the blood of martyrdom.”85 Onlookers are told to have witnessed slaughtered knights ascending to heaven.86 Fallen brothers were therefore remembered as martyrs of this tragic event in the order’s past, but that does not explain why the only other mention of battlefield martyrdom in the Rhymed Chronicle appears in connection with a skirmish in 1257. This encounter was a rather minor clash between the Teutonic Order and the Lithuanians—​twelve knights were killed, but no political or strategical setbacks followed for the organization.87 The event pales in comparison to the Battle of Skuodas in 1259 where thirty-​three brothers perished and Lithuanians actively started pressuring the order—​in the words of William Urban: “It was as great a disaster as the debacle at Saule twenty-​three years earlier.”88 Neither in the chronicler’s description of the Battle of Skuodas nor in case of the Battle of Saule in 1236 (which led to the ruin of the Sword Brethren and their incorporation into the Teutonic Order) is there any mention of martyrdom, however.89 Heavenly crowns do not figure in later grandiose massacres of the knights either, such as the Battle of Karuse in 1270.90 The issue can apparently be resolved by a less literal reading of the chronicle: a certain form of martyrdom could be present in events where it is not explicitly stated. 83 Gustavs Strenga, “Remembering the Common Past:  Livonia as a ‘lieu de mémoire’ of the Teutonic Order in the Empire,” in Livland—​eine Region am Ende der Welt?, Quellen und Studien zur baltischen Geschichte 27 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2017), 347–​79.

84 William L. Urban, The Baltic Crusade (Chicago: Lithuanian Research and Studies Center, 1994), 248.

85 Nikolaus of Jeroschin, Die Kronike von Pruzinlant, ed. Ernst Strehlke, Scriptores rerum Prussicarum 1 (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1861), 291–​ 624 at 426, lines 10 633–​ 41. An English prose translation is also available: Nikolaus of Jeroschin, The Chronicle of Prussia: A History of the Teutonic Knights in Prussia, 1190–​1331, ed. and trans. Mary Fischer (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010).

86 Nikolaus of Jeroschin, Die Kronike von Pruzinlant, 427, lines 10 778–​86. Jeroschin’s chronicle is actually a Middle High German translation of an earlier Latin work, the Chronicon terrae Prussiae by Peter of Dusburg. The previously referenced quote regarding the painting of robes with blood does not mention martyrdom in Dusburg’s text, but this episode is present. Hence, see also Peter of Dusburg, Chronica terrae Prussiae, 3.84, ed. and ann. Jarosław Wenta and Sławomir Wyszomirski, MPH NS 13 (Kraków: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 2007), 109–​11. 87 Reimchronik, lines 4507, 4544–​4644, 104–​7. 88 Urban, The Baltic Crusade, 246.

89 Reimchronik, lines 1907–​58, 44–​45.

90 Reimchronik, lines 7769–​7952, 178–​82.

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The crux of the matter is suffering—​more exactly distress in battle. At Durbe, the Curonian allies of the Teutonic Order switched sides and the Estonian auxiliaries fled, leaving the brothers encircled: “when the battle began, they were completely helpless.”91 Also, at Saule, the Sword Brethren had to “fight the pagans even though they did not want to. In the swamp they could offer but weak resistance, and they were cut down like women.”92 At the Battle of Karuse, which was fought on sea ice, the Teutonic Knights lost control of their mounts and they could not stop them before smashing into the Lithuanian barricades. Eventually, most of their horses had been killed, and they had to fight on foot.93 These were situations displaying a warrior’s torment at being prevented from employing their martial skills, resulting in an embarrassing death. It must be noted, that in the thirteenth century, the word “martyrdom” was often used in meanings other than a literal saintly death—​it expressed suffering in general, going as far as the troubadour Rutebeuf dubbing the pains of an unhappy marriage as one form of martyrdom.94 The Franciscan friar, Salimbene of Parma, offers an example, writing about an emissary Pope Innocent IV sent to Emperor Frederick II. The monarch imprisoned the nuncio, and is told to have “brought upon him eighteen martyrdoms, all of which he patiently suffered.”95 In the Livonian Rhymed Chronicle, of course, martyrdoms are not simply figurative descriptions of agony—​martyrs were killed in battle and could literally “rejoice with God,” after all—​but descriptions of anguish can easily be interpreted as reflections of martyrdom. In the Rhymed Chronicle, the recurring theme in descriptions of the order’s calamitous defeats is distress or hardship (nôt). One apparent reason for this is the rhyme nôt–​tôt (distress–​death), employed often by the author who was actually not particularly poetic, but there was a more transcendent connection between the two as well. Marian Dygo has demonstrated that the fourteenth-​century chronicler Peter of Dusburg did not recognize the qualities of martyrdom in the brothers of the Teutonic Order simply because of the fact or the way that they were killed, but on account of their deaths being an imitation of Christ, the most noble expression of love for God.96 Internal disposition was, therefore, still critical, even though the author of the Rhymed Chronicle did not overly concern himself with the details of devout inclination. 91 Reimchronik, lines 5625–​29, 129.

92 Reimchronik, lines 1928–​35, 45.

93 Reimchronik, lines 7884–​7910, 181.

94 Smith, Crusading in the Age of Joinville, 101. 95 Salimbene de Adam, Cronica, ed. Giuseppe Scalia, 2 vols., Scrittori d’Italia 232–​33 (Bari: Gius, Laterza & Figli, 1966), 1:463. 96 Marian Dygo, “Die heiligen Deutschordensritter. Didaktik und Herrschaftsideologie im Deutschen Orden in Preußen um 1300,” in Die Spiritualität der Ritterorden im Mittelalter, ed. Zenon Hubert Nowak, Ordines militares 7 (Toruń:  Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 1993), 165–​76, especially at 171. “It is the intention, not the punishment that makes a martyr,” as Peter Gemeinhardt put it: Gemeinhardt, Märtyrer und Martyriumsdeutungen, 300.

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Traditionally, the Rhymed Chronicle was categorized as dining table literature, intended to be read to the Teutonic Knights during meals, as a source of intellectual nourishment in addition to physical sustenance.97 However, Alan V. Murray has asserted that its contents fail to fulfil the requirements for spiritual reading materials outlined in the statutes of the order. He believes that the chronicle was meant for potential crusaders, promising them both temporal and spiritual awards in Livonia.98 In this case, descriptions of distress fit in nicely with the purpose. In the thirteenth century, imitatio Christi—​the imitation of the trials and miseries of Christ—​became central in defining sainthood and it also pervaded ideas of crusading.99 Emphasizing the hardships the order must face in savage Livonia could both inform foreigners of the difficulties that the Teutonic Knights must face, and present an opportunity for a heroic penitential campaign or perhaps convince the audience to join the ranks of the organization. In that connection, martyrdom is actually something better left to the backdrop of the narrative—​a constant reminder that a horrible death likely awaited crusaders in Livonia could have proven counterproductive to the cause. Instead, the chronicle speaks of the remission of sins earned for fighting against pagans, and of glory and loot to be gained.100 Nevertheless, the audience also hears how Livonia offers prospects for a true imitatio Christi—​and furthermore, one that can be performed on the battlefield, doing exactly what the knightly vocation presumes. The author employed martyrdom as a modest theme in the work, promising in relevant moments that torments would be awarded generously in heaven. In a sense, therefore, martyrdom was presented as a fall-​ back guarantee in the Rhymed Chronicle: should a crusader or a member of the order be killed, he would be more than compensated for this sacrifice. The Chronicle of Prussia, written by Peter of Dusburg in the 1320s, often depicts the Teutonic Knights as martyrs and as the weaker faction in the war against pagans, with the intent to secure the support of the Catholic world to the order’s cause. Unlike the Rhymed Chronicle, the rhetoric of Dusburg’s text is legalistic, presenting the conflict with the Lithuanians as a just war in the early-​fourteenth-​century ideological environment that had become hostile to religious military orders.101 The Rhymed Chronicle, however, could also have aimed to mitigate criticism and accumulate support for the Teutonic Knights, since the Oxford scholar Roger Bacon (d. 1292) castigated their politics

97 Murray, “The Structure, Genre and Intended Audience,” 241.

98 Murray, “The Structure, Genre and Intended Audience,” 248–​50. 99 Smith, “Martyrdom and Crusading,” 192–​93.

100 E.g.:  Reimchronik, lines 1215–​22; 1644–​52; 1719–​28; 4162–​68; 8361–​66; 9656–​66, 28–​29, 38, 40, 96, 192, 221.

101 Rasa J. Mazeika, “Violent Victims? Surprising Aspects of the Just War Theory in the Chronicle of Peter von Dusburg,” in The Clash of Cultures, 123–​40 at 135–​36. Alan John Forey, “Military Orders and Secular Warfare in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” Viator 24 (1993): 79–​100 at 96–​99.

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already in 1268, and even some thirteenth-​century popes chided the organization.102 As a response, the narrative of the brothers’ torment and martyrdoms on a wild pagan frontier evokes parallels with early Christian mission and hence justifies their conduct. Simply complaining how weak the Teutonic Order was would likely not have garnered much respect for it among Christian knights, but the organization’s collective imitatio Christi of suffering a “constant martyrdom” probably did. Defending the Livonian Church against foes “whose numbers were beyond counting” even in situations where the brothers were “completely surrounded by the pagan force”103 probably inspired admiration amongst the chronicle’s audience and perhaps convinced some fighting men to take the Cross and relieve the order of some of its “martyrdom” by carrying it on their own shoulders. And in case the war should turn disastrous for the Christians, fallen crusaders and Teutonic Knights would join the ranks of the martyrs—​perhaps in a “celebratory rather than a technical sense,” but that was probably more than enough for a penitent medieval warrior.

Conclusion

No official martyrs were made on the battlefields of the Livonian Crusades, but in many contemporary minds, the Eastern Baltic lands nevertheless contained an essence that gave divine meaning to the deaths of Christian warriors who perished fighting the pagans there. A virulent imagological combination of defending a young church in a savage place while also expressing devotion to the Virgin Mary, the local patroness, must have been appealing to men who took the Cross. In a militant imitation of Christ, crusaders did penance by taking it upon themselves to endure a form of “martyrdom” endlessly suffered by the Teutonic Order:  the burden of fighting against constantly menacing pagans. In case bellicose pilgrims died in battle, they were thought to have been cleansed of all sins and remembered as martyrs of an unofficial sort. This layman’s understanding of martyrdom was likely propagated and put to use by the Livonian Church and the Teutonic Order, but in order to achieve actual canonization for a candidate, one had to stress the virtus demanded by Rome. The Rigan chronicler Henry sought to present the second Livonian bishop Berthold in that way, while playing down the fact that the prelate had died fighting in battle—​something if not strictly forbidden, then certainly discouraged for a cleric. On one hand, Berthold was the best nominee that the church of Riga had for official canonization, but on the other hand, his death amid bloodshed—​while leading to his veneration locally—​may have posed an obstacle. The increasingly strict canonization protocols of the thirteenth-​century Holy See would not accept his martyrdom on the battlefield and the bishop was never counted among the saints. 102 Mary Fischer, “Biblical Heroes and the Uses of Literature: The Teutonic Order in the Late Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries,” in Crusade and Conversion, 261–​75 at 262–​63. 103 Reimchronik, lines 4499–​4500, 5625–​26, 103, 129.

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Chapter 13

ORTHODOX RESPONSES TO THE BALTIC CRUSADES Anti Selart* the people and countries on the eastern shore of the Baltic Sea were among the

last in Europe to become part of the Catholic Church. In Estonia, Latvia, and Finland, this occurred during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries—​in close connection to the Northern Crusades. In the case of Estonia and Latvia—​medieval Livonia—​historical writing has traditionally emphasized the violent nature of this Christianization: in the 1190s, a war of Christianization broke out there that lasted an entire century.1 Although writers on Finnish national history are more reticent when it comes to accentuating violence, the older tradition still underlined the coercive nature of the Catholic conversion of the country.2 On the other hand, Lithuania, unlike its northern neighbours, consolidated into a medieval state in the first half of the thirteenth century and successfully resisted the military pressure of the crusaders and the Teutonic Order. It was converted to Catholicism as a result of an internal decision at the turn of the fifteenth century.3 However, the religious and the secular, the Church and worldly powers, were very closely intertwined in all these wars and conflicts, and the boundaries between the various camps were not always clear or well-​defined. Missionizing and baptizing could also put the clergy, both Catholic and Orthodox, in the role of subduer or oppressor. * Anti Selart (orcid.org/​0000-​0001-​8608-​9154) is a professor of medieval history at the Institute of History and Archaeology of the University of Tartu, Estonia. His major recent publications include the monograph Livonia, Rus’ and the Baltic Crusades (Brill, 2015) and the edited volume Livland—​eine Region am Ende der Welt (Böhlau, 2017, with Matthias Thumser). His research mainly focuses on the history of medieval Baltics, Northern Crusades, and the aspects of inter-​ confessional relations and social history of the late medieval North Eastern Europe. 1 This research was supported by Eesti Teadusagentuur grant no. PUT 1422. On the historiography, see Anti Selart, “Historical Legitimacy and Crusade in Livonia,” in Crusading on the Edge: Ideas and Practice of Crusading in Iberia and the Baltic Region, 1100–​1500, ed. Torben K. Nielsen and Iben Fonnesberg-​Schmidt, Outremer 4 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016), 29–​54. See also John Lind, “Russian Echoes of the Crusading Movement 1147–​1478: Impulses and Responses,” Middelalderforum 1–​2 (2003):  209–​35.

2 Derek Fewster, “Approaches to the Conversion of the Finns: Ideologies, Symbols and Archaeological Features,” in The North-​Eastern Frontiers of Medieval Europe: The Expansion of Latin Christendom in the Baltic Lands, ed. Alan V. Murray, The Expansion of Latin Europe, 1000–​1500 4 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), 43–​56 at 47–​48. 3 Darius Baronas and S. C. Rowell, The Conversion of Lithuania: From Pagan Barbarians to Late Medieval Christians (Vilnius: The Institute of Lithuanian Literature and Folklore, 2015).

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264 Anti Selart In addition, the issue of whether the region was Christianized first from the East or the West, by the Orthodox or Catholic Church has been quite a heavily politicized debate in relation to the history of the Baltic countries. In these discussions, the act of Christianization has generally been seen as justification for political control, not only in the Middle Ages but also in the contemporary world of the modern authors. The supposedly peaceful Orthodox mission in general has been contrasted with the violent Catholic Christianization,4 in order to condemn the “German” conquest and/​or emphasize the historical pre-​eminence of Rusian influence and political superiority in the Baltic countries. Another similar thesis has been reiterated, actually without any confirmation in the original historical records, in the case of Orthodox Karelia:  that this land was Christianized by Byzantine (not Rusian) missionaries already before the thirteenth century. This thesis has been used as an ideological counterweight to the opposite political claims, trying to prove that Karelia has been specifically linked to Russian history for all of the time, and has always been under Rusian rule.5 The oldest layer of basic Christian vocabularies in Estonian, Finnish, and Latvian do include Old East Slavic loan words.6 However, instead of talking about a conscious Orthodox mission in the medieval Baltics, it is probably more accurate to talk about communications between neighbouring areas and cultural influences. During the Middle Ages, the Byzantine Church did not undertake active and systematically organized foreign missions,7 and in the case of the Rusian Orthodox Church,8 such missions were not documented until the later fourteenth century. At that time, Stephen of Perm (d. 1396) not only converted the Komi peoples to Christianity and created the Old Permic script, but also effectively brought the region, which had paid tribute to Novgorod before, under the control of the Grand Princes of Moscow.9 4 Anti Selart, “Gab es eine altrussische Tributherrschaft in Estland?,” Forschungen zur baltischen Geschichte 10 (2015): 11–​30 at 26–​28.

5 Jukka Korpela, “Die Christianisierung der finno-​ugrischen Peripherie Europas. Zwei Theorien und unangenehme Tatsachen,” in Rome, Constantinople and Newly-​Converted Europe: Archaeological and Historical Evidence, ed. Maciej Salamon et al., 2 vols. (Kraków: Geisteswissenschaftliches Zentrum Geschichte und Kultur Ostmitteleuropas, 2012), 1:275–​85.

6 Anti Selart, Livonia, Rus’ and the Baltic Crusades in the Thirteenth Century, East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages, 450–​1450 29 (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 72–​74; Petri Kallio, “On the Earliest Slavic Loanwords in Finnic,” in The Slavicization of the Russian North: Mechanisms and Chronology, ed. Juhani Nuorluoto (Helsinki: University of Helsinki, 2006), 154–​66 at 156–​57.

7 Sergei A. Ivanov, Византийское миссионерство. Можно ли сделать из “варвара” христиани на? (Moscow: Iazyki slavianskoi kul’tury, 2003), 328–​44; Maciej Salamon, “Byzantine Missionary Policy: Did It Exist?,” in Rome, Constantinople and Newly-​Converted Europe, 1:43–​53.

8 Alexander Musin, “The Christianisation of Eastern Europe in the Archaeological Perspective,” in Christianisierung Europas. Entstehung, Entwicklung und Konsolidierung im archäologischen Befund, ed. Orsloya Heinrich-​Tamáska, Niklot Krohn, and Sebastian Ristow (Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 2012), 497–​518 at 516–​17. 9 Jukka Korpela, “Stefan von Perm’. Heiliger Täufer im politischen Kontext,” Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 49 (2001): 481–​99.

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Baptism and Secular Power In early medieval Western Europe, Christianization in several cases did serve as a tool of implementation of secular hegemony and political and economic subjugation of peoples.10 A special feature of the Livonian Crusades alike was the direct equating of baptism with submission.11 The degree of submission may have differed greatly depending on the province and community; however, starting from the actual military conquest until a union agreement which was concluded by a bishop, military order, and/​ or crusaders as one party and the local leader(s) or community as the other.12 Baptism resulted in submission to what the contemporary chronicles called iugum christianitatis, the “yoke of Christianity.”13 This meant submitting to ecclesiastical discipline, in which the central role was played by taxation, and actually also to political dominion.14 Thus, the question of who was actually baptizing became very important, because they de facto acquired the secular power. In 1220, a real baptism competition developed between the missionaries from Riga and Denmark in Estonia, which was essentially a competition between two groups of conquerors to gain territory.15 The obvious mutual relationship of the baptisms conducted by priests and the territory grab was already remarked upon at the time: “But the Danes desired to take over this neighbouring land [Vironia] for themselves and sent their priests … into a foreign harvest.”16 Henry of 10 Rudolf Schieffer, “Christianisierung Europas,” in “Credo.” Christianisierung Europas im Mittelalter, ed. Christoph Stiegemann, Martin Kroker, and Wolfgang Walter (Petersberg: Imhof, 2013), 44–​52.

11 Carsten Selch Jensen, “Gods War: War and Christianisation on the Baltic Frontier in the Early 13th Century,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 16 (2011):  123–​47; Marius Ščavinskas, “On the Crusades and Coercive Missions in the Baltic Region in the Mid-​12th Century and Early 13th Century: The Cases of Wends and Livonians,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 63, no. 4 (2014):  499–​527.

12 Mihkel Mäesalu, “Agreements on the Acceptance of Christianity Between Crusaders and Pagans in 13th-​Century Livonia,” in Legacies of the Crusades, vol. 1, ed. Torben K. Nielsen and Kurt Villads Jensen, Outremer 11 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2021), 215–​40. 13 Henry of Livonia, Chronicon Livoniae, 14.11, ed. Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, MGH SS rer. Germ. 31 (Hannover: Hahn, 1955), 85 (hereafter Henry, Chron. Liv.).

