Conquests in Eleventh-Century England: 1016, 1066 1783274166, 9781783274161

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LAURA ASHE is Professor of English Literature and Fellow and Tutor in English, Worcester College, Oxford. EMILY JOAN WARD is Moses and Mary Finley Research Fellow, Darwin College, Cambridge. Contributors: Timothy Bolton, Stephanie Mooers Christelow, Julia Crick, Sarah Foot, John Gillingham, Charles Insley, Catherine Karkov, Lois Lane, Benjamin Savill, Peter Sigurdson Lunga, Niels Lund, Rory Naismith, Bruce O’Brien, Rebecca Thomas, Elizabeth M. Tyler, Elisabeth van Houts, Emily Joan Ward. Cover image: CUL MS.Ee.3.59; f.4. Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library. Cover design: Upside Creative.

CONQUESTS IN ELEVENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND: 1016, 1066

Eleventh-century England suffered two devastating conquests, each bringing the rule of a foreign king and the imposition of a new regime. Yet only the second event, the Norman Conquest of 1066, has been credited with the impact and influence of a permanent transformation. Half a century earlier, the Danish conquest of 1016 had nonetheless marked the painful culmination of decades of raiding and invasion – and more importantly, of centuries of England’s conflict and cooperation with the Scandinavian world – and the Normans themselves were a part of that world. Without 1016, the conquest of 1066 could never have happened as it did: and yet disciplinary fragmentation in the study of eleventh-century England has ensured that a gulf separates the conquests in modern scholarship. The essays in this volume offer multidisciplinary perspectives on a century of conquest: in politics, law, governance, and religion; in art, literature, economics, and culture; and in the lives and experiences of peoples in a changing, febrile, and hybrid society. Crucially, it moves beyond an insular perspective, placing England within its British, Scandinavian, and European contexts; and in reaching across conquests connects the tenth century and earlier with the twelfth century and beyond, seeing the continuities in England’s Anglo-Saxon, Danish, Norman, and Angevin elite culture and rulership. The chapters break new ground in the documentary evidence and give fresh insights into the whole historical landscape, whilst fully engaging with the importance, influence, and effects of England’s eleventh-century conquests, both separately and together.

CONQUESTS IN ELEVENTHCENTURY ENGLAND: 1016, 1066

Edited by Laura Ashe and Emily Joan Ward

Conquests in Eleventh-Century England: 1016, 1066

Conquests in Eleventh-Century England: 1016, 1066

Edited by Laura Ashe and Emily Joan Ward

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2020 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner First published 2020 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge ISBN 978 1 78327 416 1

The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate This publication is printed on acid-free paper

Contents Prefacevii Laura Ashe List of Illustrations 

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Abbreviationsxi I CONQUESTS, KINGS AND GOVERNMENT 1 Why 1016 Matters; or, The Politics of Memory and Identity in Cnut’s Kingdom Charles Insley

3

2 Why Did Cnut Conquer England? Niels Lund

23

3 Conquest and the Law Bruce O’Brien

41

4 Cnut and William: A Comparison Elisabeth van Houts

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5 Currency and Conquest in Eleventh-Century England Rory Naismith

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6 Episcopal Exon? Exeter, Cathedral Library, MS 3500 and the Role of Bishops in the Domesday Survey Lois Lane

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II CONQUESTS, SOCIETY AND CULTURE 7 Conquest and Manuscript Culture Julia Crick

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8 Kings, Saints and Conquests Sarah Foot

140

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Contents

9 Cultures of Conquest: Warfare and Enslavement in Britain Before and After 1066 John Gillingham 10 Conquest and Material Culture Catherine E. Karkov

165 183

11 Remapping Literary History: The Patronage of English Queens across the Norman Conquest Elizabeth M. Tyler

206

12 Queens and Demons: Women in English Royal Genealogies, c. 1100–c. 1223 Peter Sigurdson Lunga

225

13 French Women in Early Norman England: The Case of Hawise of Bacqueville Stephanie Mooers Christelow

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III CONQUESTS: PERSPECTIVES FROM BEYOND ENGLAND 14 English Contact with the European Mainland Throughout the Eleventh Century Timothy Bolton

265

15 The View from Wales: Anglo-Welsh Relations in the Time of England’s Conquests Rebecca Thomas

287

16 England and the Papacy Between Two Conquests: The Shadow of ‘Reform’307 Benjamin Savill 17 Child Kings and the Norman Conquest: Representations of Association and Succession Emily Joan Ward

331

Bibliography353 Index405

vi

Preface LAURA ASHE

In July 2016 the conference ‘Conquest: 1016, 1066’ was held in Oxford, to mark the millennial anniversary of Cnut’s conquest of England, and the 950th anniversary of the Norman Conquest. Speakers were invited and papers submitted from all disciplines, with the explicit aim of ‘doing comparative history’.1 The primary intention was simple, but surprisingly fresh: to compare the Danish with the Norman conquest – to compare their agents, origins and effects; their mechanics and logistics; their ideologies, hinterlands and legacies. The present volume had its genesis in the Oxford conference, but it has been independently shaped by much further, and separately commissioned, work. In the process, of course, necessary comparisons have multiplied: of England with its neighbours, of the effects of different conquests in different regions, and on different institutions, and in the varied spheres of cultural production and social experience. The wholly interconnected, European and Scandinavian, nature of eleventh-century England emerges at every turn, and provides comparisons which are, more importantly, essential components: of a fundamentally hybrid and multiple identity to ‘English’ politics, society and culture. The aim of this volume is to offer a breadth of scope which amounts to an overview of England’s eventful eleventh century, while each chapter nonetheless gives deep and close attention to its central questions, in many cases breaking new ground in the documentary evidence, or providing fresh synoptic readings which newly reveal the landscape. With this in mind, the first two parts consider in turn the high politics of the period, its greatest agents and institutions, and its economic, legal and bureaucratic practices; then its social, ideological and artistic phenomena: conquered England’s cultural production, influence and connections. Finally, the third part explicitly turns outward, to place conquered and reconquered England in the context of its European, Scandinavian and insular neighbours. 1 See Chris Wickham, ‘Problems in doing comparative history’, in Challenging the Boundaries of Medieval History: The Legacy of Timothy Reuter. Studies in the Early Middle Ages, 22, ed. Patricia Skinner (Turnhout, 2009), pp. 5–28, esp. p. 6.

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Preface

The Norman Conquest has been much studied; the Danish conquest (with its lower case ‘c’) comparatively very little. Yet as many of our contributors suggest, the former may have been unimaginable without the latter; certainly, it would have taken thoroughly different forms. This volume aims to clarify and illuminate that relationship, and thereby to throw new light on eleventh-century history as a whole. Marked by multiple chronological, geographical and political caesurae which have separated scholars in their various departments, eleventh-century historiography is ripe to be reconstituted.

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List of Illustrations Frontispiece Emma and Cnut present a cross to the New Minster Winchester, New Minster Liber Vitae. (London, BL, MS Stowe 944, fol. 6). © The British Library Board.

ii

Fig. 5.1 Penny of Cnut (1016–35), Quatrefoil type, Lincoln mint, moneyer Leofsige (private collection, author’s own photograph). 

90

Fig. 5.2 Penny of Edward the Confessor (1042–66), Pyramids type, Cambridge mint, moneyer Godlamm (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: CM.ME.603-R). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

90

Fig. 5.3 Penny of Harold II (1066), Pax type, London mint, moneyer Eadwine (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: CM.5.99-1933). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

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Fig. 5.4 Penny of William I (1066–87), Profile/Cross Fleury type, Hastings mint, moneyer Dunning (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

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Fig. 6.1

Chart showing average number of corrections per page. 

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Fig. 6.2

Average number of corrections per line for each scribe. 

115

Table 6.1

Numbers of sheep in Exon fiefs.

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Table 6.2 Sheep on demesne and subinfeudated manors of Bishop Osbern and Sheriff Baldwin in Devon.

111

Table 6.3 Average number of corrections per page for sampled tenants-in-chief. 

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Fig. 7.1 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286, fol. ir. By permission of the Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

124

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List of Illustrations

Fig. 7.2 London, British Library Cotton MS Faustina C.i, fol. 75r (from Llanbadarn Fawr). © The British Library Board.

135

Fig. 7.3 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 190, p. 293. By permission of the Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

138

Fig. 7.4 London, British Library MS Arundel 60, fol. 1r. © The British Library Board.

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Fig. 10.1 Psalm 52 (London, BL, MS Harley 603, fol. 29). © The British Library Board.

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Fig. 10.2

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Durham Cathedral (author’s own photograph).

Fig. 10.3 Discovery of Cuthbert’s incorrupt body, Life of Cuthbert. Oxford, University College MS 165, p. 118 (by permission of the Master and Fellows of University College Oxford).

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Fig. 13.1 Family ties I. The Norman ducal house: the children of Richard I and Gunnor. 

249

Fig. 13.2 Family ties II. Gunnor’s siblings with known relationships: a plausible reconstruction.  250 Fig. 13.3 Family ties III. Hugh son of Grip and Hawise of Bacqueville. 

251

Fig. 13.4

Map of lands in Dorset. 

253

Fig. 13.5

Hawise’s social network.

Fig. 13.6

Map of the Pays de Caux.

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Table 13.1

Women tenants-in-chief of the king in 1086. 

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Fig. 16.1 Wells Cathedral Library, DC/CF 3/2 Papal Charter (by permission of The Chapter of Wells Cathedral: photographer Michael Blandford).

256–7

324

The editors, contributors and publisher are grateful to all the institutions and persons listed for permission to reproduce the materials in which they hold copyright. Every effort has been made to trace the copyright holders; apologies are offered for any omission, and the publisher will be pleased to add any necessary acknowledgement in subsequent editions.

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Abbreviations Adam of Bremen, Gesta Adam of Bremen, Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontificum, ed. Bernhard Schmeidler, MGH SS rer. Germ. 2 (Hanover, 1917): History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen, trans. Francis J. Tschan, intr. Timothy Reuter (New York, 2002). AHR American Historical Review ANS Anglo-Norman Studies ASC  The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles in their various versions, cited by year. ASC, MS A The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition, Volume 3: MS A, ed. Janet M. Bately (Cambridge, 1986) ASC, MS C The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition, Volume 5: MS C, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe (Cambridge, 2001) ASC, MS D The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition, Volume 6: MS D, ed. G. P. Cubbin (Cambridge, 1996) ASC, MS E The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition, Volume 7: MS E, ed. Susan Irvine (Cambridge, 2004) ASC, MS F The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition, Volume 8: MS F, ed. Peter S. Baker (Cambridge, 2000) ASD Online  Joseph Bosworth et al., An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary Online, ed. Thomas Northcote Toller and others (Prague, 2010), www.bosworthtoller. com [accessed April 2019] ASE Anglo-Saxon England BAR British Archaeological Reports

xi

Abbreviations

BHL Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina BL London, British Library CCCM  Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis CCSL Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina Councils and Synods  Councils and Synods with Other Documents Relating to the English Church I: A.D. 871–1204, ed. Dorothy Whitelock, Martin Brett and Christopher N. L. Brooke, 2 vols (Oxford, 1981) CSEL  Corpus Scriptorium Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum DB i / ii  Domesday Book, National Archives E 31/2 (Great Domesday / Little Domesday) DB Domesday Book, gen. ed. John Morris, 38 vols (Chichester, 1975–92); entries cited by DB i / ii; editorial material cited by volume and note. DMLBS The Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, ed. R. E. Latham, D. R. Howlett and R. K. Ashdowne (British Academy, 1975–2013), clt.brepolis.net/dmlbs/ [accessed April 2019] EEMF Early English manuscripts in facsimile EETS Early English Text Society EHD 1  English Historical Documents c. 500–1042, ed. Dorothy Whitelock, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1979) EHD 2  English Historical Documents 1042–1189, ed. David C. Douglas and George W. Greenaway, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1981) EHR English Historical Review Electronic Sawyer The Electronic Sawyer Online Catalogue of AngloSaxon Charters (King’s College London), www. esawyer.org.uk [accessed April 2019] Encomium Encomium Emmae Reginae, ed. and trans. Alistair Campbell (1949; 2nd edn with a supplementary introduction by Simon Keynes, Cambridge, 1998)

xii

Abbreviations

Gesta Guillelmi  The Gesta Guilllelmi of William of Poitiers, ed. and trans. R. H. C. Davis and Marjorie Chibnall (Oxford, 1998) Gesetze Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, ed. F. Liebermann, 3 vols (Halle, 1903–16), available online at earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk [accessed April 2019] GND The Gesta Normannorum Ducum of William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis and Robert of Torigni, ed. and trans. E. M. C. van Houts, 2 vols (Oxford, 1992–5) Goscelin, Miracles of St Edmund Goscelin of Saint-Bertin, ‘Miracles of St Edmund’, in Herman the Archdeacon and Goscelin of Saint-Bertin: Miracles of St Edmund, ed. Tom Licence, trans. Tom Licence with the assistance of Lynda Lockyer (Oxford, 2014), pp. 127–303 Henry of Huntingdon, HA  Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum: History of the English People, ed. and trans. Diana Greenway (Oxford, 1996) Herman, Miracles of St Edmund Herman the Archdeacon, ‘Miracles of St Edmund’, in Herman the Archdeacon and Goscelin of Saint-Bertin: Miracles of St Edmund, ed. Tom Licence, trans. Tom Licence with the assistance of Lynda Lockyer (Oxford, 2014) HSJ Haskins Society Journal JL Philipp Jaffé, Regesta pontificum Romanorum ab condita ecclesia ad annum post Christum natum mcxcviii, 2nd edn, rev. W. Wattenbach, S. Loewenfeld, F. Kaltenbrunner and P. Ewald, 2 vols (Leipzig, 1885–8) JMH Journal of Medieval History John of Worcester, Chronicle  The Chronicle of John of Worcester, ed. R. R. Darlington and P. McGurk, trans. Jennifer Bray and P. McGurk, 3 vols (Oxford, 1995–8) ODNB  Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), www.oxforddnb.com [accessed April 2019]

xiii

Abbreviations

Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica  The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols (Oxford, 1968–80) PASE  Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England, www. pase.ac.uk [accessed April 2019] PL  Patrologiae cursus completus, Series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne, 221 vols (Paris, 1844–64) Rumble, Reign of Cnut The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway, ed. A. R. Rumble (London, 1994) Stafford, Emma and Edith Pauline Stafford, Queen Emma and Queen Edith: Queenship and Women’s Power in EleventhCentury England (Oxford, 1997) TRHS Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Vita Ædwardi Vita Ædwardi: The Life of King Edward who Rests at Westminster, ed. and trans. F. Barlow, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1992) William of Malmesbury, GP  William of Malmesbury, Gesta pontificum Anglorum: The History of the English Bishops, ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom with R. M. Thomson, 2 vols (Oxford, 2007) William of Malmesbury, GRA William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum: The History of the English Kings, ed. and trans. R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson and M. Winterbottom, 2 vols (Oxford, 1998–9)

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I CONQUESTS, KINGS AND GOVERNMENT

1 Why 1016 Matters; or, The Politics of Memory and Identity in Cnut’s Kingdom CHARLES INSLEY

A

lthough the conquest of the kingdom of the English by the Danish king Cnut in late 1016 was the subject of several academic conferences in its millennial year, it is far less clear that the events of 1016 have lodged themselves in the English national consciousness beyond the world of academic history. If 1016 is remembered at all, it tends to be seen as ‘one of ’ the eleventh-century conquests, a kind of rehearsal for the apparently far more transformative events of 1066 and beyond.1 The conference at which an early version of this essay was presented placed it together with 1066 and, of course, the month of October 2016 was dominated by discussions (some of them rather bizarre) of the events of 950 years ago: so 14 October 2016 saw national newspapers and a range of social media discussing the impact of 1066, whereas 18 October, the millennial anniversary of the battle of Assandun, attracted very little comment at all.2 There are important connections between the two eleventh-century conquests; indeed, one of the subtexts of this chapter is that it is perfectly possible to argue that there could have been no 1066 without 1016. Nonetheless, the events of 1016 tend to be less studied on their own terms than perhaps they might be. While it would be foolish to suggest that both the short- and long-term effects of both of the Danish conquests of the second decade of the eleventh-century were comparable to those of 1066, these earlier conquests were still in many ways transformative 1 E. M. Treharne, Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English 1020–1220 (Oxford, 2012), pp. 50–1: ‘Both processes of conquest – 1066 and 1066 – tend to be melded in scholarly writing, the earlier subsumed under the latter’s apparently greater significance.’ 2 See, for instance, the bizarrely ahistorical perspective of the Conservative MEP and former history undergraduate Daniel Hannan: www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/10/14/the-norman-conquest-was-a-disaster-for-england-we-should-celebra/ [accessed May 2019].

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events and, as such, matter beyond the small world of academic scholarship on the eleventh century. At this juncture it is also worth reiterating that there were two Danish conquests between 1013 and 1016: the first saw the submission of the English political elite to the Danish king Swein ‘Tjustiskeggi’ or ‘Forkbeard’ in late 1013; the second saw his son Cnut emerge triumphant three years later after a very messy period of conflict between 1014 and 1016.3 Although Swein is rarely regarded as an English king, at least one eleventh-century English source, the English kinglist on fol. 12v of the Durham Liber Vitae, acknowledged him as such.4 There is also deeply entrenched English historiographical tradition that underplays the significance of 1016; this view sees it has having no real long-term consequences, and has perhaps allowed 1016 to slip below the radar of historical consciousness. The relative silence of contemporary historians and the relative dearth of historical writing in the generation that followed the Danish conquests, in comparison to the historiographical outpouring that followed in the two generations that succeeded 1066, might be seen as reinforcing the relative inconsequentiality of 1016.5 Beyond the various versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, the Encomium of Queen Emma is really the only notable text to emerge from this period.6 If political and cultural trauma was a stimulus to historical writing, as some might argue, then it follows that 1016 was not that traumatic.7 In an important biography of Cnut published in 1993, M. K. Lawson drew a somewhat dismissive conclusion: ‘The Danish conquest is relatively forgotten today… because it was short-lived and without significant consequences.’8 This neatly captures the tenor of a significant amount of academic writing about the 1016 conquest, which has only relatively recently begun to change.9 Lawson makes the fair point that discerning the nature of the conquest is extremely tricky, and the sources for it are opaque

3

See Ian Howard, Swein Forkbeard’s Invasions and the Danish Conquest of England, 991–1017 (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 99–125; ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1013. There is a large literature on the final years of Æthelred’s reign and Cnut’s conquest: see most recently Levi Roach, Æthelred the Unready (New Haven, CT, 2016), pp. 259–311, and Timothy Bolton, Cnut the Great (New Haven, CT, 2017), pp. 53–92. See also S. D. Keynes, The Diplomas of King Æthelred ‘the Unready’ 978–1016: A Study in Their Use as Historical Evidence (Cambridge, 1980), pp. 209–27. 4 London, BL, Cotton MS Domitian A. VII, fol. 12v. 5 Pauline Stafford, Unification and Conquest: A Political and Social History of England in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (London, 1989), p. 11; for a critique of this approach, see Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 11ff. 6 Encomium; E. M. Tyler, ‘Crossing Conquests: Polyglot Royal Women and Literary Culture in Eleventh-Century England’, in Tyler, ed., Conceptualizing Multilingualism in Medieval England, c.800–c.1250 (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 171–96; E. M. Tyler, England in Europe: English Royal Women and Literary Patronage c.1000–c.1150 (Toronto, 2017), pp. 51–134. 7 Stafford, Unification and Conquest, p. 11. 8 M. K. Lawson, Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century (London, 1993), p. 214. 9 Although see Robin Fleming, Kings and Lords in Conquest England (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 21–103, on the political disruption of 1016.

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at best. Nonetheless, what we might call the period of Danish rule in England, 1016–42, has tended to be seen as an ephemeral interlude in the course of English history; the succession of Edward the Confessor in 1042, a son of Cnut’s defeated predecessor Æthelred II and a representative of the dynasty of Alfred the Great, creates the impression – and it is just that, an impression – of a return to the pre-Danish past.10 Of course, Edward’s succession in 1042 was not a turning back of the clock, as Stephen Baxter, among others, has clearly demonstrated.11 Edward’s kingship was very different from that of his father in many ways. Apart from the not insignificant difference that Edward did not rule parts of Scandinavia, Edward’s kingship was arguably far more like that of Cnut than of his own father. Some reference should also be made to the title of this chapter, which deliberately borrows from the title of Geoffrey Koziol’s 2012 book on late Carolingian West Francia.12 As is the case in the following discussion, royal charters form the core of Koziol’s book. In particular, Koziol’s work requires those who work on royal charters – whether in an insular or continental context – to examine some of their most dearly held assumptions about royal charters. These assumptions crystallize around a couple of related issues which have implications for how Cnut’s kingship is viewed, in comparison with that of his tenth-century predecessors, as kings of the English. These issues concern the function of royal diplomas, and the nature of early medieval archives and archiving practice: matters which will be addressed further on in this chapter. One of the difficulties of studying Cnut’s reign is that there are plenty of apparent continuities with the tenth-century past to be observed, while the deeper and perhaps more significant discontinuities with that past are rather harder to draw out. In part, this is a function of some of our sources, and especially the kinds of sources, such as historical narratives, charters, and lawcodes, that attract the attention of historians. The impression given by the various versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles is that the closing years of Æthelred’s reign, and the first few of Cnut’s, were difficult and traumatic, but that Cnut rapidly assimilated to the norms of English royal behaviour and identity. Cnut’s lawcodes, for instance, made great effort to present him as a legitimate successor to Edgar.13 The translation of the corporeal relics of St Ælfheah from Greenwich to Canterbury in 1023 falls into this pattern; in some of this one can detect the hand of Archbishop Wulfstan of

10 See further below; see Laura Ashe, The Oxford English Literary History, Volume 1: 1000–1350. Conquest and Transformation (Oxford, 2017), pp. 85–94, for the argument that the extreme piety of Edgar and Æthelred’s kingship was an aberration. 11 See Fleming, Kings and Lords, pp. 53–101, and the critique offered by Stephen Baxter, The Earls of Mercia: Lordship and Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2007), pp. 125–52. 12 Geoffrey Koziol, The Politics of Memory and Identity in Carolingian Royal Diplomas (Turnhout, 2012), esp. pp. 1–62. 13 Gesetze, I:278–307, 308–71; A. G. Kennedy, ‘Cnut’s Lawcode of 1018’, ASE 11 (1983), 57–81; Bolton, Cnut, pp. 106–7.

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York and perhaps, later on, Archbishop Æthelnoth.14 Indeed, if one wanted to be provocative, one might argue that the impression of continuity with the tenth-century past was to a significant extent an artefact constructed by Wulfstan. What follows, therefore, is in part a historiographical critique of treatments of the 1016 conquest, and in part an exploration of the some of the different ways the real impact of the events of 1013–17 might be understood, attending to the deeper discontinuities to which I have just alluded. In particular, while there has been a tendency to understand Cnut’s conquest in the context of institutions of government and the structuring of power, the political culture of Cnut’s kingdom has attracted less examination.15 Attention has therefore focused on the emergence of powerful regionally based earls (arguably itself a continuation of trends begun late in Æthelred’s reign), or the expansion of the existing structures of Anglo-Saxon local government into the north Midlands and East Anglia. I suggest that more thought needs to be given to politics beyond the institutional, and into the more fluid, malleable and contested spaces in the exercise of political power, to perhaps get some sense of the ‘atmosphere’ of politics.16 It is in those contested spaces – the values, norms, behaviours and assumptions that informed and underpinned political actions – that the profoundly disruptive and dislocational nature of Cnut’s conquest can be seen. More thought also needs to be given to the wider European dimensions of Cnut’s kingship.17 A full consideration of Cnut as a North Sea and continental European ruler is not the focus of the following discussion, but the significant historiographical focus on the English dimensions of Cnut’s rule has undoubtedly been part of the problem in properly contextualizing the events of 1016 and beyond.18 14

For Wulfstan’s involvement in Cnut’s legislation (and much else), see Patrick Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century. Vol. 1, Legislation and its Limits (Oxford, 1999), pp. 347–8; Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan’s Authorship of Cnut’s Laws’, EHR 70 (1955), 72–85; M. K. Lawson, ‘Archbishop Wulfstan and the Homiletic Element in the Laws of Æthelred II and Cnut’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 141–64; Patrick Wormald, ‘Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-Century State Builder’, in Wulfstan, Archbishop of York. Proceedings of the Second Alcuin Conference, ed. Matthew Townend (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 9–28. For the translation of Ælfheah’s corporeal relics from Greenwich to Canterbury, see ASC, MSS CE, s.a. 1023, and ‘Translatio Sancti Ælfegi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi et martyris: Osbern’s Account of the Translation of St Ælfheah’s Relics from London to Canterbury, 8–11 June 1023’, ed. and trans. A. R. Rumble and R. Morris, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 283–316; Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden, 2009), pp. 79–80. 15 See, for instance, Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 13–76 on Cnut’s government in England. 16 Simon Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 43–88 (pp. 43–54); see Lucy Marten, ‘The Shiring of East Anglia: An Alternative Hypothesis’, Historical Research 81 (2008), 1–27, for a discussion of East Anglia during Cnut’s reign. 17 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 153–316; Bolton, Cnut, pp. 158–71. 18 For a discussion of the Cnut as a Scandinavian ruler, see Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 153–316, and P. H. Sawyer, ‘Cnut’s Scandinavian Empire’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 10–22.

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In particular, this chapter will attempt to put into dialogue sources which are seldom discussed together: royal charters and skaldic verse.19 It will begin by arguing that thinking about and problematizing Cnut’s charters – in the light of recent historiographical approaches to earlier Frankish charters – raises important questions about how much may or may not have changed after 1016, apart from the liquidation of a few unfortunate Mercian and Northumbrian notables.20 The charters, along with their pattern of production and survival, are arguably witness to a significant shift in the ideological underpinnings of the English kingdom. Focus will then move to the Norse praise poetry connected with Cnut, and its implications for how his kingship is viewed. Again, the conclusion to be drawn is that Cnut’s legacy was as much about ideology and identity as it was about structures of government or lordship. The brevity of his dynasty – like the fourth generation of Carolingians, Cnut’s children were not up to much – masks to some extent just how much really did change between 1016 and 1042. Not only did Edward’s accession not mark a ‘turning back of the clock’, it is questionable whether such a feat of reversal was even possible by 1042.

The Diplomas Although tenth- and eleventh-century English royal charters often tend to be studied together, there are some striking differences in the diplomatic record across the period, in terms of form, content, and survival.21 In particular, the number of charters surviving from Cnut’s reign, as well as their character in relation to those issued in the names of Æthelred II and Edgar, needs some discussion about what that might indicate about elite politics between 1016 and 1035.22 First, numbers. There are thirty-five diplomas in the name of Cnut which survive from the nineteen years of Cnut’s reign, of which just over half, eighteen, are considered to be authentic in their current form. The remainder vary in their degrees of authenticity, but most are regarded as having some measure of authentic content, generally in terms of the content of their witness lists. This compares poorly with the 113 charters which survive from the thirty-eight years of Æthelred’s reign, and very badly indeed with the 160 charters which survive from the eighteen-year reign of Edgar. For the record, there are sixty-four surviving charters of varying degrees of 19

Matthew Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets: An Old Norse Literary Community in Eleventh-Century England’, in Conceptualizing Multilingualism, ed. Tyler, pp. 197–216 (pp. 198–9). 20 Few contemporaries and, indeed, modern historians, seem to be willing to shed too many tears for Ealdorman Eadric Streona, the quintessential villain of the period (Roach, Æthelred, p. 310, calls him a ‘grey eminence’). 21 Charles Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go? Anglo-Saxon Charters and the New Politics of the Eleventh Century’, ANS 24 (2002), 109–27 (pp. 120–7). 22 Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 120–7.

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authenticity issued in the name of Edward the Confessor across twenty-four years. Even allowing for complications around loss and patterns of archival survival, it seems very likely that after c. 1010 the diploma declined markedly in importance as a means of recording and enshrining the conveyance of property or rights. This impression of decline is also reinforced when one considers the content and context of the surviving diplomas. It is clear that any given diploma was not simply a record of a transaction or conveyance, but also an elaborate witness to processes of petition and supplication by beneficiary, to the construction and maintenance of elite relationships and to a court culture that revolved around the sort of grand occasions on which diplomas were, performatively speaking, ‘issued’. In the tenth century, these occasions could be large-scale gatherings of the political nation, where much more than the transfer of property and rights was at play.23 For instance, one Old English charter issued in around 995, confirming the will of the Essex thegn Æthelric of Bocking, describes a large assembly at which Æthelric’s bequests and his reputed treasons were discussed, and where ‘ealle ða ðegnas ðe þær widan gegæderode wæron ægðer, ge of Westexan, ge of Myrcean, ge of Denon, ge of Englon’.24 Diplomas were one of the means by which regnal solidarities were constructed, displayed, enacted and memorialized.25 This is also borne out by the level of effort expended on diploma production; they required significant quantities of expensive resources: vellum itself, as well as the time, skill and literary artifice of draftsmen and scribes. Some, but by no means all, tenth-century diplomas were works of considerable compositional and literary skill; one thinks of the stunning diplomas produced earlier in the tenth century by the scribe conventionally known as ‘Æthelstan A’, shot through with Grecisms and recondite Latin; equally, we might single out the compositional sophistication of the ‘alliterative charters’ from the middle years of the tenth century, which can probably be associated with Bishop Cenwald of Worcester.26 Even towards the end of the tenth century, the 23

Some of the long witness lists found in the diplomas of Æthelstan and Æthelred II indicate substantial royal assemblies; see S. D. Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, in Kingship, Legislation and Power in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Gale R. Owen-Crocker and Brian W. Schneider (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 17–140 (pp. 61–6). 24 Electronic Sawyer, S 939: ‘And all the thegns gathered from far, both West Saxons and Mercians, Danish and English.’ See N. P. Brooks, ‘Treason in Essex in the 990s: The Case of Æthelric of Bocking’, in Royal Authority in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. G. R. Owen-Crocker and B. W. Schneider (Oxford, 2013), pp. 17–27. 25 Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 111–20. 26 For ‘Æthelstan A’, see most recently D. A. Woodman, ‘“Æthelstan A” and the Rhetoric of Rule’, ASE 42 (2013), 217–48; Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 52–4; on the literary dimensions of Æthelstan A’s output, see S. T. Smith, Land and Book: Literature and Land Tenure in Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto, 2012), pp. 37–47. For the ‘alliterative charters’, see Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 92–5, and S. D. Keynes, ‘King Athelstan’s Books’, in Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Michael Lapidge and Helmut Gneuss (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 143–201 (pp. 153–9).

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so-called ‘Orthodoxorum’ charters and their satellites produced in the reign of Æthelred were splendid documents: linguistically complex, theologically informed, historically aware and wonderfully executed by their scribes.27 The impression that emerges from the corpus of tenth-century diplomas is one of invention and skill, coupled with a willingness, always, to recycle and revisit older documents. If we turn to the diplomas that post-date Æthelred’s reign, the impression one gains is of much less in the way of skill, invention or artifice; simply put, there does not seem to have been the same degree of time and effort expended in their production. This is of course not an absolute contrast, but one of degree; plenty of tenth-century diplomas were rather derivative retreads of older documents. Nonetheless, the impression one gains from Cnut’s diplomas and, to a lesser extent, from those in the name of Edward the Confessor, is that during their reigns diplomas were less central to the construction and exercise of royal power, or the public performance of relationships between king and elite. Almost certainly, significantly fewer survive from the period between 1016 and 1035 because significantly fewer existed in the first place; and for those that do survive, less effort seems to have been expended in their production.28 There may, of course, be many reasons for a tailing off in the number of charters issued. It is not impossible that Cnut, as a new and – in effect – usurping king, was unwilling to be overly generous with royal patronage.29 However, ab initio grants of land by the king to a beneficiary, whether lay or ecclesiastical, must only ever have been a small part of what was going on. It is likely that diplomas were as much about changing the status of land already held, as granting land afresh. In many respects, the most important clause in any Anglo-Saxon charter, when it appeared, was that which stated the beneficiary was able to leave the land to whomever he (usually he) chose: the clause that turned the property into bookland.30 Generally speaking, this was often to facilitate the alienation of family property to the church. The key issue here is that beneficiaries required and sought royal involvement in the alienation of property, and that doing so was a major part in the construction and enacting of relationships within elite society. It follows, therefore, that the existence of fewer and less interesting charters might suggest that securing them was less important to the political elite, and hence that the political culture of Cnut’s court was in important ways significantly different from that of his predecessors. 27

For a discussion of the ‘Orthodoxorum’ charters, see Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 98–102; Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 109–16; Charters of Abingdon Abbey, ed. S. E. Kelly, 2 pts, Anglo-Saxon Charters 7–8 (Oxford, 2001), pp. lxxxiv–cxv; Roach, Æthelred, pp. 143–4; Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, p. 116. 28 Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 120–7. 29 A parallel might be the total dearth of surviving charters in the name of Edward the Elder from c. 910 until his death in 924: see David Dumville, ‘Between Alfred the Great and Edgar the Peacemaker: Æthelstan, First King of England’, in Dumville, Wessex and England from Alfred to Edgar (Woodbridge, 1992), pp. 141–71 (pp. 151–3). 30 Smith, Land and Book, pp. 125–7.