14 Tiina Kala, “The Incorporation of the Northern Baltic Lands into the Western Christian World,” in Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, ed. Alan V. Murray (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), 3–​20; Ivar Leimus, “ ‘Iura christianorum’—​eine Floskel von Heinrich oder Mittel zur Untewerfung der Heiden? Zur Bedeutung eines Begriffs in der Kreuzzugs-​Rhetorik des 12. bis 13. Jahrhunderts und in der Historiographie,” in Der “Ungläubige” in der Rechts-​und Kulturgeschichte des 18. Jahrhunderts, ed. Ulrich Kronauer, Akademiekonferenzen 20 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2015), 131–​51.

15 Mihkel Mäesalu, “A Crusader Conflict Mediated by a Papal Legate: The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia as a Legal Text,” The Medieval Chronicle 8 (2013): 233–​46 at 240–​41. See also Friedrich Benninghoven, Der Orden der Schwertbrüder. “Fratres milicie Christi de Livonia” (Cologne: Böhlau, 1965), 275. 16 Henry, Chron. Liv., 24.2, 170. The English translation used in this chapter is The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, trans. James A. Brudnage, 2nd ed. (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), 189.

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266 Anti Selart Livonia, the contemporary chronicler of the events related to the Riga camp,17 allowed himself to make an apparently ironic observation about the Danes in this case: “The Vironians believed that the Christians had one God, both for Danes and the Germans, and one faith and one baptism. They thought that no discord would come of it and so they accepted, unconcernedly, the baptism of their Danish neighbours.”18 The oft-​quoted passages about the Rusian and the Orthodox Church in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia should be understood in this same context: They talk about a competition in which baptism equalled submission to taxation and political control. According to Henry, the Rusian Church was a “mother” who is “always sterile and barren, for she always attempted to subject lands to herself, not with the hope of regeneration in the faith of Jesus Christ, but with the hope of loot and tribute.”19 Another reproach addressed to the Rusian princes and Rusian Church was that they prefer taxation to the evangelization of the people. The same accusation, however, had previously been addressed by the chroniclers Adam of Bremen (d. 1081/​1085) and Helmold of Bosau (d. after 1177) to the Saxon princes of Northern Germany: that the princes desire to tax the Slavs instead of their Christianization;20 or the Polish chronicler, Master Vincentius (d. 1223), who similarly blamed the policy of Bolesław IV of Poland (r. 1146–​1173) towards Prussians.21 In fact, not only the activities of the Rusian princes but also those of the Catholic baptizers and crusaders from Denmark and Sweden—​the rivals of the leaders of Riga—​were condemned in the passage of Henry’s chronicle quoted above.22 Thus, the matter was not only related to the particular confession. Consequently, the competition between the Catholic and Orthodox confessions was, to a great extent, actually a political and occasionally a military competition. The Rusians in the crusade-​era Baltic chronicles were typically described as hostile and a dangerous image of the schismatic enemies of the Catholic Christianitatis.23 However, more in-​ depth research has shown that things were actually much more nuanced and the purely

17 Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). 18 Henry, Chron. Liv., 24.2, 170; trans. Brundage, 188–​89 (quoted with modifications). 19 Henry, Chron. Liv., 28.4, 202; trans. Brundage, 222.

20 Friedrich Lotter, “The Crusading Idea and the Conquest of the Region East of the Elbe,” in Medieval Frontier Societies, ed. Robert Bartlett and Angus MacKay (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), 267–​306 at 283–​84. 21 Darius von Güttner-​Sporzyński, “Constructing Memory: Holy War in the Chronicle of the Poles by Bishop Vincentius of Cracow,” Journal of Medieval History 40, no. 3 (2014): 276–​91 at 285.

22 Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 181.

23 Thomas S. Noonan, “Medieval Russia, the Mongols, and the West: Novgorod’s Relations with the Baltic, 1100–​1350,” Mediaeval Studies 37 (1975): 316–​39; Christoph Schmidt, “Das Bild der ‘Rutheni’ bei Heinrich von Lettland,” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 44 (1995): 509–​20.

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theological aspect was often relegated to the background.24 The Rusians and the Latins accepted each other as Christians, who had their faults, but neither side demanded, for example, the rebaptism of the other.25 The idea that Orthodox baptism was not valid was not introduced in Eastern Europe until the fifteenth century when the Polish and Lithuanian Catholic Church adopted this position.26 Actually, in the Mediterranean, in the “homeland” of the schism, the picture similarly was more nuanced and ambivalent. The differences that developed the Greek and Latin Churches through the centuries were correlated to political oppositions, but also contrasted with political cooperation or a hope for it. The history of the schism as the history of anathemas, acts of violence, and persecution is a political story and not the history of a theological dispute.27 Moreover, the Latin and Orthodox Churches were not isolated from each other. Although it has been stressed that it is incorrect to view the criticisms of the Byzantines in addressing Latin ritual and people’s lifestyles as being only “outside” cover for the “real” reasons for conflicts related primarily to ecclesiastical policy or even secular matters,28 the Roman Church in the early thirteenth century did not consider it necessary to missionize the Greeks, because they were already Christians (although flawed ones).29 The issue was the (non-​) acceptance of the papal primacy. In Rus’, The Questions of Cyricus a canon law text from mid-​twelfth-​century Novgorod, also calls for the Latins to convert to the Orthodox religion by way of repentance and chrismation, and not (re-​) baptism.30

24 Olena Assmann, “Das Russlandbild in der Livländischen Chronik Heinrichs von Lettland,” in Vorstellungswelten der mittelalterlichen Überlieferung. Zeitgenössische Wahrnehmungen und ihre moderne Interpretation, ed. Jürgen Sarnowsky, Nova mediaevalia 11 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Unipress, 2012), 119–​35. See Torben K. Nielsen, “Sterile Monsters? Henry of Livonia and the Orthodox Church,” in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 227–​52. 25 Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 179–​83.

26 Jakub Sawicki, “ ‘Rebaptisatio ruthenorum’ in the Light of 15th and 16th Century Polish Synodal Legislation,” in The Christian Community of Medieval Poland: Anthologies, ed. Jerzy Kłoczowski (Wrocław: Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich, 1981), 57–​72 at 60–​61.

1204, ed. Peter Bruns and Georg Gresser 27 Vom Schisma zu den Kreuzzügen 1054–​ (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2005).

28 Georgij Avvakumov, “Die Fragen des Ritus als Streit-​und Kontroversengegenstand. Zur Typologie der Kulturkonflikte zwischen dem lateinischen Westen und dem byzantinisch-​slavischen Osten im Mittelalter und in der Neuzeit,” in Kirchen-​und Kulturgeschichtsschreibung in Nordost-​und Ostmitteleuropa, ed. Rainer Bendel, Religions-​und Kulturgeschichte in Ostmittel-​und Südosteuropa 2 (Berlin: Lit, 2006), 191–​233 at 206–​18.

29 Chris Schabel, “The Myth of the White Monks’ ‘Mission to the Orthodox’:  Innocent III, the Cistercians, and the Greeks,” Traditio 70 (2015): 237–​61 at 256–​61; Nikolaos G. Chrissis, Crusading in Frankish Greece: A Study of Byzantine-​Western Relations and Attitudes, 1204–​1282 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), 45–​46.

30 Памятники древнерусского канонического права, vol. 1, ed. Aleksei S. Pavlov, 2nd ed. (St. Petersburg: Tipografiya Aleksandrova, 1908), 26–​27 (c. 10).

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Orthodox Clergy in War The idea of crusades and the theology of indulgences did not develop in the Orthodox Church. However, in the Eastern Churches the concept did exist that, at least some, wars were conducted for a holy purpose, for Christendom, and the glory of God.31 A text in the Rusian Hypatian Chronicle, which was probably written in Kiev by a contemporary, talks about how, after an angel of God appeared him, the Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa and his army went into battle to reclaim the Holy Sepulcher, which God had given to the Muslims to punish the Christian people for their sins. The fallen Germans are said to have poured their blood like the holy martyrs, and their bodies were invisibly removed from their graves by the angel of the Lord on the third day, the chronicle says.32 The armies of the Rus’ fought under the patronage of military saints against both Christian and pagan enemies.33 Thus, both the Novgorod and Pskov chronicles stress the support provided in military victories by the divine help and the assistance of their heavenly patrons—​St. Sophia (Holy Wisdom) and the Holy Trinity respectively. They also occur in the chronicle texts as personifications of the respective cities. The motif of divine assistance appears regardless of whether the enemy was comprised of Orthodox Rusians,34 Catholic Germans or Swedes,35 or pagan Lithuanians.36 This shows that, 31 George T. Dennis, “Defenders of the Christian People: Holy War in Byzantium,” in The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. Ageliki E. Laiou and Roy Parviz Mottahedeh (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 2001), 31–​39; Aleksandr E. Musin, “ ‘Milites Christi,” Древней Руси. Воинская культура русского Средневековья в контексте религиозного менталитета (St. Petersburg: Peterburgskoe vostokovedenie, 2005), 94–​96; Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion, ed. Johannes Koder and Ioannis Stouraitis, Veröffentlichungen zur Byzanzforschung 30 (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2012); Gérard Dédéyan, “Le combattant noble arménien. Un ‘miles Christi’?,” in Élites et ordres militaires au Moyen Âge. Recontre autour d’Alain Demurger, ed. Philippe Josserand et al., Collection de la Casa de Velázquez 145 (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2015), 65–​78; Nikolaos G. Chrissis, “Byzantine Crusaders: Holy War and Crusade Rhetoric in Byzantine Contacts with the West (1095–​1341),” in The Crusader World, ed. Adrian J. Boas (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), 259–​77. 32 Ипатьевская летопись, ed. Aleksei A. Shakhmatov, Polnoe sobranie russkikh letopisei 2, 2nd ed. (Petersburg: Tipografiya Aleksandrova, 1908), 667–​68. See also Aleksandr V. Nazarenko, Древняя Русь на международых путях. Междисциплинарные очерки культурных, торговых, политических связей IХ–​ХII веков (Moscow: Yazyki russkoj kul’tury, 2001), 637–​39. For more on the role of angels in the imagination of holy war in Rus’, see Radosław Kotecki’s chapter in this volume.

33 Irina Moroz, “The Idea of the Holy War in the Orthodox World (On Russian Chronicles from the Twelfth–​Sixteenth Century),” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 4 (1999): 45–​67 at 46–​52; Monica White, Military Saints in Byzantium and Rus, 900–​1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). 34 Новгородская первая летопись старшего и младшего изводов, ed. Arsenii N. Nasonov (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1950), 56.

35 Новгородская первая летопись, 72, 77, 78; Псковские летописи, vol. 2, ed. Arsenii N. Nasonov (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1955), 21. 36 Новгородская первая летопись, 64, 73.

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for the clerical authors of the chronicles, the primary identification in the thirteenth century was with one’s city or community, with the wars fought to defend them, and only thereafter, did the religious denomination play any role. However, the Novgorod Chronicle, when reporting on the unsuccessful campaign of the united forces of Livonia and Pskov against the pagan Lithuanians in 1236, called the crusaders who had arrived in Riga simply Germans who “came in great strength from beyond the sea”;37 and made no mention their special status from the point of view of the Latin Church. On the other hand, the fact that the German term gotes rittere (“God’s knights”) in relation to a military order, went into circulation in thirteenth-​century Rus’ as “God’s courtiers” (bozhii dvoryane) and “God’s servants” (slugi bozhiya)38 means that their specific position in the society was still somehow accepted or understood in Rus’. The participation of the Latin clergy in wars39 was a common theme in Byzantine anti-​Latin polemics.40 However, the “evidence that ordained men in Byzantium took up arms on occasion is plentiful.”41 A few similar episodes have also been recorded in Rus’. Of course, one should consider the fact that the number of surviving written sources from medieval Rus’ is quite modest. A priest named Petrilo, from Staraya Rusa in the Novgorod Land, fell on the battlefield in 1234 fending off the pagan Lithuanians.42 In 1343, a priest named Ruda from Pskov participated in a looting raid to Livonia and

37 Новгородская первая летопись, 74; translation into English: The Chronicle of Novgorod 1016–​1471, trans. Robert Michell and Nevill Forbes, Camden Third Series 25 (London: Camden Society, 1914), 81.

38 Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 303–​4.

39 For more on this issue, see especially Ernst-​Dieter Hehl, Kirche und Krieg im 12. Jahrhundert. Studien zu kanonischem Recht und politischer Wirklichkeit, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 19 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1980); Thomas Haas, Geistliche als Kreuzfahrer. Der Klerus im Konflikt zwischen Orient und Okzident 1095–​1221, Heidelberg Transcultural Studies 3 (Heidelberg: Winter, 2012); Craig M. Nakashian, Warrior Churchmen of Medieval England, 1000–​1250: Theory and Reality (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2016); Daniel M. G. Gerrard, The Church at War: The Military Activities of Bishops, Abbots, and Other Clergy in England, c. 900–​1200 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2017); Between Sword and Prayer: Warfare and Medieval Clergy in Cultural Perspective, ed. Radosław Kotecki, Jacek Maciejewski, and John S.  Ott, Explorations in Medieval Culture 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2018); Kurt Villads Jensen, “Bishops on Crusade,” in “Dominus Episcopus”: Medieval Bishops Between Diocese and Court, ed. Anthony John Lappin and Elena Balzamo, Konferenser 95 (Stockholm: Royal Swedish Academy of Letters, History and Antiquities, 2018), 83–​99; Carsten Selch Jensen, “Clerics and War in Denmark and the Baltics: Ideals and Realities Around 1200,” in Fighting for the Faith: The Many Crusades, ed. Kurt Villads Jensen, Carsten Selch Jensen, and Janus Møller Jensen, Scripta minora 27 (Stockholm: Runica et Mediævalia, 2018), 187–​217.

40 Igor S.  Chichurov, “Антилатинский трактат Киевского Митрополита Ефрема (ок. 1054/​ 55–​1061/​62 гг.) в составе греческого канонического сборника Vat. Gr. 828,” Вестник Свято-​ Тихоновского гуманитарного университета. Богословие, философия 3 (2007): 107–​32 at 124–​25; Tia M. Kolbaba, The Byzantine Lists: Errors of the Latins (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000), 48–​50. 41 Kolbaba, The Byzantine Lists, 50.

42 Новгородская первая летопись, 73.

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270 Anti Selart the ensuing battle with the “Germans.” The priest “threw down all his weapons,” fled from the battlefield, and spread false rumours about the serious defeat suffered by the Rusians.43 In Rus’ during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the clergy was connected to and dependent on the groups and individuals they served: the princes, the aristocracy, and free communities.44 This meant that the clerics participated in military campaigns, not only as escorts but also, if necessary, as actual combatants.45

Orthodox Submission Baptisms?

The Church in Rus’ was not the initiator of wars nor was it their (sole) legitimizer. However, there are specific cases in which Orthodox priests who participated in or accompanied military campaigns abroad performed baptisms, which could potentially be interpreted as “submission baptisms,” similar to those that occurred in the Baltics. Several of such episodes were recorded in the chronicle of Henry of Livonia. Nevertheless, when the chronicle mentions the baptismal activities of the Rusians, it actually questions the legitimacy of their actions, and highlights the appropriate way of the activities of the missionaries of Riga. At the beginning of the chronicle, there is a passage that specially emphasizes the legitimacy of the mission and baptism of the Catholic priest Meinhard,46 who arrived at the lower reaches of the River Dauguva (Düna, Dvina) in the 1180s: “After receiving … the permission of Prince Vladimir of Polotsk, to whom Livs, while still pagan, paid tribute … this priest boldly set out upon the divine work.”47 The cases of a choice between Catholic and Orthodox religion are described in a way that indicates the unsolicited decision in favour of Catholicism and simultaneous political subjection. When Henry covered the acceptance of Christianity by the Letts of Ymera province in 1208, the chronicle states that, before making their final decision, the Letts cast lots, “as to whether, as the Letts of Tālava had done, they should submit 43 Псковские летописи, vol. 2, 26; Musin, “Milites Christi,” 56–​57.

44 Leopold Karl Goetz, Staat und Kirche in Altrussland. Kiever Periode 988–​1240 (Berlin: Duncker, 1908); Yaroslav N. Shchapov, Княжеские уставы и церковь в Древней Руси ХI–​ХIV вв. (Moscow: Nauka, 1972); Yaroslav N. Shchapov, Государство и церковь Древней Руси Х–​ХIII вв. (Moscow: Nauka, 1989); George G. Weickhardt, “The Canon Law of Rus’, 1100–​1551,” Russian History 28 (2001): 411–​46; Boris N. Florya, Исследования по истории церкви. Древнерусское и славянское средневековье (Moscow: Pravoslavnaya entsiklopediya, 2007), 89–​92; Musin, “Milites Christi,” 47–​50; Aleksandr E. Musin, Церковь и горожане средневекового Пскова. Историко-​ археологическое исследование (St. Petersburg: Fakul’tet filologii i iskusstv SPbGU, 2010), 86–​92.

45 Musin, “Milites Christi,” 60–​62.

46 Carsten Selch Jensen, “The Nature of the Early Missionary Activities and Crusades in Livonia, 1185–​1201,” in Medieval Spirituality in Scandinavia and Europe: A Collection of Essays in Honour of Tore Nyberg, ed. Lars Bisgaard et al., Odense University Studies in History and Social Sciences 234 (Odense: Odense University Press, 2001), 121–​37 at 123–​24; Anti Selart, “ ‘Iam tunc…’: The Political Context of the First Part of the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia,” The Medieval Chronicle 5 (2008):  197–​209. 47 Henry, Chron. Liv., 1.3, 2; trans. Brundage, 26.

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to the baptism of the Rusians of Pskov or, on the other hand, to that of the Latins. For the Rusians had come to baptize the Letts of Tālava in their time, who had always been their tributaries. The lot fell to the Latins.”48 The phrase “in their time” (eorum tempore), probably refers to the recent nature of the baptism of the Ymera people, that is, to the 1200s.49 Tālava established a close alliance with the Livonian Brethren of the Sword in 1208 and participated actively in wars with their neighbour Estonians. In 1214, the sons of Talibald (d. 1215), the Tālava leader, “put themselves in the [Livonian] bishop’s power. They promised to change over (commutare) from the Christian faith as they had received it from Rusians to the Latin use, and they also promised to pay one measure of grain annually for each two horses.” A priest, who had become the embodiment of the power relationship, was sent to accompany Talibald’s sons.50 It is a clear case when political re-​orientation coincided with the confessional one. We can hardly speak about Talibald remaining Orthodox until his death at the hands of the Estonians in 1215,51 or about his Catholic re-​baptism.52 A change in the political relationships did bring about a change in ecclesiastical affiliation, but at the same time, there was no doubt in the mind of the crusaders or the Rusians that the opposing side was also comprised of Christians. There was room enough for compromises. The Lettish province of Atzele, which bordered Tālava in the east, was united with the Livonian ecclesiastical and political power system by 1224 at the latest, but Pskov retained its right of taxation until at least the 1280s there.53 The next relevant episode in the Livonian Chronicle is the military campaign undertaken by the princes of Novgorod and Pskov to Otepää in southern Estonia in 1210. After a siege, the Estonians’ stronghold surrendered and paid tribute. The Rusians “baptized a few of them with their baptism … and went back to their country, saying that they would send back their priests to them to finish the holy regeneration of baptism. This they afterwards neglected, for the Ugaunians later received the priests of Riga, were baptized by them, and were numbered among the Rigan Christians.”54 The chronicle alludes to the same event six years later, when in 1216 “the Rusians of Pskov were enraged with the Ugaunians because they had accepted the baptism of the Latins and had refused theirs. The Rusians threatened them with war and demanded taxes and 48 Henry, Chron. Liv., 11.7, 55; trans. Brundage, 75, quoted with modifications; Marcia L. Colish, Faith, Fiction and Force in Medieval Baptismal Debates (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014), 275. 49 Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 109–​10. 50 Henry, Chron. Liv., 18.3, 116; trans. Brundage, 136.

51 As: Heinrich Laakmann, “Zur Geschichte Heinrichs von Lettland und seiner Zeit,” Beiträge zur Kunde Estlands 18 (1932–​34): 57–​102 at 84; Vera I. Matuzova and Evgeniya L. Nazarova, Крестоносцы и Русь, конец ХII в.–​1270 г. (Moscow: Indrik, 2002), 169.

52 As: Indriķis Šterns, “Tālavas Tālivalža ticība,” Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Žurnāls 2 (2000): 24–​33.

53 Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 253–​54.

54 Henry, Chron. Liv., 14.2, 73–​74, also 19.4, 127; trans. Brundage, 95 (quoted with modifications).

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272 Anti Selart tribute from them.” The Ugaunians sought help from the bishop and the Brethren of the Sword, who “promised to live and die together with them and they assured them that as they had always been free of the Rusians before their baptism, so they would be now.”55 An understanding had now been achieved in their relations with the bishop of Riga, the Brethren of the Sword and the crusaders, and with Rus’, that secular power accompanies baptism. Already, in 1212, in the negotiations between Prince Vladimir of Polotsk and Albert, bishop of Riga, the prince demanded that “the bishop cease baptizing the Livs. The prince maintained that the Livs were his serfs and that it was in his power to baptize them or leave them unbaptized. It is, indeed, the custom of the Rusian princes not to subject whatever people they defeat to the Christian faith, but rather to force them to pay tribute and money to themselves.” However, the bishop answered by saying that he could not abdicate this holy assignment, but he was not opposed to the Livs continuing to pay a tax to the prince, if they so wish. Of course, the Livs, according to the chronicle, did not wish to bear a double burden.56 When baptism played a political role and ecclesiastic taxes represented political submission, then the baptizers were also performing a political, and sometimes actually also a military, act. In a situation where the competition for political influence in the region between Riga and Pskov had become apparent in Tālava and elsewhere in north-​east Latvia, as well as in south-​east Estonia; and the establishment of power centres on the shore of the Daugava by the bishop and military order had resulted in the destruction of the prior tribute authority of Polotsk, one can hardly speak about the purely ecclesiastical nature of the mission. Often the mission was directly accompanied by war. In this context, the Rusian priests also performed a political function, which was actually based on their belonging to the Pskov or Novgorod community. When the priests who accompanied the Rusian military had baptized the people who surrendered in Otepää in 1210, they were ordered to do so by the princes and other leaders. In other words, the linking of ecclesiastic and political power, baptism and submission, had now also been accepted in Rus’ (in Novgorod and Pskov), and this specific behavioural pattern was probably based on the example of Livonia. These circumstances need to be considered when explaining the statement in century Rusian Laurentian Chronicle that, in 1227, Prince Iaroslav the fourteenth-​ Vsevolodovich of Novgorod “sent [his army? his priests?57], to baptize the Karelians, virtually all the people.”58 The Novgorod Chronicle mentions Iaroslav’s rich booty, which was brought back from a military campaign to Tavastia, Finland, in the spring of the same year.59 Since the text of the Laurentian Chronicle is younger than the Novgorod 55 Henry, Chron. Liv., 20.3, 136; trans. Brundage, 156 (quoted with modifications).

56 Henry, Chron. Liv., 16.2, 102–​4; trans. Brundage, 122 (quoted with modifications).

57 Aleksandr E. Musin, Христианизация Новгородской земли в IХ–​ХIV веках. Погребальный обряд и христианские древности (St. Petersburg: Peterburgskoe vostokovedenie, 2002), 107.

58 Лаврентьевская летопись и Суздальская летопись по Академическому списку, ed. Evfimii F. Karskii (Leningrad: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1926–​1928), 449. 59 Новгородская первая летопись, 65. Nikolai G. Berezhkov, Хронология русского летописания (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1963), 107, 269.

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Chronicle in this case and compiled, not in Novgorod, but in Vladimir, in north-​east Rus’, the story of baptism of the Karelians has been thought by several researchers to have been a later interpolation. John Lind claimed that the fact that Karelia was still mostly pagan in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries speaks in favour of this interpretation.60 Jukka Korpela associated the purported interpolation in the chronicle text with the development of a cult related to Alexander Nevsky as a saint in Vladimir: Iaroslav who is named as the baptizer here was Alexander’s father.61 As it turns out from the previous cases, baptism as an attribute of establishing power was also conceivable in Rus’ in the early thirteenth century.62 The fact that the Rusian sources do not provide more information about this can be explained primarily by the limited scope of the chronicles. Generally, the Novgorod Chronicle recorded events outside the heartlands of Novgorod territory only if they were related to Novgorod’s military expeditions.63 If the baptism in Karelia was undertaken by the prince, and not the Novgorod community, this fact could also allude to a competition between the prince and city over spheres of influence. It is definitely wrong to assume that Karelia was a “part” of the Novgorod Republic in the first half of the thirteenth century.64 This was an area where Novgorod was still in the process of consolidating its control, and they had to contend with the ever-​growing political influence of Sweden.65 In addition, it must be 60 John Lind, “De russiske krøniker som kilde til kontakter i østersøområdet,” in Det 22. nordiske historikermøte Oslo 13.–​18. august 1994. Rapport I: Norden og Baltikum, ed. Aleksander Loit (Oslo: Den norske historiske forening, 1994), 35–​46 at 42–​45. On recent views about the Christianization of Karelia, see Stanislav V. Belskiy and Ville Laakso, “Two Burial Traditions of the Crusade Period on the Karelian Isthmus and in Ladoga Karelia,” in New Sites, New Methods, ed. Pirjo Uino et al., ISKOS 21 (Helsinki: The Finnish Antiquarian Society, 2016), 210–​22.

61 Jukka Korpela, “Finland’s Eastern Border After the Treaty of Nöteborg: An Ecclesiastical, 97 at 393; Jukka Political or Cultural Border?,” Journal of Baltic Studies 33 (2002): 384–​ Korpela, The World of Ladoga: Society, Trade, Transformation and State Building in the Eastern 1555, Nordische Geschichte 7 (Berlin: Lit, 2008), Fennoscandian Boreal Forest Zone c. 1000–​ 23–​24; Jukka Korpela, “North-​Western ‘Others’ in Medieval Russian Chronicles,” Ученые записки Петрозаводского государстевнного университета. Общественные и гуманитарные науки 93 (2008): 42–​55 at 47. 62 See Heikki Kirkinen, Karjala idän kulttuuripiirissä. Bysantin ja Venäjän yhteyksistä keskiajan Karjalaan, Historiallisia tutkimuksia 67 (Helsinki: Kirjayhtymä, 1963), 73–​74.

63 Timofei V.  Gimon, “Военная история Балтийского Региона в ХII–​ХIII вв. и новгородская летопись,” in Висы дружбы. Сборник статей в честь Татьяны Николаевны Джаксон, ed. Natal’ya Yu. Gvozdetskaya et al. (Moscow: Universitet Dmitrija Pozharskogo, 2011), 74–​82. See also: Timofey Guimon, “Estonia During the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries in the Novgorodian Chronicles,” Forschungen zur baltischen Geschichte 10 (2015): 31–​45.

64 As, e.g., Igor’ P. Shaskol’skii, Русь и крестоносцы. Борьба за Балтику в ХII–​ХIII веках (St. Petersburg: Nauka, 2016), 30–​31, 122–​23. 65 Aleksandr Saksa, Rautakautinen Karjala. Muinas-​Karjalan asutuksen synty ja varhaiskehitys 83; Timofey V. Guimon, (Joensuu: Joensuun yliopiston humanistinen tiedekunta, 1998), 181–​ “Community Names in the ‘First Novgorodian Chronicle’ and the Territorial Structure of the Novgorodian Land,” Studia slavica et balcanica Petropolitana 2 (2015): 135–​51.

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274 Anti Selart considered that Karelia was not a homogenous region, and the events mentioned in the chronicle apparently affected only a small part of the whole of Karelia.66 It is not clear how Sweden’s military campaigns in Finland during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which later tradition has characterized as crusades,67 can actually be connected to missionary objectives. If they were considered to be crusades at the time, they probably did not involve baptism of the heathen, but rather, the defence of Christians as their ideological aim.68 When the scheme combining baptism and submission, which had been used in Livonia, was implemented in Karelia in 1227, it has been considered to be a loan from Livonia.69 However, significant differences exist: in Rus’, baptism apparently was not accompanied by the establishment of an ecclesiastical administration. When Pskov wanted to protect its positions in Tālava and south-​east Estonia against German pressure in order prevent the collapse of its dominion (or the claims of its opponents), as had happened to Polotsk on the Daugava,70 a significant mechanism was missing that would have made the ecclesiastical authority permanent: the ecclesiastical organization in thirteenth-​century Rus’ was not suited for the development of a political administrative structure.

Catholic Danger for Rus’?

The initiative for territorial expansion in Rus’ could not come from the local church, and the clerics were participants in a secular expansion that did not need to be ecclesiastically legitimized. It is noteworthy that modern historiography often emphasizes the danger of “Western” expansion into Rus’, which—​unlike the Mongol invasion—​would have endangered the Rusian Orthodox religion, and thereby Rus’ cultural sovereignty.71 However, in actuality, the weakening of the connection between Rus’ and Byzantium 66 Aleksandr E.  Musin, “Становление православия в Карелии (XII–​XVI вв.),” in Рябининские чтения 95 (Petrozavodsk: Karel’skii Nauchnyi Centr’ RAN, 1997), 242–​62.

67 Thomas Lindkvist, “Crusades and Crusading Ideology in the Political History of Sweden, 1140–​1500,” in Crusade and Conversion, 119–​30.

68 Tuomas Heikkilä, “An Imaginary Saint for an Imagined Community: St. Henry and the Creation of Christian Identity in Finland, Thirteenth-​Fifteenth Centuries,” in Imagined Communities on the Baltic Rim, from the Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries, ed. Wojtek Jezierski and Lars Hermanson (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2016), 223–​52 at 226–​27. 69 Compare Jalmari Jaakkola, Suomen varhaiskeskiaika. Kristillisen Suomen synty, Suomen historia 3, 2nd ed. (Porvoo: Werner Söderström, 1958), 214.

70 Bernhard Dircks, “Krieg und Frieden mit Livland (12.–​15. Jahrhundert),” in Deutsche und Deutschland aus russischer Sicht. 11.–​17. Jahrhundert, ed. Dagmar Herrmann (Munich: Fink, 1988), 116–​45 at 126. See Gertrud Pickhan, “Gospodin Pskov.” Entstehung und Entwicklung eines städtischen Herrschaftszentrums in Altrußland, Forschungen zur osteuropäischen Geschichte 47 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1992), 99; Colish, Faith, Fiction and Force, 277–​78.

71 See the summary by Frithjof Benjamin Schenk, Aleksandr Nevskij. Heiliger—​Fürst—​Nationalheld. Eine Erinnerungsfigur im russischen kulturellen Gedächtnis (1263–​2000), Beiträge zur Geschichte Osteuropas 36 (Cologne: Böhlau, 2004), 252–​65, 454–​69.

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in the thirteenth century resulted in decline of anti-​Catholic literature from Rus’ for some time, because this literature had been borrowed from the Greek and southern Slav tradition and had did not develop locally.72 Recent studies have highlighted that contemporary Rusian texts have viewed the Mongol invasion of Rus’ between 1237 and 1241 in an eschatological light: it was a punishment from God,73 and therefore, inevitable, and something that had to be accepted, in the manner of Job.74 When the Rusian chronicles—​that were authored by clerics—​describe the military clashes with its western neighbours, a similar aspect is totally lacking. Also, when writing about the Mongols the Rusian chronicles use words like “godless,” “damned,” “pagan,” “lawless,” “spiller of Christian blood.”75 The older version of the Novgorod First Chronicle (text from the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries) uses the same words to describe the Cumans, Mongols, and often the Lithuanians.76 Nevertheless, in the thirteenth century, they are never used to describe the Germans resp. Livonians or even the Chuds (defined here as Estonians or other Finnic peoples), including in cases of military clashes. Such epithets start to be applied to the Germans in chronicle texts later, in revised versions from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.77 Typically, the events of 1240–​1242 at the Livonian-​Rusian frontier are treated as being revolutionary in this context. This was the time when the Livonian lords 72 Mikhail Yu. Neborskii, “Традиции византийской антилатинской полемики на Руси. Вторая половина XIII–​начало XV века,” in Древняя Русь: Пересечение традиций, ed. Vladimir V. Milkov (Moscow: Skriptorii, 1997), 371–​94 at 379–​80; Elena V. Belyakova, Lyudmila V. Moshkova, and Tat’yana A. Oparina, Кормчая книга: от рукописной традиции к первому печатному изданию (Moscow: Tsentr gumanitarnykh initsiativ, 2017), 309–​16. See also Selart, Livonia, Rus’, and the Baltic Crusades, 189–​90, 300–​301.

73 The eschatological view on the Mongol invasion was known also in Livonia and Prussia, see Marvin L. Colker, “America Rediscovered in the Thirteenth Century?,” Speculum 54, no. 4 (1979):  712–​26.

74 Igor N. Danilevskii, Русские земли глазами современников и потомков (ХII–​ХIV вв.) (Moscow: Aspekt, 2000), 179–​80; Vladimir N. Rudakov, Монголо-​татары глазами древнерусских книжников середины ХIII–​ХV в. (Moscow: Kvadriga, 2014), 82–​85. 75 Ludwig Steindorff, “Der fremde Krieg: Die Heerzüge der Mongolen 1237–​1242 im Spiegel der altrussischen und lateinischen Chronistik,” in Südosteuropa. Von vormoderner Vielfalt und nationalstaatlicher Vereinheitlichung. Festschrift für Edgar Hösch, ed. Konrad Clewing and Oliver Jens Schmitt (Munich: Oldenbourg, 2005), 93–​118 at 105. 76 Новгородская первая летопись, 52, 73, 74, 85. Ипатьевская летопись, 762 refers to the (Orthodox!) local boyars opposing Prince Daniel Mstislavich of Galicia in around 1230 as “godless.”

77 See the examples in Noonan, “Medieval Russia,” 333. See also John H. Lind, “Collaboration and Confrontation Between East and West on the Baltic Rim as a Result of the Baltic Crusades,” in Der Ostseeraum und Kontinentaleuropa 1100–​1600. Einflußnahme—​Rezeption—​Wandel, ed. Detlef Kattinger, Jens E. Olesen, and Horst Wernicke, Culture Clash or Compromise 8 (Schwerin: Helms, 2004), 123–​26. See Jitka Komendová, “Verurteilung—​Toleranz—​Gleichkültigkeit. Zur Aufnahme der katholischen Welt in der altrussischen Literatur des 13. und 14. Jahrhunderts,” in Religious Space of East-​Central Europe in the Middle Ages, ed. Krzysztof Bracha and Paweł Kras (Warsaw: DiG, 2010), 344–​56.

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276 Anti Selart temporarily gained control of parts of Ingria and Pskov until the troops of the bishop of Tartu and the Teutonic Order were defeated in a battle on the ice of Lake Peipus in April 1242. However, even in connection with these events, the contemporary Rusian sources do not express any opinions about the religion of the “Germans,” despite the fact that during the war “churches, honourable icons, books, and Gospels were burnt” in the suburbs of Pskov.78 This event is presented in the context of a general “war crime.” It was not until the Swedes had established the fortress of Landskrona in the mouth of the river Neva in 130079 that the chronicle starts to use specific condemning vocabulary as “the accursed ones boasted, calling it the ‘Crown of the Land.’ ”80 However, the next year, when the Rusians captured and destroyed the fortress that had closed off Novgorod’s main trade route to the west, the Swedes were not explicitly punished for their religion, but for the fact “that fortress came to nothing, for their pride, because their labours were in vain, without God’s command.”81 The topic of religion is not dealt with specifically in the Novgorod Chronicle until King Magnus IV of Sweden (r. 1319–​1364) waged a Crusade against Novgorod in 1348. According to this chronicle, at that time, the king demanded the acceptance of Catholicism by Novgorod and started to baptize the Izhorians (called heathens in the Rusian chronicle) into “his own religion.”82 The earliest clearly worded condemnation of the Catholic religion as such had been recorded in the Novgorod Chronicle in 1349: “The King of Kraków [Kazimierz III the Great (r. 1333–​1370)] with a large force seized the country of Volhynia by deceit, and did much injury to the Christians, and he converted the sacred churches to the Latin service hated of God.”83 The older, contemporary recension of the Novgorod Chronicle just mentions that during a war the Swedes burned the Novgorodian castle Ladoga in 1312. Only the fifteenth-​ century version of the text adds the epithet “damned” (okan’nii) to them.84

Conclusion

In summary, it can be stated that in Novgorod and Pskov during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the Church and the clerics did not have a role in politics or an initiative for an “external” mission, and/​or in responding to the Catholic mission and territorial subjugation in neighbouring areas. The era of frontier monasteries and hermitages, which played a large role in the Christianization of peripheral areas of Rus’ at the end of 78 Новгородская первая летопись, 77; trans. Michell and Forbes, 85.

79 Petr Sorokin, “The Construction of Landskrona on the Neva,” Castella Maris Baltici 11 (2015):  185–​94. 80 Новгородская первая летопись, 91; trans. Michell and Forbes, 114.

81 Новгородская первая летопись, 91; trans. Michell and Forbes, 115.

82 Новгородская первая летопись, 359–​60. See also John H. Lind, “The Russian Sources of King Magnus Eriksson’s Campaign against Novgorod 1348–​ 1351—​ Reconsidered,” Mediaeval Scandinavia 12 (1988): 248–​72; Korpela, “North-​Western ‘Others,’ ” 49. 83 Новгородская первая летопись, 361; trans. Michell and Forbes, 143. 84 Новгородская первая летопись, 94 and 335.