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This point can be reinforced by a brief diversion into the charters of the later Carolingians (c. 930 onwards) which might offer some instructive parallels and comparisons for English charter material. There are important differences in form between English and Frankish royal diplomas, but in both cases the documents produced were impressive and a key part of the performance of royal power, the display of political ideologies, and the construction and enactment of political relationships.31 Koziol’s recent work has offered a challenge to the usual ways in which Frankish charters are used by historians, and the same approach might also be fruitful in an English context.32 There are two uncertainties in particular that Koziol’s work foregrounds. First, the extent to which royal diplomas were ever merely ‘routine’ instruments for the recording of property transactions.33 Second, the extent to which significant attrition of the charter record over time should be assumed a priori. Koziol suggests that Frankish royal diplomas were such special and historically contingent documents that those that survive are not the tip of some massive diplomatic iceberg but perhaps, more or less, what there once was.34 Furthermore, Koziol discusses extensively what he terms the ‘performativity’ of Frankish royal diplomas, by which he means not just that the physical artefact might be used in political performance (being read out, being placed on an altar, and so forth), but that the diploma itself was an active element in the construction of political alliances and alignments, rather than merely a passive reflection of existing patterns or a mute witness to the ways in which ‘kings projected their power and beneficiaries sought confirmation of their lands and privileges’.35 To quote Koziol further, one of the main functions of a Carolingian royal diploma was ‘to institute, publicize and memorialize crucial alterations to the political regime’; diplomas were ‘memorials of struggles for power and were often fashioned as weapons in those struggles’.36 For Koziol, interested in reconstructing the power politics of the early tenth-century West Frankish kingdom, royal diplomas were central elements in the ways in which the later Carolingian rulers Charles the Simple and Louis IV d’Outremer sought to construct their kingship, create alliances with major families and religious institutions, and negate the influence of their rivals, in particular the counts of Paris and Vermandois.37 The question is, of course, how far this approach can be mapped onto contemporary English diplomas and politics. There are some problems with simply trans-

31

See Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 39–42. Politics of Memory. 33 Koziol, Politics of Memory, p. 55: ‘Quite simply, too few diplomas were issued for them to have been media of routine administration.’ 34 Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 39–58. 35 Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 37–9, 296–9. 36 Koziol, Politics of Memory, p. 37. 37 Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 294–302. 32 Koziol,

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lating Koziol’s arguments and methodology across the Channel: two in particular stand out, although there are undoubtedly others. First, Koziol is perhaps guilty of reading too much into his material; every diploma becomes freighted with immense political significance. Second, Carolingian and English royal diplomas differed in important respects.38 Carolingian diplomas were often signed by witnesses and were perhaps drawn up on the occasions where grants were made, so the production of the diploma itself, along with the active participation of the witnesses in the creation of the physical artefact, did give it the sort of power and charisma Koziol describes. English diplomas, on the other hand, seem to have been kept at least one remove from the events with which they are associated. They were never signed, and there is some debate as to whether they were drawn up during or after the assembly concerned.39 That sense of active participation in the creation of the document itself by witnesses is therefore more diffuse. This is perhaps a telling argument; nonetheless, there is enough evidence to suggest that aspects of diploma production may have taken place at the gatherings they record, whether constructing a memorandum listing the witnesses, or drawing up the text of a diploma during the gathering. Most royal assemblies took place over a period of days, so it is not impossible that documents were produced on location, as it were.40 It is possible, therefore, to see some English royal diplomas, at least, in the way Koziol sees his Frankish ones, as crucially important documents in which the political elite was heavily invested. This is very probably true of Æthelred’s so-called ‘restitution’ charters of the 990s, which were extraordinarily political documents, recording as they did the king’s disavowal of earlier acts and behaviour, strongly framed by the language of penance.41 It would seem very likely that these documents played a crucial role in the rebuilding of relationships between the king and key religious houses, but also served to frame English kingship in an explicitly penitential way.42 The striking number of surviving diplomas issued in 956 by Eadwig 38 Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 39–42, on Frankish diplomas. 39 Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 62–75. 40 Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies and Royal Diplomas’, pp. 61–8. 41 Catherine Cubitt, ‘The Politics of Remorse: Penance and Royal Piety in the Reign of Æthelred the Unready’, Historical Research 85 (2012), 179–92; Roach, Æthelred, pp. 136–52; Levi Roach, ‘Public Rites and Public Wrongs: Ritual Aspects of Diplomas in Tenth- and Eleventh-Century England’, Early Medieval Europe 19 (2011), 182–203; Roach, ‘Penitential Discourse in the Diplomas of King Æthelred “the Unready”’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 64 (2013), 258–76; Roach, ‘A Tale of Two Charters: Diploma Production and Political Performance in Æthelredian England’, in Writing, Kingship and Power in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Rory Naismith and D. A. Woodman (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 234–56. 42 Charles Insley, ‘Charters, Ritual and Late Tenth-Century English Kingship’, in Gender and History: Studies in the Earlier Middle Ages in Honour of Pauline Stafford, ed. Janet L. Nelson, Susan Reynolds and Susan M. Johns (London, 2012), pp. 75–89.

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can also be seen in this way, and perhaps offer the closest English parallel for the slightly earlier Frankish material analysed by Koziol; the surviving documents seem to have been part of a major restructuring of the court elite around Eadwig.43 If a Koziol-style reading of diplomas is even partially applicable to the English material, then the relative paucity of surviving diplomas from Cnut’s reign is even more striking than it first appears. If royal diplomas were central to the way in which tenth-century kings constructed, articulated and represented their power, and interacted with their aristocracies, and if in turn the securing of royal diplomas was a key element of the construction of elite power and identity (at least, south of the River Humber), then the apparent scaling back of their issuing hints at a significant shift in the way elite politics might have been structured. Such a shift can perhaps be seen in other ways as well. It is possible to argue that the grand scale of royal diploma issuing in the period from c. 930 to the early eleventh century was, to a lesser or greater extent, to facilitate ecclesiastical – and especially monastic – benefaction, especially from the 950s through to the 990s.44 This is not simply a matter of elite piety, but also elite consumption, in the sense of elite groups’ dedicating resources to spiritual intercession through benefactions of land, both literally and metaphorically buying into an explicitly monastic and even penitential royal programme. In the eleventh century, we can perhaps see different patterns of elite consumption. The reduction in the level of diploma issuing (if indeed it was) might suggest that land – and the alienation of land – was of less importance as a manifestation of elite piety, or perhaps that local elites saw less need to involve royal sanction in the process. The East Anglian material wrapped up in Liber Eliensis and its satellites – for instance, the Libellus Æthelwoldi – suggests a very lively environment of property transaction around institutions like Ely and Ramsey, where abbots were very keen to secure title deeds, even in the eleventh century.45 However, they do not seem to have been particularly interested in securing royal diplomas, even though Cnut himself was remembered as a generous patron at Bury and the New Minster, Winchester. There is, though, a hint that the pattern of elite benefaction may have shifted towards the giving of rich objects, rather than land; one thinks of the record of Earl Tostig’s gift of a spectacular gold cross, some 43 Keynes,

Diplomas, pp. 48–69; Ryan Lavelle, ‘Royal Control and the Disposition of Estates in Tenth-Century England: Reflections on the Charters of King Eadwig (955–959)’, HSJ 23 (2014), 23–49; Shashi Jayakumar, ‘Eadwig and Edgar: Politics, Propaganda, Faction’, in Edgar, King of the English, 959–975: New Interpretations, ed. Donald Scragg (Woodbridge, 2007), pp. 83–103, at pp. 83–90. 44 Catherine Cubitt, ‘The Tenth-Century Benedictine Reform in England’, Early Medieval Europe 6 (1997), 77–94. 45 Charles Insley, ‘Archives and Lay Documentary Practice in the Anglo-Saxon World’, in Documentary Culture and the Laity in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Warren C. Brown, Marios Costambeys, Matthew Innes and Adam K. Kosto (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 336–62 (pp. 350–1); Liber Eliensis, ed. E. O. Blake (London, 1962), 2.27, pp. 99–100.

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three feet high, to the Chester-le-Street community (much good it did him), an act paralleled by the gift of similar crosses by Tofi the Staller to Waltham and Earl Leofric to Evesham.46 Some of this possible shift in elite culture and consumption might also be detected in two well-known images from the New Minster, Winchester. One is the frontispiece to Edgar’s refoundation diploma for the New Minster of 966;47 the second is the portrait of Cnut and Emma from fol. 6r of the New Minster Liber Vitae.48 Although there are strong parallels in the representation of earthly and heavenly hierarchies in both portraits, there are also some important, if subtle, differences. The crown Cnut is wearing has parallels with those worn by Ottonian and Salian emperors, notably one worn by Conrad II, and perhaps reflects Cnut’s attempt to cultivate Conrad II, whose coronation he attended in Rome in 1027, as well as his own imperial self-perception. Cnut is also wearing a sword in a position of some prominence, unlike Edgar who is swordless in the refoundation diploma portrait; more importantly, it is surely significant that in the refoundation diploma Edgar is depicted as offering up the single-sheet diploma itself, while in the Liber Vitae portrait, Cnut and Emma are offering up a giant cross. This contrast between symbolic representations of land and treasure might, therefore, encapsulate significant shifts in patterns of elite and royal patronage across the period of Cnut’s conquest.49 It would be going too far to suggest that members of the elite – at both a national and local level – ceased to give land to the church. Even among newcomers, we can point to individuals such as the former royal housecarl Urk and his wife Tole, whose refoundation and patronage of Abbotsbury Abbey in Dorset looks entirely conventional in tenth-century terms, despite their Danish origins.50 However, it does seem that the link between patronage and the need to secure and strategically deploy royal diplomas may have been significantly weaker. As I have argued elsewhere, what emerges from both the diplomas and the eleventh-century narrative sources, in particular the Encomium of Queen

46

Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, p. 125; Robin Fleming, ‘The New Wealth, the New Rich and the New Political Style in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, ANS 23 (2000), 1–22 (pp. 13–15). 47 S 745; Charters of the New Minster, Winchester, ed. Sean Miller, Anglo-Saxon Charters 9 (Oxford, 2001), no. 23; Catherine Karkov, The Ruler Portraits of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 85–93; Karkov, ‘The Frontispiece to the New Minster Charter and the King’s Two Bodies’ in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 224–41; Insley, ‘Charters, Ritual and Late Tenth-Century English Kingship’, pp. 81–4. 48 Frontispiece in the present volume; British Library, Stowe MS 944, fol. 6r. See Karkov, Ruler Portraits, pp. 121–45; Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 12–14. 49 Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 120–7. 50 Ann Williams, ‘A Place in the Country: Orc of Abbotsbury and Tole of Tolpuddle, Dorset’, in The Danes in Wessex: The Scandinavian Impact on Southern England, c.800–c.1100, ed. Ryan Lavelle and Simon Roffey (Oxford, 2016), pp. 158–71; Bolton, Cnut, pp. 115–16.

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Emma, is a court culture of aristocratic competition centred on lavish display.51 This does hint at a major change in the way in which elite society structured its interactions with itself and with royal power, along with a shift in the way in which royal power, represented by Cnut and his successors, presented and represented themselves. The argument here, then, is that the decline of the diploma both in absolute numerical terms, and also in terms of the literal and figurative investment in it, indicate a shift in political culture in England that can be dated to the years either side of around 1020. This might in part reflect the emergence of a largely new political elite in the opening years of Cnut’s reign (and possibly in the closing years of Æthelred’s).52 Secular politics of the late tenth century were dominated by a small number of elite families – close-knit, interrelated in many ways, and who seem to have been entirely committed to the dynastic identity of Alfred the Great and his descendants. However, only one of these families seems to have weathered the decade following 1007 at the top of the political tree: the family of the Mercian earl Leofric (son of Ealdorman Leofwine), his son Ælfgar, and grandsons Eadwine and Morcar.53 Even they were not untouched by the violence of the period 1014–17, in which Ealdorman Leofwine’s brother Northmann was caught up in the bloodbath that attended the killing of Ealdorman Eadric Streona in 1017.54 Even allowing for what one might regard as the natural cycle of rise and fall of aristocratic dynasties at the very top of the secular hierarchy, where families seem seldom to have lasted more than two generations as holders of ealdormanries/earldoms, it is clear that Cnut’s conquest saw the permanent eclipse of a number of the families that had, for instance, monopolized royal counsel since the 930s or 940s.55 At a more local level, the picture was undoubtedly more mixed, with some of the same families, at least, enjoying local or regional prominence. That said, it is also clear that the likely attrition of English thegns in the battles of 1016 and the liquidations of 1017 probably created the potential space for ‘new’ families to emerge into local prominence, as well as incoming Danes. Although the diplomatic record does not indicate significant transfers of land into Danish hands, some of Cnut’s Danish followers undoubtedly benefitted from the conquest, and in places outside the areas traditionally associated with Scandinavian settlement in England.56 One 51

Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 120–7. Kings and Lords, pp. 53–101; Fleming, ‘New Wealth’; Bolton, Cnut, pp. 113–22. 53 Baxter, Earls of Mercia, pp. 17–31, 58–60. 54 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1017; Charles Insley, ‘Politics, Conflict and Kinship in Early Eleventh-Century Mercia’, Midland History 25 (2000), 28–42. 55 Fleming, Kings and Lords, pp. 1–52; see also Mary Blanchard, ‘The Late Anglo-Saxon Royal Agent: The Identity and Function of the English Ealdormen and Bishops c.950–1066’ (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 2016). 56 Ann Williams, ‘“Cockles Amongst the Wheat”: Danes and English in the Western Midlands in the First Half of the Eleventh Century’, Midland History 11 (1986), 1–22; Katharin Mack, 52 Fleming,

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thinks of the little cluster of men with Danish names in the south-west Midlands, possibly associated with the short-lived tenure there of Earl Ranig, or, a little later, Urk and his wife Tole in Dorset.57

The Poetry This sense of a rather different court environment and culture during Cnut’s reign, one that was, perhaps, much less invested in the West Saxon past and its particular discourses of monastic benefaction and memorialization, is reinforced by a brief consideration of the body of praise poetry that can be associated with Cnut.58 It is not the content of the poetry per se that is relevant to the argument presented here, except where it indicates a rather different construction of the past and identity for Cnut’s elite, but what the existence of the poetry itself suggests about the political and cultural environment of Cnut’s court. There are, of course, some basic caveats to be negotiated. The poetry as understood today is essentially an artefact of modern editors, notably Finnur Jónsson, who have reconstructed the texts of contemporary praise poems by disinterring them from the pages of much later and much longer sagas and synoptic histories.59 Bearing this in mind, the praise poetry associated with Cnut, all seemingly written while he was still alive, is an important and significantly understudied body of material, especially given the relative paucity of other sources, such as the diplomas already discussed, or Latin and vernacular narratives for Cnut’s reign.60 Indeed, the quantity of poems and skalds that can plausibly be associated with Cnut in his own lifetime makes him one of the most important patrons of Norse poetry of the first half of the eleventh century, and perhaps, as Townend suggests, the

‘Changing Thegns: Cnut’s Conquest and the English Aristocracy’, Albion 16 (1984), 375–87; Bolton, Cnut, pp. 114–19. 57 For Ranig, see Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, pp. 60–1; Williams, ‘“Cockles Amongst the Wheat”’; for Tole and Urk, see Williams, ‘A Place in the Country’. 58 The arguments advanced in the following discussion are indebted to the work of Russell Poole, Roberta Frank, Elaine Treharne, and above all, Matthew Townend: see R. G. Poole, ‘Skaldic Verse and Anglo-Saxon History: Some Aspects of the Period 1009–1016’, Speculum 62 (1987), 265–98; R. G. Poole, Viking Poems on War and Peace. A Study in Skaldic Narrative (Toronto, 1991); Roberta Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 106–24; Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 43–7; Matthew Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur: Skaldic Praise Poetry at the Court of Cnut’, ASE 30 (2001), 145–79; Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’. 59 Den Norsk-Islandske Skjaldedigtning, ed. Finnur Jónsson, 4 vols (Copenhagen, 1912–15), 1b:293–310; Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 147–8. 60 Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’, pp. 198–9.

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most significant non-Norwegian patron of poetry of the entire eleventh century.61 If the poetry was largely produced in England, in London and/or Winchester, then paradoxically this made England perhaps the major centre of poetry in Old Norse until the 1030s.62 This in itself, if we are trying to recover something of the political culture of Anglo-Danish England, of the atmosphere of politics at Cnut’s court, is worth taking account of. It is possible, as previous historians have, to see Cnut as a king ruling in a normatively ‘English’ way, but his extensive patronage of Norse poetry across his reign paints a rather different picture.63 Townend’s dating of the poetry seems to indicate two particular moments in Cnut’s reign where poetry was commissioned: the first in the immediate aftermath of the Conquest in 1016 (the Liðsmannaflokkr dateable to c. 1016/17, and the Eiríksdrápa, dateable to between 1016 and Earl Eirik’s death in 1023); and a decade later, in the aftermath of the Holy River campaign, Cnut’s journey to Rome, and the seizure of Norway, between 1026 and 1028.64 In fact, the period 1026–8 seems to have been an absolutely pivotal moment in Cnut’s kingship, but one not especially visible in an English context. The campaign of 1026, culminating in the battle of the Holy River (Helgeå) in Skåne (now in Sweden, but in the eleventh century much the richest part of Denmark) seems to have been the most serious political challenge Cnut faced in his reign. It was, in part, a civil war, launched by members of Cnut’s own court, in particular his brother-in-law Ulfr Thorgilsson, Jarl of Skåne and married to his sister Ástríðr; but it was also a challenge to Cnut’s position from Anund Jakob, king of the Svea, and Olaf Haraldsson, king of Norway.65 As such, it presented an existential threat to Cnut, and his defeat of it in Skåne was a defining moment in his kingship; the Cnut that emerged from these years appears much more confident, much more aspirationally imperial, and much more European.66 The same few years saw Cnut’s intervention in continental European politics, culminating in his attendance at the coronation in Rome in 1027 of the Emperor Conrad II, followed in 1035 by the betrothal of his daughter Gunnhild to Conrad’s son Henry (the future Henry III).67 It is also a period which saw Cnut become a major focus for praise poetry in Old Norse. The Icelandic Skáldatal, or ‘List of Poets’, names eight poets who composed for Cnut, from whom the fragments of five poems now survive.68 Beyond this, 61

Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, p. 146. Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 107; Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 174–6. 63 Lawson, Cnut, p. 130; Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, p. 176. 64 Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 161–3. 65 For an account of this campaign and the events leading up to it, see Bolton, Cnut, pp. 144–52; Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 242–50. 66 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 250–307. 67 Bolton, Cnut, pp. 158–72. 68 Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’, p. 198; the poets are Sigvatr Þórðarson, Óttarr svarti, Þórarinn loftunga, Hallvarðr Hárekblesi, Arnórr Þórðarson jarlaskáld, Bersi Torfuson, Steinn Skaptason and Óðarkeptr. 62

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Townend identifies eight praise poems that date from Cnut’s reign, and suggests the following rough dating:69 Liðsmannaflokkr – c. 1016/1017 Þórðr Kolbeinsson – Eiríksdrápa – c. 1016x23 Sigvatr Þórðarson – Knútsdrápa – c. 1027? Óttarr svarti – Knútsdrápa – c. 1027 Þórarinn loftunga – Hofuðlausn – c. 1027–8 Þórarinn loftunga – Tøgdrápa – c. 1029–30 Hallvarðr Hárekblesi – Knútsdrápa – c. 1029x35 Arnórr Þórðarson – Knútsdrápa – c. 1031x35 From the perspective of this chapter’s themes, three questions emerge from these poems. The first is audience, and the related question of intelligibility. The second is content; what messages were the audiences hearing? The third is what this might reveal about the atmosphere of Cnut’s court, in terms of the ideas and senses of the past that were in circulation. The question of audience is, inevitably, a difficult one. Townend in particular suggests that most of this poetry was composed in England, where Cnut spent much of his reign and, for the later poetry, probably in Winchester, the importance of which suggestion will be revisited below.70 The poems themselves are all in Old Norse, but in a variety of metrical forms. Some are in the more traditional, complex and possibly more prestigious dróttkvætt metre, but Sigvatr’s Knútsdrápa and Þorarinn Loftunga’s Tøgdrápa are in a simpler metre known as Tøglag, which seems to have been a development of Cnut’s court, and perhaps one aimed at an audience whose grasp of the complexities of older Old Norse metrical systems was not as strong as it might have been: and possibly even for those for whom Old Norse might not have been their first language.71 The question then arises of precisely how accessible this poetry may have been to individuals whose first language was not Old Norse. Townend suggests that Hallvarðr’s Knútsdrápa would have been a struggle for anyone not completely at home in more traditional skaldic metre, what Frank termed ‘skaldic verse at its richest and most allusive’.72 Part of the point of dróttkvætt was that it was supposed to be difficult, as a way of separating the insiders of the court from outsiders.73 On the other hand, Óttarr’s Knútsdrápa might have been much more intelligible to a mixed audience.74 Nonetheless, the impression that emerges from most, if not all of 69

Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 151–61. Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 168–73. 71 Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 155–6; Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 109. 72 Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 109. 73 Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’, p. 200. 74 Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 175–6; Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, pp. 119–21. 70

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the poetry, is that the primary audience for the poems would be the Danes based at Cnut’s court; monoglot Old English speakers would not easily, if at all, have been able to access the distinct symbolism and allusion of many of the poems. In Roberta Frank’s words, it was as if ‘the skalds were composing for a Norse-speaking community enisled in a sea of Anglophones’.75 Such a conclusion is reinforced by a consideration of the content of much of the poetry, some of which would have made uncomfortable listening for any English men or women able to understand it, unless, as Townend suggests, they had ‘aligned their interests with the Danish perspective of the conquerors’.76 Although some of the poetry stressed Cnut’s Christian credentials, and Sigvatr’s Knútsdrápa stressed Cnut’s closeness both to the emperor, Conrad II and the pope (‘kær Keisara, klúss Pétrúsi’), much of the poetry also emphasized Cnut’s credentials as a conqueror of the English, as someone who had dispossessed the family of Edgar.77 Indeed, Cnut’s conquest was assertively – even aggressively – and jubilantly celebrated in the poetry: this from Sigvatr’s Knutsdrápa – ‘Cnut soon killed the sons of Æthelred or drove out every one’; or this, from Ottarr’s Knutsdrápa; ‘lord of the Jutes, you struck the race of Edgar on that expedition’.78 There is also a strong claim for Cnut’s inherited legitimacy articulated in the drápar, through his supposed descent from the first Danish conquerors of the English, in particular Ivarr inn béinlausi. Cnut is frequently referred to as ‘Skjǫldungr (Old English Scylding)’, and references occur, especially in Sigvatr’s poem, to Cnut’s kingdom as ‘Ælle’s inheritance’, an allusion to the ninth-century Northumbrian king dispossessed and killed by the Vikings in 866–7.79 In the surviving material in Old English and Latin, such as the 1020 and 1027 letters, or the two lawcodes associated with Cnut, the authors of those texts were eager to present Cnut as, in effect, an heir to Edgar. The poetry, however, is quite clear that Cnut was his father’s son.80 There is a strong historical awareness in this poetry, but one which was relaying a radically different sense of the past, one where Cnut’s conquest of the English recalled earlier victories over the English by his ancestors.81 This is a rather different Cnut from the one presented in his surviving lawcodes, or the two letters to the English political elite written in c. 1020 and 1027.82 75

Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 108. Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 175. 77 Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 118. 78 Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, p. 173. 79 Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, pp. 110–13; Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 45–7. 80 Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, p. 112; Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’, pp. 212–13. 81 See Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’, pp. 208–15, on the ‘vision of history’ in Cnut’s poetry. 82 For Cnut’s 1020 letter, see Councils and Synods, 1:435–41; The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I, ed. and trans. A. J. Robertson (Cambridge, 1925), pp. 140–5; Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 18–21. For the 1027 letter, see John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:512–9; Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 30–2. For the lawcodes I and II Cnut, see Gesetze, I:278–371; Lawson, ‘Archbishop Wulfstan and the Homiletic Element’; Wormald, The Making of English Law, pp. 345–66. 76

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It is important to note that much of the poetry was composed towards the end of Cnut’s reign, implying that for a significant element of the political elite of Cnut’s English kingdom, it remained important to see Cnut as a conqueror and as a king in a line of conquerors stretching back into the remote past. It is striking that at least one of these poems, Hallvarðr Harekblesi’s Knútsdrápa, also wove pagan imagery into its praise of Cnut; this was a court culture seemingly relaxed about a blend of pagan and Christian imagery and allusion in its entertainment.83 The two earliest poems, neither of which is strictly speaking solely about Cnut, seem to belong to a context immediately after the conquest, where perhaps there was a paramount need to reassure Cnut’s Danish followers about their new king, and to associate him with other powerful figures.84 The later poetry, though, makes clear the ongoing importance of Cnut’s authentically Danish heritage and his Skjǫldungr/ Scylding lineage, especially in a context where his kingship had expanded to incorporate Norway and parts of the kingdom of the Svea. Some Englishmen may indeed, as Townend suggests, have aligned their interests with those of the Danish conquerors, but one suspects most English listeners would have found the poetry challenging and even threatening, if they had understood it. If we take the poetry with the evidence of the diplomas, this suggests that Cnut’s court may have been a rather febrile environment, with different and competing senses of identity, memory and the past all in play. For some of Cnut’s elite, the stories of legitimation constructed in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles probably maintained their validity, but for others, what we might think of as a distinctively West Saxon-centred past had relatively little value. In the early eleventh century, English history and English identity became – as it did after 1066 – a highly contested space. This dissonance becomes all the more striking if we should consider much of this poetry – significant amounts of which celebrated Cnut’s triumph over his West Saxon predecessors – as having been composed in Winchester, by the end of the tenth century the ideological and dynastic heart of the West Saxon monarchy. If Townend and others are right to place this work at Winchester, then the presence of Scandinavian funerary monuments in the New Minster cemetery is also highly significant. On a distinctively Scandinavian ‘hogsback’ tomb cover found to the east of the Old Minster, is the inscription ‘HER L[I]Ð G[VN]N[I :] EORLES FEOLAGA’ (‘Here lies Gunni, the Earl’s comrade’): an inscription in Old English, recording men with Old Norse names or ranks, and using words borrowed from Old Norse.85 At least one of these surviving monumental inscriptions was in Old Norse; not only does this indicate some sort of Old Norse speech community 83

Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, pp. 121–4. Jarl Eirik of Hlaðir in the case of the Þórðr Kolbeinsson’s Eiríksdrápa, Thorkell ‘the Tall’ in the case of the anonymous Liðsmannaflokkr. 85 B. Kjølbye-Biddle and R. I. Page, ‘A Scandinavian Rune-Stone from Winchester’, Antiquaries Journal 55 (1975), 289–94; Elisabeth Okasha, Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Non-Runic Inscriptions (Cambridge, 1971), pp. 126–7; Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 170–1. 84

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in Winchester, but the nature of the monuments suggests an elite Scandinavian community.86 There is also artistic evidence of strongly Scandinavian tastes in fragments which survive of a frieze demolished along with the Old Minster in 1093; what survives depicts aspects of the Sigmundr story from the Volsung cycle. Martin Biddle has suggested that the frieze was erected by or for Cnut and, while it is impossible to be certain, the frieze certainly supports the idea that there was an audience within Winchester for whom scenes from Norse mythology would have had some sort of resonance.87 Cnut’s considerable skill was to be able to manage the differing expectations and senses of identity of his English and Danish subjects, by deploying what Elaine Treharne calls ‘pragmatic ethnicity’.88 He was ‘English’ enough to his English subjects in his 1027 letter, and Danish enough for his Scandinavian followers from 1016, and for those acquired after 1026 and 1028. Again, Treharne labels him ‘a… mimetically English King’ – imitatively English, which is an important distinction.89 It is likely that his piety, referred to in the letter of 1027 and the New Minster Liber Vitae, along with Sigvatr’s drápa, was one point of intersection between the interests of his Danish and English followers, as perhaps was his decision to align himself with Conrad II and, in effect, abandon his maternal Polish kin.90 The construction of an imperial identity for Cnut is something we can see in both the ‘English’ and the ‘Danish’ material. The letters of 1020 and 1027 emphasized Cnut’s ruling both English and Danes together, and protecting them from outsiders. However, it is unclear how much the sense of unity articulated in the ‘English’ material reflected reality. Concern for the English land and population of Cnut’s domains is singularly lacking in the praise poetry. Meanwhile, the triumph of Swein in 1013 and Cnut in 1016 called into question much of the providential foundation upon which English regnal identity was built; if divine validation of the kingdom of the English was manifest in its defeat of the Vikings in the later ninth and early tenth century, then that kingdom’s defeat and conquest by a king whose poets explicitly constructed him as a descendent of those earlier Vikings was an ideological catastrophe. All this points to a political elite that remained fragmented and polarized throughout Cnut’s reign, and perhaps even more so towards the end. Some of his English subjects may have looked back wistfully to the years before 1016; some clearly got on with accommodating themselves to the new status quo, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. However, many, but not all, of the Danes within the court elite seem to have had no interest at all in engaging with that

86

Kjølbye-Biddle and Page, ‘A Scandinavian Rune-Stone’, pp. 392–4; Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, pp. 171–2. 87 Martin Biddle, ‘Excavations at Winchester, 1965: Fourth Interim Report’, Antiquaries Journal 46 (1966), 308–32 (p. 331); Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur’, p. 171. 88 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 17–18, 44. 89 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, p. 17. 90 Bolton, Cnut, pp. 167–71.

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tenth-century English past; it did not validate them and they did not need it. Indeed, their sense of who they were was in important ways irreconcilable with that older, ‘West Saxon’ past.91

Conclusion This sense from the poetry, of two (or more) communities existing side by side but not in any meaningful sense unified – or at least, with no sense of a shared past to validate the present – bears out what can be seen in the earlier discussion of the decline of the diploma. In this context, the diploma can be seen as a distinctively West Saxon or English way of instituting and memorializing relationships between kings, elites and the church. Cnut’s kingdom, in terms of ideology and identity, operated in a very different way from that of his predecessors, for all the apparent similarities and continuities. It is not simply that the past was another country, to quote The Go-Between, but that it was a contested country, a place of multiple pasts. Cnut was able to hold these competing senses of identity and memory in balance, in creative tension, almost. However, his immediate successors, his sons Harald and Harthacnut, struggled to do so, bequeathing to Edward the Confessor a fragmented political elite that was sorely lacking the ideological cohesion that had made the English kingdom of the period up to the 980s a success. It is, of course, the case that the political pressures of the later 980s and 990s, both internal and external, caused that cohesion to fracture and ultimately fail. Historians continue to debate the reasons for the political disasters of Æthelred’s reign, but it is indisputable that his reign ended in abject failure with his own deposition in 1013–14, and the conquests by Swein and Cnut in 1016. Quite why things went so badly wrong for the English after the 980s is open to debate, but it is possible to argue, as Laura Ashe and others have done, that the significant emphasis on royal piety and a particularly ‘penitential’ style of kingship towards the end of the reign of Edgar and during that of Æthelred created the conditions for political failure in the face of renewed Viking activity.92 If we think about the discourses of right, secular behaviour that can be seen in the writings of Ælfric, or Archbishop Wulfstan, it is possible to see how political elites, lay and ecclesiastical, increasingly viewed violence as inherently and irredeemably sinful, and the increasingly sacralized, almost quasi-monastic kingship that emerged towards the end of Edgar’s reign was unable adequately to take on the Vikings.93 In Ashe’s view, with its kings increasingly viewed as ‘oratores’ not ‘bellatores’, English kingship had suffered 91

Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go?’, pp. 126–7. Conquest and Transformation, pp. 11–63, esp. pp. 43–6. 93 Cubitt, ‘The Politics of Remorse’; Roach, ‘Public Rites and Public Wrongs’; Roach, ‘Penitential Discourse’. 92 Ashe,

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a ‘vast ideological failure’ at the end of the first millennium.94 In this context, Cnut’s kingship could be seen as a return to earlier norms of Anglo-Saxon kingship, where violence and piety sat together more comfortably;95 a contrast epitomized by the sword-carrying Cnut in the New Minster Liber Vitae portrait, and the absence of a sword in Edgar’s portrait in the New Minster refoundation charter frontispiece. Whether we want to view the last quarter of the tenth century as an aberration in English political culture, as Ashe suggests, Cnut’s reign was in many ways not a return to an earlier type of royal behaviour, but, as we have seen, introduced new elements of political instability. Whatever Æthelred’s political failures, factional tension was a fixed part of political life. The crucial difference between the tenth and eleventh centuries is that in the tenth century, faction and elite rivalry crystallized around members of the dynasty of Alfred the Great. In the eleventh century, though, this sense of dynastic solidarity and validation from a particular vision of the past was much less pronounced. Edward the Confessor did not generate political capital simply by being his father’s son; that capital had to be built by constructing and manipulating relationships with leading elite families. It is clear that this was not an easy process, as the succession of exiles and rebellions that marked Edward’s reign suggests. To return, finally, to the question of why 1016 matters: it matters because it fundamentally changed how the political elite of the English kingdom viewed their past, and left them singularly ill-equipped to deal with the future.

94 Ashe, 95 Ashe,

Conquest and Transformation, p. 86. Conquest and Transformation, pp. 86–94.