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the Middle Ages and during the early modern period, was still in the future.85 The baptism of people in the periphery and in disputed areas was an auxiliary tool for establishing power, initiated or directed by the princes and communities, just like the clerics who accompanied the princes and armies in their activities.86 This differed fundamentally from the Latin world, where, under certain conditions, the higher clergy itself could assume the role of warlord or incite a war though a moral appeal.87 However, at the same time, Orthodox Christianity was also the ideology and worldview through which those participating in the wars and conquests perceived their role in the world, as well as the nature and meaning of their wars.88 The Rus’ Church was the institution representing this worldview. In addition, in the first half of the thirteenth century, significant social, economic,89 and political90 changes, which were creating uncertainty, were occurring in Rus’, as was the Mongol invasion of 1237–​1241. The medieval Rusian chronicles focus on their city and region. It is in this connection that these texts written by clerics spoke about divine protection and assistance in wars. In this regard, it makes no difference in the twelfth-​and thirteenth -​century chronicles whether the enemies are “Rusians” or “foreigners.” The exception is the Mongol invasion, the enormous extent and unexpected nature of which added an eschatological aspect to this event. However, this should be viewed not as a sign of hopelessness, but more of a doctrine which could mobilize the society.91 The sources contemporary with the Baltic Crusades do not provide any proof that a confessional conflict existed in the military conflicts and baptism competition occurring in the territories adjacent to those of the Rusian Orthodox Church that could have specifically mobilized the clergy or the people. At the same time, in the thirteenth century, the Church in Rus’ was in no way rigid and undeveloped, it was open to foreign ideas and influences. The idea of baptism as an attribute of power was accepted into its policies. This was facilitated, inter alia, by the example of Livonia, where Novgorod, Pskov, and Polotsk competed for political control and the right of taxation with the crusaders and other authorities developing in Livonia. However, since equating baptism with the establishment of secular power was unique to 85 Musin, Христианизация Новгородской земли, 108. 86 Aleksandr S. Khoroshev, Церковь в социально-​политической системе Новгородской феодальной республики (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Moskovskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta, 1980), 40–​48; Michael C. Paul, “Secular Power and the Archbishops of Novgorod before the Muscovite Conquest,” Kritika. Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 8 (2007): 231–​70. 87 Hehl, Kirche und Krieg, 228–​29.

88 Hans Hecker, “Die Kriege der Kiever und der Moskauer Rus’. Skizzen zu einer Typologie,” in Krieg in Mittelalter und Renaissance, ed. Hans Hecker, Studia humaniora 39 (Düsseldorf: Droste, 2005), 65–​92 at 92.

89 Русь в ХIII веке. Древности темного времени, ed. Nikolai A. Makarov and Aleksei V. Chernecov (Moscow: Nauka, 2003). 90 John Fennell, The Crisis of Medieval Russia, 1200–​1304 (London: Longman, 1993).

91 Jay Rubenstein, “Crusade and Apocalypse: History and the Last Days,” Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae 21 (2016):159–​88 at 186.

278

278 Anti Selart this region, it cannot be precluded that this idea had existed here before the start of the Baltic Crusades. On the other hand, the particularity of the crusading conquest of Livonia is that, to a great extent, the ecclesiastical taxes were the only systematic and permanent taxes that could initially be imposed on those who were subjugated; and, vice versa, a person who was baptized was inevitably also a person who was subjugated. The very different relationship between ecclesiastic power and secular power that existed in Rus’ and Latin Europe did not allow the thirteenth-​century Crusades in the Baltic countries to develop into a confessional conflict between the Catholic and Orthodox religions in this region.

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Ptak, Jan. “Duszpasterstwo rycerstwa polskiego w epoce Piastów i Jagiellonów [Pastoral Care of the Polish Knights under the Piasts and the Jagiellonians].” In Historia duszpasterstwa wojskowego na ziemiach polskich, edited by Jan Ziółek, 83–​108. Lublin:  Towarzystwo Naukowe KUL, 2004. ——. “Zanim wyruszyli na wroga…Religijne przygotowanie do walki zbrojnej w średniowiecznej Polsce [Before They Marched Out Against the Enemy… Religious Preparations for an Armed Struggle in Medieval Poland].” Teka Komisji Historycznej. Oddział Lubelski PAN 11 (2014): 20–​45. Roche, Jason T., and Janus Møller Jensen, eds. The Second Crusade: Holy War on the Periphery of Latin Christendom. Outremer 2. Turnhout: Brepols, 2015. Rokosz, Mieczysław. “Wawelska włócznia Bolesława Chrobrego. Przegląd problematyki [The Wawel Castle Spear of Bolesław the Brave].” Rocznik Krakowski 55 (1989): 17–​44. Sandaaker, Odd. “ ‘Canones Nidrosienses’ i intermesso eller opptakt? [‘Canones Nidrosienses’: Intermezzo or Prelude?].” Historisk Tidsskrift (Norway) 67 (1988): 2–​37. Ščavinskas, Marius. “On the Crusades and Coercive Missions in the Baltic Region in the Mid-​ 12th Century and Early 13th Century: The Cases of the Wends and Livonians.” Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-​Forschung 63, no. 4 (2014): 499–​527. Scharff, Thomas. Die Kämpfe der Herrscher und Heiligen. Krieg und historische Erinerung in der Karolingerzeit. Symbolische kommunikation in der Vormoderne. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2002. Schreiner, Klaus. Märtyrer, Schlachtenhelfer, Friedenstifter. Krieg und Frieden im Spiegel mittelalterlicher und frühneuzeitlicher Heiligenverehrung. Otto-​von-​Freising-​Vorlesungen der Katholischen Universität Eichstätt 18. Opladen: Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden GmbH, 2000. ——. “ ‘Signa victricia’. Heilige Zeichen in kriegerischen Konflikten des Mittelalters.” In Rituale, Zeichen, Bilder. Formen und Funktionen symbolischer Kommunikation im Mittelalter, edited by Ulrich Meier, Gerd Schwerhoff, and Gabriela Signori, 11–​63. Norm und Struktur 40. Cologne: Böhlau, 2011. Selart, Anti. Livonia, Rus’ and the Baltic Crusades in the Thirteenth Century. East Central and Eastern Europe in the Middle Ages 450–​1450 29. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Sójka, Jerzy. “Posługi duszpasterskie przy wojskach polskich w wiekach średnich [Religious Services in Polish Armies in the Middle Ages].” In Studia z dziejów feudalizmu, edited by Stanisław M. Zajączkowski, 93–​105. Łódź: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Łódzkiego, 1994. Taylor, Louisa. “Bishops, War, and Canon Law: The Military Activities of Prelates in High Medieval Norway.” Scandinavian Journal of History 7, no. 2 (2019): 1–​23. Tomaszek, Michał. “Modlitwa i łzy bronią biskupa. Pasterze polskiego Kościoła a walka orężna w ujęciu Wincentego Kadłubka [Prayer and Tears as an Episcopal Weapon: Shepherds of the Polish Church and Armed Struggle as Perceived by Vincentius Kadłubek].” Roczniki Historyczne 71 (2005): 121–​36. Veszprémy, László. “A pityergő Árpádtól a könnyező Szent Lászlóig:  A könnyekre fakadó hadvezér a Névtelen Gesztája 39. és a Krónikaszerkesztés 121., 137. fejezetében [The Cryring Duke Árpád and the Weeping King Saint Ladislaus: Military Commanders Shedding Tears in the ‘Gesta’ of Anonymus (chap.  39) and the Fourteenth Century Hungárián ‘Chronicle Composition’ (chaps. 121,137)].” Acta Historica (Szeged) 138 (2015):  17–​32.

284

284 Selected Bibliography Warner, David A. “Saints, Pagans, War and Rulership in Ottonian Germany.” In Plenitude of Power: The Doctrines and Exercise of Authority in the Middle Ages. Essays in Memory of Robert Louis Benson, edited by Robert C. Figueira, 11–​35. Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006. Wegener, Wilhelm. “Die Lanze des heiligen Wenzel. Ein Versuch zur Geschichte der mittelalterlichen Herrschaftszeichen.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-​Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Germanistische Abteilung 72, no. 1 (1955): 56–​82. White, Monica. Military Saints in Byzantium and Rus, 900–​1200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Zupka, Dušan. “Náboženské rituály vojny a vytváranie kresťanskej identity v stredovekej strednej Európe 12. storočia [Religious Rituals of War and Creation of Christian Identity in East Central Europe in the 12th Century].” Historický časopis 68, no. 4 (2020): 577–90. Zupka, Dušan. “Meč a kríž. Vojna a náboženstvo v stredovekej strednej Európe (10.–12. storočie) [The Sword and the Cross: Warfare and Religion in Medieval Central Europe (10th–12th Centuries)].” Bratislava: VEDA – vydavateľstvo Slovenskej akadémie vied, 2020.

285

INDEX

A. (full name unknown), archbishop of Split, 28 Aachen (Imperial city), 101 Aaron, Israelite prophet and high-​priest (biblical), 134–​35 Abel (biblical), 121, 123–​24, 134 Abel Valdemarsen, duke of Schleswig, king of Denmark, 101 Abodrites, Abodrite, 195 Abraham, patriarch of Israel (biblical), 178 Absalom, archbishop of Split, 27–​28, 28n10, 32 Absalon (Hvide kindred), archbishop of Lund and bishop of Roskilde, 19, 189–​206, 234, 234n29 Achilles, bishop of Pécs, 47 Acontius /​Acuntio of Viterbo, papal emissary, 54 Acre /​Akko /​Akka, siege of (1291), 106, 112, 113 Adalbert, Saint. See Vojtěch-​Adalbert, Saint, bishop of Prague and martyr Adam (biblical), 121, 124 Adam of Bremen, chronicler, 266 Adhemar, bishop of Le Puy-​en-​Velay, 57n2, 65–​66, 65n37, 66n50, 68 Admonitions of Saint Stephen, the so-​called. See Libellus sancti Stephani regis de institutione morum ad Emericum ducem Adorján (castle), 50 Ágasvár (stronghold), 48–​49 Aggesen, Sven. See Sven Aggesen, chronicler Airlie, Stuart, 223 Alain of Lille, theologian and poet, 136–​37 Alba Iulia /​Gyulafehérvár (city, bishopric), 44, 49. See also Transylvania (region) Alberic (cleric), 73n81

Alberic, abbot of Trois-​Fontaines, chronicler, 255 Albero, archbishop of Trier, 234, 234n29 Albert of Aachen, chronicler, 65n37 Albert of Buxhoevden, bishop of Riga, 58, 66, 67–​68, 72, 73, 251–​52, 254, 272 Alebrand (priest in Livonia), 72 Alexander III, pope, 28, 59n6, 205, 233 Alexander IV, pope, 59n7, 99, 104 Alexander Nevsky, prince of Novgorod, grand prince of Kiev and Vladimir, 273 Alexander of Malonne, bishop of Płock, 75, 79–​80, 81–​82, 89, 95 Alexander the Great, Greek basileus, 82–​83 Alexander the Physician, archbishop of Split, 29 Álmos, Hungarian prince, 26, 151 Alphonse, count of Poitiers and count of Toulouse (as Alphonse II), 113 Amalekites (biblical), 81 Ambrose, Saint, 81, 83 Anastasios of Kherson, Kievan cleric, 12 Anders Sunesen /​Andreas Suneson /​ Andreas Sunonis, archbishop of Lund, 192, 254 angels in Bible, 164–​65, 169n42, 170 of light, 164, 166, 169–​70, 181, 221 role in war, imagination of, 149, 150, 150n39, 157–​188, 161n10, 164n17, 164n18, 164n20, 182, 184n101, 221, 268 St. Michael /​Archistrategos /​“chief-​ general,” archangel, 160–​61, 161n10, 164, 164n19, 173–​79, 173n56, 174n60, 175n64, 175n65, 176n69, 177n75, 178n79, 183, 183n96, 184n101, 188 in war liturgy, 178–​81

286

286

Index

See also divine and saint’s agency in war; supernatural aids in war; standard-​bearers (miraculous); holy patrons of polities and peoples; warrior-​saints Andrew II /​Andrew of Jerusalem /​II. András, king of Hungary and Croatia, 28, 29, 40, 41–​43, 41n13, 54, 55 Andrew III /​Andrew the Venetian /​III. Velencei András, king of Hungary and Croatia, 53 Andrew of Bnin, bishop of Poznań, 77n11 Andrew, bishop of Eger, 50 Annales Altahenses maiores /​ Annals of Niederaltaich, 146–​47 Annales Bohemorum /​ Annals of the Bohemians. See Vincentius of Prague, chronicler Annales Claustroneoburgenses /​ Klosterneuburg Annals (anonymous), 42n20 Annales Posonienses /​ Annals of Bratislava (anonymous), 149 Annales seu Cronicae Incliti Regni Poloniae /​ Annals or Chronicles of the Famous Kingdom of Poland. See Jan Długosz, chronicler Annales capituli Cracoviensis /​ Annals of the Kraków Chapter (anonymous), 85 Anonymus, Gallus, the so-​called. See Gallus Anonymus, chronicler Anonymus, notary of King Béla III and chronicler, 154n63 Antioch, battle of (1098), 65–​66 Apostolic See /​Holy See /​papacy, 48, 50, 70, 71, 97–​114, 154–​55, 231, 233–​34, 235n35, 246, 248, 254–​56, 262 Aquinas. See Thomas Aquinas, Saint, Doctor of the Church Århus (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 103, 105 Arkona (city, temple of Rani), 190, 196, 199–​200, 203, 204 Arles (city, archdiocese), 98 Arnold of Lübeck, Benedictine abbot in Lubeck and chronicler, 68, 255

Arnold, marshal of the Sword Brothers, 256–​57 Árpáds (Hungarian dynasty), 12, 25, 26, 31, 32, 53, 141, 146, 152, 156, 157 Asser Rig (Hvide kindred), jarl and chieftain from Zealand, 194 Atzele (Lettish province), 271 Augustine, Saint /​Augustine of Hippo, theologian and Father of the Church, 232, 246 Austria, Austrian, 49, 149, 155, 210n11

Babenbergs (Austrian dynasty), 210n111 Bachrach, David S., 4, 143 Bagge, Sverre, 231n15 Bakhtin, Mikhail M., 230 Baldric of Bougueil, chronicler, 65n37 Baldwin of Boulogne /​Baldwin I, king of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, 73 Baldwin of Courtenay /​Baldwin the Broke /​Baldwin II, Latin emperor in Constantinople, 104 Baltic Crusades. See Crusades, Baltic/​ Northern Baltic Sea Region, 7, 17–​18, 20, 57, 66, 68, 72, 73, 93, 97–​115, 249–​52, 263–​78 Banaszkiewicz, Jacek, 166. 166n28, 186 banners, military, 10, 15, 62, 151, 152, 153, 160, 178, 185–​86, 241. See also signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects) Baranya (city), 49 Bartholomew, bishop of Pécs, 46–​47 battle speeches. See rites of war: battle speeches and exhortations Baudovinia, Benedictine nun in Poitiers, 224n90 Béla II /​Béla the Blind /​Vak Béla, king of Hungary and Croatia, 27 Béla III, king of Hungary and Croatia, 28, 36, 41, 54 Béla IV, king of Hungary and Croatia, 27, 29, 35, 37, 44–​46, 47, 48, 153–​56, 155n71, 157n77, 157n78 Benedict, bishop of Oradea, 44 Benedict, provost in Székesfehérvár and archbishop of Esztergom, 47

287



Benedictines. See Order of St. Benedict, Benedictines Bengtsson, Herman, 125 Berend, Nora, 8 Bergen (city, Dominican convent), 103, 229 Bergen, battle of (1135), 229 Bern, Benedictine monk and abbot of Richenau, 183 Bernard of Clairvaux, Saint, Doctor of the Church, 196, 247 Bernard of Lippe, Cistercian monk and abbot, bishop of Livonia, 250 Bernard of Perugia, archbishop of Split, 28, 29, 31, 37–​37, 41–​42 Bernstein (castle), 52 Bernward, bishop of Hildesheim, Imperial court chaplain and tutor to Otto III, 186 Berthold, Cistercian monk and abbot at Loccum, bishop of Livonia, 58, 67, 68–​69, 68n55, 68n56, 73, 253–​57 Berthold, archbishop of Kalocsa, 42 Bible, Old and New Testaments, 9, 61, 71, 81, 97, 109, 125, 130, 133–​34, 136, 143, 164, 169, 173n56, 178n79, 181, 191, 212, 219n70, 223, 235 Book of Deuteronomy, 169n42 Book of Exodus, 81, 169n43, 170, 178n79 Book of Jeremiah, 237, 237n40 Book of Jesse, 237n40 Book of Jonas, 143 Book of Joshua, 173 Book of Nehemiah, 169n42 Book of Numbers, 169n42 Book of Psalms, 169 Epistle to the Ephesians, 131, 142 Epistle to the Romans, 212 First Book of Kings, 143 First Epistle of Peter, 212 First Epistle to the Corinthians, 212, 234n27 First Epistle to the Thessalonians, 212 Gospel according to Luke, 213, 219n70 Second Book of Maccabees, 164–​65 Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 212 Biograd (city), 26

Index

287

Birger Jarl /​Birger Magnusson, Swedish statesman and jarl, 102 Birten, battle of (939), 185n104 Boeslunde (village on Zealand), 197 Boguslav I, duke of Pomerania, 196 Bohemia, Bohemian, Bohemians /​Bohemi, 3, 6, 14, 99, 144, 152, 155, 157n79, 159, 187, 207–​8, 208n3, 209, 213–​18, 219, 222 Boleslav I, Bohemian prince, 215 Boleslav II the Pious /​Boleslav Pobožný, prince of Bohemia, 11, 213n23, 215n34 Boleslav III, Bohemian prince, 215n34 Bolesław I the Brave /​Bolesław Chrobry, prince and king of Poland, 11, 12, 13, 13n37, 185, 210 Bolesław II the Generous /​Bolesław Szczodry /​Bolesław Śmiały, prince and king of Poland, 175 Bolesław III the Wrymouth /​Bolesław Krzywousty, prince of Poland, 92, 157n79, 162, 162n–​11, 163, 165–​66, 170, 170n45, 172, 173, 177, 177n75, 178, 185, 186, 210, 217, 219 Bolesław IV the Curly /​Bolesław Kędzierzawy, grand prince of Poland, 176, 266 Bologna (city, university), 254 Boris I, king (khan) of Bulgaria, 10 Boris Kalamanos, pretender to the Hungarian throne, 148 Bořivoj II, Bohemian prince, 216 Bosnia, 28, 32, 33, 54–​55 Botvild, Saint, missionary and martyr, 60n14 Bratislava /​Pozsony /​Pressburg (city), 48, 148 Bremen (city, archdiocese), 100, 100n18, 103 Břetislav I, Bohemian prince, 157n79, 213, 213n23, 216 Břetislav II, Bohemian prince, 215–​16, 217, 222 Bridget, Saint /​Bridget of Sweden /​Birgitta of Vadstena, 114 Brittany (region), 103

288

288

Index

Brno (city), 215 Brown, Peter, 246 Bruno of Querfurt, archbishop and hagiographer, 12, 13, 13n37 Buda (city, royal residence), 52 Bulcsú, bishop of Csanád, 45 Bulgaria, Bulgarians, 184n101 Burchard, bishop of Lausanne and chancellor of Italy, 186 Byzantine Empire, Byzantium, Byzantine, 6, 18, 19, 26, 28, 143, 144, 151, 152, 164, 183–​84, 264, 267, 269, 275–​76