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2 Why Did Cnut Conquer England? NIELS LUND

I

pose a simple question, which can be given a very short answer: ‘Follow the money.’ The prize was unparalleled, England’s wealth unmatched in Scandinavia. But a more elaborate answer would lie in the inevitability of a path set before Cnut was born. Viking raids had become a campaign of conquest; Cnut had grown up as his father Svein Forkbeard had pursued and won the English kingdom. By the time of Svein’s death, Cnut had staked so much on succeeding to his father’s crown, and in such a one-sided manner, that he had no alternative. His older brother Harald had succeeded to the Danish throne; Cnut’s sole hope of gaining royal power lay in England. Cnut the Great has been called ‘England’s Viking king’.1 In order to understand the importance of his Viking heritage to his conquest of England in 1016, we therefore need to take a preliminary look at who Vikings were and what they did. Viking activity was about exploitation, the exploitation of other people, other communities and other societies. It was about the appropriation of resources belonging to others. This was, as Peter Sawyer insisted, ‘normal Dark Age activity’.2 The word ‘Viking’ was used in Old English to gloss the Latin ‘Cilix’, a Cilician, and the Cilicians were notorious pirates in antiquity.3 A Viking was not just any Scandinavian of the ‘Age of the Vikings’, therefore; he was, more specifically, a pirate from Scandinavia. Peter Sawyer has claimed that ‘The Age of the Vikings began when Scandinavians first attacked western Europe and it ended when those attacks ceased.’4 In the 1

M. K. Lawson, Cnut: England’s Viking King 1016–35 (Stroud, 2011). For example, see P. H. Sawyer, The Age of the Vikings (London, 1962), pp. 143, 194. 3 ASD Online, s.v. ‘scegð-mann’, ‘wicing’; Alfred Heuss, Römische Geschichte (Braunschweig, 1960), pp. 236–7, 253–6. 4 P. H. Sawyer, Kings and Vikings (London, 1982), p. 6. Some historians have argued that, because not all pirates between 700 and 1100 were Scandinavian, and because Scandinavians made a more important contribution to the civilization of this age as long-distance traders, we 2

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British Isles, Viking activity by people from Scandinavia began in the late eighth century when Beaduheard, the king’s reeve who mistook the first Danish raiders in England for traders, lost his life for trying to bring them to the royal vill.5 A number of exposed monasteries were then plundered by Vikings who killed the monks and made away with whatever was precious to them: gold and silver, books or cattle. In the following century increasingly large Viking fleets appeared in England, as well as on the Continent, to loot towns and landscapes. The activity of some Viking chieftains and their gangs can be followed on both sides of the Channel. Thus Earl Sidroc the Old, who was killed with his son Sidroc the Young in battle against Alfred at Ashdown in 871, is very likely the chieftain Sidric mentioned in the Annals of Fontenelle some years earlier.6 Before the middle of the ninth century, the Vikings gave up returning to Scandinavia for winter and began to overwinter in France or in England. Their exploitation of the locals consequently became more sophisticated. Treaties were formed between the Vikings and their victims, obliging the latter to make winter quarters available and to supply the former with food, drink and money. In 871 a Viking army came to Reading and, having fought many battles, retired to London to winter there. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles simply state that ‘the Mercians took peace with the army’.7 Roger of Wendover, although writing much later, in the thirteenth century, explains that King Burgred achieved a truce with the Vikings by granting them money.8 On the continent references to the provision of food and wine are more frequent, as, for example, under the year 864 in the Annals of St-Bertin, which mention a huge payment of money to the army of Rodulf, along with a large quantity of flour, livestock, wine and cider.9 This was, in fact, a payment for service but this hardly made any difference. The army that toured England from 865 to 879 made it a regular practice to ‘sell’ peace in a new place every year.10 Furthermore, they also seized control of Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. In 866 Vikings took over the kingdom of Deira, where they set up a puppet should stop labelling this period ‘The Age of the Vikings’ (see John Lind, ‘“Vikinger”, vikingetid og vikingeromantik’, Kuml 61 (2012), 151–70). This term is used, however, merely as a practical device and should not be interpreted as representing anything more than this. 5 Æthelweard, The Chronicle of Æthelweard, ed. and trans. A. Campbell (London, 1962), pp. 26–7. 6 Chronicon Fontanellense, ed. Jules Laporte, Société de l’histoire de Normandie: Mélanges, ser. 15 (Rouen, 1951), s.a. 855. See Carroll Gillmor, ‘War on the Rivers: Viking Numbers and Mobility on the Seine and Loire, 841–886’, Viator 19 (1988), 79–110 (p. 83, n. 18). 7 ‘[Þ]a namon Mierce friþ wiþ þone here’: ASC, MS A, s.a. 872. 8 Roger of Wendover, Chronica, sive flores historiarum, ed. H. O. Coxe, 4 vols (London, 1841–4), I:323. 9 ‘[M]ulta pensione farinae atque pecorum necnon vini ac sicerae’: Annales Bertiniani: Les Annales de Saint-Bertin, ed. F. Grat, J. Vielliard and S. Clémencet (Paris, 1964), s.a. 864 (p. 105); The Annals of St-Bertin, trans. Janet L. Nelson (Manchester, 1991), p. 112. 10 Nottingham/Mercia in 868; Wessex, overwintering in London, in 871; Torksey in 873; Cambridge and Werham in 876.

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king. On subsequent visits the people of Yorkshire were not required to establish new peace treaties with them; the Vikings simply expected to be accommodated, fed and paid by a kingdom at their disposal. The same happened in East Anglia after the killing of St Edmund in 869. It was, of course, handy for the Vikings to have regions under their control to which they could retire and recover strength after a season of campaigning. After some years of comparatively informal control, however, the exploitation took on a new form. It began in Yorkshire where one of the leaders of the army, Halfdan, began distributing land amongst his followers, giving them estates to live on, and off which they could live.11 The same thing soon happened in East Anglia and in the eastern part of Mercia. The local English population now received new lords, and on this basis the various armies that constituted the Great Army were able to continue as military forces. They appear as hergas belonging to Huntingdon, Northampton, Leicester, Cambridge and other places until they submitted to Edward the Elder and Æthelflæd. In fact, as late as 1013, when they rallied behind Svein Forkbeard, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles could still refer to the population north of Watling Street as the here, the army.12 These Danes no longer had to make money by capturing people, or even books, and holding them to ransom, or by threatening to burn down houses if their owners did not respond to requests for payment. There was no such thing as Viking solidarity. The various bands readily fought one another, and some took service with western rulers, undertaking the task of keeping other Vikings away. Frankish rulers often found it difficult to get rid of them again, and some of them turned out to be quite difficult vassals.13 Another variant of this was the decision to serve as mercenaries. In 859 Charles the Bald hired a Viking troop that, under the leadership of Weland, had been making havoc along the Somme for some time, recruiting them to oust another group of Vikings that had taken quarters on the island of Oissel in the Seine, just south of Rouen.14 Weland was promised three thousand pounds. He did the job, conquered the Oissel Vikings, and made them pay him six thousand pounds for lifting his siege. Thereafter, however, the two troops joined forces, and raised the price of peace for Charles to five thousand pounds. They also broke the agreement they had made to leave Charles’s kingdom because winter was approaching. Instead, they found winter quarters according to their sodalitates, their confraternities, along the Seine and its tributaries.15 The following year the Vikings split up again and soon found 11

See Marios Costambeys, ‘Hálfdan [Healfdene] (d. 877)’, ODNB. ASC, MS E, s.a. 1013. On the use of this term, see ASD Online, s.v. ‘here’. 13 See Niels Lund, ‘Frisia – A Viking Nest?’, in Viking and Norse in the North Atlantic: Select Papers from the Proceedings of the Fourteenth Viking Congress, Tórshavn, 19–30 July 2001, ed. Andras Mortensen and Símun V. Arge (Tórshavn, 2005), pp. 422–6. 14 Oissel is about 8.5 square miles in size and, in 2012, had about 11,500 inhabitants. Simon Coupland, ‘From Poachers to Gamekeepers: Scandinavian Warlords and Carolingian Kings’, Early Medieval Europe 7 (1998), 85–114 (pp. 103–7). 15 Annales Bertiniani, s.a. 861 (p. 86); The Annals of St-Bertin, trans. Nelson, p. 96. 12

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themselves on opposite sides once more. Some took service with Salomon, duke of Brittany, others with the duke of Anjou, Robert, with whom Salomon was engaged in warfare. In contrast with this close involvement, while we have several examples of alliances between Irish kings and Vikings, English kings of the ninth century do not seem to have employed Viking mercenaries. In the reign of Æthelred, however, mercenaries were regularly employed in England. The agreement known as II Æthelred has often been interpreted as a treaty contracted between King Æthelred and Olaf Tryggvason regarding international trade.16 In fact, the treaty had nothing to do with Olaf and it is only because his name is mentioned in the text’s prologue that it has generally been understood as a treaty with him.17 The text itself, however, does not state this. Olaf and Guðmund and Justin were with the army, implicitly, but only until they made a separate agreement with Æthelred and returned to Norway.18 Olaf secured a separate peace treaty with the English, after which he was sent back to Norway with a chest full of money intended to help him buy support for his usurpation of the Norwegian throne. He never set foot in England again. II Æthelred was, instead, an agreement between the English and the remainder of the army, or part of it, that stayed in England as mercenaries.19 They are referred to, in one instance, as sceiðman,20 suggesting that they were employed as sailors. The price for hiring them amounted to twenty-two thousand pounds in gold and silver.21 These new mercenaries apparently kept the terms until 997, when suddenly ‘the Danish army went round Devon into the mouth of the 16

See e.g. The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I, ed. A. J. Robertson (Cambridge, 1925), p. 47; E. V. Gordon, ‘The Date of Æthelred’s Treaty with the Vikings: Olaf Tryggvason and the Battle of Maldon’, Modern Language Review 32 (1937), 24–32 (p. 24). 17 Including, regrettably, by me: Niels Lund, ‘The Armies of Svein Forkbeard and Cnut: ‘leding’ or ‘lið’?’, ASE 15 (1986), 105–18 (p. 113). 18 Laws of the Kings of England, ed. Robertson, pp. 56–62 [II Æthelred 7], Prologue: ‘Ðis synd ða friðmal ond ða forword ðe Æthelred cyng ond ealle his witan wið ðone here gedon habbað, ðe Anlaf ond Iustin ond Guðmund Stegitan sunu mid wæron.’ (‘These are the terms of the truce and the agreement which King Æthelred and all his councillors have made with the army that Olaf and Justin and Guðmund, the son of Stegita, were with.’) 19 Niels Lund, ‘Peace and Non-Peace in the Viking Age – Ottar in Biarmaland, the Rus in Byzantium, and Danes and Norwegians in England’, in Proceedings of the Tenth Viking Congress, Larkollen, Norway, 1985, ed. James E. Knirk (Oslo, 1987), pp. 255–69 (pp. 264–8). 20 Laws of the Kings of England, ed. Robertson, pp. 56–62 [II Æthelred 7]. 21 Ibid., II Æthelred 7:2. Since this sum does not correspond to the sixteen thousand pounds stated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (s.a. 994) it has been suggested it might represent the sum of various payments made in that year. The ASC states that a payment of sixteen thousand pounds was made to the army at Southampton. Olaf was part of this army and must have received a share of this money. When a separate agreement was formed with Olaf and his force urging their return to Norway, King Æthelred stood sponsor to Olaf at confirmation and ‘bestowed gifts on him royally’ (‘cynelice gifode’), though there is no indication of the amount, or nature, of these gifts. The amount and timing of a (presumably separate) payment to the remainder of the army who took service with Æthelred after Olaf ’s departure is otherwise unrecorded.

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Severn and ravaged there’; it was these Danes, or at least some of them, who were killed on St Brice’s day in 1002.22 The St Brice’s Day massacre may have prevented them from doing what the Anglo-Saxons had done to the British centuries ago, what the Normans were to do in Italy, and what the Mamluks were to do in Egypt: take service as mercenaries and then usurp power. As the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles explained: ‘the king had been informed that they would treacherously deprive him, and then all his councillors, of life, and possess this kingdom afterwards’.23 The most famous Viking condottiere (mercenary leader) was probably Thorkel the Tall, who first arrived in England just after Lammas in 1009. Thorkel led what the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles (s.a. 1009) terms ‘se ungemetlica unfriðhere’, ‘the immense raiding army’ or, literally, ‘the immense non-peace army’, probably to distinguish it from armies with which the English had established friðmal and forword, such as those mentioned in II Æthelred.24 During the next three years this army overran much of England and plundered and burnt several cities, including Thetford, Cambridge, Northampton and Oxford. Every year they cashed in on peace agreements and truces with individual shires, and probably also on ransoms from significant individuals captured from the towns, as they did in Canterbury in 1011. The archbishop of Canterbury, Ælfheah, refused to be ransomed for three thousand pounds and earned his sanctity as a result (an event which will be considered in more detail below).25 When the army finally dispersed at Easter in 1012 it was paid the sum of forty-eight thousand pounds. Some of the money paid to Thorkel reached a Viking from Uppland, north of Stockholm, who had already participated in a raid led by another chieftain and was later to participate in Cnut’s conquest of England. A runic inscription from Yttergärde in Uppland commemorates Ulf from Borresta, who took three gelds in England; the first one was paid by Tostig, the next by Thorkel, and the last by Cnut.26 The payments recorded by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, rising over a comparatively short period to a staggering seventy-two thousand pounds (plus ten-and-a-half thousand paid by London to Cnut after his victory), have been disputed by some and defended by others.27 Later observations do, however, seem to lend some credi-

22

ASC, s.a. 997; S. D. Keynes, ‘The Massacre of St Brice’s Day (13 November 1002)’, in Beretning fra seksogtyvende tværfaglige vikingesymposium, ed. Niels Lund (Højbjerg, 2007), pp. 32–67. 23 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1002: ‘forþon þam cynge wæs gecydd þæt hi woldon hine be syrewian æt his life. And syððan ealle his witan. And habban syþðan his rice.’ 24 Laws of the Kings of England, ed. Robertson, p. 56. 25 John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:471. See also Sarah Foot’s chapter in this volume, ‘Kings, Saints and Conquests’, pp. 140–64. 26 Upplands runinskrifter, ed. Elias Wessén and Sven B. F. Jansson (1940–58), U 344. 27 John Gillingham, ‘“The Most Precious Jewel in the English Crown”: Levels of Danegeld and Heregeld in the Early Eleventh Century’, EHR 104 (1989), 373–84; idem, ‘Chronicles and Coins as Evidence for Levels of Tribute and Taxation in Late Tenth- and Early Eleventh-Century England’, EHR 105 (1990), 939–50; M. K. Lawson, ‘“Those Stories Look True”: Levels of Taxation

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bility to the high figures. Numismatists now estimate the output of mints by means of the number of dies involved in their production, instead of focusing only on types, as they did until recently.28 This new approach has shown that, in the period termed ‘England’s Second Viking Age’, England was exceedingly rich in silver.29 In the 970s silver mining was begun at Rammelsberg in the Harz, and much of the silver excavated here appears to have ended up in England as payment for English agricultural exports, primarily wool. It may not be a coincidence that Edgar’s reform of the English coinage occurred at roughly the same time as the silver from Germany began to flow into England. In the following years millions of pennies were struck in England, and by King Æthelred’s time, England was exceedingly rich.30 Thorkel, of course, had to pay off his army when it dispersed. Nevertheless, the proceeds of three years of highly successful raiding in England must have made him a very rich, and therefore very dangerous, man in the eyes of Svein Forkbeard. It can only have added to Svein’s misgivings when, after concluding a peace with Æthelred, Thorkel took service with the English king with forty-five ships. This must have given him a position as the chief military advisor of the English king, and influence on the strategic use of England’s monetary and military resources. Thorkel was well placed to advise Æthelred to stage an attack on Svein in Denmark before Svein could launch another attack on England, and such a course would hardly be inconceivable. Thorkel probably stayed in Æthelred’s service for three years, since we know he was on Æthelred’s side against Svein Forkbeard in 1013, and then accompanied Æthelred into exile in Normandy before returning with him to England when, after Svein’s death, Æthelred was recalled to his throne. Little evidence survives to attest to the nature of the relationship between Thorkel and Svein. According to the Encomium Emmae Reginae, Thorkel was one of Svein’s military commanders, his ‘princeps miliciae’, who had, with Svein’s permission, taken part of Svein’s army to England to avenge the death of his brother. Having achieved his goal, Thorkel acquired the south of England and became Æthelred’s ally.31 This is a gross inflation of Thorkel’s position in England, and hardly more than the Encomiast’s attempt to construct an impeccable and legitimate pretext for Svein to attack England. We cannot establish whether Thorkel was in any way commended by or subordinate to Svein, or whether he was an independent rival. Either way, the former’s success in England must have worried the latter. England

in the Reigns of Æthelred II and Cnut’, EHR 104 (1989), 385–406; idem, ‘Danegeld and Heregeld Once More’, EHR 105 (1990), 951–61. 28 For a discussion of coinage and currency in eleventh-century England, see Rory Naismith’s chapter in this volume, ‘Currency and Conquest in Eleventh-Century England’, pp. 85–98. 29 Peter Sawyer, with contributions by Kenneth Cameron, Michael Dolley, Kristian Hald, Ole Klindt-Jensen, Niels Lund, Lucien Musset and Arne Thorsteinsson, ‘The Two Viking Ages of Britain. A Discussion’, Medieval Scandinavia 2 (1969), 163–207. 30 Peter Sawyer, The Wealth of Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2013), ch. 5 (pp. 87–110). 31 Encomium, 1.2.

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was an important, if not indispensable, source of income and Svein had his own ambitions to pursue. Svein Forkbeard is first mentioned by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles under 994 when, together with Olaf Tryggvason, he began a raid on England. They failed to take London, but afterwards ‘did the greatest damage that ever any army could do, by burning, ravaging, and slaying, everywhere along the coast, and in Essex, Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire’.32 Very probably, however, this was not Svein’s first visit to England. In the mid-990s King Æthelred challenged the will of Æthelric of Bocking, on the grounds that the king had been told that Æthelric had been party to an unræd, a conspiracy, to receive Svein when he first came to Essex with a fleet.33 What sort of reception Svein was to be given is open to some interpretation because the Old English verb used, underfon, has a range of meanings.34 It does not necessarily mean that those who had planned this unræd intended to receive Svein as king, although this is how Frank Stenton read it, but clearly some kind of treason was involved.35 If the raid of 994 was not Svein’s first appearance in England, in any case, then the Maldon campaign of 991 probably was.36 Historical literature abounds with misinformation about Svein Forkbeard, most of it traceable to Adam of Bremen who, around 1075, wrote a history of the deeds of the archbishops of Hamburg. For generations, in fact for almost a millennium, Adam’s account of the kings of the Jelling dynasty was the obvious starting point for the history of Denmark in this period. Only in the past generation have we begun to realize how much of this history Adam invented, and how little relation it bears to reality. Adam’s task was to support the claim of the archbishops of Hamburg to ecclesiastical supremacy over Scandinavia. This claim was under pressure, partly because it never really represented the day-to-day reality,37 and partly because the Danish king Svein Estrithsson was actively lobbying in Rome to have a Danish bishopric elevated to archiepiscopal status for Denmark. To serve his purpose Adam crafted an extremely tendentious portrayal of Harald Bluetooth, presenting him as 32

ASC, MS E, s.a. 994: ‘and wrohton þæt mæste yfel þe æfre ænig here don mihte on bærnette and hergunge and on manslihtum ægðer be ðam sæ riman on East Seaxum and on Cent lande and on Suð Seaxum and on Hamtunscire.’ 33 Anglo-Saxon Wills, ed. Dorothy Whitelock (Cambridge, 1930), no. xvi (p. 2): ‘ðæt he wære on ðam unræde ðæt man sceolde on Eastsexon Swegen onderfon ða he ærest þyder mid flotan com.’ 34 See ASD Online, s.v. ‘underfon’, which suggests that the balance of probability lies with a friendly reception. 35 F. M. Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, 3rd edn (Oxford, 1971), p. 378. It is used in this sense for the Northumbrians in 867: ‘hie hæfdun hiera cyning aworpene Osbryht, ond ungecyndne cyning underfengon Ęllan’, ASC, MS A, s.a. 867 (p. 47). 36 P. H. Sawyer, ‘The Scandinavian Background’, in The Battle of Maldon: Fiction and Fact, ed. Janet Cooper (London, 1993), pp. 33–42 (p. 41–2). 37 Hans-Werner Goetz, ‘Das Erzbistum Hamburg im früheren Mittelalter zwischen Anspruch und Realität’, in Aspekte der Landesgeschichte. Festschrift für Heinrich Schoppmeyer zum 75. Geburtstag, ed. Thomas Warda (Dortmund, 2011), pp. 23–41.

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an ardent believer in Christ and a powerful supporter of the church in Denmark, following the model of the Augustinian just king rewarded by God with earthly success and prosperity. Adam even credits Harald with a conquest of England.38 As part of this encomium, Svein Forkbeard is portrayed as Harald’s antithesis, and he is represented in an unremittingly critical way. Svein rebels against his father, causing his death. Then, having risen to power, Svein apostatizes and begins persecuting the church in Denmark, bringing divine punishment upon himself. He is twice captured by his Slav enemies and ransomed, before being driven into exile by the Swedish king Erik the Victorious. Having been rejected from various other places, Svein eventually finds refuge in Scotland for a biblical twice seven years. Adam may have known that the last three kings of Scotland had seized power by murdering their predecessors, and so have considered the Scottish realm a fitting place of refuge for a royal parricide.39 After Erik’s death (c. 995), Svein is able to return to his kingdom, only to be exiled once more by Erik’s son and successor Olof Skötkonung. Olof only takes pity on Svein and allows him back into his kingdom when, after all these punishments, Svein finally acknowledges God.40 For all this to make chronological sense, Svein must have rebelled against his father around 980 or even before. Adam, however, informs us that Harald died in ‘novissimis archiepiscopi temporibus’; the archbishop referred to is Adaldag, who died on 29 April 988.41 Since Adam’s chronology does not align, and his propagandistic aims are so overtly apparent, his representation of Svein is questionable at best. The English, of course, had a different experience of Svein Forkbeard. They knew him not as someone humbly seeking asylum but as an invader. From his father, Svein had inherited a number of impressive fortifications, the trelleborgs, of which six or seven have now been identified. In addition to the four familiar fortifications – Trelleborg, Nonnebakken, Fyrkat and Aggersborg – one can now add Lellinge on Sjælland (referred to as Borgring by Danmarks Borgcenter, the museum responsible for the dig),42 Borgeby in Skåne and, more tentatively, Trelleborg, also in Skåne. They were all built during the reign of Svein’s father, who was 38

Adam of Bremen, Gesta, 2.25. Alex Woolf, From Pictland to Alba 789–1070. The New Edinburgh History of Scotland 2 (Edinburgh, 2007), p. 223, n. 6, suggests that Adam’s ‘king of the Scots’ might conceivably have been Irish, Albanian, Hiberno-Norse or Cumbrian. 40 See the account of Svein’s life pieced together by modern historians: P. H. Sawyer, ‘Svein [Sveinn Haraldsson, Sveinn Tjúguskegg, Svein Forkbeard] (d. 1014)’, ODNB. 41 Adam of Bremen, Gesta, 2.27. Adam uses the identical vague dating phrase in 3.55 when referring to his own coming to Bremen. The archbishop in question on this occasion is Adalbert, who died in 1072. Earlier, in 3.4, Adam stated that his arrival in Bremen took place in the twenty-fourth year of Adalbert’s archiepiscopacy, i.e. 1066. That Adam was here referring to a period of six years may reflect the flexibility of Adam’s expression, or simply his general arbitrariness with chronology. 42 Danmars Borgcenter, www.danmarksborgcenter.dk/da/forskning/borgring [accessed 7 January 2019]. 39

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also responsible for building the bridge over Vejle å at Ravning Enge, extensions to Danevirke, and the impressive monument at Jelling. Svein apparently did not need or value any of these earthworks and did not keep them in repair, probably because of changes in the relationship between Denmark and the Empire. Unlike Svein, Harald Bluetooth had always had to worry about his relationship with the Empire. In 868 the Saxons rejected an imperial order to go to war against the Redarians because a war with the Danes was imminent, and they did not have the forces to fight two wars at the same time.43 Harald was simultaneously fortifying the Danevirke at Hedeby.44 In 974, he went to war against Germany after the death of Otto the Great, but lost.45 And in 983 Harald joined the Slav uprising against the Germans following Otto II’s defeat at the hands of the Saracens at Cotrone in 982. When Otto II died in 983, his successor, Otto III, was only four years old, making the Empire a different sort of opponent. Svein Forkbeard no longer had to worry about the home front when he was away from his kingdom, and he became the first ruling king of Denmark to lead Viking raids abroad. The harrying of 994, in which Svein was involved, ceased when the English promised the Vikings provisions and the payment of a vast tribute, as has been mentioned above. After Olaf Tryggvason’s departure the chronicle has no further information regarding the arrangements made for the remaining part of the army in Southampton, but it is clear from II Æthelred that the king engaged them as mercenaries.46 We have no means of knowing what Svein Forkbeard’s role in all this was. It seems unlikely that he would remain with an army in England which was now serving as a mercenary force for Æthelred. It is more likely that Æthelred, 43

Widukind, ‘Res gestae Saxonicae’, in Quellen zur Geschichte der sächsischen Kaiserzeit, ed. Albert Bauer and Reinhold Rau, Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters. Freiherr vom Stein-Gedächtnisausgabe 8 (Darmstadt, 1977), 3.70 (p. 176). 44 H. Hellmuth Andersen, Danevirke og Kovirke. Arkæologiske undersøgelser 1861–1993 (Aarhus, 1998), p. 14. 45 The consequences for Denmark and for Harald Bluetooth of these wars with the Germans have been the subject of intense discussion for many years. Sture Bolin maintained that Denmark submitted to Henry the Fowler in 934, and was in effect a German duchy for most of the tenth century. Others have pointed to evidence of Danish independence throughout most of this period, and only admit that the defeat by Otto II in 874, which enabled the emperor to build a fortress – or fortify a town – in the border area, may have involved some loss of independence for the Danes which was then regained in 983. For a survey of the problem, see Niels Lund, ‘Forholdet mellem Danmark og Tyskland i det 10. århundrede’, in Beretning fra tredivte tværfaglige vikingesymposium, ed. Peter Gammeltoft and Niels Lund (Højbjerg, 2012), pp. 5–18. Recently, Jens Christian Moesgaard’s study of Harald Bluetooth’s Cross coinage, issued c. 975/980, has demonstrated that this ‘rapidly came to play a major role in the currency, and that it concerned almost the entire territory of the realm’: King Harold’s Cross Coinage: Christian Coins for the Merchants of Haithabu and the King’s Soldiers. Publications from the National Museum. Studies in Archaeology and History 20:2 (Copenhagen, 2015), p. 101. This finding does not suggest any loss of sovereignty in any part of Denmark. 46 See above, pp. 26–7.

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by encouraging Olaf ’s return to Norway, was successful in keeping him busy in Scandinavia. Svein returned to Denmark with his own forces, and for some years concentrated on his position in Scandinavia, until he reclaimed control of Norway by defeating Olaf Tryggvason, who was killed in the battle of Svold in 999. The army Svein had been leading in England was a conglomeration of forces led by other chieftains. Just as after the settlement at Southampton Olaf and his friends were free to go their own ways, so the remainder of the army were free to pursue their own fortunes. One of the remaining leaders could have been the Tostig referred to on the Yttergärde stone. The fact that the Uppland runic inscription mentions him in the illustrious company of Thorkel and Cnut does not necessarily put him in their league, however. For the years 995 and 996 no Viking attacks are recorded. In 997, however, we are told that ‘the Danish army went around Devon into the mouth of the Severn and ravaged there, both in Cornwall, in Wales, and in Devon’.47 There is no indication of where this Danish army had come from, who led it, or whether it landed anywhere. All we know is that it signalled the resumption of Viking activity in England after a period of absence, truce or mercenary service. This army’s winter quarters are unrecorded, but the following year it turned back east into the mouth of the Frome and ravaged in Dorset. After this the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles state (s.a. 998) that ‘then for another period they stayed in the Isle of Wight, and meanwhile got their food from Hampshire and Sussex’. The Isle of Wight would later serve as a friðstol, a secure base, for the Vikings.48 It is possible, though by no means certain, that this arrangement implies some sort of temporary renewal of the protection and provisions contract with the English. If so, any contract was short-lived, since the next year the army went into the Thames, up the Medway and thoroughly ravaged Kent. The following year, 1000, the Vikings went to Normandy. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles describe their fleet as an ‘unfriðflota’ (a ‘non-peace fleet’).49 This means that the English did not have an agreement or treaty with these Vikings. Although there was no such notion as a *friðflota, we can assume that, if designations like unfriðhere or unfriðflota were to make sense, it must have been to distinguish them from other armies with which the English had an agreement of frið.50 In 1001 the south and west of England was visited by what the Parker Chronicle, MS A, calls a ‘scip here’, a naval force that ravaged Sussex and Hampshire. From

47

ASC, s.a. 997. ASC, s.a. 1006. 49 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1000. 50 For unfriðhere, see ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1007, 1009. On the meaning of OE frið, see Christine E. Fell, ‘Unfrið: An Approach to a Definition’, Saga-Book of the Viking Society for Northern Research 21 (1982–3), 85–100. Eric G. Stanley has rejected Fell’s interpretation as far as Ohthere’s account is concerned (Ohthere’s Voyages, ed. Janet Bately and Anton Englert (Roskilde, 2007), pp. 56–7), but not her interpretation of the later occurrences. 48

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there they went west until they reached Devon. The C, D and E recensions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles record an army, simply referred to as se here, apparently the one they were familiar with, coming to the mouth of the Exe and ravaging Devon and Somerset. In this context, the Parker Chronicle mentions one Pallig who had entered the service of King Æthelred, hired as a naval specialist, but now betrayed him. He had made many pledges to the king, and the king had given him estates as well as gold and silver; evidently, although treaties with Viking armies, such as II Æthelred, might expire and not be renewed, after which the Vikings resumed their raiding, there were still Scandinavian mercenaries in English service. Hiring Pallig must have involved hiring a number of ships’ crews as well. Nonetheless, in 1001 he now came to join the hostile fleet that went west to Devon, with the ships he was able to gather. According to William of Malmesbury, this Pallig was married to a sister of Svein Forkbeard, called Gunnhild, and so was the Danish king’s brother-in-law. Yet both Gunnhild and the marriage were probably William’s invention, as Simon Keynes has shown.51 If Pallig was not Svein Forkbeard’s brother-in-law, it becomes easier to see him in Æthelred’s service. At the end of the plundering season the Viking army retired to the Isle of Wight and, in an impressive finale to the year, burnt Waltham, a manor belonging to the bishop of Winchester. The following year, 1002, the king and his councillors decided to pay off the Viking army; they offered them provisions and tribute and paid them twenty-four thousand pounds. The king and his witan also chose to bring a violent end to the use of Viking mercenaries by deciding that, on St Brice’s Day, ‘all the Danes who were in England’ were to be slain.52 We have a vivid description of events of Oxford in a near-contemporary charter,53 and recent archaeological excavations in Oxford have revealed mass graves, of young men with injuries that suggest that they were victims of this massacre of the Danes.54 As long as Gunnhild was still viewed as Svein Forkbeard’s sister, it was tempting, in spite of William of Malmesbury’s confused chronology – putting the massacre of the Danes after the martyrdom of Archbishop Ælfheah in 1012 – to follow the twelfth-century chronicler in interpreting the appearance of Svein’s fleet in England the next year as revenge. Yet neither the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles nor John of Worcester even hint at vengeance as a motive.55

51

Keynes, ‘Massacre of St Brice’s Day’, pp. 49–50; for a similar view, see Ann Williams, Æthelred the Unready: The Ill-Counseled King (London, 2003), pp. 53 ff. 52 ASC, s.a. 1002. 53 S 909, in Electronic Sawyer. 54 A. M. Pollard et al., ‘“Sprouting like cockle amongst the wheat”: the St Brice’s Day Massacre and the Isotopic Analysis of Human Bones from St John’s College, Oxford’, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 31 (2012), 83–102. 55 William of Malmesbury, GRA, § 177 (1:300); Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, p. 380; Ian Howard, Svein Forkbeard’s Invasions and the Danish Conquest of England 991–1017 (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 62 ff; Simon Keynes, ‘The Historical Context of the Battle of Maldon’, in The Battle of Maldon AD 991, ed. Donald Scragg (Oxford, 1991), pp. 81–113 (pp. 94–5).

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The Viking raid led by Svein in 1003 began with an attack on Exeter. The real target may, as Pauline Stafford has suggested, have been Æthelred’s new queen, the Norman princess Emma, because the marriage had closed Norman harbours to Danish armies.56 Later, the army sacked the royal vill of Wilton. From there it returned via Salisbury to the sea where Svein knew his ‘wave-stallions’ were (‘ðær he wiste his yðhengestas’).57 This choice of direction might suggest that the ships were on the Isle of Wight, but we are not told where the army had its winter quarters. It is highly improbable that they spent the winter in their ships at sea, but neither are we told that they returned to Denmark to overwinter there. Wherever the army may have been, Svein came with his fleet to Norwich and ravaged and burnt it the following year. The East Anglians and their leader, Ulfcytel, decided to buy peace from Svein but, in spite of the truce thus established, the army stole inland and similarly ravaged and burnt Thetford. By the time they wanted to return to their ships, Ulfcytel had been able to gather some forces against them and put up a stiff fight.58 However, the Danes reached their ships and we are again left uninformed of the army’s winter quarters. We can be more confident of Svein’s movements in 1005, when England was struck by a severe famine which led the army to return to Denmark: but they ‘let little time elapse before it came back’, apparently confident that England would quickly recover.59 Svein returned with his army the following summer, arriving in Sandwich.60 The English made great efforts in the autumn to combat the Danes, but to little avail. When winter approached the English fyrd went home, and the Danish army retreated to what is called their friðstol, their ‘sanctuary’, the Isle of Wight.61 We cannot tell whether this friðstol was officially recognized through a treaty with the English, or whether there was only de facto recognition. In any case, from this base the Vikings procured for themselves whatever they needed. During the winter, they conducted raids into Hampshire and Berkshire. In the end King 56 Stafford,

Emma and Edith, pp. 220–1. ASC, MS E, s.a. 1003. 58 See Richard Abels, ‘Ulfcytel [Ulfcytel Snillingr] (d. 1016)’, ODNB. 59 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1005: ‘and litelne fyrst let þet he eft ne com’. 60 Simon Keynes suggests that this army may have been ‘led by a certain Tostig’: ‘The Vikings in England, c.790–1016’, in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings, ed. Peter Sawyer (Oxford, 1997), pp. 48–82 (p. 75), for the Tostig mentioned on the Yttergärde runic stone. An attempt, though not a very convincing one, has been made to identify him with Skoglar-Toste, mentioned in Snorri’s Heimskringla and father of Sigrid, the queen of Eric the Victorious (S. B. F. Jansson, Runinskrifter i Sverige [Uppsala, 1977], p. 81). It seems simpler to interpret the ASC annal as meaning that the army which returned to Denmark because of famine in 1005 was the same army to arrive at Sandwich after midsummer 1006. ASC, MS E describes this army as ‘the Danish fleet’; MSS C and D as ‘the great fleet’; John of Worcester describes it as Danish (John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:456–8). 61 The Isle of Wight apparently served as their winter quarters from Martinmas 1006. See ASC, s.a. 1006. 57

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Æthelred and his councillors gave up fighting the Vikings, concluding ‘that the army must be given tribute’ to make peace;62 they offered tribute and provisions, ‘gafol and metsunge’. The annal for 1006 concludes with the information that the Vikings accepted the king’s offer and were supplied with food throughout England. They had to wait until the next year, 1007, for the tribute to be paid to the army, namely a sum of thirty-six thousand pounds.63 This was a fitting conclusion to a raid which had begun in 1003 with the attack on Exeter, and Svein returned to Denmark in 1007. After Svein’s departure, England had a short period without fresh Viking attacks, and the king ordered that a fleet be built so that the Vikings could be met at sea.64 The ships were built and deployed at Sandwich, but then commandeered in internal dissensions and damaged by storms; about a hundred ships were wrecked.65 The remainder of the fleet withdrew to London, leaving Sandwich as unprotected as ever when the next Viking fleet made land in England: and leton ealles ðeodscipes geswincg þus leohtlice forwurðan. and næs se sige na betera þe eall Angel cynn to hopode. Þa ðeos scipfyrd ðus geendod wæs. þa com sona æfter lafmæssan se ungemetlica unfriðhere to Sandwic.66 (And so lightly they let all the people’s labour go to waste, and that victory that the whole English people had placed their hopes in came to no better. And when the fleet had been so destroyed, the immense attacking army came to Sandwich soon after Lammas [1 August].)