Caesarius of Heisterbach, Cistercian monk and prior in Heisterbach, preacher and writer, 257, 257n74 Cain (biblical), 121, 123–​24, 134, 215 Canaan, Promised Land (biblical), 134–​35, 181 Canon of Vyšehrad, the so-​called, chronicler (Cosmas’s continuator), 157n79, 187n113 Canones Nidrosienses, 15n46, 231–​32, 231n15, 234, 235–​36 Canterbury (city, archbishopric), 120 capella. See chapel monarch’s Carolingian patterns, 18, 166n31, 177n75, 181, 188, 222, 224–​25, 246 Carolingians (Frankish dynasty), 188, 194 Catalogue of the Bishops of Kraków. See Jan Długosz, chronicler Catalogue of the Bishops of Płock. See Jan Długosz, chronicler; Laurentius of Wszerecz /​Wawrzyniec z Wszerecza, Płock penitentiary and chronicler Catholic Church. See Latin Church Čazma (city), 35 Celestine III, pope, 233–​34 Celestine IV, pope, 155n67 Chanson d’Antioche, 65–​67. See also chansons de geste Chanson de Jérusalem, 57n2. See also chansons de geste chansons de geste, 57, 65, 247, 248, 257. See also Chanson d’Antioche, Chanson de Jérusalem; Song of Roland

chapel, monarch’s, 172, 172n52, 176–​77, 179, 186, 188, 188n115. See also clerical order, clergy: chaplaincy and spiritual sustenance to the army chaplains. See clerical order, clergy: chaplaincy and spiritual sustenance to the army, chapel monarch’s Charlemagne, king of Franks and emperor, 13n37, 160, 199, 220, 241 Chełmno Land /​Culm Land (region), 86 Chełmża /​Culmsee (city, bishopric), 92n74 chivalric culture, 124–​28, 222–​23, 247, 257–​58. See also piety, knightly Chlumec, battle of (1126), 157n79, 187n113 Christ. See Jesus Christ Christian, bishop of Prussia, 85, 98, 99n7 Christopher I, king od Denmark, 101 Chronica Boemorum /​ Chronicle of the Bohemians. See Cosmas of Prague, chronicler Chronica Polonorum /​ Chronicle of the Poles. See Vincentius of Kraków /​Master Vincentius /​Wincenty Kadłubek, bishop of Kraków and chronicler Chronica Polonorum /​ Chronicle of the Poles (anonymous Silesian chronicle), 176, 176n70 Chronicon Livoniae /​ Chronicle of Livonia. See Henry of Livonia /​Henricus de Lettis, chronicler Chronicon Roskildense /​ Roskilde Chronicle (anonymous), 193 Chronicon terrae Prussiae /​ Chronicle of the Prussian Land. See Peter of Dusburg, chronicler Civitate, battle of (1053), 246 churches in Aal, 126–​27, 128 in Arkona, 200 Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Székesfehérvár, 152 Cathedral of Alba Iulia, 49 Cathedral of Canterbury, 120, 122 Cathedral of Gniezno, 214 Cathedral of Lincoln, 102–​3 Cathedral of Pereyaslavl, 174

289



Index

Cathedral of Płock, 82, 91 Cathedral of Prague, 208 Cathedral of Riga, 255 Cathedral of Ringsted, 193 Cathedral of St. Sophia (Holy Wisdom) in Kiev, 173, 173n56 Cathedral of Turku, 60 Cathedral of Üxküll, 58, 253 Cathedral of Vác, 43, 43n19, 44 Cathedral of Veszprém, 49 Caves Monastery in Kiev /​Pechersk Lavra, 169, 171, 209, 221 in Constantinople (St. Michael’s, Michaelion), 175 in Gniezno (St. Michael’s), 175n64 Golden-​Domed Monastery (St. Michael’s), 174, 175 in Hornslet (Hornslet Church), 128–​29 in Kaštel Gomilica (Sts. Cosmas and Damian’s), 32 in Kraków (at Skałka, St. Michael’s), 175 in Kruszwica (St. Vitus’s), 163, 166n28, 170, 176, 176n73 next to the battlefield of battle of Leitha, 148–​49 in Nidaros (Christ Church), 238n43 in Oviedo (Sts. Peter and Paul’s), 179 in Płock (St. Michael’s), 175n64, 176 in Poznań (St. Michael’s), 175n64 in Poznań Castle (St. Mary’s), 176, 176n71, 176n72 in Prague (St. Václav’s), 152 in Ravattula, 60n11 in Sanderum (Sanderum Church), 133–​37 in Skibet (Skibet Church), 129 in Sønder Nærå, 118–​24, 125, 126, 128, 129–​30, 132, 137 in Spycimierz, 162n12 Tithe Church in Kiev, 12 in Villatuerta (St. Michael’s), 182 in Vrana, 37 Vydubychi Monastery in Kiev (St. Michael’s), 173–​74, 175 on Wawel Hill in Kraków (St. Michael’s), 175–​76, 175n66, 176, 177n75 in Wrocław (St. Michael’s), 175n64

289

Clarendon near Salisbury (palace, estate), 119 Clement III, 233 Clement IV, pope, 105 Clement V, pope, 106 clerical armsbearing, use of material weapons or violence, 9, 46, 50, 57, 64–​73, 78n14, 79n18, 81–​82, 85–​88, 89, 94–​95, 196–​201, 203, 205, 232–​34, 253, 269–​70 ban of, 60–​63, 63n28, 72, 73, 78, 79n18, 80, 88, 232–​33, 253–​54 in canon law, 40, 61–​63, 68, 82, 83, 93, 208, 231–​32, 253–​54 justification of, 40, 79n18, 92, 143, 196–​201, 233, 235, 234n26 clerical involvement in warfare, 6–​7, 9, 20, 30, 33–​37, 39–​55, 57–​83, 75–​95, 147n31, 148–​50, 197, 203–​6, 231–​35, 234n28, 235–​36, 253, 268–​70 declaring and waging war, 49, 50, 53, 54, 57, 65, 73, 86–​87, 88–​89, 92–​93, 197, 203, 233, 277 in defence of the Church and/​or polity and/​or peace and/​or in self-​defence of, 34, 43–​50, 62–​63, 63n29, 63n31, 67, 77–​81, 79n18, 84, 85–​86, 88–​90, 92–​95, 197–​98, 203, 205, 231–​32, 233–​35 deliberate reduction or avoiding in narrative sources, 67, 78, 80–​82, 93–​94 seen as allowed and/​or positive and justification/​praise of, 64, 65–​71, 79–​80, 79n18, 80, 82, 89, 94, 197, 201–​2, 203–​6, 231–​32, 233–​35, 235–​39, 243 seen as negative and/​or critique of, 36, 63–​64, 71–​72, 73, 78–​81, 78n14, 88, 93, 231, 234, 262 clerical order, clergy apostasy from, to be a knight, 73, 205, 234 as crusaders, 57, 57n2, 65–​71, 85, 85n44, 197–​98, 251, 253, 269 as “double/​mixed persons” (personae mixtae), 82, 197, 201–​2, 234

290

290

Index

chaplaincy and spiritual sustenance to the army by, 4, 10, 66, 67, 72, 148–​50, 157, 167–​68, 167n33, 168n35, 171–​72, 172n52, 176–​77, 176n68, 179, 184n101, 186, 188, 202, 231–​32, 270 death in combat of, 44, 46–​47, 58, 58n4, 62–​63, 68–​69, 88, 154, 206, 251, 253–​57, 269 deposition because of using violence of, 62–​63, 62n24, 233 knightly or worldly behavior or lifestyle of, 35, 36, 44, 46, 48–​49, 50, 57, 58, 61, 68–​69, 73, 78, 78n14, 81–​82, 85, 88–​89, 190, 196, 203–​6, 233, 253, 256–​57, 269–​70, 277 military power and resources of, 15, 34–​35, 47, 49, 58, 92, 205–​6, 253. See also retinues/​household knights at clergy’s disposal military service to monarchy by, obligations with regalia of (or the immunity from), 10, 15, 30, 33–​37, 39–​55, 61, 63, 73, 80, 88, 92, 197–​202, 203–​4, 231–​32 Clermont, council of (1095), 62 Coloman the Learned /​Coloman Book-​ Lover /​Könyves Kálmán, king of Hungary and Croatia, 16, 25, 26, 30, 31, 39n3, 148, 150 Coloman of Galicia /​Kálmán, king of Galicia (Halych) and prince of Slavonia, 45–​46, 154 compellere intrare, idea of, 13 Compendiosa regum Daniae historia /​ Compendium of the Danish Kings. See Sven Aggesen, chronicler Concordia discordantium canonum. See Gratian, canonist Conrad I, Bohemian prince and prince of Brno, 215 Conrad II, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 12, 144, 146, 146n23 Conrad of Mazovia, duke of Mazovia, Cuiavia and Kraków, 86, 92, 98

Constantine the Great, Eastern emperor, 10, 12, 61, 142, 167n33 Constantinople (city), 175, 184 Contra Petrobrusianos hereticos /​ Against the Petrobrusians. See Peter the Venerable, Benedictine monk and abbot of Cluny Cosmas of Prague, chronicler, 19, 157n79, 207–​10, 210n11, 213–​18, 214n32, 215n35, 215n37, 217n55, 222 Cosmas, Saint, 32 Courland /​Curonia, Curonians, Curonian, 99, 196n27, 260 Cracow. See Kraków /​Cracow (city, bishopric) Croatia, Croats, Croatian, 3, 26, 27, 34 Cronicae et gesta ducum sive principum Polonorum /​ Chronicles and Deeds of the Dukes or Princes of the Poles. See Gallus Anonymus, chronicler crucesignati /​crucesignatio. See take the Cross crusaders, 37, 58, 65–​66, 67, 70, 72, 85, 161n10, 197–​99, 248, 249, 249n24, 250–​51, 253, 255, 257, 258, 262, 271–​72 Crusades of Andrew II, king of Hungary (1217), 29, 40, 42–​43, 55 Baltic/​Northern (twelfth–​thirteenth centuries), 7, 17–​18, 20, 57–​81, 66n46, 98–​114, 190, 196, 196n27, 245–​62, 263–​78 chronicles of, 64–​65, 65n37, 71, 71n76, 161n10 Fifth, 29, 40, 41, 42–​43 against Finns (twelfth–​thirteenth centuries), 59–​60, 274 First, 6, 26, 62, 65–​66, 71, 73, 97, 161n10, 246, 264n9 Fourth, 36 of Frederick II, Holy Roman emperor (1241) (unrealized), 155 of Louis IX, king of France, first (1245), 104 against Mongols, proclaimed (1241), 155

291



against Mongols, proclaimed (1258), 99 against Novgorod (1348), 276 Orthodox responses to, 20, 263–​78 Second, 106 Sixth (Frederick II’s crusade), 97 Stedinger (1233–​1234), 100–​101 against Wends (1108, 1120s–​1130s, 1147, later Danish “raids”), 190–​191, 194–​206 crusading ideology of, Crusade Movement, 4, 6, 18, 20, 97–​114, 144, 161n10, 166, 166n31, 183n96, 191, 221, 239, 246–​49, 268 Csák (Hungarian kindred), 49 Cuman Laws, the so-​called (1278), 51–​52 Cumans, Cuman, 26, 45, 51–​53, 275 Czechs. See Bohemia, Bohemian, Bohemians /​ Bohemi

Dacia, Dominican province of, 17, 97–​114 Daibert /​Daimbert of Pisa, archbishop of Pisa and patriarch of Jerusalem, 57n2, 73 Dalmatia (region), 3, 16, 25–​37, 41n13, 43, 54–​55, 154 Damian, Saint, 32 Damietta, siege of (1218), 43, 248 Daniel, bishop of Prague, 151 Danube (river), 44, 48 David Sviatoslavich, Rusian prince and prince of Murom and Chernigov, 168–​73 David, king of Israel (biblical), 71, 126, 169, 178, 183, 235 De Bello Civile /​ Civil War. See Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, ancient author De planctu naturae /​ The Plaint of Nature. See Alain of Lille, theologian and poet De predicatione crucis contra Saracenos /​ On Preaching the Cross against Saracens. See Humbert of Romans, OP, master general of the Order of Preachers death in combat honorable, 213, 218

Index

291

as martyrdom, 20, 68–​69, 206, 223, 229, 235, 240, 245–​62, 249n24, 268 See also martyrdom, idea of; war, fighting: as sacrifice to Christ/​God, self-​sacrifice Decretum Gratiani. See Gratian, canonist dectetists, 93 defensio terrae (military obligation, kind of), 92 Degeya (stream in Steppes), 170 Denis, bishop of Győr, 49 Denmark, Danes, Danish, 3, 7, 8, 12, 13, 15, 18, 19, 66, 99n12, 100n15, 101–​103, 103n31, 104, 107n56, 112, 117–​38, 189–​206, 248–​49, 251, 254, 265–​66 devil, Satan, Antichrist, 98, 106, 131, 173, 234, 237, 239, 240, 242 Di Kronike von Pruzinlant /​ Chronicle of Prussia. See Nicolaus of Jeroschin, chronicler divine and saints’ agency in war in Bible, 173, 173n56 as grace and support in war, 4, 5, 11, 12, 80, 84, 142, 143, 144–​48, 147n31, 149–​50, 152, 163, 164, 165, 166n31, 167, 169–​71, 173, 183, 191, 201–​3, 219, 238–​39, 250, 268 miraculous, epiphanies, 12, 69, 79, 80, 81, 146–​47, 147n31, 159, 159n3, 161, 162–​66, 168–​73, 176, 183 as punishment for Christians, 5, 88, 268, 276 See also angels; holy patrons of polities and peoples; supernatural aids in war; standard-​bearers (miraculous); warrior-​saints Długosz, Jan. See Jan Długosz, chronicler Dobrzyńcy. See Military Orders and confraternities: Prussian Cavaliers of Jesus Christ /​Order of Dobrzyń /​ Dobrzyńcy Dominic, Saint, 60n12 Dominicans. See Order of Preachers Don (river), 169, 171 Duggan, Lawrence G., 63, 63n31, 254n52

292

292

Index

Düna /​Dvina /​Daugava (river), 58, 247, 270, 272, 274 Durbe, battle of (1260), 112, 258, 259 Durendal (Roland’s legendary sword), 229 Dzierzgowo (stronghold), 85–​86, 86n51, 89, 94

East Central Europe, 5–​6, 7–​9, 13, 16, 20, 152, 166n31, 183, 185, 208 Eastern Europe, 161, 208, 267 Eberhard, OP, friar, 108 Egypt, 43, 248, 251 Einarr Skúlason, Icelandic priest and skald, 238–​39 Eirik Ivarsson, archbishop of Nidaros, 233–​34 Elbe /​Labe (river), 190 Elias, Israelite prophet (biblical), 71 Elisabeth, queen consort of Hungary, 49 Emeric, Saint /​Szent Imre, Hungarian prince, 141–​42, 157 Emeric /​Imre, king of Hungary, 28, 41–​42, 42n20, 55 England, British Isles, English, 6, 17, 80, 93, 113, 118, 155, 227, 238, 248 Ephesus (ancient city), 234 Epistola in miserabile carmen super destructione regni Hungarie per Tartaros facta /​ Epistle to the Sorrowful Lament Upon the Destruction of the Kingdom of Hungary by the Tatars. See Roger of Apulia, archbishop of Split and chronicler Eracles, crusader bishop (fictional), 57n2 Erdmann, Carl, 3 Eric I Egoth /​Eric the Good, king of Denmark, 194 Eric II Emune /​Eric the Memorable, king of Denmark, 195, 195n24 Eric IV Plovpenning /​Eric the Ploughpenny, king of Denmark, 101 Eric IX Jedvardson /​Eric the Holy, king of Sweden, 69–​71 Eric Olofsson /​Ericus Olai, chronicler, 106 Erling Skakke, Norvegian jarl, 229, 234–​35, 240

Esbern Snare /​Esbern the Resolute (of Hvide hindred), Danish chieftain, royal chancellor and crusader, 194 Eskil, bishop of Roskilde, archbishop of Lund and monk in Clairvaux, 193, 200–​201, 204, 205 Eskil, Saint, English missionary and martyr, 60n14 Estonia, Dominican province of, 17 Estonia, Estonians, Estonian, 7, 17, 58–​59, 64, 66, 67, 73, 101, 102, 190, 196n27, 245n3, 257, 260, 263, 264, 265, 271, 274, 275 Esztergom (city, archbishopric), 44, 48, 49, 50, 145 Eugenius III, pope, 196 Euphrosyne of Kiev, queen consort of Hungary, 151, 152 Eve (biblical), 121, 124 Evremar /​Ehremar /​Ebramar, Latin patriarch of Jerusalem, 73 expeditio publica, ledung /​ leding (military obligation, kind of), 71, 71n74, 92

Faroe Islands, Faroes, 205 Fenrir (mythical monstrous wolf), 238 Fimreite, battle of (1184), 235 Finland, Finns, Finnic /​Finnish, 3, 17, 59–​60, 59n6, 69–​71, 73, 101–​2, 253n47, 263, 264, 272–​73, 275 Five Martyr Brothers, saints and martyrs, 12 Folke Karlsson, Swedish nobleman and justiciar, 111 France, French, 71, 91, 105, 119, 246, 251, 256 Francia, Dominican province of, 104 Franciscans. See Order of Friars Minor Frankia, Franks, Frankish, 64, 160, 181, 211, 220 Frederick I Barbarossa, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 43, 91, 268 Frederick II /​Frederick the Quarrelsome /​Friedrich der Streitbare, duke of Austria and Styria, 45

293



Frederick II, king of Sicily, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 97, 100, 101, 155, 260 Frederick, bishop of Schleswig, 205–​6 Frisa (region), 104 Funen (Danish island), 117, 121, 194 Fyrileiv, battle of (1134), 229

Gaeta, Gaetans, 36–​37 Gallus Anonymus, chronicler, 13, 19, 75, 78–​79, 79n17, 79n18, 80–​81, 90, 157n79, 162, 162n12, 162n13, 177, 177n77, 185–​86, 209–​10, 210n11, 213, 218–​20 Gąsawa, assembly at (1227), 87 Gaudinus, archbishop of Split, 27–​28, 32 Gediminas, king of Lithuania, 107 Gedko, bishop of Płock, 83–​84, 83n35, 89, 90, 93 Geisli. See Einarr Skúlason, Icelandic priest and skald Gellone Sacramentary, 181 Gemeinhardt, Peter, 260n97 George, Saint, 157, 176n69 Georgia, Georgian, 168n35 Gerald of Aurillac, Saint, 223 Gerhard II, archbishop of Bremen, 100 Gerhard of Augsburg, chronicler, 11 Germany, Germans, German, 15, 64, 66, 67, 67n46, 68, 91, 97, 99, 100–​101, 104, 107, 144, 147, 147n31, 148, 155, 160–​61, 182, 183, 185, 195, 203, 247, 249, 251, 266, 268–​69, 270, 274–​76. See also Holy Roman Empire Gertrude /​Olisava /​Gertrude of Poland, grand princess consort of Kiev, 174–​75, 174n60, 176, 177, 177n76, 178, 178n79 Gesta Chuonradi II. Imperatoris /​Deeds of Emperor Conrad II. See Wipo of Burgundy, chronicler Gesta Danorum /​ Deeds of the Danes. See Saxo Grammaticus, chronicler Gesta Friderici imperatoris /​ Deeds of Emperor Frederick. See Otto, bishop of Freising, chronicler