This was Thorkel’s army.67 According to John of Worcester this fleet was soon joined by another headed by Heming and Eilaf, and the united forces immediately made for Canterbury.68 Over the next three years Thorkel’s forces brought England to its knees: literally, when Æthelred instituted an elaborate programme of prayer and penitence in a bid for God’s favour.69 English defences proved incapable of halting the army’s activities and, in the end, the English once again offered them peace and tribute.70 A record sum of forty-eight thousand pounds was paid to the army after Easter

62

ASC, MS E, s.a. 1006: ‘þæt man nyde moste þam here gafol gyldan’. ASC, MS C, s.a. 1007; MSS EF give the smaller sum of thirty thousand pounds. 64 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1008. 65 See the bitter account of ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1009: ‘hit eall rædleas wære’ (‘everything was in confusion’). 66 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1009. 67 As a later hand notes in an interlinear addition to MS D: ‘se ungemetlica unfriðhere {gehaten þorkilles here}’, British Library Cotton MS Tiberius B IV, fol. 60v. 68 John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:463. 69 See VII Æthelred, Prologue, Gesetze, 1:260. 70 Simon Keynes, ‘An Abbot, an Archbishop, and the Viking Raids of 1006–7 and 1009–12’, ASE 36 (2007), 151–220 (pp. 179–201). 63

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1012, following which it ‘dispersed as widely as it had been collected’.71 Before this happened, however, the army martyred archbishop Ælfheah of Canterbury who, along with other senior men of Canterbury, had been taken captive in 1011 and was being held to ransom. Presumably the other captives were able to pay, but the archbishop refused to be ransomed. John of Worcester claims that the army asked three thousand pounds for Ælfheah. On the first Saturday after Easter, the Vikings again tried to persuade the archbishop to pay. When he refused, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, they pelted him with bones until, finally, one of them killed him with an axe blow to the head, ‘and his halige blod on ða eorðan feoll’ (‘and his holy blood fell on the ground’).72 Thietmar of Merseburg, much of whose information about English matters is confused, gives colour to the case for Ælfheah’s martyrdom by providing a gruesome story of the torments he suffered in his captivity. He has Ælfheah teach the Vikings a lesson in theology, telling them that, having been redeemed once and for all by the blood of Christ on the cross, he needs no further redemption. With this he confidently confides his soul to God, leaving his body to the discretion of the Vikings.73 These hagiographic commonplaces are entirely conventional,74 which unfortunately renders it equally unlikely that there is value in Thietmar’s claim that Thorkel himself tried to intervene, promising them all his possessions except his ship, although the bloodthirsty Vikings turned down his offer. Thietmar’s moving story that Thorkel joined Æthelred because he was appalled by the killing of Ælfheah deserves no credence. We must return, then, to the question of Thorkel’s relationship to Svein Forkbeard. As already noted, the Encomium Emmae Reginae claims Thorkel was one of Svein’s commanders, and that he received permission to take part of Svein’s army to England to avenge the death of his brother. However, the Encomiast’s motive for telling such a story was to build up an impeccable reason for Svein to attack England in the following year. The brother in question ought to be Heming, but this is chronologically impossible since Heming was still alive when Thorkel’s raid began. On the contrary, Heming himself, along with Ulf Thorgilson’s brother Eilaf, led the fleet which joined Thorkel’s forces. We do not know when Heming died, and probably should not waste too much energy speculating about how Thorkel’s revenge motif could be accommodated in history.75 Since we cannot trust the Enco-

71

ASC, MS C, s.a. 1012: ‘to ferde se here wide swa he ær gegaderod wæs’. ASC, MS E, s.a. 1012. 73 Thietmar von Merseburg, Chronik, ed. Werner Trillmich, Ausgewählte Quellen zur deutschen Geschichte des Mittelalters. Freiherr vom Stein-Gedächtnisausgabe 9 (Darmstadt, 1974), 7:42–3 (pp. 398–400). 74 See, for example, Ælfric’s Life of St Edmund, in Lives of the Saints, ed. Walter W. Skeat, 2 vols, EETS o.s. 76, 82, 94, 114 (London, 1881–1900; Oxford, repr. 1999–2003), no. 32. 75 Simon Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 43–88 (pp. 58–9). 72

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miast’s information about Thorkel’s motives and his relationship to Svein, we must instead turn to other sources. The question of Thorkel’s relations and associations, if he was not one of Svein’s commanders, is a question which introduces the Jomsvikings. According to legend, Thorkel was the son of an otherwise unknown earl of Sjælland, named StrudHarald, and the brother of Sigvalde, who became a leader of the Jomsvikings. This community of warriors is said to have been founded by Harald Bluetooth and to have supported him against Svein Forkbeard. It might therefore follow that Thorkel would be an enemy of Svein and his sons. However, the Jomsvikinga Saga, practically our only source of knowledge about this group, has little value as evidence. Although some family relations recorded in the saga find confirmation in contemporary sources, the work is basically historical fiction compiled in the early thirteenth century. As Aksel E. Christensen once stated, the historian ‘has to prefer the one sentence of the Snoldelev stone to all of Njals saga’.76 Whether Thorkel was one of Svein’s commanders, or an independent Viking leader, his success in England and his entrance into Æthelred’s service were challenges that Svein Forkbeard could not ignore, and he responded to the situation promptly.77 This was the first campaign on which it is certain that Cnut accompanied his father. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, in 1013, ‘before the month of August’, Svein landed at Sandwich and immediately turned north to the Humber, travelling up the Trent to Gainsborough. Here, Earl Uhtred and the Northumbrians, the people of Lindsey, and the people belonging to the Five Boroughs, all submitted to Svein. With this backing, and with his army provisioned and provided with horses, Svein turned southwards, leaving the ships and the hostages for Cnut to look after. Probably as part of these arrangements, Cnut formed a union with Ælfgifu of Northampton, although there is some doubt as to whether this bond should be recognized as a marriage or a concubinage.78 Ælfgifu was the daughter of Ælfhelm, an ealdorman who had been murdered in 1006, apparently at Æthelred’s orders, and the sister of Wulfheah and Ufegeat who were blinded on the same occasion. As this leading family turned away from loyalty to

76

Aksel E. Christensen, Vikingetidens Danmark, 2nd edn (Copenhagen, 1977), p. 91: ‘han må nødvendigvis foretrække Snoldelevstenens ene sætning for hele Njals saga’. The Snoldelev stone, DR 248, reads ‘Gunvald’s stone, son of Roald, þular in Salløv’. See Ann Williams, ‘Thorkell the Tall and the Bubble Reputation’, in Danes in Wessex: The Scandinavian Impact on Southern England, c.800–c.1100, ed. Ryan Lavelle and Simon Roffey (Oxford, 2016), pp. 144–57, who explains very convincingly why the later sources, and Jomsvikinga Saga in particular, should not be admitted as evidence of Thorkell’s career and family relations (pp. 150–2). 77 Peter Sawyer, ‘Cnut’s Scandinavian Empire’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 10–22 (p. 17). 78 Timothy Bolton, ‘Ælfgifu of Northampton: Cnut the Great’s Other Woman’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 51 (2007), 247–68 (pp. 253–8); Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 233–4.

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Æthelred, in Pauline Stafford’s words, ‘the marriage was a significant part of the process by which Svein established himself first in the north midlands’.79 Having crossed Watling Street, the army began to plunder and soon brought Oxford and Winchester to submission. London, where Æthelred and Thorkel were located, put up a successful defence. Svein was unable to conquer the city and instead turned west, coming via Wallingford to Bath, where he received the submission of Ealdorman Æthelmær of Devon and the western thegns. By now most of England had paid homage to him, and Svein turned northwards to his ships at Gainsborough. At this stage London also submitted and Svein now began to exercise his rights as king of England. He demanded the full gild, the heregeld, which Æthelred had introduced just the year before to pay for his Danish mercenaries, and provisions for his army. However, Æthelred had not yet given up. He lay with Thorkel’s fleet at Greenwich, and Thorkel also demanded pay and provisions for his crews. Æthelred, now a deposed king, eventually fled into exile in Normandy after Christmas, joining his wife Emma who had been sent there earlier in the year. In the north of England, Svein seems to have called a witenagemot to give formal acknowledgement of his assumption of power, possibly seeking to confirm this with a coronation ceremony in York cathedral.80 Before this could take place, however, Svein died, on 3 February 1014, and he was buried, not crowned, in York. The Danish army promptly elected Cnut king but, when the witenagemot assembled, probably in the middle of February, they decided to outlaw all Danish kings from England. Their decision to recall Æthelred, who had spent barely a month in his Norman exile, rested on the provision that he would rule them rihtlicor, more justly, than he had done previously. Ironically, in order to report that Cnut and all Danish kings were henceforth unwanted in England, the chronicler had to resort to a Danish loanword, utlagian.81 Having been rejected by the English and driven out by the forces Æthelred had mustered against him, Cnut returned to Denmark. Before leaving England, though, he set ashore at Sandwich the hostages he had taken, after mutilating them. Now, if he wanted a career as king, Cnut had to start from scratch. He had lost England, and, in Denmark, his elder brother Harald had succeeded their father and was not prepared to concede any share in power to Cnut.82 Whilst this hardly left Cnut alone in the world, he did not have the pedigree normally attributed to him on the basis of Adam of Bremen’s information. 79 Pauline Stafford, ‘Ælfgifu [Ælfgifu of Northampton] (fl. 1006-36)’, ODNB; see also Bolton, ‘Ælfgifu’. 80 Jonathan Wilcox, ‘Wulfstan’s Sermo Lupi ad Anglos as Political Performance: 16 February 1014 and Beyond’, in Wulfstan, Archbishop of York: The Proceedings of the Second Alcuin Conference, ed. Matthew Townend (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 375–96 (pp. 380–3). 81 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1014: ‘ond æfre ælcne Denisc[n]e cyning utlagede of Englalande gecwædon’. See also Johannes C. H. R. Steenstrup, Danelag, Normannerne 4 (Copenhagen, 1882), p. 254. 82 The Encomium claims that Cnut was the elder brother. On this, see Niels Lund, ‘Cnut’s Danish Kingdom’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 27–42 (p. 28).

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It is generally accepted that Cnut’s mother was a Polish princess who, before her marriage to Cnut’s and Harald’s father, had been married to the Swedish king Erik the Victorious. Following this genealogy, Cnut would be the uterine brother of Erik’s son, Olof Skötkonung, who was king of Sweden c. 995–1022. Whilst Svein Forkbeard was certainly married to a Polish princess, Czcirada or Swiętoslawa, a daughter of Duke Mieszko and sister of Boleslav Chrobry, her marriage to Erik is no doubt Adam of Bremen’s invention. The story forms part of Adam’s account of Svein Forkbeard, which is entirely made up for homiletic purposes, as I have noted above.83 Cnut was back in England in 1015 with a fresh army, probably recruited from all over Scandinavia.84 Beginning in Wessex, it became a rather haphazard campaign, greatly influenced by Eadric Streona’s frequent defections.85 Eadric’s aim in changing sides seems to have been to keep the conflict alive for as long as possible, knowing that once a winner had been found the victor would have little need for him. Cnut lost several encounters with Edmund Ironside, who had succeeded his father in April 1016, but finally, and perhaps unexpectedly, won a battle at Assandun.86 As a result, Cnut and Edmund arranged to share power, with Edmund taking over Wessex while Cnut was acknowledged as ruler of England north of the Thames. Apparently sheer luck had brought Cnut this far, and he was in for even more good fortune. On 30 November 1016, Edmund Ironside died, and Cnut succeeded to all England. There were, of course, many things to be negotiated with the English witan, but Cnut’s kingship was no more in question. Why, then, did Cnut conquer England? The events outlined in this chapter show his good reasons for doing so. In the first place, Cnut may have felt that the kingdom was rightfully his. His father had conquered it, and, at his death, Cnut 83 See also Niels Lund, ‘Harald Bluetooth – A Saint Very Nearly Made by Adam of Bremen’, in The Scandinavians from the Vendel Period to the Tenth Century: An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. Judith Jesch (Woodbridge, 2002), pp. 303–20; idem, ‘Sven Estridson’s Incest and Divorce’, Viking and Mediaeval Scandinavia 13 (2017), 115–43. Cnut’s age is normally assessed on the assumption that his parents did not marry before c. 995. However, if the Polish princess was never married to Erik the Victorious, her marriage to Svein Forkbeard might have taken place as early as 983, probably when she was at least fifteen years old. 84 In addition to the Yttergärde inscription already mentioned, a number of inscriptions refer to Swedes participating in Viking activity in the west. Some specifically mention Cnut, like the Väsby inscription from Uppland (U 194) made by Alle in his own memory; others mention Swedes more generally. See Birgit Sawyer, ‘Appendix: The Evidence of Scandinavian Runic Inscriptions’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 23–6 (p. 23). 85 See the complex picture of Eadric’s career summarized in Simon Keynes, ‘Eadric [Edric] Streona (d. 1017)’, ODNB. 86 ASC, s.a. 1016. See Warwick Rodwell, ‘The Battle of Assandun and its Memorial Church: A Reappraisal’, in The Battle of Maldon, ed. Cooper, pp. 127–58, who makes a strong case for identifying Assandun with Ashdon in north-west Essex; cf. Matthew Townend, ‘Assandun and Assatun: The Value of Skaldic Evidence for English Place-Name Studies’, English Place-Name Society Journal 27 (1994–5), 21–9, who favours Ashingdon in south-east Essex.

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had been acknowledged as full king by the Danish army. No formal arrangements had been made, no agreement with the English witan, but they had submitted to Svein. From a Danish perspective, power in England in February 1014 was lodged with the army in Gainsborough who elected Cnut as Svein’s successor. Cnut had been part of the campaign of conquest. Although, when Æthelred returned from Normandy in 1014, the Danes and other allies likely felt that Cnut let them down by leaving the country,87 he had married an English woman and had allies across eastern and northern England. While his elder brother Harald had succeeded to Denmark, the ancestral land, with relative ease, Cnut was no doubt expecting, and perhaps expected, to succeed to what his father had conquered in England. Regardless of whether Cnut felt deprived of something that was rightfully his or not, there were few other career options open to him. For his entire life, England must have occupied all his attention, seeming to be something of a promised land. Cnut had watched his father devote a lot of time and interest to the English kingdom, and he can have been in no doubt that Svein and others had profited enormously from raids in England. Cnut’s father, Svein, had rebelled against his own father, Harald. Although we do not know precisely why Svein rebelled, it is worth noting that although Harald Bluetooth did mint his own coinage in Denmark, these coins were very thin and light. There was a dearth of silver in Denmark in Harald’s time,88 which may have rendered it difficult for Harald to keep up payments for his army and led him to strike his own coins. Svein’s Viking activities, however, opened new avenues of income. German and English silver began to flow into Denmark in greater quantities from around 990. The Encomiast likely highlights an important point when explaining why Svein was so popular with the army: ‘he had rendered them submissive and faithful to himself by manifold and generous munificence’ (‘quos multa liberali munificentia sibi fecerat obnoxios et fideles’).89 The opportunity of having England’s enormous financial resources at his disposal must have been foremost in Cnut’s thoughts. While his father ultimately conquered England lest someone else, such as Thorkel the Tall, should beat him to it, Cnut had no other sphere in which to fulfil his ambitions. Cnut’s conquest of England was a goal he pursued because there was little other option open to him.

87

ASC, MS E, s.a. 1014: ‘Se Cnut gewende him ut mid his flotan. and wearð þet earme folc þus beswican þurh hine.’ (‘This Cnut left with his fleet, and so those wretched people were betrayed by him.’) 88 Moesgaard, King Harold’s Cross Coinage, ch. 3. 89 Encomium, 1.1 (pp. 8–10).

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3 Conquest and the Law BRUCE O’BRIEN

C

onquest and law are necessarily intertwined subjects. Conquerors seize not only a territory, but also sovereignty over a people. Usually the most visible display of this sovereignty is a conqueror’s issuance of laws to better control or reshape what they have conquered. The Roman empire, the model state for many early medieval kingdoms, expanded its sovereignty over many independent peoples through military conquest, and followed up these conquests by imposing its law.1 The most famous of early medieval conquerors, Charlemagne, with his eyes on Rome, amended and fixed in form the laws of the peoples he had conquered or subordinated. In the most extreme case, he reinforced his brutal military conquest of the Saxons by issuing harsh laws to suppress their pagan religion and eliminate their political independence. Conquest was one of the preferred times for a new sovereign to impose new laws or to authorize old or existing ones. Both imposition of the new and authorization of the old were options and were often done at the same time, in the same piece of legislation.2 We often treat the laws issued after a conquest as a litmus test for the level of change or continuity experienced by the conquered people, which is not unwarranted, given that laws are reflections of the policies arising out of political agendas. This, of course, is a very top down view of what a text purporting to describe the 1 Freculf of Lisieux, Historiarum Libri XII, ed. M. Allen, in Frechulfi Lexoviensis episcopi opera omnia, CCSL 169A (Turnhout, 2002), pp. 415–16 (I.7.16), praised Augustus for having compelled a host of conquered peoples – including the Germans, Britons and Gauls – to obey Roman law [‘Germanos videlicet, Gallos, Britones, Hispanos, Hyberes, Austeres, Cantabros, occiduo sub axe jacentes, per se Augustus, ad eos veniens, Romanis legibus servire coegit’]. 2 Peter Stein, Roman Law in European History (Cambridge, 1999), p. 31, and passim. For Charlemagne’s first capitulary concerning the Saxons, see Capitulatio de partibus Saxoniae, ed. C. von Schwerin, Leges Saxonum und Lex Thuringiorum, Fontes Iuris Germanici Antiqui in Usum Scholarum (Hanover, 1918), pp. 37–44; Jennifer R. Davis, Charlemagne’s Practice of Empire (Cambridge, 2015).

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law actually represents. It also presumes the authenticity of records of the law. For the most part, texts of law codes are treated by historians as if authored by the kings whose names appear in their prologues. That the laws were the historical law-giver’s is no doubt often the case. Not many historians would doubt that Roman imperial rescripts reflect the decisions of the imperial court of this or that emperor. In the same way, the laws aimed at the Saxons are considered by historians to be genuine reflections of the attitude and strategies of the Frankish conquerors who issued them. Of course, things are not always as simple as they first appear. Early medieval law has a more complicated relationship to conquerors and to the conquered than can be explained by claiming that law reflects a winner’s decision to change or maintain the existing laws of a conquered state. It may or may not be a reflection of a king’s policy or ideas. No matter how literally unambiguous its attribution is to a law-making king, a legal text cannot be assumed to be by that king, or to have official status, or to have some kind of sovereign authority. These attributes must be shown. In England in the eleventh century, the laws composed or issued in the wake of two conquests offer an important perspective of the effects of the conquest. How did the conquered English fare under their new rulers in 1016–18, and again in the aftermath of 1066? What sort of kingdom had the conquering kings acquired, and how well did they understand how it worked? What disruptive or catalytic effect did the conquests have on the laws and their administration, for both conquerors and conquered? These are the questions whose answers lie at the heart of any socio-political understanding of the impact of these conquests on the people. Using the surviving eleventh-century legal texts to answer these questions is complicated, as suggested above, in a number of respects. Interpretations are weakened by our difficulty understanding the true intentions of the conquerors, and intentions may depend on how these conquerors understood the legitimacy of their claim to a ‘foreign’ throne. Our interpretations are tied to our assessment of the stages of development of the eleventh-century English state and its laws. Visible disconnects between languages and peoples, and between peoples and texts, need to be measured before the legal texts can serve as evidence. Lastly, our interpretations need to be calibrated to what we think are the existing traditions (or lack of tradition) in written law in Denmark, Normandy and England. This chapter will attempt to unpick these complications, first with the laws associated with the conquest of England in 1016 by the Danish king, Cnut, and then the same for William the Bastard’s conquest in 1066. It will, in particular, consider the relationship of written laws to kings, their advisers and nobles. Finally, it will briefly explore the aspects of law that do appear to have changed at each conquest. Considered in the round, the laws which follow these two conquests are as much symptoms of the health and structural strength of the English kingdom as reflections of the content of the law or the intentions of the conquerors; as much tools of government as images of the past.

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Danish Conquest Since law can be so many different things – custom or statute in form, normative or idealistic in intention, historical or current in authority – it pays to consider what each conqueror thought about law before his conquest of England. We unfortunately know little about Cnut’s acts as a potential king of Denmark before the 1016 conquest, and next to nothing about his ideas of law or its uses. The one thing we can say is that he thought of tribute arrangements as a kind of law. Not infrequently, Latin and vernacular words for law and custom covered fiscal arrangements such as the payment of fines, tax, rent or tribute.3 Otherwise, we are left with silence. Contemporary sources tell us nothing about any laws or edicts issued by Cnut before the conquest of England. After the conquest, four texts are associated with or issued by King Cnut. All four come from Cnut’s lifetime – none is a retrospective creation like some of the treatises written after the Norman conquest which claim to record the laws of Edward the Confessor.4 All lay down some kind of law or say what the king’s responsibilities toward the law are. To call them all ‘law’ or ‘lawcodes’ is over-simplifying their status. Two are letters which Cnut sent to England in 1019/1020 and 1027. Their survival has been fortunate. The earlier only survives in a single Old English copy added to a Gospel Book at York, though in a form which reveals Archbishop Wulfstan to have added chapters and perhaps touched up the whole after it had been sent out by the king.5 A Latin translation of the 1027 letter was added in the twelfth century to John of Worcester’s Chronicle and to William of

3

All English lawcodes are cited using the standard abbreviations found at the Early English Laws site (www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/). I also provide reference to the standard editions, especially Gesetze. Many of the uses of ‘lah’ to mean a financial right occur when the codes are discussing what was due to the king in the different ‘legal’ regions of the kingdom; the fine levels associated with breach of the law is what these chapters describe, which is more concerned with revenue than with justice: see, e.g. II Cn 12, 14–15 (Gesetze, I:316, 318–20), and Leis Wl1 2–3, 8, 16, 17.1, 21.2–3 (Gesetze, I:492–8, 502–4, 508), and Leis Wl2 39.2 and 422 (Gesetze, I:516, 517). For Latin uses, see DMLBS, s.v. ‘consuetudo’, 4c. 4 See below, p. 56. 5 Gesetze, I:273–5; Patrick Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, Volume 1: Legislation and Its Limits (Oxford, 1999), pp. 347–8. Kennedy and Keynes both argue, based on style and contents, that chapters 1–13 are likely from the original letter, and chapters 14–20 were added by Wulfstan: A. G. Kennedy, ‘Cnut’s Law Code of 1018’, ASE 11 (1983), 57–81 (p. 63), and Simon Keynes, ‘The Additions in the Old English’, in The York Gospels, ed. Nicolas Barker (London, 1986), pp. 81–99 (p. 96). M. K. Lawson, Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century (London, 1993), p. 88, argues that the ‘D’ Chronicler used the 1019/20 letter as a source, but the differences in language between chronicle and letter might also point to a common source, or simply to common knowledge. Both letters have a general address to all the English, but do single out a few individuals – Earl Thorkell, who in 1019/1020 was probably acting as a regent during Cnut’s absence, and the kingdom’s two archbishops in 1027.

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Malmesbury’s Gesta regum Anglorum.6 We know only a little about who received these, less about who read them, and even less about their effects beyond the fact of their twelfth-century reception and preservation. The third legal text is a code produced, so its prologue tells us, by a gathering of the witan and King Cnut at Oxford. Some versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles date a meeting resembling this to 1018, when Cnut made peace between the Danes and the English, and this code appears to represent the agreement they reached.7 Last is a code in the king’s name which became the final piece of royal law-making in the Anglo-Saxon period.8 This code, known by historians as I–II Cnut or the Winchester code, was issued in 1020 or 1023, and had a greater influence on eleventh- and twelfth-century English lawbooks than any other pre-conquest code.9 It is the code of 1018 that is most relevant to our topic. This code inhabited only the margins of scholarship until the second half of the twentieth century. Until then, it was treated as a collection of scraps of law and other texts gathered by Wulfstan, archbishop of York, rather than as a proclamation of law by an important assembly.10 Felix Liebermann relegated it to the bottoms of the pages holding the sections of Æthelred’s and Cnut’s laws from which it seemed to be derived.11 In 1948, however, Dorothy Whitelock convincingly identified this as, surprisingly, exactly what it said it was, a record of the settlement made between the Danes and the English at Oxford in 1018 after Cnut had assumed control of the whole kingdom.12 The code then waited almost four decades for its own edition and translation, work performed by Alan Kennedy. Kennedy confirmed both Whitelock’s identification of the authorial hand as that of Archbishop Wulfstan, and her conclusions about the code’s place in the canon of works reflecting the conquering king’s laws.13 Despite the current weight of scholarly opinion in favour of the code’s date and place of issue, we should still ask if these laws represent the agreement reached at Oxford in 1018. M. K. Lawson, for example, has raised the possibility that the code 6

Gesetze, I: 276–7; John of Worcester, Chronicle, II: 512–19; William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:324–31; Wormald, Making, pp. 348–9. It is unlikely that John of Worcester or William of Malmesbury added these copies to their own chronicles. 7 Cn 1018, prol., ed. and trans. in Kennedy, ‘Cnut’s Law Code’, p. 72; ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1018. 8 Gesetze, I:279–371; Wormald, Making, pp. 349–66. 9 Bruce O’Brien, ‘Pre-Conquest Laws and Legislators in the Twelfth Century’, in The Long Twelfth-Century View of the Anglo-Saxon Past, ed. Martin Brett and David A. Woodman (Farnham, 2015), pp. 233–46. 10 K. Jost, Wulfstanstudien (Bern, 1950), pp. 94–103. 11 See, e.g. Gesetze, I:288–91; and Liebermann’s description of the manuscript at Gesetze, I:xxii– xxiii. 12 Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut’, EHR 63 (1948), 433–52. 13 Kennedy, ‘Cnut’s Law Code’, pp. 58–70; the introduction, edition, translation and images of the manuscript folios are available at www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/laws/texts/Cn-1018/.

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of 1018 might be an act of wishful thinking by the clergy about reform, and ‘may reveal little of the real business of the Oxford meeting’.14 We can never assume a text of written law, especially one written by Wulfstan, has a direct relationship to its purported king or alleged origins; we need to show this. Starting with the code, it is significant (though not unusual) that it mentions no date or place, but only some of the circumstances behind its creation: Ðis is seo gerædnes þe witan geræddon. 7 be manegum godum bisnum. asmeadon. And þæt wæs geworden sona swa cnút cyngc. mid his witena geþeahte. frið 7 freondscipe. betweox denum 7 englum. fullice gefæstnode. 7 heora ærran saca. ealle getwæmde. (This is the ordinance which the councillors determined and devised according to many good precedents. And that took place as soon as King Cnut, with the advice of his councillors, fully established peace and friendship between Danes and English, which put an end to all their enmity.)15

The code, then, is a cypher, revealing little of where and when it was created, except for the reference to the time when peace was established. Cnut’s letter of 1019/20 asks the English to keep the law of Edgar as they had sworn they would at Oxford. Like the laws, however, the letter mentions no date for the oath and is broadly addressed to all the nation, lay and clerical, rather than to the Danes and the English like the laws.16 It is the similarity of this establishment of peace mentioned in the prologue to the laws, as well as in the 1019/20 letter, with the 1018 entry in MS D of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, that seems to complete its full historical context: On þisum geare wæs þæt gafol gelæst ofer eall Angelcynn – þæt wæs ealles twa 7 hundseofonti þusend punda, butan þam þe seo burhwaru on Lundene geald, endlifte healf þusend punda. 7 se here þa ferde sum to Denmarcon, 7 .xl. scypa belifon mid þam cynge Cnute. 7 Dene 7 Engle wurdon sammæle æt Oxanaforda to Eadgares lage.17 (In this year the tribute was paid over all England, namely 72,000 pounds in all, apart from what the citizens of London paid, namely 10,500 pounds. Then some of the army went to Denmark, and 40 ships remained with King Cnut, and the Danes and the English reached an agreement at Oxford according to Edgar’s law.)

We must be wary of assuming any of Wulfstan’s legal creations saw the light of day. Some clearly did, some probably did not, and for most, we cannot be sure either way. It is only later in the eleventh century that the phrase ‘according to Edgar’s 14 Lawson,

Cnut, p. 61. Cn 1018, prol., in Kennedy, ‘Cnut’s Law Code’, p. 72. 16 ‘7 ic wylle þæt eal þeodscype, ge hadode 7 læwede, fæstlice Eadgares lage healed the ealle men habbað gecoren 7 to gesworen on Oxenaforda’: Cn 1020, ch. 13 (Gesetze, I:274). 17 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1018 (MSS CE lack the final clause referring to Edgar’s law). 15

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law’ was added to the ‘D’ chronicle. The scribe, probably working in York, may well have picked up this phrase from the 1019/20 letter, available there copied into one manuscript of the Gospels.18 Although the most likely conclusion is that the code reflects the 1018 assembly’s agreement, it is certainly possible that the code was issued earlier, when Cnut had taken over northern and eastern England in 1016 or 1017.19 The prologue does not say where Cnut and his councillors deliberated, nor does it tell us which English were party to this peace – just those he ruled in the north and east before 1018, or all those he ruled afterwards? The author, Wulfstan, was archbishop of York in 1016 and so technically a part of the elite of Cnut’s half of the English kingdom.20 As for the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ annal, no version says anything about the assembly at Oxford issuing a lawcode.21 Nevertheless, there are reasons to think that this text was meant to reflect the 1018 agreement, or some part of the agreement, between Cnut, his Danish followers and the English elite. For one, laws were almost always issued at assemblies, and almost always involved the participation and affirmation of the witan.22 Edgar’s laws are all enacted ‘with the advice of his councillors’, while two of Æthelred’s important early codes were issued by the king ‘and his councillors’ at Woodstock and Wantage.23 Æthelred and other English kings so regularly enacted laws with their witan that to find no reference to that assembly in the text of the code would

18

ASC, MS D, pp. lvi–lvii. At various points in the period 1015–18, Cnut received submissions of some of the English, was titled in some sources as ‘king’, secured Mercia and the north in 1016, and became king of all England after Edmund Ironside’s death on 30 November 1016. Any assembly gathered before Cnut ruled all of England, or even immediately afterwards, would be most unlikely to be recorded in a charter, which is how we know about many of the assemblies of the tenth and eleventh centuries: Simon Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies, and the Anglo-Saxon Royal Diplomas’, in Kingship, Legislation and Power in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Gale R. OwenCrocker and Brian W. Schneider (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 140–57. 20 Wulfstan appears to have spent most of the years leading up to 1016 in the south, where Æthelred and Edmund Ironside ruled, but our knowledge of his movements is slight. He is a witness to a probably authentic grant of Æthelred in 1015 (S 934, the only one surviving from that year): see Charters of Abingdon Abbey, ed. S. E. Kelly, 2 pts, Anglo-Saxon Charters 7–8 (Oxford, 2001), part II, pp. 535–40 (no. 137). The only charter dated to 1016 does not include Wulfstan in the witness list, but is, according to most scholars, spurious: S 935, Electronic Sawyer. 21 The chronicler’s use of ‘wurden sammæle’ is unique as a reference to a law-making assembly or its product. The word sammæle appears elsewhere in the legal corpus but there means the unanimity of local people or thegns making a decision or judgment: see III Atr 13.2 and Wif 6 (Gesetze, I:232, 442). 22 Levi Roach, Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England, 871–978: Assemblies and the State in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 107–21; Keynes, ‘Church Councils’, pp. 140–57, lists all known assemblies which produced some form of record, including legislation. 23 II Eg prol. (Gesetze, I:194), IV Eg 1 (I: 206), I Atr prol. (I: 216), and III Atr prol. (I: 228). 19

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suggest the text was corrupt or a draft.24 The very wording of Cnut 1018 explains that it was the product of such an assembly, a meeting of the witan of the English and, one presumes, the leaders among Cnut’s Danish followers. If we can accept that the code was produced at this assembly, we ask first what would it have meant to Cnut to issue a written lawcode for his new kingdom? Law in Denmark before the conquest of England was remembered, adjusted or created by spoken word at, as far as we can tell, assemblies much like those held in England.25 The production of a written code was therefore not likely an idea proposed by the Danes. The suggestion to produce a written lawcode which the king would affirm must have come from the English gathered at Oxford. Judging by the stylistic fingerprints on this code, one of those gathered there was Archbishop Wulfstan, and it is likely that the suggestion came from him.26 According to MS D of the Chronicle, the agreement was done ‘according to the law of King Edgar’.27 Although there is very little of Edgar’s laws in this 1018 code, the rhetorical choice of Edgar’s laws was also probably Wulfstan’s suggestion. We know that he was studying Edgar’s laws; one copy of Edgar’s Andover code preserved now in a later assemblage not only dates from this time, but also bears Wulfstan’s own annotations and alterations to some of its contents.28 Edgar’s Andover code was, as Wulfstan would have known, the most significant statement of law issued after King Alfred’s Domboc. Edgar’s laws were the standard under King Æthelred, and Æthelred’s laws are not mentioned in Cnut’s 1019/20 letter. Both Cnut and no doubt Wulfstan would have thought that the codes of a powerful and undefeated king, a conqueror who expanded his sovereignty, would be a more appropriate foundation for establishing the governance of a new king – especially a king who sat 24

E.g. VI Atr prol. On the issue of distinguishing draft from authorized text, see Kenneth Sisam, ‘The Relationship of Æthelred’s Codes V and VI’, in Studies in the History of Old English Literature (Oxford, 1953), pp. 278–87, and Wormald, Making, pp. 190–5, 333–5. For the historical context, see Simon Keynes, ‘An Abbot, an Archbishop and the Viking Raids of 1006–7 and 1009–12’, ASE 36 (2007), 151–220 (pp. 177–9). 25 On the existence of larger regional assemblies in Scandinavia, see Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden, 2009), p. 159. 26 Dorothy Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan’s Authorship of Cnut’s Laws’, EHR 70 (1955), 72–85; Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut’, pp. 437–9, 444, 448–50. 27 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1018; also in John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1018, 2:504–5. 28 Very little of Edgar’s laws has left traces in Cn 1018: Alan Kennedy (‘Cnut’s Law Code’, p. 59) identified two potential borrowings, both from the secular version of the Andover code (III Eg prol. and 3). Dorothy Whitelock thoroughly reviewed all of the connections between Wulfstan’s own compositions, not just the laws, and Edgar’s legislation: Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan and the Laws of Cnut’, pp. 444–5. One of the witnesses to the Andover code (London, BL, MS Harley 55, fols 3v–4v) was at Worcester and bears, according to Neil Ker, annotations in Wulfstan’s own hand: N. R. Ker, ‘The Handwriting of Archbishop Wulfstan’, in England Before the Conquest: Studies in Primary Sources Presented to Dorothy Whitelock, ed. Peter Clemoes et al. (Cambridge, 1971), pp. 315–31 (p. 327).

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on the throne not so much by hereditary right as by conquest. While the contents and form of the 1018 code were supplied by the English (whether by Wulfstan alone or with assistance from others), the authorization was intended to be seen to come from King Cnut. If the issuance of this code was a meaningful gesture to the English, something they expected at a moment such as the one they faced at Cnut’s takeover, is was not meaningless for the new king. Cnut would have grasped that this was how the English made agreements between themselves and their kings, especially when a king first began his reign. Some tenth-century kings at their coronations made promises to stop crime and be just and merciful in judgements; the liturgy of this coronation ceremony, what historians call the coronation ordo, is preserved in what one manuscript titled the promissio regis.29 Several versions of this promise were used in the late Anglo-Saxon period and they continued to be used after the Norman conquest.30 Just before Cnut’s conquest, Æthelred had been forced to swear off bad practices and to promise to be a good lord as conditions for his return in 1014.31 That such a promise was also made by Cnut, and in fact lies behind a series of chapters near the end of Cnut’s Winchester code, was a point made by Pauline Stafford in 1982 and is now accepted by most historians as likely to be true.32 Some historians believe that Cnut, upon his acceptance by the English witan after Edmund’s death in 1017, swore the same oath as Æthelred.33 Even though the conditions implied by the terms of the promise reflect Æthelred’s situation, the presence of the text in Cnut’s secular laws has been interpreted as a sign that Cnut himself also had to agree to make the same promises, and that the words were then added by Wulfstan to what became Cnut’s Winchester code. This argument would place the oath-swearing at that Oxford assembly in 1018. What causes doubt about Cnut having made such a promise at Oxford, and about his approval of its inclusion in II Cnut, is its absence from Cnut 1018. This code is much more firmly linked to its context, and that context was the assembly that made the agreement that made Cnut England’s king. This is where and when Cnut would most likely have made this promise, and yet it is nowhere to be 29

Mary Clayton, ‘The Old English Promissio regis’, ASE 37 (2008), 91–150; Janet L. Nelson, ‘The First Use of the Second Anglo-Saxon Ordo’, in Myth, Rulership, Church and Charters: Essays in Honour of Nicholas Brooks, ed. Julia Barrow and Andrew Wareham (Aldershot, 2008), pp. 117–26, and works cited there. 30 For a text of the Old English version, see Clayton, ‘The Old English Promissio’, pp. 91–150; Clayton’s edition and translation also appears at www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/laws/texts/Sacr-cor/. The Latin version is in Gesetze, I:215, 217. 31 ASC, MS CDE, s.a. 1018. 32 Pauline Stafford, ‘The Laws of Cnut and the History of Anglo-Saxon Royal Promises’, ASE 10 (1982), 173–90. 33 E.g. Patrick Wormald, ‘Archbishop Wulfstan: Eleventh-Century State-Builder’, in Wulfstan, Archbishop of York: The Proceedings of the Second Alcuin Conference, ed. Matthew Townend, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 10 (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 9–28 (p. 20).

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found in this reasonably comprehensive 1018 record of the legislative agenda of the start of his reign. It seems much more likely that, given his working method, Wulfstan added the oath he had written for his previous king to the code he was compiling for Cnut in the 1020s. The majority of this code, in both its ecclesiastical and secular parts, is derived from earlier codes, many of which were written by Wulfstan for other ‘kings’ (living, like Æthelred, or long dead, like Edward and Guthrum) and for other situations.34 That he would reuse an Æthelredian coronation oath in a document meant to reflect the powers of a new king is unsurprising. Nor is it surprising that he did not signal its original purpose and authority in the text of Cnut’s code. Why, then, did he also include the peculiar ‘Alleviatory’ clause, a rhetorical prologue to this oath, which clearly signals that something different, albeit unidentified, is to follow? ‘This is the alleviation by which I will deliver all the people from those things which vexed them very much before now’ (‘Þis is þonne seo lihtingc, þe ic wylle eallon folce gebeorgan, þe hig ær þyson mid gedrehte wæran ealles to swyðe’), it announces, and follows with a series of promises to restrain reeves, keep to customary expectations and be a good lord to the English.35 The roughness of this editing work by Wulfstan may well be evidence, as Mary Richards has argued, that the secular portion of Cnut’s Winchester code (II Cn) is a draft rather than a finished product.36 If so, then Wulfstan intended to rearrange and revise all of its contents, including possibly the old coronation oath, at a later point. This does not mean that the thrust of the Oxford code is not principally retrospective. We should understand the message implicit in its form and contents as a political gesture of continuity. There are different ways continuity in this circumstance can be understood. Although it might signify a promise to maintain everything as it was and is – in other words, to preserve Edgar’s laws as issued and as maintained by his successors – it might also mean that the new king was promising not to radically overturn what existed. The emphasis on respect for the existing laws was meant as a brake on further development rather than as the final goal of rule. Seen this way, the statement about Edgar’s laws was a sign to those gathered at Oxford that Cnut would move slowly and only with the witan’s participation.37 The assembled English in particular would have been most keen to hear this very point made by the Danish king. The principal goal of the legislation issued that day

34 Wormald,

Making, pp. 356–60 (table 5.4). II Cn 69 (Gesetze, I:356). 36 Mary P. Richards, ‘I–II Cnut: Wulfstan’s Summa?’, in English Law Before Magna Carta: Felix Liebermann and Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, ed. Stefan Jurasinski, Lisi Oliver and Andrew Rabin (Leiden, 2010), pp. 137–56. If Richards is right, then we must see Wulfstan perhaps drafting his work in Latin, moving it into Old English for its final, but substantial, editing. 37 For the importance of this period to the development of constitutional restraints on the king, see J. R. Maddicott, The Origins of the English Parliament, 924–1327 (Oxford, 2010), pp. 40–1. 35

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might very well have been to assure the English of their continued participation in ruling the realm, rather than to signal the first act of domination by the new king. This picture of sensibly sought and sensibly given continuity of law over the Danish conquest, built around respect for English customs, is at odds with what the English ealdormen and thegns experienced in the years immediately before and after 1018. The evidence, albeit anecdotal, shows that large numbers of Danish and new English lords replaced existing English lords from long-established and prominent families. This replacement did not happen just in the aftermath of the 1018 assembly, but was a result of deaths during decades of warfare, along with losses through executions, outlawry and exile. Katharin Mack concluded that there had been ‘a purge of the thegnly aristocracy between 1010 and 1017 which rivaled the carnage of the Norman Conquest’.38 Between 1016, when Cnut began his rule of northern and eastern England, and in the fallout from the 1018 assembly, when he gained firm control of the whole kingdom, his reign was marked by a ruthless consolidation of his rule. His unsurprising goal was to put in positions of authority those on whom he could rely, be they Danes or English, and by 1017 he had achieved this, though outlawries and executions continued to occur as late as 1021. By then, there were few of the old aristocracy left to remove. Ironically, then, it appears that Cnut’s acceptance of the agreement recorded in the 1018 code was sincere. Regardless of whether the words were all Wulfstan’s, or were a collective effort of the witan, or in some way were also Cnut’s, the king kept them.39 The contents of the 1018 code served as a first run for what became his fuller statement of the law, the Winchester code of 1020 or 1023. This code remained almost as derivative of earlier law as had been that of 1018.40 Elsewhere, without Wulfstan to guide him, Cnut used law not to signal continuity but to make changes. Consider, for example, Cnut’s alleged code for Norway, which he conquered in 1027 and then held for a few years. In Norway he tried to use the promulgation of a law code as the vehicle for what were taken by the subjugated

38 Katharin Mack, ‘Changing Thegns: Cnut’s Conquest and the English Aristocracy’, Albion 16 (1984), 375–87 (p. 380). 39 Lawson believes we cannot know whether or not the words of the codes Wulfstan wrote for Cnut reflect the ideas or intentions of the king, though he does say there is no reason to think they do not: Cnut, pp. 58–63, 207–10. It is striking, nonetheless, that with Wulfstan’s death the production of new lawcodes ends. Cnut appears not to have learned the lesson from Wulfstan that written laws were an important political tool of governance. If, as Stephanie Hollis argues, other advisers in Cnut’s court contributed to the laws, and even forced Wulfstan to make compromises on the issue of regulating widowhood, these advisers never produced a code of their own for their king: Stephanie Hollis, ‘“The Protection of God and the King”: Wulfstan’s Legislation on Widows’, in Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, ed. Townend, pp. 443–60. 40 For identification of sources, see the marginal notation in Gesetze, I:278–371; Richards, ‘I–II Cnut’, pp. 137–56, walks the reader through the sources used and the steps of Wulfstan’s assemblage of the whole code, section by section.

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Norwegians to be new and oppressive measures, and extortionate ones at that.41 Cnut’s laws in Norway look more like the kinds of agreements Viking kings had made with the English and other victims about receiving tribute. It was certainly not a collection of older, familiar, and acceptable customs issued by the conquering king to show the Norwegians he would be as good a lord as any of their past kings. Resentment among the Norwegians over these laws and other acts of heavy-handed governance led to rebellion, and increased support for Cnut’s rivals for control of Norway. These problems left him with only a shaky hold on the kingdom and a lasting reputation there as a tyrant.42 Despite all of his legislative activity in England, it is unclear whether much of anything changed in the law itself. One major problem in deciding what Cnut had changed is our inability often to know whether the law was in fact changing for internal reasons unrelated to the conquest, or whether the conquest was the cause of the change. As difficult to know is whether we have legislation because the king was using all of his legislative power as a way to shape his kingdom, or whether he was instead recording existing custom to put his stamp on his realm. John Hudson, in his recent History of the Laws of England, remains firmly agnostic about the extent of Cnut’s changes to the law for these very reasons.43 For instance, although there are good reasons to trace the origins of the frankpledge system to a combining of tithing and suretyship during the reign of Cnut, it is far from clear that Cnut (or Wulfstan) had anything to do with this, except insofar as a political crisis such as a conquest might have proved the catalyst to formulate something already developing slowly in the tenth century.44 Other scholars have been able here and there to identify what appear to be shifts in a particular law or procedure. Stephanie Hollis, for example, placed Cnut’s laws on widows under high magnification and detected signs in the language that Wulfstan needed to compromise with

41

Ágrip af Nóregskonungasogum: A Twelfth-Century Synoptic History of the Kings of Norway, ed. M. J. Driscoll (Birmingham, 1995), pp. 40–3 (chs 28–9); discussed by Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 275–87. 42 Ágrip, pp. 42–7 (chs 30, 32 and 35). 43 John Hudson, The Oxford History of the Laws of England: Volume 2, 871–1216 (Oxford, 2012), pp. 158, 245 n. 5. 44 Many (including me) rationalize their dating of institutional changes (and not just the creation of frankpledge) based not solely on the institution’s appearance in a datable text, but also on their belief that particular historical circumstances were more likely than others to encourage change: contemporary work shows the range. Arguing for Æthelstan’s reign as the time when frankpledge was created is David Pratt, ‘Written Law and the Communication of Authority in Tenth-Century England’, in England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876–1947), ed. David Rollason, Conrad Leyser and Hannah Williams (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 337–49; for the peaceful reign of Edgar as the key period, see George Molyneux, The Formation of the English Kingdom in the Tenth Century (Oxford, 2015), pp. 116–94, 195–6; the turbulent times of Æthelred are indicated by Roach, Kingship and Consent, pp. 216–17; for my argument that Cnut’s reign is the most likely to have taken advantage of this newly combined institution, see below, p. 61.

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other contributors, or with members of the court, in the composition of the laws.45 These shifts, however, are few and often more changes of emphasis or proportion rather than of the principles behind the laws.46

Norman Conquest When William, duke of Normandy, conquered the same kingdom fifty years later, at least a quarter of its people would have had some memories of the time of Cnut. Although William I’s military and political accomplishments caught the attention of all eleventh- and twelfth-century historians of his reign, the first Norman king has only a modest reputation as a law maker. When he is mentioned, the references are often frustratingly vague. When explicit, they are clearly a product of bias and are mainly interested in condemning or praising the conqueror’s work rather than describing it. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles decry the imposition of the savage forest laws, which by default appears to be, in the chronicler’s eyes, William’s only contribution to the laws of the kingdom.47 Another contemporary, William of Poitiers, praises the king not only for being a just and fair king – the usual topoi – but also for maintaining control of his conquering army in order to prevent his soldiers from harming one another or the newly conquered English: Ad hoc decere, ne quid turpiter in externis agitando, terrae ubi natus uel altus est dedecus infligeret. Milites uero mediae nobilitatis atque gregarios, aptissimis edictis coercuit […] Potare militem in tabernis non multum concessit, quoniam ebrietas litem, lis homicidium solet generare. ([King William] added that it was not honourable to act disgracefully when abroad in such a way as to bring dishonour to the land where one was born or brought up. He restrained the knights of middling rank and the common soldiers with appropriate regulations… He scarcely allowed the soldiers to drink in taverns, since drunkenness leads to quarrels and quarrels to murder.)48

Some post-conquest chroniclers and historians who used the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles as a source are surprisingly silent on the Norman king’s forest laws, and any laws issued or emended during his reign. The Norman writer Gaimar, who relied

45

Hollis, ‘Protection of God’, pp. 459–60. Stefan Jurasinski, ‘Reddatur parentibus: The Vengeance of the Family in Cnut’s Homicide Legislation’, Law and History Review 20 (2002), 157–80; Wormald, Making, p. 364. 47 ASC, s.a. 1087. 48 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 158–61 (2.33); for an argument about what this passage means, see below, p. 61–2. 46

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on the Chronicle, says nothing about William’s laws.49 Gaimar’s contemporary, the post-conquest chronicler John of Worcester, writing before 1131, praised Harold Godwineson for annulling unjust laws and establishing good ones, but recorded nothing concerning the Conqueror’s legislation. King Harold, we learn, ‘ordered the earls, ealdormen, sheriffs, and his own officers generally to seize thieves, robbers, and disturbers of the realm’.50 Symeon of Durham repeated John of Worcester’s words about Harold’s enforcement of the law.51 Roger of Howden in the later twelfth century, a writer close to the royal court and the administration of justice as well as knowledgeable about English historical scholarship, took this passage about Harold from Symeon almost verbatim and added nothing else on William.52 Throughout the twelfth century King Harold, in fact, has a higher reputation as a law-giving and law-enforcing king than does William I. Harold enjoyed this high reputation despite a concerted effort by the court of the first Norman king to damn his memory, erase his acts and delegitimize his brief rule.53 William’s relationship to the law is therefore unclear. We start with what can be known about his actual laws. Here we come up against a curtain of anonymity. We do not know the names of any of the people who wrote laws for William, and so have no purchase on the process as we do with Wulfstan and Cnut.54 Worse yet, we do not know how many of the legal texts which survive from his reign or name him as their promulgator are actually his. Furthermore, it is unclear how, or whether, many of the clearly unofficial texts that claim or can be argued to record something of the law of the time actually reflect William I’s legislative agenda.

49

Geffrei Gaimar, Estoire des Engleis: History of the English, ed. and trans. Ian Short (Oxford, 2009), pp. 264–5. 50 ‘leges iniquas destruere, equas cepit condere […] ducibus, satrapis, uicecomitibus et suis in commune precepit ministris fures, raptores, regni disturbatores comprehendere’, John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1066, 2:600–1. 51 Symeon of Durham, Historia regum, in Symeonis Monachi Opera Omnia, ed. Thomas Arnold, 2 vols, Rolls Series 75 (London, 1882–5), II:179. 52 Roger of Howden, Chronica, ed. William Stubbs, 4 vols, Rolls Series 51 (London, 1868–71), I:111. Roger did include the Leges Edwardi and the Articuli Willelmi in his ‘Book of English Laws’ appended to the Chronica, but does not appear to have used them as sources for the history of legislation – as had Wace shortly before in his Roman de Rou: Wace, The Roman de Rou, ed. and trans. Glyn S. Burgess (St Helier, 2002), pp. 290–1 (lines 8998–9010). It may be that the Liber de legibus Anglie came to him long after he had written his account of William I’s reign, and he had no desire to go back and revise the account: see Roger of Howden, Chronica, II:215–52. 53 George Garnett, Conquered England: Kingship, Succession, and Tenure 1066–1166 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 1–44. 54 There is a claim in the early thirteenth-century compilation known as the Leges Anglorum that Bishop Maurice of London (1086–1107) helped write the laws. This reference is quite late and is supported by no other sources: Bruce O’Brien, God’s Peace and King’s Peace: The Laws of Edward the Confessor (Philadelphia, PA, 1999), pp. 55–6.

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There are three texts accepted by historians as edicts of the conqueror. All are in the form of writs and are relatively brief when compared to pre-conquest codes.55 The writ form is generally not used by English kings to issue laws before 1066, in so far as we can tell. Nevertheless, these three writs form a pattern that shows William I was content to issue written edicts on particular points of law, something the dukes of Normandy had done, albeit orally, before 1066.56 The writs are undated and two are generally addressed to all England. The first dovetails Norman methods of proof into the existing English system.57 The second separates pleas belonging to the church’s jurisdiction from those belonging to the king.58 The last confirms the rights and privileges of the city of London, and as such is the least law-like of the bunch.59 All were put into writing, and the language chosen was English. In this, they are following the pattern of other kinds of administrative or executive documents produced before 1066 by the royal chancery.60 If we do not have the names of their authors or drafters, we may still suspect that the edicts were published this way on the advice of William I’s chancellor, Regenbald, a man who had served in the same role under Edward the Confessor and perhaps under Harold as well.61 These three writs were likely not the only official legislative texts issued by William I. Evidence for at least one additional edict, issued in writ form, is now part of an apocryphal treatise known as the ‘Ten Articles of William I’ (Articuli decem Willelmi). This text looks like a pastiche of other texts, some copied, some paraphrased, which describe legal changes after the conquest.62 For example, one chapter explains how the men William brought over with him are going to enjoy additional protection in this new kingdom (about which more below). The text of the chapter, almost entirely in Latin, includes some Old English legal terms whose 55

By a rough estimate, the shorter pre-conquest codes (I Ew, II Ew, I As, III As, I Em, and III Em) include about 360 words (with I Em, the shortest, having 207), while Wl ep has 250 and Wl lad 233. The pre-conquest codes rarely use a form of address in any way analogous to a writ address like that used by William I. Hudson, Oxford History, p. 259, is hesitant to attach the change to the conquest itself, since from what we can tell the English stopped writing lawcodes with Cnut’s half a century earlier. 56 Mark Hagger, ‘Secular Law and Custom in Ducal Normandy, c.1000–1144’, Speculum 85 (2010), 827–67. 57 Wl lad: Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: the Acta of William I (1066–1087), ed. David Bates (Oxford, 1998), pp. 445–7 (no. 130); this introduction and edition, along with a translation and manuscript image, are available at www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/laws/texts/Wl-lad/. 58 Wl ep: Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum, pp. 440–2 (no. 128); also at www.earlyenglishlaws. ac.uk/laws/texts/Wl-ep/. 59 Wl Lond: Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum, p. 593 (no. 180); also at www.earlyenglishlaws. ac.uk/laws/texts/Wl-lond/. 60 Richard Sharpe, ‘The Use of Writs in the Eleventh Century’, ASE 32 (2003), 247–91. 61 Simon Keynes, ‘Regenbald the Chancellor (sic)’, ANS 10 (1988), 185–222; Garnett, Conquered England, p. 13. 62 Gesetze, I:486–8; Wormald, Making, pp. 402–3. The text is also called the Decreta Willelmi and, in older works, Hic Intimatur, after its first words.

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presence and form raise the possibility that an originally English document was translated for inclusion in the Articuli Willelmi. This chapter finishes with the statement that ‘This decree was authorized in Gloucester’, much as a contemporary writ might end with an identification of the venue where it was written.63 The absence of a similar clause either from other chapters of the Articuli or from any of the other legal texts of the reign does not eliminate the possibility that they also remember other edicts issued by the king. William I’s reign might also have been the time when unofficial law books were compiled to map out not just the innovations of his reign, but all English law. The text with which the Articuli is associated on the basis of some shared language, method and layout may in fact be the product of a legal translator active during William I’s reign or very soon thereafter. This text is usually called the Instituta Cnuti because that is what its last editor, Liebermann, called it, though there is good reason to think that its title should be something closer to that which appears at the beginning of its earliest copy, the Instituta de legibus regum Anglorum.64 This title is more accurate since the text holds a good deal more than just a translation of Cnut’s Winchester code.65 The Instituta’s first three books include long tranches from Cnut’s laws and some other English codes, notably that of Alfred, much of which has been edited. Its fourth book is filled with wholly unsourced material, likely to be translations of texts which are no longer extant. In its earliest copy and in some other branches of its manuscript family, the Articuli of William I follows hard on the heels of this unsourced material. In the oldest copy of the Instituta (c. 1123), the Articuli is rubricated and laid out as if it were a fifth and final book of the Instituta.66 Connections between these two texts go beyond the appearance that both are parts of the same text. Whoever drew up the Articuli certainly had the Instituta at hand and borrowed phrases from it. In method of assembly, both gather and rearrange separate texts of the law with confidence. Both appear to be, at least in part, translations of Old English sources, and they follow to a large extent the same translation method, preserving at times the Old English legal register found

63

‘Hoc decretum sancitum est in Ciuitate Claudia’, Gesetze, I:487. Bruce O’Brien, ‘Textus Roffensis: An Introduction’, in Textus Roffensis: Law, Language, and Libraries in Early Medieval England, ed. Bruce O’Brien and Barbara Bombi, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 30 (Turnhout, 2015), p. 6 and n. 13. 65 Felix Liebermann, ‘On the Instituta Cnuti aliorumque Regum Anglorum’, TRHS 7 (1893), 77–107; Bruce O’Brien, ‘The Instituta Cnuti and the Translation of English Law’, ANS 25 (2003), 177–97. My edition and translation of the Instituta will appear at www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/ laws/texts/in-cn/. 66 It should cause no surprise that, in a copy made from Textus Roffensis, the Articuli was hived off from the rest of the Instituta by someone interested in, it appears, separating the laws of Cnut from those attributed directly to the Conqueror: see Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Rawlinson C. 641, whose texts of the Instituta and the Articuli were copied directly from Textus Roffensis. 64

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in their sources.67 It seems likely that the Articuli, this short compilation and translation of contemporary laws attributed to William I, was the product of the person responsible for the long compilation and translation of older laws now called the Instituta Cnuti. At the very least, the two texts are more likely to share a compiler-translator than for them to be products of different and unrelated writers. If these texts do share an author-translator – and such an authorship can only be suggested at this point – then we have in the Instituta-Articuli a lawbook for William I’s reign comparable to the Quadripartitus-Leges Henrici collection completed in the reign of Henry I.68 Although the Instituta-Articuli is a much shorter text, it combines old laws in translation, updated or revised in many places, with recent edicts as an appropriate statement of law in the half century after the conquest. There are two other kinds of proscriptive and descriptive evidence which, on the surface, appear to preserve the laws of the Conqueror. The first kind, consisting of two treatises, only provides at best a much-attenuated description of what might be conquest-era laws. Both treatises claim to represent the laws of Edward the Confessor as confirmed or amended by William I. The setting of one of these treatises, the Leges Edwardi, is elaborate, with a description of an assembly which met in 1070 and recited English laws to William I for his confirmation.69 The second treatise, the Leis Willelme, essentially makes the same claim, but without any elaborate scene setting. It claims that its contents represent the laga Edwardi, or laws of King Edward, granted to the English by their conquering king, William I.70 Despite their claims, it would be unwise to assume that these treatises preserve anything older than the period of their composition (probably sometime in the 1130s or 1140s). They preserve some memory of the conqueror’s laws, but these have been altered significantly by the passage of time. They are much better evidence for later developments in the time of Henry I.

67

For a sign of the rare exception to this rule, see In Cn 2.13.2 (Gesetze, I:316–17), where the translator has substituted utlaga for flyman in order, it appears, to have consistency of terminology in the chapter on útlages geweorc. As mentioned above, Wl art 4 identifies a custom ‘quod ipsi dicunt on hlóte et an scóte’ (Gesetze, I:487), which does not prove it a translation, but does follow the pattern of vernacular glosses provided this way in In Cn. Wl art 6 provides a paraphrase of Wl lad, which is either an expansion of the source or a translation of a different version which has not survived. Where Wl lad 1 provides a list of crimes which would lead to a decision about proof in a court (between an Englishman and a Norman), the source’s ‘for þeofte oððe for manslihte oððe for ænigan þingan’ is much less fulsome than the the Articuli’s ‘de periurio aut mordro, furto, homicidio, rán, quod Angli dicunt apertam rapinam’ (Gesetze, I:483, 487). The In Cn translator was often happy to significantly revise his Old English sources, eliminating chapters or parts of chapters as well as adding brief glosses, occasionally longer explanatory passages, and reconfiguring the basic text. 68 Wormald, Making, p. 405, offers a similar observation. 69 ECf prol. and ch. 34: O’Brien, God’s Peace, pp. 158–9, 192–3. 70 Gesetze, I:492; a new edition and translation of version 1 of the Leis Willelme by Ian Short et al. is available at www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/laws/texts/leis-wl1/.

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The other kind of evidence is in fact the best we have for what the law was thought to be at the end of William I’s reign: the record of a kingdom-wide inquest known as Domesday Book. Even though the Domesday Inquest’s commissioners were not asked by the king in 1086 to record the laws and customs of the English, they nevertheless ended up writing down a good deal of what local juries testified was the local law. Despite the unsystematic nature of its jury testimony, Domesday Book is the most trustworthy statement we have of the law as known by those who had to obey or enforce it.71 What we see is an understandable variety of statements of custom or practices that reflects the legislative foci of Anglo-Saxon kings and witans: general and specific prohibitions, royal and other rights, penalties, fines and outlawry.72 Perhaps it is significant that while we hear many times that there had been unlawful or unauthorized claims of possession of land, there is no point in the survey but one where the jurors say that the laws – meaning the royal proscriptive acts of the past – had been thus, but now were something else.73 The exact nature of the relationship of any of this evidence, even the official edicts, to William I is uncertain. It is hard to know what sense the king made of English-style legislation since he, like Cnut, came from a land without written law. Although Norman dukes were accustomed to making law and using assemblies to do this, issuing their edicts in written form appears not to have been thought necessary.74 There are no Norman codes that predate the conquest. The Norman texts closest to codes are the records of church councils which met infrequently, and which even less frequently published their canons.75 There were lawbooks in Norman libraries, but these held collections of Carolingian capitularies and tribal leges like the Frankish Lex Salica and Lex Baiuariorum – the same kind of lawbooks

71

The fundamental book on this is Robin Fleming, Domesday Book and the Law: Society and Legal Custom in Early Medieval England (Cambridge, 1998). 72 Patrick Wormald, Papers Preparatory to the Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, Volume II:  From God’s Law to Common Law, ed. Stephen Baxter and John Hudson (London, 2014), pp. 237–9, and see www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/reference/wormald/. 73 The exception is a number of cases where Picot the sheriff was the object of jurors’ testimony: see, for example, Fleming, Domesday Book, p. 107 (F[leming numbers] 162–4). The ‘law’ when disputed elsewhere in Domesday Book often means the state of possession and rights in the past, e.g. F 622, where the witnesses to one party ‘refused to accept any law but the law of King Edward, until it [the inheritance case under dispute] is determined by the King’: Fleming, Domesday Book, pp. 153–4. The custom which was meant in cases where it had changed was usually the amount of rent owed to the new lord. Other small changes mentioned underline the continuity of institutions over the conquest; for example, the names of the lawmen in Danelaw boroughs before 1066 are then matched with the current names of the lawmen in 1087. For the lawmen of Lincoln, see Fleming, Domesday Book, pp. 190–1 (F 965). 74 Hagger, ‘Secular Law’, p. 867: ‘The dukes made law in the same way and at the same sorts of times as the Carolingian emperors and English kings’. 75 Hagger, ‘Secular Law’, p. 830.

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which could be found in libraries throughout Francia.76 How anyone could use these lawbooks is uncertain. To a reader they were obviously records of old Frankish-era laws; their context is de facto historical even if some readers might possibly have mistaken them to be de iure normative texts. There is, however, no evidence to suggest that anyone who actually read these books thought this way. These lawbooks likely appeared to eleventh-century readers to be what they in fact were: artifacts of an empire from a former age. William and his Norman advisers, politically savvy but after 1066 in a situation beyond their experience, would have done well to look to Cnut’s conquest for lessons learned. The history of the Danish conquest of England would probably have been well-known in Normandy, since bonds between the rulers of England and Normandy were then strong. Most recently before 1066, Normandy had served as a refuge for King Æthelred and his children when they fled in 1014. Æthelred’s queen, Emma, was the sister of the reigning duke, Richard II. And if the Normans had missed the parallels, the English would have pointed them out. By 1066, the Danish conquest looked like an exercise in continuity that preserved many of the kingdom’s institutions in the wake of 1016. After the Norman conquest, few of the chronicles or other sources written then spent much, if any, time on the bloodbath the Danish conquest had been or on the executions and outlawries Cnut had engineered. There are good reasons to think that, in matters of law, William I and his council studied the history of the previous conqueror. This at least is suggested by the fact that, although it was probably the English who explained to the Normans the importance of affirming the good old law, which meant affirming the laws of Cnut, it was the Normans themselves who were responsible for translating, composing and compiling almost all of the legal texts and lawbooks of the period.77 The strength of the English pre-conquest tradition must have impressed the Normans. They probably learned that the English had made Edward agree to maintain the laws of Cnut as a condition of his acceding to the throne in 1041 – an event whose only record comes from a Francophone writer at work probably late in the reign of William II.78 Like Cnut’s laws, the Anglo-Norman leges, both the authentic ones like the edicts and apocrypha like the Leges Edwardi, stress the role of the witan and, 76

Listed and described by Hubert Mordek, Bibliotheca capitularium regum Francorum manuscript, MGH Hilfsmittel 15 (Munich, 1995). 77 A rare example of the English reaching back, in front of a Norman audience, to Cnut’s reign for a precedent occurs in the Miracles of St. Edmund by Herman of Bury. According to Herman, Abbot Ælfwine of Ramsey, near the end of his life in about 1080, ‘cast his mind back to the days of King Cnut’ for evidence of Bury’s liberty, a memory then confirmed by an assembly made up of nine counties: Miracles of St Edmund, pp. 76–7. On Norman responsibility for writing the treatises and copying the books, see O’Brien, God’s Peace, pp. 131–4. 78 Quadripartitus, Argumentum 9–11 (Gesetze, I:533). The passage is translated by Richard Sharpe, ‘The Prefaces of “Quadripartitus”’, in Law and Government in Medieval England and Normandy: Essays in Honour of Sir James Holt, ed. G. Garnett and J. Hudson (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 148–72

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in some cases, were issued in English. The claim such texts are making is relentlessly conservative. If it were merely a mask to cover up radical changes imposed by the new sovereign, surely we would hear more than we do. Given the problems with much of the evidence, it is hard for us to say with certainty what William I’s new laws were. As with Cnut’s laws, any changes visible after 1066 are not necessarily a reflection of the legislative agenda of the conqueror or of the unintended consequences of the conquest. Most obviously, William I’s writ separating ecclesiastical from secular pleas looks more like royal support for an ongoing ecclesiastical reform to bring English practices into line with what was done on the continent. Does this make the law William’s or his clergy’s? This law was promulgated after a conquest, but not necessarily because of that conquest. Most of the new elements in William’s laws cluster around the issues of proof and punishment. The edict detailing what proofs are allowed in cases when the opposing parties are French and English is clearly addressing a new matter, and doing so without any strong precedent in English or Norman law to follow.79 Nevertheless, it is more a restatement of what both the English and the Normans already trusted than anything new. The introduction or application of certain punishments has often been cited as one of the Norman changes to the law. This identification is based on the evidence of two principal sources: the Articuli of William I and the Historia Ecclesiastica of Orderic Vitalis. The Articuli shows William substituting blinding and castration for execution or hanging as the punishment for serious offences, while Orderic reports that traitors receive different punishments for treason depending on whether they are English or Norman: the English are executed while the Normans are merely mutilated.80 Mark Hagger has recently made a strong case that Orderic is wrong to say that the Normans had a fixed custom, because there are several different punishments for treason (including execution) noted in the Norman sources.81 Other than church pleas, proof and punishment, William I’s contribution to England’s legal development consists of a small barrage of promises to restore or maintain the laga Edwardi – the laws, customs and practices which were in force before 1066, however variable or particular they were. This leaves only William I’s alleged creation of the murder fine to be considered. In the later twelfth century, this fine had become a massive collective penalty imposed on the English peasants living in a district where a body was found which could not be proved to be English. This Draconian law was maintained in a majority of the counties of the kingdom long after the Norman conquest until it (p. 164). For an explanation of the historical implications, see J. R. Maddicott, ‘Edward the Confessor’s Return to England in 1041’, EHR 122 (2007), 650–66. 79 Wl lad, summarized in Wl art 6 (Gesetze, I:487); it is hard to know if the precedents were known as such: e.g. AGu, EGu, II Atr, and Cn 1018. 80 Wl art 3–4 (Gesetze, I:487); Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, II:314, 318–22. 81 Hagger, ‘Secular Law’, pp. 861–2.