Index

293

Gesta Hungarorum /​ Deeds of the Hungarians. See Anonymus, notary of King Béla III and chronicler Géza II, king of Hungary and Croatia, 148–​49 Géza, prince of Hungary, 141 Gideon, leader of the Israelites (biblical), 241 Gilbert of Tournai /​Guibert de Tournai OFM, preacher, 252 Gilboa, battle of (biblical), 235 Gleichen, battle of (1089), 186 Gniezno (city, archbishopric), 185, 214 God, 9, 19, 40, 59n6, 64, 80, 84, 124, 137, 142, 144–​48, 146n23, 149, 150, 156, 157, 164, 167, 169, 170, 170n45, 171, 174n62, 178n79, 180, 181, 183, 188, 197, 201–​2, 206, 219, 221, 228, 235, 236, 241, 252, 255, 258, 260, 266. 268, 276. See also divine agency in war; Jesus Christ; Holy Ghost, Holy Trinity God’s war, 6, 202–​3. See also Crusade; holy war, idea of gods, pagan, 15, 166, 167, 181, 199, 204. See also pagans, pagan, paganism Golta (river), 171 Gotfredsen, Lise, 132 Gotland (Baltic island), 99, 99n7, 99n12 Grathe Moor, battle of (1157), 154 Gratian, canonist, 62–​63, 81, 82, 93, 232 Graus, František, 159–​60, 171, 224 Greece, Greek (ancient), 218 Gregory (Bicske kindred), archbishop of Esztergom, p. 53 Gregory IX, pope, 55, 98, 102, 104, 107, 110, 111, 154–​55, 155n67 Gregory the Great, Saint, pope, 94 Gregory VII, pope, 62, 62n21 Gregory X, pope, 106, 108n63 Gregory XII, pope, 107 Gregory, provost in Esztergom, 51 Grýla (first part of Sverris saga). See Karl Jónsson, Benedictine monk and abbot in Þingeyrar Guibert of Nogent, chronicler, 66n40, 73n81

294

294

Index

Guido of Ferrara, polemicist, 62n21 Guncel (Kán kindred), archbishop of Split, 29 Gunter, bishop of Płock, 76, 77n10, 85–​87, 88–​91, 92, 93, 94 Guttorm, nephew of St. Olav, 238–​39 Győr (city, bishopric, castle), 41, 46, 48

Haakon II Sigurdsson /​Haakon Herdebrei /​ Haakon Broad-​Shouldered, king of Norway, 235 Haastrup, Ulla, 118, 119–​20 Håkon Håkonsson, king of Norway, 101, 105 Harald Bluetooth /​Harald Blåtand, king of Denmark and Norway, 13, 195 Harald IV /​Harald Gille, king of Norway, 227, 229, 238, 243 Hartvic /​Arduin, bishop of Győr (probably), hagiographer, 145 Hartwig II, archbishop of Bremen, 58 Heidenreich, bishop of Chełmża /​Culmsee, 92n74 Heimskringla. See Snorri Sturluson, Icelandic chieftain and saga writer hell, 235 Helmold of Bosau /​Bozowo, priest and chronicler, 199, 199n45, 199n46, 266 Henry I the Fowler, king of Germany, 160, 182 Henry II Plantagenet, king of England, 120, 122 Henry II, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 12, 183 Henry III, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 146–​48, 183 Henry IV, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 186 Henry Jasomirgott, margrave of Austria, 148 Henry of Livonia /​Henricus de Lettis, chronicler, 20, 58–​59, 66–​68, 249, 249n25, 252–​57, 265–​66, 270–​72 Henry of Sandomierz, Polish prince, 249n24 Henry, Saint, bishop of Uppsala and bishop of Finland (possibly fictional), 17, 58, 60, 69–​71, 69n62, 73

Hermann von Salza, grandmaster of Teutonic Order, 99 Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium /​ Account of the Ancient History of the Norwegian kings. See Theodoricus Monachus /​Theodoric the Monk, chronicler Historia Iherosolimitana /​Jerusalemite History. See Robert the Monk, chronicler Historia Norwegie /​ History of Norway (anonymous), 12 Hód-​lake, battle of (1282), 52 Holm (fortress in Livonia), 257 Holme (city, Cistercian abbey), 111 Holy Communion. See rites of war: viaticum Holy Cross. See signa victricia (victory-​ bringing objects): Holy Cross, Lord’s Cross, True Cross Holy Ghost, 121, 129, 134–​35, 137. See also God; Jesus Christ; Holy Trinity Holy Grail, legend of, 128–​29 Holy Lance. See signa victricia (victory-​ bringing objects): Holy Lance, Imperial Lance Holy Land, 17–​18, 29, 41–​43, 55, 59n8, 64–​66, 69, 71, 73, 93, 97, 102, 103–​7, 110, 110n70, 111, 112, 155. See also Crusades holy patrons of polities and peoples, 15, 152, 157, 159–​61, 173–​78, 177n77, 188, 215, 216, 229, 236–​43, 250–​51, 251n34, 268–​69 Holy Roman Empire, 17, 90, 144–​45, 152, 183, 194–​95, 203. See also Germany, Germans, German Holy Trinity, 268. See also God; Holy Ghost; Jesus Christ holy war, idea of, 6, 8, 19, 20, 59n6, 71, 97, 161, 166, 188, 191, 195, 220, 227–​43, 229, 235, 238–​39, 243, 249–​52, 268n33. See also Crusades; God’s war; war, fighting Honorius III, pope, 54–​55 Honorius IV, pope, 52

295



Hospitallers. See Military Orders and confraternities: Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem /​ Hospitallers Housley, Norman, 258 Hrabanus Maurus, Benedictine monk and theologian, archbishop of Mainz, 221–​22n78 Hugh, called the Great, count of Vermandois, 65 Humbert of Romans, OP, master general of the Order of Preachers, 109–​10, 110n70 Hungary, Hungarians, Hungarian, 3, 6, 13, 17, 25–​37, 39–​56, 87–​88, 141–​57, 160, 183, 209, 210n11, 211n14 Huns, 141 Hussites, Hussite, 77n11 Hvar (city, bishopric), 31 Hvide (Danish kindred), 192, 193, 194 Hypatian Chronicle, 170–​71, 268. See also Povest’ vremennych let /​ Tale of Bygone Years /​ Primary Chronicle Iaropolk II Vladimirovich, Rusian prince and grand prince of Kiev, 172–​73 Iaropolk Iziaslavich, Rusian prince, 174, 174n60 Iaroslav the Wise, Rusian prince and grand prince of Kiev, 11, 173, 173n56 Iaroslav Vsevolodovich, prince of Novgorod, 272 Iberia, Iberian. See Spain, Spanish imitatio Christi (imitation of Christ, life in Christ), 18, 236–​38, 260–​62. See also chivalric culture; piety, knightly Inge I Haraldsson, king of Norway, 238 Ingria (region), 276 Innocent III, pope, 41, 41n15, 234, 248 Innocent IV, pope, 29, 100–​101, 104, 155n67, 262 Isaac II Angelos, Byzantine emperor, 55 Island of Rabbits (in Budapest) /​Margaret Island, 52, 157n78 Israel Erlandi /​Israel Erlandsson, OP, bishop of Västerås and preacher, 106, 107–​8, 107n58

Index

295

Israel, Israelites, Israelite, Chosen People (ancient), 164–​65, 169, 178n79, 181, 224 Italy, Italian, 6, 43, 46n47, 91 iudicium Dei. See war, fighting: as God’s ordeal Ivar Kalvsson /​Ivar “ornamented hasp” /​ Ivar skrauthanki, bishop of Nidaros, 233 Ivo, bishop of Chartres and canonist, 62 Izhorians (people), 276 Iziaslav I Iaroslavich, Rusian prince and grand prince of Kiev, 174, 175

James I the Conqueror, king of Aragon and count of Barcelona, 98 Jan Długosz, chronicler, 17, 76–​95 Annales seu Cronicae Incliti Regni Poloniae /​ Annals or Chronicles of the Famous Kingdom of Poland, 76–​77, 77n10, 78, 78n13, 80–​81, 82, 83, 87–​88, 164n17 Vitae episcoporum Cracoviensium /​ Catalogue of the Bishops of Kraków, 78, 78n13, 84 Vitae episcoporum Plocensium /​ Catalogue of the Bishops of Płock, 75–​76, 77, 78, 81, 82–​84, 87, 88–​89, 94 Jarler, archbishop of Uppsala, 102 Jatvingia, Jatvings, Jatvingian, 14 Jean of Joinville, chronicler, 67n45, 251 Jean of Vosey (priest), 67n45 Jelling Stones, 13 Jensen, Kurt Villads, 6, 6n13, 8–​9, 14, 166 Jeremiah, Israelite prophet (biblical), 237 Jericho, battle of (biblical), 173 Jerusalem, Holy City, 69, 97, 105, 106, 109, 136, 224, 268 Jerusalem, Kingdom of, 63, 97 Jesus Christ, 65, 69, 70, 117–​18, 121, 123–​24, 125, 129, 130, 131, 132, 134–​36, 137, 145, 149, 156, 178, 185, 195, 197, 221, 238, 253, 260, 266. See also God; Holy Ghost; Holy Trinity Job (biblical), 275 Job, bishop of Pécs, 48–​49

296

296

Index

John (Kalojan), lord of Syrmia, 55 John (Csák kindred), archbishop of Split, bishop of Skradin, 29 John (Hahót-​Buzád kindred), archbishop of Split, 29 John Ebbesen, Danish nobleman and crusader, 112 John Elovsson, Swedish nobleman and Teutonic Knight, 112 John of Piacenza, papal chaplain, 104, 111 John of Salisbury, author, philosopher and diplomat, 232, 235 John of Wildeshausen /​Johannes Teutonicus, OP, master general of Dominican Order and bishop of Bosnia, 97, 100n18 John XXI, pope, 50 John XXII, pope, 107 John XXIII, anti-​pope, 107 John, archbishop of Esztergom, 42 John, archbishop of Gniezno, 165–​66 John, archbishop of Kalocsa, 53 Joshua (biblical), 173 Judas Maccabeus, priest and king of the Jews (biblical), 71, 125, 164–​65, 182–​83, 220, 220n72 Judith, queen consort of Bohemia, 151–​52 Jugurthine War. See Sallust, Roman author Julius Caesar, Roman general and statesman, 215 Jutland (Danish island), 126, 128, 129, 194 Kaljundi, Linda, 69 Kalmar (city, Dominican convent), 103 Kalocsa (city, archbishopric), 48 Kantorowicz, Ernst, 181 Karelia, Karelians (region, people), 59n7, 102, 264, 273–​74 Karl Jónsson, Benedictine monk and abbot in Þingeyrar (author of Sverris Saga), 234n26, 235, 240–​43 Karl Ulfsson, Swedish nobleman and Teutonic Knight, 112 Karuse, battle of (1270), 259, 260 Kazimierz I the Restorer /​Kazimierz Odnowiciel, prince of Poland, 175, 176

Kazimierz III the Great /​Kazimierz Wielki, king of Poland, 276 Kazimierz III, bishop of Płock, 93 Keller, Hagen, 182 Kętrzyński, Wojciech, 84 Khorol (river), 171 Kiev /​Kyiv (city), 12, 169, 170, 171, 173, 174, 175, 220, 221, 268 Kievan Chronicle (anonymous), 172–​73 Kievan Rus’. See Rus’ (Kievan, Novgorodian), Rusian, Rusians Knin (city, bishopric), 31 Knut Lavard, Saint /​Knut of Ringsted, Saint, Danish prince and duke of Schleswig, 192, 194 Knut V /​Knut Magnussen, king of Denmark, 194 Knut VI /​Knut Valdemarsøn, Danish prince and king of Denmark, 192–​93, 196 Knýtlinga Saga /​ Saga of Cnut’s Descendants, 198n37, 248–​49 Komi (peoples), 264 kontakia (hymns). See rites of war: singing and performing liturgical songs Koppány, some Hungarian bishop, 39n3 Kornerup, Jacob, 118, 133 Korpela, Jukka, 273 Kőszegi (Hungarian kindred), 49, 52, 53 Kraków /​Cracow (city, bishopric), 78, 78n13, 175, 175n63 Krawiec, Adam, 15n44 Krbava (city, bishopric), 31 Kressenbrunn, battle of (1260), 150n42, 152 Kruszwica (city, stronghold), 163, 166n28, 170, 172, 176–​77, 176n73, 177n73, 177n75 Krystyn, governor of Mazovia, 84–​85, 92 Kvarner Gulf, 26 Kyriawan, Estonian, 66–​67 Kýrie, eléison (trope). See rites of war: singing and performing liturgical songs Labuda, Gerard, 91–​92 Ladislaus (Kán kindred), Hungarian count, 47

297



Ladislaus I the Saint /​Saint Ladislas /​Szent László, king of Hungary, 26, 150n51, 157 Ladislaus III /​III. László, king of Hungary, 31 Ladislaus IV /​Ladislaus the Cuman /​IV. (Kun) László, king of Hungary, 27, 49–​50, 51–​53, 152 Ladoga (castle), 276 Lalli, alleged killer of St. Henry, bishop of Finland, 70 Landskrona (fortress), 276 Landulf of Milan, chronicler, 185n104, 186 Langensalza, battle of (1075), 185n104 Lateran Council, Fourth (1215), 63, 63n31, 254, 254n52 Latin Church, 20, 64, 65, 66, 73, 131–​32, 263, 266–​67, 269, 276–​78 Latvia, Latvians /​Letts, Latvian, 245n3, 263, 264, 270–​71 Laurentian Chronicle, 39n3, 169, 272–​73. See also Povest’ vremennych let /​ Tale of Bygone Years /​ Primary Chronicle Laurentius of Wszerecz /​Wawrzyniec z Wszerecza, Płock penitentiary and chronicler, 76, 94 Law of Succession, Norwegian, 230, 232–​33, 232n19, 236 Lawrence, Saint, 162n13 Laws of Ladislaus I the Saint, 150n41 Laws of the Coloman the Learned, 150–​51 Lazarus (biblical), 129 Lechfeld, battle of (955), 160, 182, 220 Ledung. See expeditio publica, ledung /​ leding Legenda maior sancti Stephani regis /​ Major Legend of King Saint Stephen (anonymous), 145–​46 Legenda Margaritae /​ Legend of (Saint) Margaret (anonymous), 156–​57 Legenda sancti Stephani regis ab Hartvico episcopo conscripta /​Legend of King Saint Stephen by Bishop Hartvic. See Hartvic /​Arduin, bishop of Győr (probably), hagiographer Leitha (river), battle of (1146), 148–​50

Index

297

Lembitu, Estonian chieftain, 68n53 Leo IV, pope, 232 Leo IX, pope, 246 Libellus sancti Stephani regis de institutione morum ad Emericum ducem, 141–​42 Liber Ordinum, Visigothic, 179–​81, 184 Liber precum Gertrudae ducissae /​ Book of Prayers of the Princess Gertrude. See Gertrude /​Olisava /​Gertrude of Poland, grand princess consort of Kiev. Lind, John, 112, 273 Lippiflorium (anonymous), 250 Lithuania, Lithuanians, Lithuanian, 107, 110, 259, 260, 261, 268, 269, 275 Litold, Moravian duke, 216 liturgy of war. See rites of war Liutprand of Cremona, chronicler, 185n104 Livländische Reimchronik /​Livonian Rhymed Chronicle (anonymous), 69, 20, 249, 249n26, 251, 257–​62 Livonia, Livonians /​Livs, Livonian, 3, 7, 17, 20, 58–​59, 64, 66–​69, 72, 73, 99, 100, 104, 107, 111, 112, 245–​62, 245n3, 253n47, 263, 269–​70, 272, 274, 275–​76, 277 Lodomér, archbishop of Esztergom, 52–​53 Lödöse (city, Dominican convent), 103 Lombards, 160 Lord’s Cross. See signa victricia (victory-​ bringing objects): Holy Cross, Lord’s Cross, True Cross Lothar of Supplinburg /​Lothar III, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 157n79 Louis IX /​Saint Louis, king of France, 104, 109, 113, 256 Louis VII, king of France, 120 Lübeck (city, port), 99, 100n18 Lübke, Christian, 15 Lucanus, Marcus Annaeus, ancient author, 215, 215n 35, 229n7 Luczane /​Lučané (people), 207–​8, 213 Ludvíkovský, Jaroslav, 224n88 Lund (city, archbishopric, Dominican convent), 101, 111, 192 Luticians, 14, 15, 146n23. See also Wends

298

298

Index

Lyon (city, archbishopric), 109 Lyon, first council of (1245), 101 Lyrskogshede /​Lyrskov Heath, battle of (1043), 238 Lysias, governor of Syria, 164

Maccabees, leaders of the Israel (biblical), 71, 164–​65, 125, 182–​83, 220, 220n72 MacKay, Angus, 250n34 Magdeburg (city, archbishopric), 59 Magistri Vincentii dicti Kadłubek Chronica Polonorum /​ Chronicle of the Poles by Master Vincentius nicknamed Kadłubek. See Vincentius of Kraków /​Master Vincentius /​Wincenty Kadłubek, bishop of Kraków and chronicler Magnus Erlingsson, king of Norway, 227, 229, 230, 231–​32, 231n15, 233, 235, 240, 242 Magnus Erlingsson’s Coronation Oath and Letter of Privileges to the Church, 231, 234, 235, 236–​37 Magnus I Nilsson, Danish prince, king of Sweden, 194 Magnus IV Eriksson, king of Sweden and king of Norway (as Manus VII), 114, 276 Magnus IV Sigurdsson /​Magnus the Blind, king of Norway, 227, 229, 230, 233 Magnus Olavsson /​Magnus the Good, king of Norway and Denmark, 238, 238n43, 241 Magnus, governor of Mazovia, 78–​81 Maier, Christoph T., 17–​18 Manasses, archbishop of Split, 25, 27, 36, 37 Manuel Comnenos, Byzantine emperor, 151–​52 Margaret Island. See Island of Rabbits (in Budapest) /​Margaret Island Margaret, Saint /​Margaret of Hungary, princes and Dominican nun, 156–​57, 157n78 Mars (Roman god), 167 Martin IV, pope, 111 Martin, archbishop of Gniezno, 162, 162n11, 178

Martin, Saint, 157, 176n69 martyrdom, idea of, 117–​38, 238, 245–​62. See also clerical order, clergy: death in combat; death in combat; war, fighting: as sacrifice to Christ/​God, self-​sacrifice Mary Laskaris, queen consort of Hungary, 156–​57, 157n78 Mary, Saint. See Virgin Mary Master Roger. See Roger of Apulia, archbishop of Split and chronicler Master Vincentius. See Vincentius of Kraków /​Master Vincentius /​ Wincenty Kadłubek, bishop of Kraków and chronicler Mathilda of Swabia, duchess of Carinthia and duchess of Upper Lorraine, 13 Matilda of Ringelheim, queen of Germany, holy woman, 224 Matthew of Paris /​Matthew Paris, Benedictine monk and chronicler, 113 Matthew, bishop of Kraków, 165–​66 Matthias, archbishop of Esztergom, 45, 46 Maurice, Saint, 160, 176n69 Mazovia, Mazovians, Mazovian, 17, 75–​95, 176, 210, 218–​19 McCormick, Michael, 4, 18, 143, 184, 184n101 Mecklenburg (region), 98, 103 Medvedgrad /​Medvevár (city, castle), 47 Meinhard, bishop of Livonia, 58, 58n4, 66, 67, 68, 253, 255 Ménfő, battle of (1044), 146–​47, 150n42, 183 Metz (city and bishopric), 203 Michael Attaleiates, chronicler, 178n79, 184n101 Michael VII Doukas /​Michael Parapinakes, Byzantine emperor, 178n79, 184n101 Michael, archangel. See angels: St. Michael /​ Archistrategos /​ “chief-​general,” archangel Michałowski, Roman, 11 Michelsberg (Benedictine abbey in Bamberg), 177n75, 183n96 Miechovia. See Samuel Nakielski, chronicler