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was abolished in 1340. It used to be universally accepted by historians as William I’s imposition. Richard Fitz Nigel, writing in the late twelfth century, said it was enacted by the Conqueror to protect his men from English ambushes, and some of the handful of descriptions from the century after 1066 seem to point to William I as the creator of the institution. I argued in 1996 that the murder fine was not William’s invention, but was created before the conquest. Given the evidence of the law itself and of the historical context, I thought it was more likely to be from the time of Cnut than from any other time. The reasons were many and the argument complex, so I will not reprise it here at length as I would not change it in any significant way. In brief, Richard Fitz Nigel gets things wrong about what happened in William I’s reign often enough to cast doubt on all of his pronouncements about the past, including what he writes about the murder fine.82 As for the four accounts in legal texts describing the procedure, they neither agree on the procedure’s details nor on the attribution to William.83 One, in fact, credits Cnut with the creation of the murder fine in the aftermath of what looks like the 1018 Oxford council.84 But for the fact that this source, the Leges Edwardi Confessoris, is probably the most accurately attuned to contemporary criminal law and usually (but not always) gets things right, its distant memory would be dismissed.85 The re-dating of the murder fine to Cnut’s reign has been accepted in toto by some. Many others, while not accepting the attribution specifically to Cnut, now express doubts about William’s responsibility for it. Still others have accepted pieces of the argument placing the development of the murder fine’s parts to the period before 1066, but still claim its final combination into a new law was William’s. Finally, some continue to argue that it was entirely a post-conquest Norman creation.86

82

Bruce O’Brien, ‘From Morþor to Murdrum: The Preconquest Origin and Norman Revival of the Murder Fine’, Speculum 71 (1996), 321–57 (pp. 322, 327–9); cf. John Hudson, ‘Administration, Family and Perceptions of the Past in Late Twelfth Century England: Richard fitz Nigel and the Dialogue of the Exchequer’, in The Perception of the Past in Twelfth-Century Europe, ed. Paul Magdalino (London, 1992), pp. 75–98. 83 The four descriptions are in Wl art 3–4, ECf 15–16, Hn 91 and Leis Wl 22. 84 ECf 16, trans. in O’Brien, God’s Peace, pp. 174–5. 85 Hudson, Oxford History, pp. 870–1. 86 Consider the variety of conclusions found in these works: Marjorie Chibnall, The Normans (Oxford, 2000), pp. 53–4; Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066–c.1220 (Oxford, 2003), pp. 29 n. 43, 49–50, 59 n. 13; Hudson, Oxford History, pp. 405–9; Alan Cooper, ‘The Rise and Fall of the Anglo-Saxon Law of the Highway’, HSJ 12 (2002), 39–69 (pp. 55–8); T. B. Lambert, ‘Theft, Homicide and Crime in Late Anglo-Saxon Law’, Past and Present 214 (2012), 3–43 (p. 26 n. 75), and reaffirmed in Law and Order in Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2017), p. 361; George Garnett, ‘Franci et Angli: The Legal Distinction between Peoples after the Conquest’, ANS 8 (1985), 109–37 (pp. 116–28). Garnett’s article predates my own, which was in part a response to Garnett’s; Garnett presents the most cogent argument that the fine was imposed after 1066 and was a Norman invention.

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I will revisit only three parts of the argument which have often been overlooked or marginalized by historians. First, the basic suretyship required of both lords and freemen which would allow the murder fine to operate was only definitely in place in Cnut’s reign. The key issue is to identify when tithing and suretyship were combined in some sort of collective policing unit responsible for the actions of its own members, whether of freemen in the hundred or a lord and his household. Although an argument can be made that tenth-century kings were the ones responsible for creating both tithing and borh, and, perhaps, for combining them into the institution of frankpledge, nevertheless it is only in Cnut’s laws of the 1020s that we see the two correlated for the first time.87 More than that, Cnut’s reign still provides the most likely period when a conquering king would need the tithing and suretyship system in place to establish a peace guaranteed by an onerous collective liability, and it is this frankpledge system which would allow the king to consider the imposition of a murder fine to protect his men. The second point often overlooked is that the likely earliest description of the fine – the sentences in the Articuli of William I – says that it is the lords of men who commit the killings who are financially responsible for any killing their men might commit, and not the local hundred or village where the body was found, as in the classic murder fine procedure of the late twelfth century. This liability is exactly what we would expect of an institution imposed in the early eleventh century to keep Danish retinues from killing one another or attacking the English, at a time when the control of the kingdom depended on Danish military strength. In a similar way, William the Conqueror’s secure hold on the kingdom depended on the Norman milites in the retinues of his new Anglo-Norman lords. Cnut had not been the first to make his lords responsible for the crimes of their men. Kings from Æthelstan to Æthelred had increasingly legislated on this matter.88 When their men committed crimes, lords who protected them from justice laid themselves open to penalties. According to two accounts well-informed about the Normans, William I recognized he had a problem with his followers’ lawless behaviour in his new kingdom and took steps to prevent it. William of Poitiers, whom I quoted earlier, said the king restrained his men to prevent murders of Normans by Normans: his men were not allowed ‘to drink in taverns, since drunkenness leads to quarrels and quarrels to murder’.89 Orderic Vitalis, writing half a century later, said that the king saw that he would have to prevent his soldiers from committing violence. Not only did William forbid ‘his own people to commit thefts, forcible entries, or crimes anywhere’, but he was particularly keen to ban murders.90 These 87

Pratt, ‘Written Law’, pp. 337–49; Molyneaux, Formation, p. 196 n. 5. Stephen Baxter, ‘Lordship and Justice in Late Anglo-Saxon England: The Judicial Functions of Soke and Commendation Revisited’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Stephen Baxter et al. (Farnham, 2009), pp. 383–419 (pp. 399–407). 89 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 158–61 (2.33). See above, p. 52, for the full text. 90 Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, II:192–3. 88

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are not prohibitions aimed at the English, rebellious and plotting ambushes in the countryside, as claimed by Richard fitz Nigel. The context of the Gloucester decree preserved in the Articuli is just the one described by the two Norman chroniclers, where competition between conquering Normans might cause violence which would end up in murder. That the districts known as hundreds eventually end up with the collective liability for murders of strangers (assumed to be Norman) is merely the development of an extension of this restraint on lords whose men might direct their lethal skills at one another. The longevity of the ethnic understanding of murdrum as exclusively a protection of Normans against the English is another story, and not originally the reason why William I used this institution to secure his conquest. Last, there is the matter of secrecy. It is a commonplace in modern historical accounts that the killings covered by the murder fine were by definition ‘secret’ – unwitnessed and unattributed. So it later was, but at first secrecy was not part of the definition of the crime. This is especially clear when one considers the likely situations where, as William of Poitiers wrote, arguments led to brawls and brawls to murders. When, then, did murdrum become a secret crime? Answering this question must start with a review of all the uses in Old English texts of the two words that lie behind Latin murdrum: morþ and morþor. From this review, it is clear that the words conveyed two meanings. First, morþ and morþor meant a killing which could not be compensated for, what the English called a botleas crime.91 Second, they meant a betrayal of one’s lord even when there was no homicide.92 This latter meaning is particularly interesting, given that the murders Danish and AngloNorman kings wished to prevent could leave their lords liable to serious penalties.93 Nevertheless, the secrecy of the killing had clearly become a part of the understanding of the murder fine in the first half of the twelfth century, but from where did this understanding come? It seems likely that it slowly seeped into the meaning of Old English ‘murder’ terms as a semantic loan from the French cognate mordre, where secrecy was a principal attribute of this type of killing. The institution of the 91 E.g.

Beowulf, lines 1079 and 1105, where the murder of kin (‘morþorbealo maga’) cannot be resolved by compensation: Beowulf and the Fight at Finnsburg, ed. F. Klaeber, 3rd edn (Lexington, MA, 1950), p. 41. 92 Lucifer’s betrayal of God was the most dreadful of murders (morþra) in Genesis B, line 297, in The Saxon Genesis: An Edition of the West Saxon Genesis B and the Old Saxon Vatican Genesis, ed. A. N. Doane (Madison, WI, 1991), p. 210. Northumbrian Gospel translators used morþor for homicidium when the killing was a result of treason: Luke 23:19 in The Gospel According to Saint Luke in Anglo-Saxon and Northumbrian Versions, ed. W. W. Skeat (Cambridge, 1874), p. 221. 93 Secrecy appears possibly to be a part of murder in only one pre-conquest text, and there, since betrayal of a lord is the actual act, it is more likely that morþ was used to convey this particular kind of betrayal than to signal the significance of any secrecy attributed to the magic practised by the mother and her son: Anglo-Saxon Charters, ed. A. J. Robertson, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 1956), pp. 68–9 (no. 37); discussed in its context by O’Brien, ‘From Morþor’, pp. 342–5 (and esp. p. 344 n. 103).

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murder fine itself was sufficiently in flux in the half century after the conquest for the Normans to have thought mordre when they heard or read murdrum or morþor, and so provide a simple way for the continental meaning of mordre to have migrated to its Old English cognates without causing too much of a ripple. The institution itself evolved to fit better the changing circumstances of the Norman occupation, without cutting the king off from this lucrative revenue stream.94

Conclusion The conquests of 1016 and 1066 have rarely been seen as having the same effects on the law. Nor have historians been inclined to argue that the two kings used the law in similar ways as a tool to control their hold on their new territory. Instead, the two conquests have been characterized as starkly different. Cnut’s conquest is accepted as conservative, a sincere continuation of English laws and governance by the Danish conquerors, while the evidence of William’s is parsed to determine just how much revolution happened, and signs of continuity are as likely to be interpreted as political deceptions as evidence of an actual policy to maintain the old ways. Yet these conquests and their effects are not dissimilar. Both kings conquered the same well-developed kingdom. By the time of Æthelred, almost all that would make England run well under a king’s control had been set up, and these practices and institutions were enjoyed roughly equally by both conquerors. The conquests were both based on claims of legitimacy – Svein had been acknowledged king by many of the English in 1013, and his son Cnut was made king when Svein died in 1014; Duke William was cousin to Edward the Confessor and claimed that the king had named him heir in 1051. Despite these claims of legitimacy, both conquests were just that, bloody invasions to make the claims to rule real. Cnut’s big battle, Assandun, was his last and ended in a victory, after which he and Edmund Ironside made a deal to divide the kingdom. This was the penultimate stop on the long road of war begun by the Danish king and his allies in 1002, which intensified between 1009 and 1013. The result was an endemic bloodbath for both sides. Dangers did not fade, but merely shifted their arena once Cnut was king of all of England at Edmund’s death in 1016, since from then on, he had to decide how to rule a cross-sea collection of polities to which he was still actively adding new pieces. If William’s most important battle was his first, at Hastings, which resulted in a devastatingly decisive victory for the Normans, he nevertheless did not sit securely on the throne thereafter, but fought battles, harried regions and suppressed rebellions as he tried to figure out how to rule a cross-channel collection of polities 94

The Great Roll of the Pipe for the Thirty-First Year of the Reign of King Henry I: Michaelmas 1130 (Pipe Roll 1), ed. and trans. Judith Green, Pipe Roll Society 95 (Loughborough, 2012), passim.

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which he showed some interest in expanding both in Britain and on the continent. In both cases, a less sophisticated, less politically centralized kingdom or duchy had conquered its more sophisticated, more developed and richer neighbour. The resemblances are striking. Of course, the conquests were different in the longevity of their political consequences. This difference, however, is not so much because the conquerors created and circulated different self-justificatory theories or myths. Nor were they different because of any ethnic identity and ethnic enmity animating the new lords. Rather, it looks like the real difference between these two conquests lay in the fact that William I’s children, unlike Cnut’s, had children, and those children in turn had children. By not recognizing the reality of the longer rooting period created by the procreative luck of the Norman dynasty, the continuities and changes in the law after both conquests too often become mere subalterns to overly narrow analyses of each individual conquest.

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4 Cnut and William: A Comparison* ELISABETH VAN HOUTS

T

he eleventh century is unique in English history, because it is the only time within one century that two foreigners conquered England and became king of the English. The first was Cnut (d. 1035), son of the Danish king Svein who had come to England in 1013 and would have been crowned king if he had not died in February 1014. Cnut succeeded him, though not without a long struggle: first he fought against King Æthelred, who had returned from exile in Normandy, and then, after his death in April 1016, against Æthelred’s son Edmund, who only survived his father by six months. Edmund’s death opened the way for Cnut to be accepted as sole king sometime in 1017. In contrast to the protracted route to kingship for Cnut, which took three years from his father’s death, it took the second conqueror, the Norman duke, William, only three months from invasion and battle in early autumn to his coronation in Westminster Abbey on 25 December 1066. This sharp contrast is, of course, deceptive. During his three-year campaign, Cnut controlled most of the north before he became king, whereas for William that subjection followed in the three years after his coronation. In what follows, comparison and contrast between the two kings and their reigns will focus on three themes of conquest: royal atonement, contemporary reputation and married partnership.1

*

I am most grateful for the valuable comments and advice I have received from the editors, as well as from David Bates, Johanna Dale, John Gillingham and Ann Williams, in the course of preparing this chapter for publication. 1 See also Chris Dennis, ‘Image Making for the Conquerors of England: Cnut and William I’, in Aspects of Power and Authority in the Middle Ages, ed. Brenda Bolton and Christina Meek, International Medieval Research 14 (Turnhout, 2007), pp. 33–52. For a discussion of twelfth-century comparisons of those who were defeated by the two kings, see Emily Winkler, ‘England’s Defending Kings in Twelfth-Century Historical Writing’, HSJ 25 (2013), 147–64.

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Royal Atonement Having been accepted as kings of the English, both Cnut and William had blood on their hands, and they knew it. The chronicler of the ‘D’ version of the AngloSaxon Chronicles recorded that, on the day of the battle of Assandun in 1016, ‘the flower of the English aristocracy had fallen’, a phrase that was equally, if not more, appropriate in 1066.2 At an early stage of their kingship both men sought a similar penitential solution, namely the foundation of a church on the site where they fought their bloody battles: Cnut at Ashingdon in Essex and William at Battle in East Sussex.3 Cnut’s decision to found a church as penance constitutes a very early case in northern Europe, although he was not the first. That honour, as far as we know, goes to the late seventh-century Lombard King Cunincpert (689–702), who according to Paul the Deacon, writing in the late eighth century, built the monastery of St George at Coronate, the site of his battle against Alahis, duke of Brescia. Cunincpert was inspired to do so following a vow before battle made by his opponent, who was killed.4 Nearer to home in the late tenth century, Fulk Nerra, count of Anjou, founded Beaulieu-les-Loches about a decade after the battle of Conquereuil in 992. Significantly, this church was not constructed on the actual battlefield since that site was located across the border in Brittany.5 A later eleventh-century example – in addition to William’s church at Battle – comes from Flanders. In 1071, at the battle of Cassel, Robert the Frisian celebrated victory over his nephew Count Arnulf, whose right to Flanders he had contested. Later in his reign, in 1085, he issued a charter for the foundation of a collegiate church for 2

ASC, MS D, s.a. 1016. Cf. ‘Late solum operuit sordidatus in cruore flos Anglicae nobilitatis atque iuuentutis’ (‘Far and wide the earth was covered with the flower of the English nobility and youth, drenched in blood’), Gesta Guilllelmi, pp. 138–41. For the bloodbath at Battle, see Elisabeth van Houts, ‘The Norman Conquest through European Eyes’, EHR 110 (1995), 832–53, repr. in idem, History and Family Traditions in England and the Continent, 1000–1200, Variorum Collected Studies Series (Aldershot, 1999), no. viii. 3 The most likely site remains Ashingdon (Essex), near Rochford on the River Crouch. See Matthew Townend, ‘Assandun and Assatun: The Value of Skaldic Evidence for English PlaceName Studies’, English Place-Name Society Journal 27 (1994–5), 21–9; John Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford, 2005), p. 306; but cf. Warwick Rodwell, ‘The Battle of Assandun and its Memorial Church: A Reappraisal’, in The Battle of Maldon: Fiction and Fact, ed. Janet Cooper (London, 1993), pp. 127–58, who identifies Assandun with Ashdon in north-west Essex. 4 ‘Hic in campo Coronate, ubi bellum contra Alahis gessit, in honore beati Georgii martyris monasterium construxit’: Paul the Deacon, Historia Longobardorum, ed. L. Bethmann and G. Waitz, MGH SS rer. Lang. (Hanover, 1878), 6.17 (p. 170). Before the battle commenced the king made a vow, but this did not concern the building of a church. See B. Bachrach, ‘The Combat Sculptures at Fulk Nerra’s “Battle Abbey” (c.1005–1012)’, HSJ 3 (1991), 63–80 (p. 67, n. 20), for Cunincpert’s foundation at Coronate. I owe this reference to John Gillingham. 5 B. Bachrach, Fulk Nerra the Neo-Roman Consul 987–1040: A Political Biography of the Angevin Count (Berkeley, CA, 1993), pp. 131–6. Note also Fulk Nerra’s penitential pilgrimages to Rome in 1003 and 1010.

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twenty canons at Cassel. Short of explicitly reminding his audience of the victims of the battle, he (or the Cassel canons) juxtaposed his acquisition of his paternal inheritance of the principality by the will of God with his acknowledgement of having committed many sins.6 Cnut did not opt for a monastery, but for a collegiate minster (a secular church), which was built on the site of the battle of Assandun, fought on 18 October 1016.7 No doubt expediency was the main reason to forego a monastic foundation, as a minster was smaller and thus quicker to build, requiring less planning and a smaller endowment. Within four years the minster at Ashingdon was consecrated. The 1020 ceremony took place in the presence of the great and the good, including one of Cnut’s fellow victors, Earl Thurkill, and Wulfstan of York, the homilist and draughtsman of laws.8 Archbishop Wulfstan, the moral conscience of the nation under Æthelred and Cnut, stands out as the person most likely to have suggested the rituals of atonement to Cnut with the foundation of a church top of the agenda. As others have pointed out before me, Wulfstan’s sermon ‘On the dedication of a church’ may well have been written for this particular occasion.9 The ceremony at Ashingdon in 1020 has been characterized as a reconciliation meeting between the king and the locals, envisaged as one in a series of other such meetings. So, for example, the grouping of Cnut and his family and followers in the Thorney Liber Vitae suggests a similar occasion

6

‘…quia et paternae haereditatis, Deo annuente, obtineo principatem et in multis me peccasse considero…’: Actes des comtes de Flandre 1071–1128, ed. F. Vercauteren (Bruxelles, 1938), no. 6, pp. 16–19 (17). 7 For the church as a secular minster at Ashingdon (Essex), see Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society, p. 306. 8 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1020; ‘In this year the king and Earl Thurkell went to Assandune together with archbishop Wulfstan and other bishops and abbots and many monks and consecrated the church (mynster) at Assandune’, EHD 1, p. 252. ASC, MS F, s.a. 1020, only says that Cnut came to Assandune ‘and had a church built there of stone and lime for the souls of those men who had been slain there, and gave it to his own priest, whose name was Stigand’. Then follows a Latin translation which omits the reference to Stigand: ‘Hic revertitur Cnut de Danmarcam et hoc anno perrexit ad Assandune et fecit ibi edificare ecclesiam de lapidibus et cemento pro animabus omnium ibi occisorum.’ See ASC, MS F, p. lxxvi, for the dating of MS F to c. 1100x1107. See also William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:322–23: ‘loca omnia in quibus pugnauerat, et principue Assandunam, aecclesiis insigniuit, ministros instituit qui per succidua seculorum uolumina Deo supplicarent pro animabus ibi [omisit MS B] occisorum’. See also John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1016 (II:490–1), who explains ‘Assandun as id est mons asini’. For commentary, see M. K. Lawson, Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century (London and New York, 1993), p. 142, and Timothy Bolton, Cnut the Great (New Haven, CT, 2017), p. 120. 9 The Homilies of Wulfstan, ed. D. Bethurun (Oxford, 1957), no. xviii, pp. 246–50; P. Wormald, ‘Wulfstan [Lupus] (d. 1023)’, ODNB; and Matthew Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets: An Old Norse Literary Community in Eleventh-Century England’, in Conceptualizing Multilingualism in England c.800–c.1250, ed. Elizabeth M. Tyler, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 27 (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 197–216 (p. 211).

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at Thorney Abbey.10 For Cnut, the memory of the battle had a strong resonance. On its anniversary, 18 October, in an unknown year, he was present at the dedication of the new church of Bury St Edmunds, the monastery that he and his wife Queen Emma re-founded. In effect, Bury became his memorial monastery, comparable to Cunincpert’s Coronate, Fulk’s Beaulieu and William’s Battle Abbey.11 Cnut’s well-recorded lavish spending on Bury seems to have put the minster of Ashingdon in its shade. No charters recording major gifts have survived for that church, nor has the minster as landholder left a trace in Domesday Book.12 By the early twelfth century, William of Malmesbury referred to it as a mere parish church, implying that after the time of the Danish kings its memorial value had declined and with it any funds it needed to maintain the establishment.13 As for Battle Abbey, founded by King William, the first thing to note is that none of the early Norman sources – Guy of Amiens, William of Jumièges, William of Poitiers or the Bayeux Tapestry – mention the Conqueror’s plans to build it, let alone his vow on the battlefield to do so. His biographer’s silence is the most surprising since Poitiers could easily have inserted this information when he noted, from our perspective disingenuously, William’s liberality to the English church.14 The earliest information on Battle Abbey derives from the Conqueror’s own charters. Two Battle writs, issued by William at Windsor in 1070, record that the monastery was founded ‘in return for God’s gift of victory’, with one version of the charter adding that it was the result of a vow made by William.15 The words ex uoto do not feature in the earliest copy of one of the two writs, and could therefore be a later interpolation. The timing of a potential vow is unknown. If we remember that, at Easter 1070, William was crowned a second time by the papal legates – including Eremfrid of Syon, who in 1067 in Normandy had deemed the 10 Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great. Conquest and Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden, 2009), p. 92. The Thorney Liber Vitae (London, British Museum, Additional MS 40,000, fols 1–12r): Edition, Facsimile and Study, ed. Lynda Rollason (Woodbridge, 2015), p. 102 (fol. 10r), and for a historical commentary, pp. 17–18. 11 Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, pp. 42–3, 190–1. For evidence of the date of the battle of Assandun on 18 October, see Lawson, Cnut, p. 143 n. 112. 12 There is only one reference to Ashingdon (Nesenduna) in Domesday Book, on fol. 45v, as the place where Roger held half one hide from Svein of Essex. See Domesday Book: A Complete Translation, trans. Ann Williams and G. H. Martin (London, 2002), p. 1003. 13 ‘nunc, ut ferunt, modica est aecclesia presbitero parrochiano delegata’: GRA, I:322–3. 14 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 176–7, and David Bates, William the Conqueror (New Haven, CT and London, 2016), pp. 385–6, who suggests that William’s efforts of atonement may have focused more on the abbeys of Caen and French monasteries than on Battle Abbey. 15 ‘Bello, quam fundaui ex voto ob victoriam quam mihi Deus ibidem contulit’, Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: The Acta of William I (1066–1087), ed. David Bates (Oxford, 1998), no. 15, pp. 135–8 (p. 138). Note that MS B, the oldest witness, omits the crucial words ‘ex uoto’. Ibid., no. 16, pp. 139–40 from the same thirteenth-century cartulary contains them (p. 140); and see Bates’s historical commentary (p. 137). Fourteen charters for Battle have survived, several in multiple versions (nos 13–25, pp. 130–73).

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foundation of a church to be the ultimate symbol of penitence16 – it would not be impossible to argue that William might have made his vow (if there was one) then, rather than on the battlefield itself. Apart from the 1070 writs, the earliest information about the foundation of Battle originated also from England and not from Normandy. The author of the ‘E’ version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, based on a text written at St Augustine’s Canterbury, records under 1087 that ‘on the very spot where God granted him the conquest of England he had a great abbey built and settled monks and richly endowed it’. Seven years later, in 1093, we hear that William Rufus attended the consecration of its abbey church.17 Thus at least twenty-three years had elapsed between the first charter reference to the abbey and the dedication ceremony – a long period compared with the four years between the battle of Ashingdon and the dedication of the minster there in 1020. As for the Battle monks’ own narratives, the Brevis Relatio written at Battle Abbey records that the foundation was ‘for the memory of his [the Conqueror’s] victory’, then adds the penitential element ‘and for the absolution of the sins of all who were killed there’.18 The interpolation in the Gesta Normannorum Ducum, written by Orderic Vitalis in 1110–13, is the earliest Norman narrative acknowledgement. It specified that the foundation of Battle commemorated the dead on both sides.19 Neither the Brevis relatio nor Orderic record the vow. It seems, therefore, extremely unlikely that it was ever made by William anytime in the early years of the conquest. Where, then, did the idea of the vow come from? The story of the Conqueror’s alleged vow made on the battlefield before the start of the fighting can be found in the chronicles written in the last quarter of the twelfth century at both Battle Abbey and Waltham Abbey, the last resting place of King Harold.20 Probably a fiction, the story may have been inspired by 16

Councils and Synods, no. 88, II:581–4 (p. 583). Clause 1 ends by stating that any fighter who did not know how many Englishmen he killed, or who had made numerous killings, might do penance by founding a church or bestowing in perpetual alms gifts on a church. 17 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1086 [for 1087], and s.a. 1094 (dedication). See also The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, ed. and trans. Eleanor Searle (Oxford, 1980), pp. 96–7. 18 ‘Facta est autem hec pugna pridie idus Octobris in eo loco ubi Willelmus comes Northmannorum postea uero rex Anglorum abbatiam contrui precepit ob memoriam huius uictorie et absolutionem peccatorum omnium illorum qui ibi interfecti sunt’: The Brevis Relatio de Guilllemo nobilissimo comite Normannorum Written by a Monk of Battle Abbey, ed. and trans. Elisabeth van Houts, in History and Family Traditions, no. vii, ch. 6, pp. 1–48 (pp. 32–3). 19 Orderic Vitalis writing c. 1110–13 in GND, II:172–3: ‘Locus uero ubi, sicut supra diximus, pugnatum est einde Bellum usque hodie uocatum. Porro Willemus rex ibi cenobium in honore Sancte Trinitatis construxit et monachos ac ordinem Maioris Sancti Martini Turonensis statuit atque necessariis opibus pro interfectis utriusque partis affatim ditauit.’ Note that the Quedam Exceptiones (GND, II:290–304), written c. 1103, do not refer to Battle Abbey. 20 ‘…uotum facio me in hoc certaminis loco, pro salutate cunctorum et hic nominatim occumbencium, ad honorem Dei et sanctorum eius, quo serui Dei adiuuentur, congruum cum digna libertate fundaturum monasterium, quod ita ut michi conquirere potero liberum [?uel obl]atum universis propitiabile fiat asilum’, The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, pp. 36–7. The canons of Waltham

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Paul the Deacon’s tale of the vow made before the battle of Coronate. Importantly, Paul credited the slain Alahis with the vow before the battle and reported that, as victor, Cunincpert then fulfilled Alahis’s promise. Battle Abbey’s physical construction was a protracted affair. It started under a cloud when the first abbot, Robert Blanchard, and his monks named in the Battle Chronicle, drowned following a shipwreck on their way from Marmoutiers. The next recruits did not arrive until a decade later.21 The dedication, as already mentioned, took place in 1093. The Conqueror bequeathed relics, including probably the ones he had worn on the battlefield, to Battle Abbey, although within a generation his son William Rufus ordered the abbot to sell them to raise money to compensate the monks of St Germer at Fly.22 If the story of the battlefield vow, cleverly interpolated in a passage lifted from the Brevis Relatio, can be put aside, the idea of a commemorative abbey in 1066 has both an English and continental pedigree of royal atonement, and both traditions may have coalesced in post-conquest England. In Normandy, the papal legate Ermenfrid of Sion had advocated that those involved in the battle of Hastings should, if they had killed more than one man, found a church. His stance would have been supported in England, we may guess, by Archbishop Ealdred of York, the man who crowned William at Westminster in 1066. A third interested party also present at the coronation was almost certainly Archbishop Stigand. For his putative role, we must return to the consecration of the minster at Ashingdon. The ‘F’ version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles added to the 1020 record the detail that the royal clerk Stigand became resident priest of Ashingdon. It is unknown whether he was amongst those present at the dedication ceremony or whether his appointment, as Timothy Bolton suggests, dates from a decade later. Either way, Stigand’s experience as the priest in control of Cnut’s commemorative minster is potentially significant.23 Of Anglo-Scandinavian origins and belonging to a family with property in and around Norwich, Stigand owed his career to Cnut and served under his sons Harold and Harthacnut.24 He was close to Queen Emma. His episcopal career, however, began after the house of Wessex returned to power. On 3 April 1043 King Edward appointed him bishop of Elmham, and rejected William’s offer to include their king (Harold) in the church he was going to build for one hundred monks at Battle. See The Waltham Abbey Chronicle, ed. and trans. L. Watkiss and M. Chibnall (Oxford, 1994), ch. 21, pp. 52–3. 21 The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, pp. 42–3, 46–7. 22 The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, pp. 90–1. 23 Bolton suggests that Stigand was appointed not in the 1020s but in 1030 at the earliest, when he starts appearing as a witness in charters (Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 93–4, p. 94 n. 95). 24 For Archbishop Stigand’s career and wealth, see Frank Barlow, The English Church 1000–1066: A History of the Late Anglo-Saxon Church, 2nd edn (London, 1979), pp. 77–80; Mary F. Smith, ‘Archbishop Stigand and the Eye of the Needle’, ANS 16 (1993), 199–220; and K. S. B. KeatsRohan, ‘Through the Eye of the Needle: Stigand, the Bayeux Tapestry and the Beginnings of the Historia Anglorum’, in The English and Their Legacy, 900–1200: Essays in Honour of Ann Williams, ed. David Roffe (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 159–74.

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in August 1047 as bishop of Winchester. Five years later, in 1052, Stigand became archbishop of Canterbury (holding this see in plurality with Winchester), though never with the support of Rome since he had received his pallium from the antipope Benedict. The archbishop’s non-canonical status remained a source of unease in some quarters, especially after 1066. According to William of Poitiers, in 1066 the Conqueror considered Stigand too powerful and wealthy to be removed from office, but his deposition became inevitable.25 On 11 April 1070, papal legates deposed him and Stigand was replaced with the Conqueror’s right-hand man, Abbot Lanfranc (1070–89). Stigand died in late February 1072 at Winchester where, according to William of Malmesbury, he had been kept a virtual prisoner, refusing food and drink despite encouragement from his friend Queen Edith.26 As one of the living links between Cnut and William, this great English survivor was an obvious candidate to push the idea of a foundational church on the battlefield. This time it would not be a minster, as Stigand would have remembered the lack of funds at Ashingdon, but a monastery. Well-endowed financially, a flock of French – not Norman – monks would be installed to pray for the souls of those who were killed and for the soul of the man responsible (albeit with divine sanction) for the carnage. Commemorative churches were by no means the only strategy of atonement for the killings in which the conqueror kings had been involved; there were other ways of showing, or pretending, remorse. One such strategy involved the physical remains of predecessors: the second aspect of royal atonement to which I now turn. At some stage not too long into his reign, in a public display of atonement, Cnut visited the tomb of Edmund Ironside at Glastonbury. On this occasion he draped a cloak embroidered with peacocks on Edmund’s tomb.27 Edmund’s father, Æthelred, had been buried in St Paul’s cathedral where, on the occasion of the translation of Archbishop Ælfheah in 1023, King Cnut and Queen Emma would almost certainly have taken the opportunity to pay their respect at Æthelred’s tomb, given that he had been Emma’s first husband.28 There was no immediate sensitivity on William’s part towards the final resting place for Harold. According to Bishop Guy of Amiens in the Carmen de Hastingae Proelio, William forbade Harold’s mother, Gytha, from collecting her son’s 25

Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 160–1. William of Malmesbury, GP, I:46–9. His obit for 22 February can be found in London, BL, MS Cotton Vitellius E. XVIII. See J. Gerchow, Die Gedenkenüberlieferung der Angelsachsen (Berlin and New York, 1988), p. 230. 27 ‘Porro Cnuto Glastoniensem aecclesiam, ut fratris sui Edmundi manes inuiseret (sic enim cum uocare solitus fuerat), festinauit, factaque oratione super sepulchrum pallium misit uersicoloribus figuris pauonum, ut uidetur, intextum’, William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:330–1. See also Lawson, Cnut, p. 138 (suggesting 1032 as the date); Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 94–5. For the significance of Edmund Ironside to Cnut, see Sarah Foot’s chapter in this volume, ‘Kings, Saints and Conquests’, pp. 000–000. 28 S. D. Keynes, ‘The Burial of King Æthelred the Unready at St. Paul’s’, in The English and Their Legacy, pp. 129–48 (p. 142). 26

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body from the battlefield in return for his weight in gold. Instead William ordered William Malet to bury the body on the battlefield under a heap of stones with the alleged inscription: ‘You rest here, King Harold, by order of the duke, so that you may still be guardian of the shore and sea.’29 It was not until much later that the canons of Harold’s foundation at Waltham appealed to the king to allow them to rebury Harold’s body at their abbey. According to the Chronicle of Waltham Abbey, which recorded the recollection of the early twelfth-century sacrist, at some stage several canons returned to the battlefield, exhumed the king’s body, had it authenticated by Harold’s erstwhile partner Edith Swanneshals, and transferred it from Battle to Essex.30 All this was done, it seems, with the utmost discretion and definitely without the equivalent of Cnut’s peacock publicity in Glastonbury. As for King Edward’s tomb at Westminster, this became the focus of attention when, in 1076, William allowed his widow, Edith, to be buried next to him. A third aspect of royal atonement following conquest concerns the role of Rome. In Cnut’s case, papal support was sought a decade after his conquest when, in 1026, he journeyed to Rome via the Empire. There, at Easter 1027, he witnessed the imperial coronation of Conrad II (1024–39) and promised to marry his daughter Gunhild to Conrad’s son Henry III. While at Rome, Cnut also persuaded Pope John XIX not to demand large sums of money from archbishops travelling there to collect their pallium but instead to accept smaller tolls from visiting pilgrims and merchants. As a third-generation convert it was crucial for Cnut to go all the way to Rome to prove himself to be a devout Christian, something few people on the Continent had deemed him to be, judging by a ‘thank you’ letter from Bishop Fulbert of Chartres (1006–28). Written sometime between 1018 and 1020 in response to a gift from Cnut, Fulbert confessed apologetically that he had been surprised because he thought Cnut was a pagan!31 Cnut’s Rome pilgrimage almost certainly also had a penitential character, judging by the strong advocacy of Archbishop Wulfstan that pilgrimages to Rome were a form of penance for sinners, especially those who had committed serious crimes.32 In contrast with Cnut, William smoothed his conquest plans with Rome before, instead of after, his invasion of England. It is important to note that in doing so, he may have followed Norman precedent. In order to explain this, we need a short excursus. 29

The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio of Bishop Guy of Amiens, ed. and trans. F. Barlow (Oxford, 1999), pp. 34–5, lines 573–92. 30 The Waltham Abbey Chronicle, ch. 21, pp. 51–7. This chronicle was written in the 1170s by an author in his old age. The anonymous author used the testimony of Turkill, who was still alive when the author was a young man, as well as giving his own eyewitness account from the 1120s when Harold’s body was moved within the church of Waltham Abbey (pp. 46–7, 56–7). 31 ‘…cum te quem paganorum principem audieramus’, The Letters and Poems of Fulbert of Chartres, ed. and trans. F. Behrends (Oxford, 1976), no. 37, pp. 66–9. 32 Francesca Tinti, ‘England and the Papacy in the Tenth Century’, in England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876–1947), ed. David Rollason, Conrad Leyser and Hannah Williams, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 37 (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 163–84 (p. 182).

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In 1016 William’s grandfather, Duke Richard II of Normandy, had sent a group of trusted advisers under the leadership of Abbot William of Volpiano to Pope Benedict VIII (1012–24) in Rome with a request. Elsewhere, I have suggested we should interpret this mission as seeking papal support for the restoration of the English throne to the exiled æthelings in Normandy.33 It was this mission, I argued, that led Norman knights to Rome, where the pope refused support for the English venture, but then employed the Normans for his southern Italian campaign that ultimately led to the Norman conquest of southern Italy. There is, as far as I am aware, no Roman context for Robert the Magnificent’s planned invasion of England in 1033 or for either of the æthelings’ expeditions in 1036 and 1037. However, there may have been a Roman context for the events of 1051. According to the Norman narratives of William of Jumièges and William of Poitiers, in the early 1050s Edward the Confessor had tasked Archbishop Robert of Canterbury with confirming to William his position as heir to the English throne.34 The archbishop, it was alleged, had done so in Normandy on a stopover en route to Rome to collect his pallium. Archbishop Robert’s papal visit would have afforded him an opportunity to convey to Pope Leo IX (1049–54) the latest update on the succession plans for the English throne involving William himself. In the spring of 1066, after Edward’s death and Harold’s coronation, there could be no ambiguity about Rome’s involvement in the plans for an invasion of England. Duke William sent Gilbert, archdeacon of Lisieux, to Pope Alexander II and received the papal standard as a sign of papal approval for his planned invasion of England.35 What is striking, however, is that after the conquest William – as far as we know – never entertained any thought of going to Rome either on a penitential journey or to express his gratitude in person to Alexander II or Gregory VII (who in 1066, as Cardinal Hildebrand, had supported the Norman case). William sent Alexander some of the spoils, including Harold’s standard, as well as gold and silver. The carrier may have been no less than Lanfranc,36 who conveyed William’s blunt refusal to pay the customary St Peter’s pence, an English tax regularly paid since King Offa for the upkeep of the schola Saxonum.37 Unlike Cnut, after his conquest William basked in a Europe-wide reputation as a feared conqueror and warrior who could afford to keep Rome at arm’s length.38 This leads onto the topic of both men’s contemporary reputations. 33

Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Qui étaient les Normands? quelques observations sur des liens entre la Normandie, l’Angleterre et l’Italie au début du XIe siècle’, in 911–2011, Penser les mondes normands médiévaux: actes du colloque international de Caen et Cerisy (29 septembre–2 octobre 2011), ed. David Bates and Pierre Bauduin (Caen, 2016), pp. 129–46 (pp. 136–41). 34 GND, II:158–9; Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 20–1. 35 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 104–5; Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, II:142–3. 36 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 152–3; Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford, 1978), pp. 118–19. 37 Veronica Ortenberg, The English Church and the Continent in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries. Cultural, Spiritual and Artistic Exchanges (Oxford, 1992), pp. 133–4. 38 For William’s reputation in post-conquest Europe, see van Houts, ‘The Norman Conquest through European Eyes’, 832–53, reprinted in idem, History and Family Traditions, no. viii.

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Contemporary Reputation Recent scholarship, especially by Timothy Bolton and David Bates, has presented the two conquering kings as ‘emperors’ in the sense of aggressive, exploitative military leaders, testing their protagonists against modern social science models of ruthless rulers.39 In many ways I agree with them, though these models do not necessarily help us in understanding fully the contemporary or near contemporary testimony of imperial ideology. Prose and poetry, in Latin and the vernacular, undoubtedly reveal that both men and their eulogists toyed with imperial concepts by employing vocabulary, such as imperium and Caesar, as flattering tools for self-aggrandizement and legitimization of their newly acquired power. Let us take a closer look at some examples. Contemporary eulogists repeatedly took the opportunity to point out the imperial potential of both men’s vast realms, comprising as they did various regna. It was God who had ordained that Cnut should rule not only Denmark but also England, kingdoms to which later Norway was added, and that William ruled Maine, Normandy and England. Cnut’s skalds lauded him with the usual kennings describing the fame of his fleet and his martial skills, while from 1020 – the year of the foundation of Ashingdon church – the kennings came to include increasingly Christian motives. As Roberta Frank and Matthew Townend have shown, the skalds began to celebrate Christian aspects of rulership, to the extent that Cnut was portrayed as if he were next in line to God, a position normally reserved for pope or emperor.40 Cnut’s Latin biography, the Encomium, commissioned posthumously by his widow Queen Emma, more explicitly stressed the scope of the imperial ambition of Cnut’s rule.41 In the case of William the Conqueror, no vernacular French poems equivalent to the skaldic ones have survived. Instead French, non-Norman, poets sent him short Latin eulogies as tribute to his achievement, perhaps with his future patronage in mind.42 The poets stressed the fact that the progression of his career 39

For what follows, see Bolton, ‘Chapter 10: The Conquest of Norway and the Development of Imperial Aspirations’, in Empire of Cnut, pp. 289–316, and David Bates, ‘Chapter 3: William the Conqueror as Maker of Empire’, in The Normans and Empire: The Ford Lectures Delivered in the University of Oxford During Hilary Term 2010 (Oxford, 2013), pp. 64–92. 40 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 289–303; Townend, ‘Cnut’s Poets’; Roberta Frank, ‘King Cnut in the Verse of his Skalds’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 106–24. 41 Encomium. For a sensitive analysis of the Roman heritage of storytelling in this Latin narrative, see Elizabeth M. Tyler, ‘Crossing Conquests: Polyglot Royal Women and Literary Culture in Eleventh-Century England’, in Conceptualizing Multilingualism in England, pp. 171–96 (pp. 177–9). 42 Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Latin Poetry and the Anglo-Norman Court 1066–1135: The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio’, JMH 15 (1989), 39–62 (p. 39, for the non-Norman identity of the poets) and reprinted in idem, History and Family Traditions, no. ix. For a fresh assessment of the Carmen, see Thomas O’Donnell, ‘The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio: Politics and the Poetics of 1067’, ANS 39 (2017), 151–65.

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made William a prime imperial candidate; they pointed out that having been a count, then a duke and now a king, William should aspire to become emperor. The word they used was caesar, the name of Julius Caesar.43 The anonymous author of Plus tibi fama celebrated William as greater than Julius Caesar because, unlike him, William managed to conquer England without the wealth of imperial Rome. At the end of the poem, the author three times hailed him a new Caesar.44 Another poem, consisting of one distich, is known to have been written c. 1075/6 by Hugh-Renard, bishop of Langres (1056–84). He praised William for having risen from count to king, whose future should be as a Caesar.45 The earliest poet from Ponthieu, Bishop Guy of Amiens, whom I have already mentioned, set the tone for a comparison between William and Julius Caesar (along with other classical heroes) by describing the Norman duke as ‘another Julius’, but stopped short of describing him as either imperator or caesar.46 As is well known, the theme of William as the new Caesar was worked out most profoundly in prose by William of Poitiers, William’s Norman chaplain and biographer, no doubt encouraged by the foreign French poets who had hinted at the new king’s imperial potential. William of Poitiers devoted two long sections to a detailed comparison between the Roman ruler and William the Conqueror.47 Unsurprisingly, none of this Norman and French eulogistic writing found an echo immediately in post-conquest England, where in any evaluation of the two English conqueror kings Cnut resoundingly beat William. Direct comparison between the foreign rulers of England was made on occasion, though not as often as we might expect. The reason is undoubtedly that, in the end, the Norman conquest of England came to overshadow that of the Danes. William’s reputation strengthened by comparison with Cnut’s, and Cnut’s place in England’s history faded away. Nevertheless, it is instructive to evaluate the immediate post1066 comparisons drawn between William and Cnut in Normandy and England. Within a decade of the battle of Hastings, William of Poitiers led the way by contrasting William’s restraint with Cnut’s cruelty: ‘Cnut the Dane slaughtered the noblest of your [the English] sons, young and old, with the utmost cruelty, so that he could subject you to his rule and that of his children.’48 In the eyes of Poitiers, 43 Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. S. A. Barney and others (Cambridge, 2010), 9.14 (p. 200). 44 Plus tibi fama, ed. van Houts, in ‘Latin Poetry’, p. 57 with commentary, pp. 41–2, where I suggest that the author is Godfrey of Reims and the date of the poem should be placed c. 1070. 45 Chronicon sancti Huberti Andaginensis, ed. L. Bethmann, MGH SS 8 (Hanover, 1848), pp. 565–630 (p. 577); ‘Si quis ante videt qui te circumspicit ex te / colligit, ante comes, rex modo, Caesar erit’: van Houts, ‘Latin Poetry’, p. 42. 46 ‘Iulius alter, Iulius’, Carmen, lines 32 and 351 (pp. 4–5, 22–3). 47 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 168–75. 48 ‘Nobilissimos tuorum filiorum, iuuenes ac senes, Chunutus Danus trucidauit nimia crudelitate, ut sibi ac liberis suis te subigeret’: Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 156–7. Cf. also Gesta Guillelmi, p. 304: ‘…extinctos fuisse truculentia Danica suae gentis nobilissimos minime obliti sunt [sc. the English]’.

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Cnut was a cold-blooded murderer of English royalty and nobility away from the battlefield, whereas the Norman slaughter on the battlefield of Hastings executed by William was divinely ordained punishment. The English reaction could not have been more different. Around the same time that William of Poitiers compared Cnut and William in Normandy, Herman the archdeacon did the same at Bury St Edmunds as part of his narrative on the Miracles of its patron saint. As a continental protégé of Abbot Baldwin, a French monk-doctor from St Denis near Paris appointed by Edward the Confessor, Herman inserted historical notes into his miracle stories, including comparisons between Cnut and William.49 As noted earlier, Cnut had re-established Bury St Edmunds as one of England’s richest endowments, and it is therefore entirely unsurprising that, on the whole, Herman paints a very positive picture of the Danish king. He was able to do so by cleverly contrasting the good king Cnut with his evil father Svein. God’s protection prevented Cnut from taking after his father: ‘he did not copy his father in the ways of wickedness, so proving that proverb: “The wolf is not nearly as big as he is made out to be.” Thus attaining the throne, he prospered in every venture that he undertook and resolved noble-mindedly to observe only the best of what the laws had to offer.’50 Cnut, as Bury St Edmunds re-founder and benefactor, deserved not only the epithet rex bonus (‘good king’) but also that of rex christianissimus (‘the most Christian king’). This latter label is similarly given to him in a Latin poem of four lines inserted in chapter twenty: ‘After changing Saul / The big bad wolf, into Paul, / He now turns a wild man / Into the most Christian king.’51 What is striking in Herman’s depiction of Cnut in this poem is that the king is shorn of his wildness as a wolf, an image that stands for paganity and Danish-ness, just as in the proverb Herman quoted. The king has shed the wolf and instead, like the Apostle Paul, converted in order to become ‘most Christian’. In the reference to Cnut’s death, Herman labelled him again ‘the king Cnut of good government’ (Chnut boni regiminis rex).52 In stark contrast to his portrayal of Cnut, Herman is much more circumspect with regard to the Norman king. He refers to William as gloriosus only once, in the context of the 1081 confirmation charter of Bury’s liberties and as benefactor for the rebuilding of the abbey church. Unlike Cnut, William is not praised by Herman

49

For Baldwin, see Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 24, pp. 60–1. ‘[N]on patrizauit in rebus iniquis, efficiens uerum illud prouerbiale, nequaquam lupum sicut putatur tam magnum fore. In regnum sic promotus quo uoluit properatur totus, instinctu bone mentis stabiliens sequi queque optima legis’: Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 19, pp. 40–1. 51 ‘Que Saulum mutauit in Paulum / in eodem lupum magnum / nunc habet ferum hominem / in Christianissimum rege’: Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 20, pp. 42–3. 52 Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 20, pp. 42–3. Cf. a few lines later ‘bonitas patris’ (pp. 44–5) from the perspective of Cnut’s son’s Harold, and also ch. 39, pp. 110–11, where Cnut is called ‘piissimus’. 50

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on his death in 1087.53 Thus, in the 1070s and early 1080s, Herman’s treatment of the two conqueror kings leaves no doubt as to whom he felt was the greater ruler. For a more explicit comparison between Cnut and William at Bury St Edmunds we have to wait a little longer, until around 1100, when Goscelin of St Bertin revised Herman’s Miracula and added more detail.54 Like Herman, Goscelin portrayed Cnut in a positive light, though the adjective bonus (good) disappeared and Goscelin only once, in Book I, described Cnut as piissimus (most devout).55 However, when in Book II Goscelin turned to describe the translatio of St Edmund’s body, Cnut was restored to Herman’s image of the most Christian king.56 In Goscelin’s words, Cnut was ‘a Dane unlike other Danes in his manners and noted for every virtue’ (‘genere quidem Danus sed a Dacorum moribus alienus’). Cnut was a good Dane, contrasted with the despicable character of one of his Danish henchmen, Osgod Clapa. Equally, Goscelin’s portrayal may have been inspired by the author’s contemporary knowledge of Danish responsibility for the murder of Cnut IV, grandson of king Cnut, killed in 1086.57 Elsewhere, Goscelin had described these Danes as men whose ‘barbarous customs, strange languages, subservience to fierce lords and repugnant laws… go against nature’.58 As for Goscelin’s opinion of William the Conqueror compared with that of Cnut, it is extremely interesting that only a few lines after his eulogy of the most Christian Cnut he introduces William, referring to him by his lowest-ranking title as count, pointedly labelling him as Nordmannus (‘the northman’). Furthermore, this Count William, so Goscelin wrote, ‘traced his own lineage from Danish origins’,59 thereby incorporating William in the line of Danish kings of England. Yet, whereas Goscelin (like Herman before him) praised Cnut in sharp contrast to his father Svein and stressed his pious Christian credentials, his praise for William is vanishingly noncommittal. Here we ought to recall the reviser of Æthelred’s account in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, who revealed the horrendous difficulties contemporaries faced in writing the history of their own 53 Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 27 (charter), ch. 39 (rebuilding of church), ch. 35 (death), pp. 80–1, 110–11, 98–9. 54 Goscelin, Miracles of St Edmund, pp. cx–cxiv. 55 Goscelin, Miracles of St Edmund, 1.6, pp. 186–91 (p. 190). 56 ‘Progressu uero temporis, genere quidem Dacus, sed a Dacorum moribus alienus, ex paterna successione regni conscendit fastigia Chnutus rex christianissimus, et in omni bonitate conspicuus’, Goscelin, Miracles of St Edmund, 2.2, pp. 244–5. 57 For the murder of Cnut IV, see The Murder of Charles the Good, Count of Flanders by Galbert of Bruges, trans. James B. Ross (New York, 1960), pp. 13–14. 58 The Liber confortatorius of Goscelin of Saint Bertin, ed. Charles H. Talbot, in Analecta Monastica: Textes et études sur la vie des moines au Moyen Âge, ed. M. M. Lebreton et al. (Rome, 1955), p. 41; Goscelin of St Bertin, The Book of Encouragement and Consolation (Liber confortatorius), trans. Monika Otter (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 41–2. 59 ‘Deinde cum plurium curricula labentur annorum, Guillelmus comes Normannus de Dacorum et ipse prosapia lineam trahens originis, ad imperium promouetur Anglorum’: Goscelin, Miracles of St Edmund, 2.2, pp. 244–5.

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time. Both Herman and Goscelin damned William the Conqueror with the faintest of ‘praise’, though neither denounced him as they did King Svein Forkbeard. This is not surprising. As continental hagiographers working in England during William’s lifetime, they would have risked their lives as a result of lèse majesté if they had condemned him explicitly. What should be stressed in the present context is that both Herman and Goscelin rated King Cnut considerably higher than William, and I cannot help feeling that their praise for Cnut is not exclusively the result of Cnut’s patronage of Bury St Edmunds. Passage of time accounts for some of it, too, of course. From the way they write we learn that Cnut was appreciated seemingly because he was credited both with having put an end to the tax impositions of his father Svein, and with the implementation of governance according to good (English) laws. Their silence on William in this respect speaks for itself. Thus far in this analysis of Cnut and William’s strategies for atonement and the development of their reputations, I have concentrated on the two rulers as men and kings. Now, in the third and concluding section, I turn to the significance of the two kings’ partnerships with their wives at the time of their conquests.

Married Partnership Cnut and William were both fortunate in marrying women who provided them with offspring and, crucially, managed to forge effective partnerships with their husbands. Cnut’s two-year marriage with Ælfgifu ‘of Northampton’, the mother of two of his sons, was short-lived. Sometime in late 1016 or early 1017 he cast her aside in favour of his predecessor’s widow, Emma of Normandy.60 It is important to stress, as others have done before me, how vitally important Ælfgifu had been for Cnut’s early survival in England.61 We might go so far as to argue that without her and her kin Cnut would never have reached the position from which he could launch his sole kingship in late 1016. That he did so, and in the process sacrificed her as his wife, was in part the result of his ruthlessness in realizing the greater advantage that marriage to Queen Emma would offer him. Memorably portrayed in the Lidmannrflokkr as ‘the lady in the tower’ who watched as London fell victim to Cnut’s Danes, Emma, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, was fetched in due course by Cnut as his wife.62 Emma’s agency in the matter of her second marriage remains a topic of endless fascination, and I think I share with many 60 Timothy

Bolton, ‘Ælgifu of Northampton: Cnut the Great’s Other Woman’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 51 (2007), 247–68. For a more positive view of her continued importance to Cnut see Pauline Stafford, ‘Ælfgifu [Ælfgifu of Northampton] (fl. 1006–36)’, ODNB. 61 Bolton, ‘Ælfgifu of Northampton’, which contains a thorough overview of all literature on Ælfgifu. 62 Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 225–7; for the Lidmannrflokkr, see R. G. Poole, Viking Poems on War and Peace: A Study in Skaldic Narrative (Toronto, 1991), pp. 86–115 (p. 113). Note that

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colleagues the conviction that as widowed queen – had she so wished – she could have returned to her native Normandy to join her three children by Æthelred in exile. She never did, and instead stayed on in London, accepted Cnut, and regained her status as queen consort. She became an important asset to the king and, as far as is known, fully supported her Danish husband until his death, famously putting her new children by Cnut before those by Æthelred. I have already referred to the Encomium she commissioned in due course as an apologia for her life with Cnut, after his death, from yet another continental monk who wrote and revised it in the early 1040s.63 The occasion of her second marriage presented an opportunity to anticipate this apologia, as there exists a coronation ordo that provides the first clear hint that she (or those around her) wished to stress her innocence. Before I discuss this material, it is important to remind ourselves of the silence in the contemporary sources around Cnut’s coronation. Following the record of Edmund’s death in November 1016, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles are taciturn regarding Cnut’s actions. Under the annal for 1017, however, MS A has ‘In this year Cnut was chosen as king’ and, in MSS CDE, ‘In this year Cnut succeeded to all the kingdom of England and divided it in four etc.’64 Twelfth-century chroniclers, such as John of Worcester, add that after Edmund’s death Cnut had meetings with various nobles before they agreed to accept him. According to Ralph of Diceto, at some stage Cnut was crowned at St Paul’s in London by Lyfing, archbishop of Canterbury. Since the chronology of these events remains unclear, modern historians are divided in their opinions as to whether Cnut was crowned, and perhaps consecrated, shortly after Edmund’s death, say on Christmas Day in 1016 (in which case we should note the parallel with William the Conqueror), or whether consecration and coronation took place later in 1017, before or after his wedding to Emma in July.65 There is also disagreement as to what sort of ceremony Emma, if consecrated and crowned in 1002, would have been through with Cnut.66 If she had been consecrated in 1002, she could not receive consecration a second time in 1017. Bolton now rejects Poole’s identification of the skald’s anonymous widow with Emma, and argues that Cnut had Emma brought to him from overseas: see Bolton, Cnut the Great, pp. 99–100. 63 For the discovery of the updated version of the Encomium, see Timothy Bolton, ‘A Newly Emergent Mediaeval Manuscript Containing the Encomium Emmae reginae with the Only Known Complete Text of the Recension Prepared for Edward the Confessor’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 19 (2009), 205–21. 64 EHD 1, pp. 227–8. 65 Bolton, Cnut the Great, p. 100, who does not discuss a coronation, only the marriage ‘with full Christian rights’. 66 I am grateful to Johanna Dale for her advice on the issue of royal consecration and coronation. She has kindly pointed out that a king or queen could only be consecrated once but could be crowned many times. Stafford, Emma and Edith, p. 217, suggests that in 1002, Emma’s brother Duke Richard II (996–1026) might have demanded consecration and coronation. Levi Roach, Æthelred the Unready (New Haven, CT, 2016), p. 188, suggests that Emma’s consecration in that year may have been the first since Edgar and Ælfthryth’s in 973.

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In light of research by Pauline Stafford, who has made a convincing case for a joint coronation/consecration and wedding ceremony of Cnut and Emma in July 1017, I think it is unlikely that Emma was consecrated in 1002.67 Stafford has pointed out that the so-called third version of the second coronation and consecration ordo for a king and queen, surviving in a mid-eleventh-century manuscript (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 44), could only have been prepared for Cnut and Emma.68 We know of no queens for Cnut’s sons Harold and Harthacnut, and Edward was crowned well before he married Edith. Stafford also draws attention to what she characterizes as minor changes made to this ordo, and in particular to a change made to the passage on the queen’s coronation/consecration ring.69 This is not a minor but a significant alteration. In the antiphon on the ring, someone has changed the text from the ring as ‘a sign of the Trinity’ (‘signaculum trinitatis’) to the ring as a sign of ‘holy integrity and innocence’ (‘signaculum videlicet sanctae integritatis et innocentie’). According to Stafford, this change was made to bring the text in line with the rubric, which labelled the ring as a symbol ‘of the integrity of faith’ (‘pro integritate fidei’). Although this may well have been the case, the more crucial significance of the revised text arises from the emphasis that is placed on the ‘innocence and integrity’ of the owner of the ring, that is the queen herself, Emma. The most likely reason for this revision was to counteract any accusations of complicity on the part of Emma in the creation of Cnut as king, thereby depriving her own son (Edward) of the English crown. Following this reading, the coronation and consecration rite preserved in the Corpus MS strives to absolve Emma from any blame of the sort that contemporaries might have raised. Of course, she may have been innocent, but even so she might still have been perceived as guilty by association in preventing her sons by Æthelred from returning from their Norman exile. To recap, my interpretation of the evidence suggests that in 1002 Emma was crowned, then Cnut was probably crowned but not consecrated in 1016, perhaps at Christmas, and finally the couple were consecrated and crowned together on their wedding day in July 1017, for which occasion the Second Ordo was produced with an unprecedented emphasis on Queen Emma’s integrity. In the context of queenly apologies, it is worth briefly revisiting the composition of the famous account of Æthelred’s reign in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles for the years 978–1016. Ever since the masterful analysis by Simon Keynes (in 1978), 67 Stafford,

Emma and Edith, p. 175. The coronation rites as given in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 44, pp. 278–301 (king) and pp. 301–5 (queen) (digitized at parker.stanford.edu) are edited in Three Coronation Orders, ed. J. Wickham Legg, Henry Bradshaw Society 19 (London, 1900), pp. 53–64 (king) and pp. 61–3 (queen). According to Stafford, this ordo was written on the assumption that king and queen were crowned on the same day, and hence she argues this is the coronation rite for Cnut and Emma, not for Edward and Edith, who were crowned two years apart. John of Worcester places the wedding in July 1017: ‘Mense Iulio rex Canutus derelictam Ægelredi reginam Algiuam, scilicet Emmam, in coniugium accepit’: John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:504–5. 69 Stafford, Emma and Edith, p. 175 and n. 68. 68

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historians agree with him that the original annalistic record, probably compiled in London on a year-by-year basis, was revised and given coherence after the king’s death, probably at St Paul’s sometime between 1016 and 1022.70 One of the striking features of this revision is that it can be read as positive for all three kings involved: Æthelred, Edmund and Cnut. The reviser is sympathetic to Æthelred, a king who time and again was wrongly advised by his councillors and betrayed by his followers, and who was only occasionally cruel.71 Equally, prince Edmund was beset with troubles and suffered continuous adversity during his short life. Yet, at the same time, there is no hiding the fact that the reviser was in awe of the deeds of the Danes, including Cnut, whom he admired even though Cnut – like the English – could be cruel and treacherous. In other words, the narrative was extremely craftily constructed in its aim to please both English and Danish camps. The damnation of Æthelred and Edmund was faint, but so was the praise for Cnut. The author played his cards carefully, leading us to wonder who commissioned him? Keynes tentatively mentioned Archbishop Wulfstan, although admitting that while the tenor of woes is his, the style is not.72 Might Emma have had a hand in commissioning the London revision, perhaps around the time of her marriage and second coronation? She was acquainted with the power of biographical writing, given that in the second decade of the eleventh century in Normandy, her father, grandfather and great-grandfather had just been given their serial biography by the Vermandois clerk Dudo of St Quentin. And we know that, after the death of her second husband Cnut, she commissioned the Encomium Emmae reginae to celebrate his life. The use of the written word was a powerful weapon in the arsenal of a beleaguered queen. We might keep Cnut and Emma’s joint consecration, coronation and wedding day in mind when we turn to William and Matilda. In contrast to Emma, the twice-married queen of the English, at the time of the Norman conquest Matilda of Flanders had been married to William, her first and only husband, for a decade and a half. As a supporter of his English venture, she engaged in public display and in practical aid. Together with her husband, highly symbolically, she offered their daughter Cecilia as an oblate to La Trinité in Caen at its dedication ceremony in the summer of 1066; the gift of a young virgin to God was meant to secure the success of the invasion enterprise.73 Cecilia’s actual entry was not realized until 1075 when, as the poet Fulcoius of Beauvais reminds 70 Simon Keynes, ‘The Declining Reputation of King Æthelred the Unready’, in Ethelred the Unready: Papers from the Millenary Conference, ed. David Hill, BAR British series 59 (Oxford, 1978), pp. 227–54. 71 Keynes, ‘The Declining Reputation’, p. 236. 72 Keynes, ‘The Declining Reputation’, p. 235. 73 Les actes de Guillaume le Conquérant et de la reine Mathilde pour les abbayes caennaises, ed. L. Musset, Mémoires de la société des antiquaires de Normandie 37 (Caen, 1967), no. 2, pp. 52–7 (pp. 56–7); Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, III:8–10; Bates, William the Conqueror, pp. 226–7. For a recent study and the suggestion that the foundation of Caen was Matilda’s gift to her daughter, rather than the other way round, see L. L. Gathagan, ‘“Mother of Heroes, Most Beautiful of

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us in his Jehphta poem, Matilda was visibly distressed.74 In practical terms Matilda financed William’s flagship the ‘Mora’, for which she commissioned as its figurehead a statue of a golden boy, itself a representation of a Virgilian theme.75 She may have been instrumental in the recruitment of troops through her father, Baldwin V of Flanders. The early twelfth-century Anglo-Flemish treaties for the provision of Flemish mercenaries in return for English cash may well have their origin in a pact between William and his father-in-law dating from 1066, as William of Malmesbury records.76 Unlike Emma, who never formally acted as regent for Cnut, Matilda did so on many occasions, the first time in the autumn of 1066.77 She steadied the ship of government in Normandy, and later on in England, during William’s absences overseas. Although there is no evidence for Matilda’s patronage of poetry or prose eulogizing her husband, it remains suggestive that Bishop Guy of Amiens, having written the Carmen de Hastingae Proelio in early 1067, became her chaplain and accompanied her across the Channel for her coronation two years into her husband’s English reign. In another contrast with Emma, Matilda had no need to stress her ‘innocence and integrity’ when she was consecrated and crowned at Westminster on Whitsun, 11 May 1068.78 As Laura Gathagan has shown, on this occasion – in an unprecedented fashion for an English queen – laudes in Norman style were prepared and sung for her. These have survived in London, BL, MS Cotton Vitellius E. xii, fol. 160v (dating to the late eleventh century). The laudes placed Matilda third after the pope and her husband, and before the rest of the clergy and the magnates. They praised her manly virtues, and associated her not with the female martyrs, but with the four apostles, Christ’s disciples.79 It was crucially important to express the royal couple’s wish to be seen as a legitimate royal partnership that together Mothers”: Mathilda of Flanders and Royal Motherhood in the Eleventh Century’, in Virtuous or Villainess? The Image of Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era, ed. C. Fleiner and E. Woodacre (New York, 2016), pp. 35–63 (pp. 52–4). 74 M. L. Colker, ‘Fulcoii Belvacensis epistulae’, Traditio 10 (1954), 191–274 (no. 11, pp. 245–6, trans. A. Orchard, in Elisabeth van Houts, The Normans in Europe (Manchester, 2000), no. 39, pp. 132–4). For an analysis, see Elisabeth van Houts, ‘The Echo of the Norman Conquest in the Latin Sources: Duchess Matilda, her Daughters and the Enigma of the Golden Child’, in The Bayeux Tapestry: Embroidering the Facts of History. Proceedings of the Cerisy Colloquium (1999), ed. P. Bouet, B. Levy and F. Neveux (Caen, 2004), pp. 135–53 (pp. 139-41), and Gathagan, ‘“Mother of Heroes”’, pp. 52–4. 75 Van Houts, ‘The Echo of the Norman Conquest’, pp. 149–53. 76 E. Oksanen, Flanders and the Anglo-Norman World 1066–1216 (Cambridge, 2012), p. 54. 77 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 178–9, and Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, II:230–1; Bates, William the Conqueror, p. 221. 78 For the close link between liturgical feast days and coronations, see Johanna Dale, ‘Royal Inauguration and the Liturgical Calendar in England, France, and the Empire, c.1050–c.1250’, ANS 37 (2014), 83–98. 79 L. L. Gathagan, ‘The Trappings of Power: The Coronation of Mathilda of Flanders’, HSJ 13 (1999), 21–39, with the text of Matilda’s laudes at pp. 37–9.

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would rule the Anglo-Norman realm, with Matilda acting as regent for William on whichever side of the Channel he was not. Recently, David Bates has stressed the importance of the witness lists of the two charters issued on the occasion of Matilda’s consecration and coronation, which reveal that all the important members of the Norman and English aristocracy, secular and ecclesiastical, were present in an exemplary show of unity.80 Amongst those present was the Conqueror’s chaplain and future biographer, William of Poitiers – if, as seems persuasive, we can identify him with the Willelmus capellanus mentioned in the charter for Martin-le-Grand.81 I draw attention to his name in the context of Matilda’s consecration and coronation eighteen months after those of her husband, because of a crucial passage in William’s biography. Poitiers described how, after the battle of Hastings, William’s men urged him to arrange for his coronation (and consecration) in London immediately. According to Poitiers, William tempered their impatience by stressing that there was no rush, that the country still experienced many rebellions, and that peace was a prerequisite before he could be crowned (and consecrated). Crucially, the Conqueror also emphasized that he wished to be crowned (and consecrated) with his wife Matilda present. William’s desire for a joint coronation (and consecration) has been remarked upon by many scholars, though William of Poitiers’ sentence that follows has curiously not attracted any attention despite its enigmatic character: ‘Indeed he [William] was not dominated by a passion (libido) to rule – he had known that the marriage vow was holy, and he loved (diligo) its sanctity.’82 Poitiers seems to imply that no coronation (and consecration) of William could take place in the absence of his wife because they were married. He also implies that lust (libido) for rule (and coronation) ought never to be secondary to love (diligo – dilectio) for a wife. In other words, separate coronation (and consecration) would violate the Christian rules of marriage. Writing a decade or so after the events he described, is Poitiers reacting to (implied) criticism that somehow it had been wrong that William and Matilda had indeed been crowned (and consecrated) separately – William was twice crowned in 1066 and 1070, and Matilda once in 1068?83 Do we read here a hint of Matilda’s criticism of her husband? Did the special arrangements for her coronation and consecration at Whitsun 1068 perhaps make good for her absence at her husband’s ceremony at Christmas 1066 (we may wish to remember, of course, that at that time she was heavily pregnant with their youngest daughter Adela)? It is worth pointing out at this juncture that, as chaplain to the 80 Orderic,

Historia Ecclesiastica, II:214–15; John of Worcester, Chronicle, III:1–7; Regesta, ed. Bates, nos 181 (St Martin-Le Grand) and 286 (Wells cathedral); Bates, William the Conqueror, pp. 291–3. 81 Regesta, ed. Bates, no. 181 (p. 599). 82 ‘Profecto non illi dominabatur regnandi libido, sanctum esse intellexerat sancteque diligebat coniugii pignus’ (my translation): Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 148–9; Gathagan, ‘The Trappings’, only refers to William’s wish to be crowned alongside his wife, not to this reference to the marriage vows. 83 For the significance of William’s second coronation by papal legates in the spring of 1070, see Bates, William the Conqueror, pp. 336–7.