299



Mieszko I, prince of Poland, 11, 176, 210 Mieszko II, king of Poland, 13, 175, 177n76 miles Christianus (Christian knight, defender of Christianity), 124–​33, 192, 236, 238–​39, 246, 257, 258, 269. See also chivalric culture; piety, knightly Military Orders and confraternities Livonian Brothers of the Militia of Christ /​ Sword Brothers, 58, 64, 66, 68, 72, 247, 259, 260, 271, 272 Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem /​ Teutonic Order, 7, 18, 59n8, 64, 66, 69, 84, 87, 92n74, 98–​100, 102, 103, 104, 107, 110, 111, 112, 114, 177n77, 247, 249, 250, 257–​62, 263, 276 Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem /​Hospitallers, 18, 107, 114 Poor Fellow-​Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon /​Templars, 37, 46, 73, 247 Prussian Cavaliers of Jesus Christ /​Order of Dobrzyń /​Dobrzyńcy, 86 Roskilde confraternity founded by Vedeman against Wends, 200 military saints. See warrior-​saints milites Mauriciani (servile knights of Magdeburg archbishopric), 15 milites sancti Martini (servile knights of Mainz archbishopric), 15 Miriam, Israelite prophetess (biblical), 134–​35 Mizse, palatine of Hungary, 53 Modzelewski, Karol, 14 Mogyoród, battle of (1074), 150n42 Mohács, battle of (1526), 153 Mongols, 17, 29, 35, 40, 43–​47, 51, 52, 53, 55, 87–​88, 99, 153–​57 attack on Hungary (1285), 52, 53, 87–​88 invasion of Hungary (1241–​1242), 17, 29, 35, 40, 43–​47, 51, 55, 87, 153–​57 Invasion of Rus’ (1237–​1241), 275, 277 Monoszló (Hungarian kindred), 50 Moravia, Moravians, Moravian, 99, 152, 215

Index

299

Moravské pole /​Marchfeld, battle of (1278), 150n42, 152 Moroz, Irina, 184 Morris, Colin, 247n9 Moscow /​Moskva (city), 264 Moses, prophet and patriarch of Israel (biblical), 66n40, 81, 135, 169, 178n79 Mstivoj, Abodrite duke, 195 Muhi, battle of (1241), 35, 44, 45–​46, 47, 55, 87, 153–​54 Murray, Alan V., 261 Muslims, Muslim, 93, 110, 246, 248, 251, 268 Nablus, canons of (1120), 63 Nakielski, Samuel. See Samuel Nakielski, chronicler Nakło (stronghold), battle of (1109), 162–​68, 162n13, 170, 172, 173, 176, 177, 178, 179, 185, 186 Naples (city), 37 Narbonne (city, archdiocese), 98 Navarre, 182 Netherlands, 103 Neva (river), 276 New Jerusalem, idea of, 133–​37 Nicholas (Kán kindred), archbishop-​elect of Kalocsa, 49, 50, 51 Nicholas Arnesson, bishop of Oslo and magnate, 233–​34, 234n26, 242 Nicholas I, pope, 10, 232 Nicholas III, pope, 50, 51 Nicholas IV, pope, 52, 53, 106 Nicholas, Saint, 126, 130, 137 Nicholson, Helen, 247n9 Nicolaus of Jeroschin, chronicler, 259n87 Nidaros /​Trondheim (city, archbishopric, Dominican convent), 60, 103, 105, 227, 228, 230, 231, 235–​36, 235n35, 238, 240 Niels, king of Denmark, 194 Nikaia, 178n79, 184n101 Nils Ubbesson, Swedish nobleman and crusader, 113 Nin (city, bishopric), 31 Nitra /​Nyitra (city, bishopric), 46

300

300

Index

Norn, Otto, 128 North-​Eastern Europe, 245n3 Northern Europe, North, 98, 100, 102, 103, 104, 107, 196, 237, 248 North-​Western Europe, 101, 104 Norway, Norwegians, Norwegian, Norse, 3, 8, 12, 13, 99n12, 102–​3, 104, 105, 205, 227–​43 Novgorod the Great /​Veliky Novgorod (city, bishopric), 66, 102, 114, 264, 268, 271–​4, 276–​78 Novgorod Chronicle, 269, 272–​73, 275, 276 Novgorodian Rus’. See Rus’ (Kievan, Novgorodian), Rusian, Rusians Nowakowski, Tomasz, 91 Nuremberg (city, bishopric), 155

Odense (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 60, 111 Odin (Germanic god), 167 Odo, bishop of Bayeux, 17, 57n2 Oesilians, 102 Olafs saga hins Helga /​ Legendary Saga of St. Olav (anonymous), 240–​43 Olav, OP, provincial of Dacia, 106 Olav /​Olaf, Saint, king of Norway, 12, 229, 230, 231, 235, 236–​43, 238n43 Old Norwegian Homily Book (anonymous), 242 Oldenburg (city, bishopric), 205–​5 Oldřich-​Udalrich, Bohemian prince, 215n34, 216 Omiš /​Almissa (Dalmatian island), 54 Oradea /​Várad (city, bishopric), 42, 44 Order of Cistercians, 58, 59, 114, 255, 255n60 Order of Dobrzyń. See Military Orders and confraternities: Prussian Cavaliers of Jesus Christ /​Order of Dobrzyń /​ Dobrzyńcy Order of Friars Minor, Franciscans, 98, 100–​101, 100n15, 103, 104–​5, 107, 108, 114, 252 Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem. See Military Orders

and confraternities: Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem /​ Hospitallers Order of Preachers, Dominican friars, 17–​18, 35, 60n12, 91, 91n74, 97–​115, 252 Order of St. Benedict, Benedictines, 41, 111, 113, 177n75 Orderic Vitalis, chronicler, 247 Orthodox Church, 20, 263–​78 Oslo (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 103, 227, 233 Otepää (city), 271, 272 Otto I the Great, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 160, 220 Otto III, king of Germany and Holy Roman emperor, 175, 185, 186 Otto, bishop of Freising, chronicler, 148–​49 Ottonians (Saxon dynasty), 188, 194–​95 Oxford (city, university), 254, 261 Øystein /​Eistein II Haraldsson, king of Norway, 238 Øystein /​Eystein Erlendsson, archbishop of Nidaros, 228, 228n5, 230, 231, 232–​33, 235, 236, 243

Pagans, pagan, paganism, 10, 11, 14–​15, 17, 19, 45, 58, 62, 66, 70, 78–​81, 79n18, 84, 86, 87, 88–​89, 93–​95, 110, 114, 154, 157–​88, 101–​2, 190–​92, 195–​206, 218–​20, 221, 222, 237, 238–​39, 250–​62, 253n50, 256, 270, 273, 276. See also Cumans; Curonians; Estonians; Izhorians; Livonians /​Livs; Luticians; Mongols; Pomeranians; Polovtsi; Prussians; Rani /​Rugians, Samogitians; Semigallians; Slavs; Turks, Wends Pamplona (city), 182 Pannonhalma (Benedictine abbey), 41 Pannonia (region), 141 papacy. See Apostolic See /​Holy See /​ papacy papal bulls, 41n15, 54–​55, 59n6, 98–​99, 104, 105, 110 Paradise, Garden of Eden, Heavenly Kingdom, New Jerusalem, Promised

301



Land, 14, 65, 109, 121, 124, 133–​37, 232, 250, 256, 258 Paris (city, university), 35, 104, 228, 233, 236, 254 Paschal II, pope, 63n29 Passio et miracula beati Olaui /​ Passion and Miracles of the Blessed Olav (anonymous), 237–​38, 237n38 Pater noster (prayer-​song). See rites of war: singing and performing liturgical songs Paterik of the Kievan Caves Monastery (anonymous), 171 patrons, saints. See holy patrons of polities and peoples Paul of Przemyków, bishop of Kraków, 78n14 Paul the Apostle, Saint, 234 Paul, bishop of Pécs, 53 Peipus (lake), 276 Pełka, bishop of Kraków, 78, 78n13 Pelops (mythical), 217 Pereyaslavl (city, bishopric), 174 Pest (city), 44 Peter (Kán kindred), archbishop of Split and archbishop of Kalocsa, 28 Peter (Kőszegi kindred), bishop of Veszprém, 49, 52 Peter (Monoszló kindred), bishop of Alba Iulia, 49–​50 Peter I (Csák kindred), palatine of Hungary, 49 Peter of Dacia /​Petrus de Dacia, OP, lector in Skänninge and prior of St. Nicholas’s church in Gotland, 112 Peter of Dusburg, chronicler, 259n87, 260, 261 Peter Orseolo, king of Hungary, 146–​48 Peter the Apostle, Saint, 126, 145, 174n60, 176n73 Peter the Venerable, Saint, Benedictine monk and abbot of Cluny, 136 Peter, bishop of Győr, 42, 43 Peter, called Lombard, archbishop of Split, bishop od Narni, 28 Peter, pretender to Dalmatian throne, 26

Index

301

Petrilo, priest from Staraya Rusa (in the Novgorod Land), 269 Pharsalia. See Lucanus, Marcus Annaeus (ancient author) Phelpstead, Carl, 229–​30 Philip (Türje kindred), provost in Dömös, bishop of Zagreb and archbishop of Esztergom, 47, 49 Philip IV /​Philip the Fair /​Philippe le Bel, king of France, 107 Philip of Fermo /​Filippo da Fermo, bishop of Fermo and papal legate, 51–​52 Philip, baptised Liv, interpreter and martyr, 68 Philip, bishop of Ratzeburg, 72 Piasts (Polish dynasty), 11, 12, 14, 19, 112, 161, 177, 179, 183, 185, 186, 188, 210, 218–​20 piety, knightly, 18, 19, 124–​25, 129–​33, 192, 208, 250–​51, 269. See also chivalric culture; miles Christianus (Christian knight, defender of Christianity) Planctus destructionis Hungariam per Tartaros /​ The Lament for the Destruction of Hungary by the Tartars (anonymous), 155–​56 Płock (city, bishopric, princely castle), 75–​95, 176 Pohl, Walter, 4, 184 Polabia (region), 14. See also Rügen /​Rugia (Baltic island) Poland, Poles, Polish, 3, 6, 13, 14, 15, 19, 82, 86, 93, 99, 103, 103n31, 104, 144, 150n39, 152, 157, 157n79, 157–​188, 209, 213, 214, 217n57, 218–​20, 222, 249n24 Policraticus. See John of Salisbury, author, philosopher and diplomat Polonia, Dominican province of, 98, 99 Polotsk (city), 66, 272, 277 Polovtsi, 19, 161, 168–​73, 174n57, 179, 221 Pomerania, Pomeranians, Pomeranian, 13, 19, 78, 81, 92, 98, 99n7, 103n31, 162–​68, 162n12, 170, 177, 178, 186, 187, 210, 218–​19, 249n24

302

302

Index

Pontificale Cracoviense /​ Kraków Pontifical, 177–​79, 178n79 Pontigny (city, abbey), 119 Poor Fellow-​Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon. See Military Orders and confraternities: Poor Fellow-​ Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon /​Templars Poppe, Andrzej, 174 Povest’ vremennych let /​ Tale of Bygone Years /​ Primary Chronicle, 19, 161, 168–​73, 178, 184, 188, 209–​11, 212, 220–​21. See also Hypatian Chronicle; Laurentian Chronicle Požega /​Pozsega (castle), 55 Pozsony. See Bratislava /​Pozsony /​ Pressburg (city) Prague (city, bishopric), 152, 208, 209, 214, 216 prayers for protection or mercy or martyrdom, 142, 145, 154, 156, 164, 171, 174, 174n62, 177, 185n104, 256 public, “home front,” on behalf of the ruler/​state, 10, 18, 80, 102–​3, 145, 146, 146n23, 149, 150, 151–​52, 155, 172, 201 as thanksgiving, 147 for victory, 18, 78, 79, 80, 83–​84, 88, 89, 131n27, 149, 152, 164, 169, 171, 179, 185n104, 202, 205, 235, 238–​39 as weapon, 81, 83, 202, 205 See also rites of far preaching war or crusades, 17–​18, 59n7, 67–​68, 97–​114, 132, 231–​32, 251–​52 practice of, 107–​9 sermons as a tool for, 109–​10, 109n66, 252 See also rites of war: battle speeches and exhortations; sermons Přemysl Otakar II, Bohemian prince and king of Bohemia, 49, 152 Pressburg. See Bratislava /​Pozsony /​ Pressburg (city) princes of darkness (biblical), 166

primipilarius. See standard-​bearers primipilus, Roman highest-​ranking centurion in the first cohort of a legion, 167, 167n33 Procopius, Saint, 152 Provance, Provençals, Provençal, 71, 71n76 Prussian Cavaliers of Jesus Christ. See Military Orders and confraternities: Prussian Cavaliers of Jesus Christ /​ Order of Dobrzyń /​Dobrzyńcy Przasnysz (village), 86 Przemyśl (city), 39n3 Psalterium Egberti /​ Egbert Psalter (also known as Gertrude Psalter or Trier Psalter) 174–​75 Pskov (city), 268–​71, 274, 276–​78 Psyol /​Psel (river), 171 Pułtusk (stronghold), 86, 92 Ptak, Jan, 78n13 Přemyslids (Bohemian dynasty), 12, 14, 185, 208, 212, 214, 214–​18 Prussia, Prussians, Prussian, 13, 17, 78, 81, 83–​86, 89, 98–​103, 103n31, 104, 107, 219, 249n24, 266 Prinz, Friedrich, 6–​7 The Questions of Cyricus (Novgorodian canonical collection), 267

Rába (river), 146 Radegund, Merovingian queen and holy woman, 224, 224n90 Rainald von Dassel, archbishop of Cologne and chancellor of Italy, 17, 91 Rákos, congregation of (1277), 50 Ralph of Caen, chronicler, 71n76 Rambald of Carumb, master of the Hungarian Templars, 46 Rani /​Rugians, 199n45. See also Arkona; Rügen /​Rugia; Wends Raymond of Penyafort, OP, Catalan friar and canonist, 98 Raymond, count of Saint-​Gilles and crusader, 65n37 Re (in Vestfold, Norway), battle at (1163), 235

303



relics, reliquaries, 32, 60, 62, 70, 172, 179, 184, 214, 214n29, 228, 229, 238n43. See also signa victricia, relics Rerum gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres. See Widukind of Corvey, chronicler retinues/​household knights at clergy’s disposal, 34, 36, 45, 47, 58, 92, 197 Reval /​Tallinn (city, Dominican convent), 58, 66 Reynold, Hungarian count, 152 Rhineland (region), 175 Riade, battle of (933), 160, 182 Ribe (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 101 Richeza of Lotharingia /​Rycheza /​Ryksa, queen of Poland, 175 Riedegost /​Rethra (city, Rani’s temple), 15 Riga (city, bishopric, port), Rigan, 58, 68, 68n58, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254, 257, 262, 265–​66, 269, 270, 271–​72 rites of war, 4, 9, 10, 14, 15, 18, 19, 141–​157, 171, 173–​88, 211–​12, 228 absolution, 80, 200, 235, 252 battle cries, 241 battle speeches and exhortations, 65, 73, 79, 84, 153, 157n79, 164, 170, 182, 207–​8, 235, 242 blessing the arms, 18, 62, 148–​49, 157, 178 blessing, clerical, before battle, 18, 148–​49, 157, 171 celebrating victory, adventus, 147, 152 confession, 150 crusading, 19, 188, 188n114 devotion during campaign (or the lack of), (un)ethical behaviour, 18, 77–​80, 150, 150n41, 157n79, 162n13, 169, 171–​72, 202, 204–​5, 221, 241–​42, 257, 276 fasting, 18, 80, 144, 151 gestures, 211–​12 gird with a sword, knighting, 148–​49, 148n34 Holy Mass in the field, 72, 157n79, 202 kiss of peace, 212, 212n18

Index

303

kissing the Cross, 171–​72, 212n18 liturgy of war, in liturgical texts, 18, 71, 143, 177–​81, 177n79, 178n81, 178n82, 188, 202 penitential, 72, 72n80, 146n23, 147, 200, 252 pouring tears, 66n40, 79, 80, 83–​84, 83n37, 88, 131n27, 164, 171 pre-​Christian, pagan, 14, 166–​68, 186 profectio bellica (departure and march for war), 19, 171, 179–​83, 184n101 singing and performing liturgical songs, 109, 154, 171–​72, 72n51, 173, 221, 235 spiritual preparation for battle/​war, 72, 80, 146n23, 148–​49, 157n79, 164–​ 65, 171–​72, 179, 184, 200, 200n55, 235 submission to victors, 154 taking vows to God/​saints, if granted victory, 11, 156–​57, 157n77, 171, 238–​39 thanksgiving for victory, 11, 13, 14, 18, 145, 146–​47, 149, 150, 152 viaticum, 4, 19, 62, 72, 157, 157n79, 200, 229 See also prayers; signa victricia (victory-​ bringing objects) Robert the Monk, chronicler, 161n10 Robert, bishop of Veszprém, 42 Rodulfus Glaber, chronicler, 147n31, 183n94 Roger Bacon, Oxford scholar, 261–​62 Roger of Apulia, archbishop of Split and chronicler, 29, 43, 44, 45, 46–​47, 46n47, 43, 87, 153, 155 Roger Wendover, chronicler, 248 Rome (city), 58n4, 60, 70, 104, 223, 246. See also Apostolic See /​Holy See /​papacy Rome, Romans, Roman, Roman Empire, Roman Republic (ancient), 50, 142–​43, 168, 179, 181, 190, 192, 215n35, 217n55, 218, 220, 224, 228 Roskilde (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 112, 194, 197

304

304

Index

Rubin, Miri, 251 Ruda, priest from Pskov, 269–​70 Rudolf of Habsburg, king of the Romans (Germany), 152 Rudolf, master of Sword Brothers, 67, 72 Rufinus of Bologna, decretist, 63 Rügen /​Rugia (Baltic island), 190, 195, 199–​200, 203, 205. See also Arkona; Polabia; Rani /​Rugians Rurikids (Rusian dynasty), 19, 161, 177, 179, 183, 185, 221 Rus’ (Kievan, Novgorodian), Rusian, Rusians, 3, 6, 12, 13, 14, 19, 46, 66, 87, 101–​2, 150n39, 157n79, 161, 168–​73, 179, 181, 183–​85, 188, 209, 213, 219–​21, 222, 264, 266–​78

Sajó (river), 45, 87, 153, 154 Saaremaa (region), 58, 102 Saccalians, 67 Saint-​Denis (near Paris), Benedictine abbey 236 Saint-​Victor’s in Paris, Cistercian abbey, 228, 233, 236 Salimbene of Parma, Franciscan friar and chronicler, 260 Sallust, Roman author, 220n72 Samogitians, 258 Samuel Aba /​Obó /​Ovo, king of Hungary, 146–​47, 147n31 Samuel Nakielski, chronicler, 84 Samuel, Israelite prophet, 240 Sandaaker, Odd, 231n15 Satagundie /​Satakunta (region), 70 Saul, king of Israel and Judah (biblical), 235 Saule, battle of (1236), 259, 260 Saxo Grammaticus, chronicler, 19, 110, 189–​206 Saxons, Transylvanian, 49 Saxony, Saxons, Saxon, 15, 155, 209, 211, 218, 218n59, 222, 254, 266 Scandinavia, Scandinavian, Scandinavians, 3, 6, 7–​9, 16, 20, 64, 99, 101–​3, 104, 106, 111, 112, 114, 117, 132n30, 189–​206, 228, 234

Scania (Danish island), 194 Schleswig (city, Dominican convent), 103 Scots, 80 Scytians, 141 Segeberg (city, Aygustinian monastery), 58, 254 Selencia (region), 13 Selja (island in Vestland associated with St. Olav), 241 Semigallia, Semigallians, 251 Semkowicz, Aleksander, 90 Senj (city, bishopric), 31 Sennacherib, king of the Neo-​Assyrian Empire, 183 sermons. See rites of war: battle speeches and exhortations; preaching war or crusades Sharukan (city), 171 Šibenik (city, bishopric, port), 26, 35, 35n44 Sibiu /​Szeben (city), 46, 49 Sigebert of Gembloux, chronicler and polemicist, 63n29 signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects), 4–​5, 10, 18, 152, 167n33, 168, 172–​173, 179, 185 Árpádian spear or Saint Stephen’s Spear, 185 banner (or effigy) depicting St. Michael, used by Lombards, 160 banner depicting angel (St. Michael?), used by Ottonian kings, 160, 160n7, 182 banners depicting St. Michael, used by Franks, 160 Holy Cross, Lord’s Cross, True Cross, 10, 73, 147, 168n35, 169, 171–​73, 178, 179–​80, 182, 183, 184n101, 229 Holy Lance, Imperial Lance, 160, 163n14, 185–​86, 185n104 Holy Lance of Antioch, 65–​66, 66n40 Piast spear or the so-​called Spear of St. Maurice, 185–​86, 187–​88 piece of the Holy Cross carried before army at Fyrileiv battle (1134), 229

305



Přemyslid spear or the so-​called Spear of St. Václav, 152, 157n79, 185, 187 relics, 18, 62, 72, 172, 179–​80, 228, 229, 238n43 royal banner stored in basilica of the Virgin Mary in Székesfehérvár, 152 spear in Vincentius of Kraków’s narrative on the campaign against the Pomeranians, 163, 168, 168n37, 178, 181, 185–​86 St. Mary’s banner, 250 St. Olav’s battle-​axe called “Hel”, 283n43 St. Olav’s sword, 239 St. Procopius’s banner, 152 St. Václav’s banner, 152 St. Vojtěch-​Adalbert’s banner, 152 Visigothic royal Holy Cross, 179–​81 signifier. See standard-​bearers Sigtuna (city, Dominican convent), 103, 106, 107, 113 Sigurd I Magnusson /​Sigurd the Crusader /​Sigurd Jerusalem-​Traveller /​Sigurd Jórsalafari, king of Norway, 227, 228–​29, 230 Sigurd II Haraldsson /​Sigurd Munn, king of Norway, 238, 239 Sigurd of Rør, Norwegian nobleman, 235 Simon of Kéza, royal notary and chronicler, 147–​48, 152 Simon, bishop of Oradea, 43 Simon, bishop of Płock, 75, 78–​81, 79n17, 84, 89, 90 Skänninge (city, Dominican convent), 103, 112 Skara (city, Dominican convent), 103 Skibiński, Edward, 174n60 Skradin (city, bishopric), 31 Skuodas, battle of (1259), 259 Slavs, Slavic, 14, 183, 196, 223, 275. See also Bohemians, Abodrites, Luticians, Mazovians, Poles, Pomeranians, Rani /​ Rugians, Wends Smith, Caroline, 256 Snorri Sturluson, Icelandic chieftain and saga writer, 229–​30

Index

305

Soběslav I, Bohemian prince, 157n79, 217, 218n58 Song of Roland, 57n2; 125, 229, 247. See also Chansons de geste Sophia, Saint (Holy Wisdom), 268 Spain, Spanish, 6, 93, 160–​61, 182, 248, 250–​51n34 Spalatensis Historia Salonitanorum atque Spalatinorum pontificum. See Thomas of Split, the so-​called Archdeacon, chronicler Spear of St. Maurice. See Signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects), Piast spear or the so-​called Spear of St. Maurice Spear of St. Václav. See Signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects), Přemyslid spear or the so-​called Spear of St. Václav Split /​Spalato (city, archbishopric, port), 16–​17, 25–​37, 41, 41n13, 46n47, 153 standard-​bearers (miraculous), 163, 164, 168, 175n45, 238–​39, 239n45. See also angels; banners, military; divine and saints’ agency in war; signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects); supernatural aids in war; warrior-​saints standard-​bearers, 73, 152, 167–​68, 167n33, 168n35, 166n36, 170n45, 172, 173, 178, 180–​81, 184n101, 186, 187, 221, 229. See also banners, military; rites of war standards. See banners, military Stanisław of Skarbimierz, scholar and rector of the University of Kraków, 93, 94 Stanisław, Saint, bishop of Kraków and martyr, 90, 159 Staraya Rusa /​Stara Russa (city in the Novgorod Land), 269 Stedingers, German rebel peasants, heretics, 100–​102, 104 Stephen II, king of Croatia, 26 Stephen III, king of Hungary, 151–​52 Stephen IV, king of Hungary, 151 Stephen of Orvieto, papal legate, 230

306

306

Index

Stephen of Perm /​Apostle of the Permians, bishop of Perm, painter and missionary, 264 Stephen V, king of Hungary, 48, 49 Stephen, archbishop of Kalocsa, 50 Stephen, archbishop-​elect of Split, bishop of Zagreb, 29, 35 Stephen, bishop of Vác, 43, 47 Stephen, Saint /​Stephen I /​Szent István, king of Hungary, 11, 12, 18, 32, 37, 141–​42, 144–​46, 149, 150, 157 Stephen, Saint, proto-​martyr, 257 Steppes (region), 168–​73 Stiklestad, battle of (1030), 240–​41 Sula (river), 171 Summa Theologica. See Thomas Aquinas, Saint, Doctor of the Church supernatural aids in war, 4, 12, 15, 157–​88, 238–​39, 250, 268. See also angels; divine and saints’ agency in war; standard-​ bearers (miraculous); warrior-​saints Svantevit /​Svetovid /​Świętowit, Slavic diety, god of Rani, 199, 203 Svatopluk /​Menumorout, mythical Romanian ruler, 211n14 Svatopluk /​Svatopluk the Lion, Bohemian and Moravian prince, 216 Svatopluk I, Moravian prince, 213 Sven Aggesen, chronicler, 193, 194 Sven II Estridsson, king of Denmark, 194 Sven III Grathe, king of Denmark, 194, 203 Sverre Sigurdsson, king of Norway and cleric, 205, 205n82, 229, 233, 234–​35 Sverris saga /​Saga of King Sverri of Norway. See Karl Jónsson, Benedictine monk and abbot in Þingeyrar Sviatopolk Iziaslavich, Rusian prince and grand prince of Kiev, 168–​73, 174n60, 221 Sweden, Swedes, Swedish, 59n6, 60, 60n14, 66, 69–​71, 99n12, 100n15, 102–​3, 111, 112, 266, 268, 274, 276 Sword Brothers. See Military Orders and confraternities: Livonian Brothers of the Militia of Christ /​Sword Brothers

Szeged, congregation in (1282), 52 Szekcső (castle), 53 Székesfehérvár (city, royal residence), 47, 147, 152, 155

take the Cross, become a crusader, Crusade vow, 41, 59n8, 97, 108, 109, 112, 113, 131, 132, 155, 239, 255 redemption of Crusade vows, 104, 111 See also rites of war Tālava (region), 270–​71, 272, 274 Talibald, leader of Tālava people, 271 Tamm, Marek, 252 Tancred of Hauteville, crusader, 66n40 Tartu /​Dorpat (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 68, 276 Tatars. See Mongols Tavastia, Tavastians (region, people), 101–​2, 272–​73 Tedald, archbishop of Milan and imperial chaplain, 186 Templars. See Military Orders and confraternities: Poor Fellow-​Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon /​ Templars Tertullian, early Christian author, 246 Teutonia, Dominican province of, 17, 98, 99, 107–​8 Teutonic Knights /​Order. See Military Orders and confraternities: Order of Brothers of the German House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem /​Teutonic Order Thangmar of Hildesheim, chronicler, 163n14, 186 Theoderic of Treyden, Cistercian monk and abbot, bishop of Estonia, 58n4, 68 Theodoricus Monachus /​Theodoric the Monk, chronicler, 228, 228n5, 229–​30, 229n7 Theodosius of Kiev /​Theodosius of the Caves, Saint, 171 Theodosius the Great, Eastern emperor, 142 Theotokos. See Virgin Mary Thietmar, bishop of Merseburg and chronicler, 14, 15, 215n34

307



Thomas Aquinas, Saint, Doctor of the Church, 93, 94, 136 Thomas Becket, Saint, archbishop of Canterbury, 117–​24, 118n4, 125, 130, 132, 137 Thomas of Split, called Archdeacon, chronicler, 28n11, 31, 35–​36, 37, 43, 44, 46, 46n47, 47, 54, 87–​88, 153, 153n58, 155 Thomas, bishop of Eger, 42–​43 Thrugots (Danish kindred), 193 Thurstan, archbishop of York, 80 Tihany (city, abbey), 49 Tivoli (city), 186 Tomasina, Hungarian princess, 53 Tønsberg (city), 227, 235 Transdanubia (region), 44 Transylvania (region), 46, 48, 49–​50. See also Alba Iulia /​Gyulafehérvár (city, bishopric) Tribsees (village in Mecklenburg), 204 Trier (city, archbishopric), 234 triumph, victory, idea of, 5, 64, 80, 147, 163, 164, 170, 179, 181, 200, 219 Trogir /​Trau (city, bishopric, port), 26, 29, 31, 35, 37, 47 troparia (hymns). See rites of war: singing and performing liturgical songs Trpimirovići (Croatian dynasty), 30 True Cross. See signa victricia (victory-​ bringing objects): Holy Cross, Lord’s Cross, True Cross Trutina (river), battle of (1110), 150n42, 157n79 Turaida (region), 68, 72 Turks, 62, 66n40 Turku /​Åbo (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 60n14 Turpin, Charlemagne’s bishop (fictional), 57n2, 65, 65n34 Tyge, bishop of Århus, 105 Tyro, duke of Bohemians (mythical), 208 Ugaunia, Ugaunians, Ugandi (region, people), 68, 271–​72

Index

307

Ugljan’s St. Michael (fortress), 36n48 Ugrin (Csák kindred), archbishop of Kalocsa and royal chancellor, 17, 35, 37, 44–​45, 46, 54–​55 Ugrin (Csák kindred), archbishop of Split, 29, 35–​36 Ulf Fase, Swedish earl, 112 Ulrich of Augsburg, Saint, bishop of Augsburg, 11 Ümera, battle of (1220), 257 Uppsala (city, archbishopric), 59n6 Urban II, pope, 62, 246n9 Urban IV, pope, 105, 111 Urban VI, pope, 107n56 Urban, William, 259 Urias, Benedictine monk and abbot in Pannonhalma, 42 Üxküll (city, bishopric, castle), 58, 68, 68n56

Vacek, Bohemian nobleman, 217 Václav /​Wenceslaus, Saint, prince and patron of Bohemia, 14, 152, 157n79, 159, 187, 215, 216, 223 Väinäjoki (region), 68 Valdemar I, king of Denmark, 19, 189–​206 Valdemar II, king of Denmark, 101, 196 Valdemars (Danish dynasty), 58, 101 Valhalla (mythical), 14 Varangians, Varangian, 14, 238–​39, 239n45 Varaždin /​Varasd (city), 42n20 Västerås (city, bishopric, Dominican convent), 103, 106 Vedeman /​Wethemann, Danish nobleman from Roskilde, seafarer (pirate) and founder of a lay guild against Wends, 200 Venantius Fortunatus, bishop of Poitiers and poet, 22n90 Venice, Venetians, Venetian, 26, 27, 30, 32, 33, 36, 37 Veszprém (city, bishopric), 42, 49 vexilla. See banners, military Viborg (city, Dominican convent), 103 Victor IV, anti-​pope, 205 Victory (Roman goddess), 181

308

308

Index

victory-​bringing objects. See signa victricia (victory-​bringing objects) Viljandi /​Fellin (Estonian fortress), 256 Vincent, bishop of Oradea, 47 Vincentius of Kraków /​Master Vincentius /​Wincenty Kadłubek, bishop of Kraków and chronicler, 19, 75, 75n3, 78, 78n13, 79, 81–​82, 19, 75, 78, 80–​82, 84, 89, 95, 161, 161n9, 162–​68, 162n12, 163n14, 163n16, 167n32, 169, 172, 178, 179, 184, 186, 187, 188, 220n72, 266 Vincentius of Prague, chronicler, 151–​52 Virgin Mary, 12, 15, 32, 123, 135, 145, 149, 150, 156, 157, 157n78, 171, 176n69, 177n77, 183, 238, 250–​51, 250–​51n34, 258, 262 Vironia, Vironians, Vironian, 67, 265–​66 Visby (city and Dominican convent), 99, 99n9, 103 Visigoths, Visigothic, 179–​80, 184 Vita Bernwardi episcopi Hildesheimensis auctore Thangmaro /​ Life of Bernward, bishop of Hildesheim, by Thangmar. See Thangmar of Hildesheim, chronicler Vita S. Uoudalrici /​Life of Saint Ulrich by Gerhard of Augsburg, 11 Vita sancti Heinrici regis et confessoris /​ Life of Saint Henry, King and Confessor (anonymous), 183, 183n96 Vitae episcoporum Cracoviensium /​ Catalogue of the Bishops of Kraków. See Jan Długosz, chronicler Vitae episcoporum Plocensium /​ Catalogue of the Bishops of Płock. See Jan Długosz, chronicler; Laurentius of Wszerecz /​ Wawrzyniec z Wszerecza, Płock penitentiary and chronicler Vitus, Saint, monk in Corvey, 199, 199n45, 199n46 Vladimir (city), 273 Vladimir I the Great, Rusian prince and prince of Kiev, 11, 12, 14, 221

Vladimir II Monomakh Vsevolodich, Rusian prince and grand prince of Kiev, 168–​73, 221 Vladimir Vseslavich, prince of Polotsk, 270, 272 Vladislav I, Bohemian prince, 216–​17 Vladislav II, Bohemian prince and king of Bohemia, 151–​52 Vlastislav, duke of Luczane (mythical), 207–​8, 213 Vojtěch-​Adalbert, Saint, bishop of Prague and martyr, 14, 79n18, 152, 159, 159n1, 214, 216 Volhynia (region), 276 Vordingborg (city, Dominican convent), 103, 103n30 Vrana (city), 37 Vranjić (Dalmatian island), 36 Vratislav II, Bohemian prince and king of Bohemia, 212, 215–​16, 217 Vršovci (Bohemian kindred), 216 Vsevolod I Iaroslavich, Rusian prince, grand prince of Kiev, 173–​74

war, fighting absence of, peace, 35, 37, 48, 50, 55, 60, 61n15, 64, 72, 136, 146, 151–​52, 153, 156, 172, 196, 197–​98, 208, 210, 211–​12, 217, 221, 222, 231–​32, 235, 236, 240–​42, 248 Christian dimension of, 4, 9, 20, 142–​43, 157–​88, 218–​21, 196–​206 Christian (Eastern, Western) influence on, 5–​10, 15–​16, 18, 19, 69, 166, 174, 183–​84, 185, 187, 263–​78 in Church’s (ethical, theological) doctrine, 5, 9, 124–​29, 61–​62, 142–​43, 204–​5, 228, 232, 252, 266–​67 civil, 8, 20, 40, 48–​50, 190, 193, 194, 194n16, 196, 197, 205, 214–​18, 227–​43 defensory (as defence of the Christians/​ Church/​patria), 43–​47, 62, 64,

309



Index

78–​79, 84, 87, 88–​89, 92–​95, 153–​57, 178, 213–​14, 196–​98, 205, 218–​20, 236, 250, 252, 274 depiction in narrative sources, 14, 19, 20, 46, 57–​73, 75–​95, 159–​88, 189–​206, 207–​25, 227–​43, 252–​62, 263–​78 as God’s ordeal, 5, 81 as a holy vengeance, 69, 162, 162n12, 166, 178 in iconography, 8, 18, 117–​38, 173, 173n56 imagined as negative, critique of, 212–​225, 228–​29 imagined as positive and/​or necessary, legitimization of/​praise of, 19, 129–​30, 142–​43, 192, 196–​201, 208, 212–​225, 230, 234–​35 just, just cause in, concepts of, 20, 40, 150, 208, 219–​20, 224, 229, 235–​36, 239 as a medium of baptism and Christianization, 12–​13, 20, 218n59, 197–​206, 249, 263–​78 as a medium of secular subjugation, 20, 60, 69, 70, 102, 190, 194, 195–​96, 249, 263–​78 missionary, 9, 66, 198, 247n11, 263–​78 Orthodox notion of, 20, 263–​78 against pagans and/​or heretics and/​or bad Christians, 17, 19, 54–​55, 60, 63, 63n29, 63n31, 64–​71, 77n11, 78–​79, 83–​84, 93–​94, 131n27, 153–​57, 159–​88, 97–​114, 190–​191, 194, 196–​206, 232, 233–​34, 235–​36, 238–​39, 245–​62, 263–​78 parallels between Christian and pagan notions of, 15 as sacrifice to Christ/​God, self-​sacrifice, 117, 118–​29, 130, 136, 137, 197, 202, 232, 258 See also clerical armsbearing, use of material weapons or violence; clerical involvement in warfare; crusades; God’s war; holy war, idea of

309

warrior-​saints, 157, 176n69, 224, 239n45. See also angels; divine and saint’s agency in war; George, Saint; holy patrons of polities and peoples; Martin, Saint; Maurice, Saint; supernatural aids in war; standard-​bearers (miraculous) Wawel Hill (princely and royal residence), 175, 176, 177n75. See also Kraków /​ Cracow (city, bishopric) weapons/​armour, spiritual, idea of, 131, 142, 156 Weber, Gerd Wolfgang, 239 Wends, Wendic, 11, 14, 110, 190, 191, 192, 194–​202, 203, 234, 238, 238n43. See also Luticians; Polabia; Rani /​Rugians Wenno, master of the Sword Brothers, 72 Wenrich of Trier, polemicist, 62n21 Werner, bishop of Płock, 85, 90, 92 Weser (river), 100 Western Europe, West, 3, 4, 6, 17, 18, 19, 40, 61–​62, 64, 69, 72, 92–​93, 143, 154–​55, 161, 183, 185, 224, 265, 274 Westphalia (region), 250, 251 Wichmann II Billung /​Wichmann the Younger, Saxon count and rebel, 218 Wickbert, Sword Brother, 72 Widukind of Corvey, chronicler, 19, 160, 182, 209–​10, 210n11, 211, 218, 222 Wien (city), 146n25 William II, count of Holland and Zeeland, anti-​king of Germany, 101 William Longsword, duke of Normandy, 224n87 William of Modena /​William of Sabina /​ Guglielmo de Chartreaux /​Guglielmo de Savoy, papal legate and diplomat, 99, 255–​56 Wipo of Burgundy, chronicler, 145 Wirpirk of Tengling /​Wilburga /​Hildburga, Bohemian princess, 215–​16 Wiszewski, Przemysław, 186 Władysław I Herman, prince of Poland, 177 Wolverton, Lisa, 214

310

310

Index

Ymaut, pagan Liv, 68 Ymera (people, region), 271 York (city, archbishopric), 80

Zadar /​Zara, Zaratins (city, port), 26, 28, 36–​37, 41n13

Zagreb (city, bishopric), 41, 154 Zawichost, battle of (1205), 78n13 Zderad (official of Vratislav II), 215 Zealand (Danish island), Zealandic, 192, 194, 197 Zvonimir, king of Croatia and Dalmatia, 26