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Norman couple, William of Poitiers is in total agreement on marital obligations with Wulfstan of York’s stance on Christian marriage as expressed in his pastoral writings in the time of Cnut. Therefore, I suggest that the assumption expressed by Poitiers in the 1070s that a married couple needed to be crowned (and consecrated) together is an important one. Moreover, it helps, retrospectively, to strengthen the case in favour of a joint wedding-consecration and coronation ceremony of Cnut and Emma in July 1017. At times of conquest, in England, the queen’s association with the king and the trust he placed in her were considered absolutely indispensable for the king’s ability to govern the English. England’s vulnerability as an island nation would have increased concerns for a conqueror-king’s capacity effectively to rule while absent overseas. In sum, during their lifetimes the conqueror kings of England were praised by their countrymen, but unsurprisingly despised by the English or their partisans. It remains contrarily surprising, perhaps, how soon, within a few generations, their reputations were reassessed. In particular, Cnut’s reputation benefitted in retrospect from William’s atrocities in and after 1066, to an extent few would have guessed possible.

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5 Currency and Conquest in Eleventh-Century England RORY NAISMITH

C

oined money has always had a profound link to perceptions of authority. Isidore of Seville (d. 636) defined moneta as something which warned (monet) against fraud, and a nomisma as a coin stamped with the name (nomen) of a ruler.1 One of the most vivid conjunctions of extant coins and the historical records came when Charlemagne in 787 unexpectedly found himself with the heir to the troublesome south Italian principality of Benevento as a hostage. He only allowed the young prince, Grimoald, to go home and take up his inheritance after exacting an oath full of powerful symbolic commands: that the Lombards of Benevento should shave their chins, and that they should put Charlemagne’s name on their charters and on their coins. Gold pieces from Grimoald’s earliest years show that he did indeed follow through on this promise, at least for a while.2 But overt modification of the currency in this way was only one of the options on the table. Keeping the coinage going in much the same visible form as before sent a message that it was business as usual. This is, broadly speaking, what one sees at first glance when comparing the coinages associated with England’s two conquests in the eleventh century. Neither Cnut nor William apparently felt any need to modify the essentials of the English monetary system, and the coinage remains one of the best illustrations of how successive conquerors retained effective elements of the late 1

Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae, XVI.xviii.8 (Isidori Hispalensis episcopi Etymologiarum sive Originum libri xx, ed. W. M. Lindsay, 2 vols (Oxford, 1911), II:213; The Etymologies of Isidore of Seville, trans. Stephen A. Barney, W. J. Lewis, J. A. Beach and Oliver Berghof (Cambridge, 2010), p. 329). 2 Erchempert, Historia Langobardorum Beneventanorum, ed. G. Waitz, MGH SS rer. Lang. (Hanover, 1878), ch. 4, p. 236. For the relevant coins, see Philip Grierson and Mark Blackburn, Medieval European Coinage, with a Catalogue of the Coins in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 1: The Early Middle Ages (5th–10th Centuries) (Cambridge, 1986), no. 1098.

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Anglo-Saxon infrastructure. But in terms of how each exploited that system, and used it to help squeeze wealth out of the English more effectively, they did depart from recent tradition. The system Cnut and William found had a long history behind it. Minting had been a royal prerogative since the middle of the eighth century, with restrictions on which coins could be used in circulation. An important difference between Anglo-Saxon and Carolingian currency was that the former depended on a more or less direct relationship between king and moneyers, while in the Carolingian Empire and its heirs local magnates mediated between the king and the manufacturing process.3 In England, the partnership of king and moneyers formed the basis for geographical expansion in the monetary system from the later ninth century onwards, as new mint-places sprang up, often in association with newly established fortress towns.4 Edgar, father of Æthelred II, inherited a coinage which was universally and explicitly royal in that it named the king, albeit with a significant degree of regional variation in design, metrology, alloy and other respects.5 He enacted a thoroughgoing reform of the coinage towards the end of his reign which instituted a single standardized design (including the name of mint and moneyer) across the whole kingdom, and also restored unity in fineness of silver. This reform meshes with other measures taken in Edgar’s reign to emphasize royal authority and regnal unity. It raised the benchmark for standardization in the currency to a level which would not significantly slip for over one hundred and fifty years. At the heart of the new system was a commitment to centralized direction of local agents across the kingdom. There must have been willingness, or at least acquiescence, on the part of moneyers from York to Exeter and Dover to follow an exact form of coinage stipulated by the king and his council. The coinage as reformed by Edgar was thus far from the beginning of the story of royal involvement with minting, and neither was it the end. The monetary system of the late Anglo-Saxon and Norman periods was a dynamic and highly responsive entity. A major innovation which emerged over the course of Æthelred’s reign was the implementation of frequent recoinages. That is to say, all or most of the circulating currency was brought in and reminted in a new form. The mechanisms behind this were swift and potent, and intricately tied to the symbolism of power. Fear of forgery looms large in lawcodes and sermons 3

Rory Naismith, ‘Kings, Crisis and Coinage Reforms in the Mid-Eighth Century’, Early Medieval Europe 20 (2012), 291–332 (pp. 314–17). 4 Mark Blackburn, ‘Mints, Burhs, and the Grately Code cap. 14.2’, in The Defence of Wessex: The Burghal Hidage and Anglo-Saxon Fortifications, ed. David Hill and Alexander R. Rumble (Manchester, 1996), pp. 160–75. 5 Rory Naismith, ‘Prelude to Reform: Tenth-Century English Coinage in Perspective’, in Early Medieval Monetary History: Studies in Memory of Mark Blackburn, ed. Rory Naismith, Martin Allen and Elina Screen (Farnham, 2014), pp. 39–83. For a more critical view, see George Molyneaux, The Formation of the English Kingdom in the Tenth Century (Oxford, 2015), pp. 116–37.

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associated with Wulfstan of York (d. 1023) from the latter part of Æthelred’s reign: improvement of the coinage (feos bot) sat side by side with maintenance of peace (friðes bot) and the general moral well-being of society.6 A key illustration of how the coinage could be tapped in response to moral anxiety came in autumn 1009, when Viking invasion prompted a general programme of prayer and penance, as part of which the coinage was reformed and temporarily marked with a lamb of God and holy dove.7 Although exceptional in its appearance and circumstances, this coinage was not necessarily so exceptional in its background. The case of Agnus Dei hints at why and when reforms might be undertaken, tying in with shifts in royal or political circumstances, especially those which provoked angst and soul-searching on the part of the ruling establishment.8 The accession of a new king, from the time of Æthelred onward, tended to prompt a recoinage fairly swiftly too. It is much more difficult to establish exactly when recoinages took place within a reign. The numismatist Michael Dolley famously advocated a strict scheme of reforms every six years beginning in 973 (and every two or three years from 1035 onwards),9 but it is now widely accepted that Dolley’s model was too restrictive. Reforms were probably not evenly spaced.10 That said, they do seem to have become more frequent after the death of Cnut in 1035. A total of five recoinages during Æthelred’s thirty-eight years as king and three in Cnut’s nineteen compare with ten recoinages over Edward the Confessor’s twenty-four-year reign, and seven over William’s reign of twenty-one years. Other major changes over time include a move towards centralization in the manufacture of stamps or dies, which could have occurred by the middle of Cnut’s reign and which Domesday Book shows was definitely centred in London by 1066.11 In addition, the weight of individual coins began to be more stable in the middle and later part of Cnut’s

6

The theme recurs several times in lawcodes and sermons associated with Wulfstan: a representative example is ‘wutan eac ealle ymbe friþes bote 7 ymbe feos bote smeagean swyðe georne … 7 swa ymbe feos bote, þæt an mynet gange ofer ealle þas þeode butan ælcon false’ (‘let us all earnestly take thought for the promotion of public security and the improvement of the coinage… and the coinage shall be improved by having one currency, free from all adulteration throughout all the country’): VI Æthelred, chs 31–2, Gesetze, I:254–5. 7 Simon Keynes and Rory Naismith, ‘The Agnus Dei Pennies of King Æthelred the Unready’, ASE 40 (2011), 175–223. 8 Rory Naismith, ‘The Coinage of Æthelred II: A New Evaluation’, English Studies 97 (2016), 117–39 (pp. 126–7). 9 Most fully formulated in Michael Dolley, ‘An Introduction to the Coinage of Æthelræd II’, in Ethelred the Unready: Papers from the Millenary Conference, ed. David Hill, BAR British Series 59 (Oxford, 1978), pp. 115–33. 10 Ian Stewart, ‘Coinage and Recoinage after Edgar’s Reform’, in Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon Coinage in Memory of Bror Emil Hildebrand, ed. Kenneth Jonsson (Stockholm, 1990), pp. 455–85 (pp. 463–8); Rory Naismith, Medieval European Coinage, with a Catalogue of the Coins in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, 8: Britain and Ireland c.400–1066 (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 221–35. 11 DB i, 172r.

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reign, in contrast to the coins of Æthelred and the first of Cnut, which were marked by highly complex patterns of die distribution and metrology.12 All of this underscores the flexibility of what might at first glance seem like quite a monolithic system, but – the Agnus Dei coinage apart – one has to dig deep to ascertain exactly how the coinage was responding to events besides royal succession. On the surface, and in the short term, the monetary system remained no more affected by the events of 1016 and 1066 than by other changes of reign. Visually, the principal change was the replacement of one king’s name with another, and the institution of a new coin type. The first issue of Cnut saw the king’s bust adorned with a three-pronged crown (Fig. 5.1), in contrast to the diadems which Æthelred II had usually been portrayed wearing; but there are parallels among tenth-century issues of Æthelstan and Edgar,13 and Cnut’s crown is very similar to the one he wears in the famous frontispiece to the New Minster Liber Vitae, executed a few years later in his reign.14 The appearance of a crown on Cnut’s first coinage could imply that it followed a coronation at the outset of his reign; if so, that would imply that minting in his name began in 1017 when his coronation may have taken place, though an earlier date based on anticipation of a planned coronation cannot be ruled out.15 The biggest surprise in 1016 is the complete absence from the surviving numismatic record of Edmund Ironside, king from April to November. One possibility is that the kingdom’s mintplaces simply shut down for six months, and waited for the dust to settle from the conflict between Edmund and Cnut; but it is on the whole more likely that coins did continue to be minted, at least on some scale, in the name of Edmund’s father Æthelred. Temporary abandonment of the principle of naming the current king presumably reflects the strain placed on the kingdom’s rulers and infrastructure by

12 Naismith,

Medieval European Coinage, p. 250. C. E. Blunt, B. H. I. H. Stewart and C. S. S. Lyon, Coinage in Tenth-Century England, from Edward the Elder to Edgar’s Reform (Oxford, 1989), plate 7 nos. 18–20 and plates 23–4. 14 London, BL, Stowe 944, fol. 6r (New Minster, Winchester, 1031). See The Liber Vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey Winchester: British Library Stowe 944, together with Leaves from British Library Cotton Vespasian A.VIII and British Library Cotton Titus D.XXVII, ed. Simon Keynes, EEMF 26 (Copenhagen, 1996). 15 Contemporary and near-contemporary sources do not mention a coronation as such for Cnut, but place the emphasis on his accession to part of the kingdom following the meeting with Edmund Ironside held at Olney shortly after the battle of Ashingdon on 18 October 1016, and to the whole kingdom after Edmund’s death on 30 November. ASC, MSS CDE, put Edmund’s death in the annal for 1016; Cnut’s accession to the whole kingdom in that for 1017. John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1016 (2:492–7) gives a detailed (perhaps heavily embroidered) account of a meeting of ealdormen and bishops held by Cnut at London immediately after Edmund’s death to deal with potential challenges to the throne. The only explicit statement on a coronation of Cnut (by Lyfing, archbishop of Canterbury) in 1017 comes in Ralph de Diceto, Abbreviationes chronicorum, s.a. 1017: The Historical Works of Master Ralph de Diceto, Dean of London, ed. William Stubbs, 2 vols, Rolls Series 68 (London, 1876), 1:169. 13

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the events of the mid-1010s, but the total lack of coins of Edmund does suggest a conscious and concerted decision. It also reinforces the strength of Anglo-Saxon kingship and its associated institutions, whatever happened to the king himself.16 In 1066, on the other hand, Harold II’s coinage – issued between January and October, so not actually much longer than Edmund Ironside’s reign – was quite a substantial operation.17 Visually it continues a tradition established in the latter part of Edward’s reign of innovative portraiture (Fig. 5.2).18 Harold’s coinage, however, broke from the German influence of most of Edward’s issues in assigning the king an elegant, finely muscled bust, based on Roman coins of the first century CE; they are also distinctive for their reverse, with the word pax across the field in place of the usual cross – a feature which Simon Keynes has argued might represent a wish to emphasize peace at the beginning of a new reign (Fig. 5.3).19 William’s first new pennies reverted to the traditional cruciform reverse, but preserved and adapted most features of Harold’s bust, including the muscled neck, the crown and the sceptre (Fig. 5.4). The general impression is that William’s currency was meant to show that the old order continued, with the modifications one might expect with a new king and coinage, Norman or otherwise.20 There was no direct connection between any of William’s English coinages and that of Normandy. The latter was debased and significantly lower in weight than its English counterpart by the mid-eleventh century, and its inscriptions were normally illegible. Even by the very different standards of contemporary northern France, Norman coinage was unimpressive.21 Right through to the takeover of Normandy by Philip Augustus in 1204, the coinages of the two 16

J. R. Maddicott, The Origins of the English Parliament 924–1327 (Oxford, 2010), pp. 32–41. Hugh Pagan, ‘The Coinage of Harold II’, in Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon Coinage, ed. Jonsson, pp. 177–205. It should be noted that no coins are known in the name of Edgar the Ætheling from the brief period when he was touted as king, between the battle of Hastings and William the Conqueror’s recognition by Edgar and other leading figures at Berkhamsted in December 1066. 18 Marion Archibald, ‘The German Connection: German Influences on the Later Anglo-Saxon and Norman Coinages in their English Context’, in Fundamenta Historiae: Geschichte im Spiegel der Numismatik und ihrer Nachbarwissenschaften. Festschrift für Niklot Klüssendorf zum 60. Geburtstag am 10. Februar 2004, ed. Reiner Cunz (Neustadt a. d. Aisch, 2004), pp. 131–50; Tuukka Talvio, ‘The Stylistic Structure of Edward the Confessor’s Coinage’, in Early Medieval Monetary History, ed. Naismith, Allen and Screen, pp. 173–85. 19 Simon Keynes, ‘An Interpretation of the Pacx, Pax and Paxs Pennies’, ASE 7 (1978), 165–73. 20 For general background on William’s coinage, see Martin Allen, ‘Coinage and Currency under William I and William II’, in Early Medieval Monetary History, ed. Naismith, Allen and Screen, pp. 85–112. 21 Françoise Dumas, ‘Les monnaies normandes’, Revue numismatique, 6th ser., 21 (1979), 84–140; Jens Christian Moesgaard, ‘Saints, Dukes and Bishops: Coinage in Ducal Normandy, c.930– c.1150’, in Money and the Church in Medieval Europe, 1000–1200: Practice, Morality and Thought, ed. Giles E. M. Gasper and Svein H. Gullbekk (Farnham, 2015), pp. 197–207; and Jens-Christian Moesgaard, ‘La monnaie au temps de Guillaume le Conquérant’, in La tapisserie de Bayeux: une chronique des temps vikings? Actes du colloque international de Bayeux, 29 et 30 mars 2007, ed. Sylvette Lemagnen (Bonsecours, 2009), pp. 89–99. 17

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Fig. 5.1 Penny of Cnut (1016–35), Quatrefoil type, Lincoln mint, moneyer Leofsige (private collection, author’s own photograph).

Fig. 5.2 Penny of Edward the Confessor (1042–66), Pyramids type, Cambridge mint, moneyer Godlamm (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: CM.ME.603-R). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

Fig. 5.3 Penny of Harold II (1066), Pax type, London mint, moneyer Eadwine (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge: CM.5.99-1933). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

Fig. 5.4 Penny of William I (1066–87), Profile/Cross Fleury type, Hastings mint, moneyer Dunning (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge). By kind permission of the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

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territories remained quite distinct, although English coin was extensively exported and used in Normandy and other parts of northern France after 1066.22 Probably the most impressive aspect of Harold’s coinage is its large scale relative to its brief duration. It is known from forty-eight mint-places, in the name of 149 moneyers.23 As has often been said, the swift minting of this coinage is testimony to the administrative capacity of the kingdom Harold inherited, and his firm grip on power.24 More impressive still is its representation among single-finds: coins found individually, usually through the use of a metal detector. Such finds are generally thought to represent coins lost by chance in the course of exchange, and to provide a more transparent window onto several aspects of the circulating currency than hoards, the survival and distribution of which is affected by many other factors.25 The years around 1066 are a case in point of the need to read the two forms of evidence separately. Coins of Harold and the latter part of Edward’s reign are extremely plentiful thanks to the numerous hoards which were deposited in connection with the events of 1066, including six from Sussex alone.26 But they also occur plentifully among single-finds. As of 2011, forty-three specimens of Harold’s coinage had been recorded as single-finds.27 This is more than of either adjacent type of Edward or William, and seems to uphold the supposition that the bulk of each new type was produced fairly soon after its introduction – though it may also indicate that the coins were in active circulation for longer than nine months. The surprisingly high number of single-finds of Harold’s coinage certainly also reflects the general dynamism of the monetary economy in the early and mid-eleventh century.28 Cnut’s accession had not put any dent in the level of monetary circulation, and while the last type of Æthelred II and the first two of Cnut are fairly similar in terms of numbers, Cnut’s third and final coinage, the so-called Short Cross 22

Allen, ‘Coinage and Currency’, pp. 101–4, and references there cited. However, finds of English coins from before the Norman Conquest are rare in France: Jens Christian Moesgaard and Megan Gooch, ‘Anglo-Viking Coins in France’, in Studies in Early Medieval Coinage. Volume III: Sifting the Evidence, ed. Tony Abramson (London, 2014), pp. 141–52. 23 The most up-to-date calculation is printed in Martin Allen, ‘The Mints and Moneyers of England and Wales, 1066–1158’, British Numismatic Journal 82 (2012), 54–120 (pp. 57–9). 24 Michael Dolley, Anglo-Saxon Pennies (London, 1964), pp. 29–30; Frank Barlow, Edward the Confessor, 2nd edn (New Haven, CT, 1997), p. 182. 25 The point is eloquently demonstrated in Mark Blackburn, ‘“Productive” Sites and the Pattern of Coin Loss in England, 600–1180’, in Markets in Early Medieval Europe: Trading and ‘Productive’ Sites, 650–850, ed. Tim Pestell and Katharina Ulmschneider (Macclesfield, 2003), pp. 20–36 (pp. 23–4). Taken in the long term, however, hoards do tend to correspond with trends in the currency as a whole: Murray Andrews, ‘Coin Hoards and Society in Medieval England and Wales, AD c. 973–1544’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University College London, 2018). 26 See the Checklist of Coin Hoards from the British Isles, c.450–1180, www.fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/ dept/coins/projects/hoards/. For a different view, see Andrews, ‘Coin Hoards’, pp. 123–8. 27 Rory Naismith, ‘The English Monetary Economy, c. 973–1100: The Contribution of SingleFinds’, Economic History Review 66 (2013), 198–225 (p. 205). 28 Peter Spufford, Money and its Use in Medieval Europe (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 77–96.

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coinage, is by far the most plentiful type among late tenth- and eleventh-century English single-finds.29 Harold’s coinage marks the last gasp before a general decline in the quantity of single-finds from England, perhaps reflective of falling supplies of silver from mines in Germany, which were gradually being worked out.30 The quantity of coin in circulation in western Europe would not recover until the midto late twelfth century. One might well ask, however, what was going on behind the scenes of the coinage. Naming and showing a king along broadly established lines could hide profound changes in the production arrangements of his coinage, above all among the moneyers and mint-places. There were over a hundred of the latter named in England in the century after a major reform carried out by Edgar in the early 970s made the mint-name a standard part of coin-design.31 But the coinage was thought of as an essentially personal matter, based on the relationship between the customer and a craftsman-official known as a moneyer. The mint-place only mattered insofar as it was a place where one or more moneyers might be found. As minting depended heavily on the articulation of power relations in local society, the distribution of mint-places tended to follow administrative and social rather than strictly economic criteria, the result being a heavy imbalance in the density and productivity of mint-places.32 Small establishments like Great Bedwyn in Wiltshire might support one moneyer, while a major town like London could have very many – eight under Harold, and (with its adjacent satellite mint-town of Southwark) almost eighty in the first issue of Cnut alone.33 The conquests of 1016 and 1066 did not have much effect on the number and distribution of mint-places.34 A few small mint-places appeared or disappeared, such as the so-called emergency mints of southern England, which sprang up as refuges from Vikings in Æthelred II’s reign and mostly vanished soon after Cnut’s accession,35 while two decades after the Norman conquest, at the beginning of William II’s reign, the geographical spread of minting was extended with the creation of the northernmost mint-place in England at Durham, and of a series

29

Naismith, ‘English Monetary Economy’, p. 209. Ibid., p. 204. But see now Stephen William Merkel, Silver and the Silver Economy at Hedeby (Bochum, 2016), pp. 70–2 and 108–10, indicating that central European silver was not the sole source used in later Anglo-Saxon England. 31 The most complete list is now Naismith, Medieval European Coinage, pp. 337–51. 32 Rory Naismith, ‘The Currency of Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, History Compass 17 (2019), e12579. 33 Rory Naismith, ‘London and its Mint c. 880–1066: A Preliminary Survey’, British Numismatic Journal 83 (2013), 44–74 (pp. 58–62). 34 For famous comments to this effect in the context of 1066, see Michael Dolley, The Norman Conquest and the English Coinage (London, 1966), pp. 11–12. 35 David Hill, ‘Trends in the Development of Towns during the Reign of Ethelred II’, in Ethelred the Unready, ed. Hill, pp. 213–26 (pp. 223–5). 30

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of mint-places in Wales.36 Changes are more apparent in the fluctuations of the complement of moneyers at the various mints, and these can be placed alongside numbers of finds, estimates of output and assessment of metrology to get a broader sense of how management of the coinage was evolving. In the case of 1016, there is no evidence for a cull of moneyers: most of those who had previously worked for Æthelred stayed on under Cnut. At London and Southwark, which together made up the largest mint-place in the kingdom, more than 85 per cent of moneyers active in the last few issues of Æthelred II continued to work under Cnut.37 This is actually one of the highest rates of continuity between types in the eleventh century, with or without an intervening conquest. The other major mint-towns of Lincoln, Winchester and York tell a similar story, with a rate of continuity between 70 and 80 per cent, and similar figures can be seen at smaller mint-places.38 But while existing moneyers usually stayed on, they were often joined by many new colleagues: Cnut’s first coinage (known as the Quatrefoil type) is, at many mintplaces, the largest in terms of number of moneyers in the whole late Anglo-Saxon and Norman period. It is also distinctive for the low weight of surviving pennies.39 These features together might be interpreted as consequences of the heavy tribute payment imposed on the kingdom by Cnut in 1018: a total of £72,000 according to the C, D and E manuscripts of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, plus another £10,500 for London alone.40 The assumption is that more men were needed to make more coins to pay this total, much of which was in turn brought back to the homelands of Cnut’s army. The Quatrefoil coinage is found in great quantity in Scandinavia, although so too were other types from before and after.41 Other features of the coinage strengthen this note of caution about the relationship with Cnut’s tribute payment. There are places where the number of moneyers did not peak in Quatrefoil, or even increase at all. At Lincoln there were fewer moneyers than in Æthelred’s final type, and several mint-places in the south-east outside London and 36

Martin Allen, Mints and Money in Medieval England (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 23–7. Naismith, ‘London’, pp. 60–1. 38 Ibid., p. 61. For broader details, see Kenneth Jonsson and Gay van der Meer, ‘Mints and Moneyers c. 973–1066’, in Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon Coinage, ed. Jonsson, pp. 47–136. 39 The metrology (together with stylistic analysis of die production) is surveyed in Mark Blackburn and Stewart Lyon, ‘Regional Die-Production in Cnut’s Quatrefoil Issue’, in Anglo-Saxon Monetary History: Essays in Memory of Michael Dolley, ed. M. A. S. Blackburn (London, 1986), pp. 223–72. 40 See, for example, M. K. Lawson, ‘“Those Stories Look True”: Levels of Taxation in the Reigns of Aethelred II and Cnut’, EHR 104 (1989), 385–406 (p. 404); D. M. Metcalf, ‘Can We Believe the Very Large Figure of £72,000 for the Geld Levied by Cnut in 1018?’, in Studies in Late AngloSaxon Coinage, ed. Jonsson, pp. 165–76 (pp. 168–9). 41 Mark Blackburn and Kenneth Jonsson, ‘The Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman Element of North European Coin Finds’, in Viking-Age Coinage in the Northern Lands: The Sixth Oxford Symposium on Coinage and Monetary History, ed. M. A. S. Blackburn and D. M. Metcalf, 2 vols, BAR International Series 122 (Oxford, 1981), I:147–255. 37

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Southwark do not show any expansion. Also, although the type as a whole tends towards lighter coins, the very lightest belong late in the type, and are thus difficult to reconcile with a lump payment in 1018, while the voluminous Scandinavian finds are spread fairly evenly across the duration of the type, with no concentration on the early, heavy specimens.42 Part of the explanation for this may be to do with the mechanics of the coinage and the tribute payment: Cnut’s £82,500 might have taken a long time to gather and hand over, and the duration of the Quatrefoil type could have been shorter than is sometimes assumed. Whatever impact the imposition of tribute may have had on the monetary system seems to have varied significantly between mints and regions. These fluctuations might indicate something about how the payment was shared and raised on a local basis, although there are many other factors in play: part of the demand for minting in Cnut’s early coinage could in fact have been driven by tribute feeding back into the English economy through Viking recipients who stayed on in England, or spent some of their booty there before returning to Scandinavia.43 The patchy distribution of places which showed a surge in output and/or number of moneyers, such as London, Winchester, Oxford, Gloucester, Thetford, Huntingdon, Ilchester, Nottingham and Bristol might well show areas where tribute was being disproportionately spent rather than raised. It was by capitalizing on a potent scheme to wring cash out of the English, built up under Æthelred II to stave off threats from the likes of Cnut, that the new Anglo-Danish king made the most use of the currency in his new kingdom.44 He did not need to modify the monetary system, as it formed an integral part of this mechanism already. The situation in 1066 was somewhat different. Sometime after that date but before the compilation of Domesday Book, William I significantly increased the relatively light payments due from the moneyers of England, resulting in a render that was described as moneta or monetagium.45 A heavy burden approximating to as much as £5 per moneyer each year, the tax was imposed on the whole community – shire or town – which supported minting. It was a radical departure from the lighter payments due from individual moneyers under Edward the Confessor.46 The way William expected these taxes to be paid may have exacerbated the problem even further. He was criti42

Blackburn and Lyon, ‘Regional Die-Production’, p. 258; Metcalf, ‘Can We Believe’, esp. p. 175. Medieval European Coinage, pp. 256–8. 44 On the systems of collecting tribute and heregeld, and the hardships which they forced on the English, see Simon Keynes, ‘The Historical Context of the Battle of Maldon’, in The Battle of Maldon AD 991, ed. Donald Scragg (Oxford, 1991), pp. 81–113 (pp. 103–7). 45 Philip Grierson, ‘Domesday Book, the Geld De Moneta and Monetagium: A Forgotten Minting Reform’, British Numismatic Journal 55 (1985), 84–94; Allen, ‘Coinage and Currency’, pp. 86–9; S. Harvey, Domesday: Book of Judgement (Oxford, 2014), pp. 147–9. See also Philip Grierson, ‘The Monetary System under William I’, in Domesday Book Studies, ed. Ann Williams and R. W. W. Erskine (London, 1987), pp. 75–9. 46 D. M. Metcalf, ‘The Taxation of Moneyers under Edward the Confessor and in 1086’, in Domesday Studies: Papers Read at the Novocentenary Conference of the Royal Historical Society 43 Naismith,

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cized in the verse obituary of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles for demanding payments in gold and silver by weight: ‘the king… deprived his underlings of many a mark of gold and more hundreds of pounds of silver, that he took by weight and with great injustice from his people with little need for such a deed’.47 Calculation had traditionally been by tale among the English; occasional references in Domesday Book and elsewhere illustrate the discrepancy between this and payments by a range of other means including by weight, in blanched (purified) silver or at the rate of 20 pennies in the ora. The premium which attached to these remains a complex issue,48 but there is little doubt that it was a substantial financial imposition for the already hard-pressed English. These financial pressures could also help explain a general drop in the number of moneyers over the reigns of William I and II.49 The short-term response of the minting establishment to the Norman Conquest of 1066 is difficult to pin down, and depends on readings of the pattern of moneyer continuity. Michael Dolley and more recently Martin Allen have surveyed the evidence for what proportion of Harold’s moneyers survived into William’s reign.50 The issue again is a complicated one. It is misleading simply to look at how many moneyers of Harold are represented in the first issue of William. There are almost certainly gaps in our knowledge, especially for smaller mints and those in western England, the latter being poorly represented both in hoards and single-finds of the period. These gaps might one day be filled by new discoveries; alternatively, they might represent genuine breaks in a moneyer’s career, or even the appearance of a separate individual with the same name, a particular risk with common names like Godric or Godwine. In most cases it is not possible to tell for sure: all one can do is look at more than just the coinage of Harold and the first issue of William. For the sake of argument, and the Institute of British Geographers, Winchester, 1986, ed. J. C. Holt (Woodbridge, 1987), pp. 279–93. 47 ‘Se cyng…benam of his under þeoddan man manig marc goldes 7 ma hundred punda seolfres. Ðet he nam wihte 7 mid mycelan unrihte of his landleode, for littelre neode’: ASC, MS E, s.a. 1086 [1087]; trans. Dorothy Whitelock, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (London, 1961), pp. 164–5. 48 Payments by weight would have depended on the shortfall between 240 coins of acceptable type and a standard pound weight, while payments of melted and purified silver could run to 30 per cent more than the equivalent sum by tale. For selected discussion, see Harvey, Domesday, pp. 136–42; Stewart Lyon, ‘Silver Weight and Minted Weight in England c. 1000–1320, with a Discussion of Domesday Terminology, Edwardian Farthings and the Origin of English Troy’, British Numismatic Journal 76 (2006), 227–41 (pp. 232–9); Stewart Lyon, ‘Historical Problems of Anglo-Saxon Coinage – (3) Denominations and Weights’, British Numismatic Journal 38 (1969), 204–22; S. Harvey, ‘Royal Revenue and Domesday Terminology’, Economic History Review 20 (1967), 221–8. 49 Allen, ‘Mints and Moneyers’, p. 65; see also the updates in Martin Allen, ‘The Mints and Moneyers of England and Wales, 1066–1158: Addenda and Corrigenda’, British Numismatic Journal 86 (2016), 164–90. The so-called Paxs type (long thought to be the last of William I, but more likely the first of William II) shows a temporary surge. 50 Dolley, Norman Conquest, pp. 11–12; Allen, ‘Mints and Moneyers’, pp. 57–9. Cf. Allen, ‘Coinage and Currency’, p. 86. Dolley stressed continuity; Allen highlights short-term disruption.

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I have counted a moneyer of Harold with the same name at the same mint-place in one or more of the first three types of William as a probable case of continuity, and there are a few cases of moneyers only reappearing in the fourth or fifth type, which must be counted as possibly but less likely the same man. Moreover, there are cases of moneyers appearing after the Norman Conquest who are not currently known in Harold’s coinage but only in Edward’s last three types. All of this is to say that there are multiple levels of certainty surrounding the degree of moneyer continuity across the Norman Conquest, with numbers depending on what level of confidence is acceptable. Eighty-seven moneyers named under Harold reappear in one or more of the first three issues of William, out of a total of 149 – that is, 58 per cent. But if one extends this to other moneyers who operated across the Norman Conquest but do not necessarily appear in Harold’s own coinage (i.e. those who are known for Edward and William but not Harold), the proportion increases to 124 out of 187 relevant moneyers, or 66 per cent. This proportion is middling in relation to rates of continuity between types and reigns at other mints across the eleventh century.51 Taken as a whole, the events of 1066 do not come across as exceptional in terms of their impact on moneyers, and it should be added that very few of the new moneyers who appeared in the aftermath of the Conquest had names suggesting a French origin.52 This is by no means a perfect measure of the cultural and ethnic background of moneyers, but it does suggest that whatever shifts there may have been among the moneyers, there does not seem to have been a mass influx of Normans or other French-speakers. As a group, the moneyers come across as fairly resistant to sudden shifts in high-level politics, as might be expected from craftsmen-officials drawn predominantly from townsmen and merchants.53 Some moneyers might have been members of the landowning elite who were at greater risk of losing land and status after 1066; indeed, one of the only two moneyers to actually call himself a thegn on his coins – Ulfcetel in York54 – worked for Edward, Harold and even William, persisting into the first and second types from after 1066 but vanishing thereafter, along with the majority of York’s existing moneyers. But on the whole most moneyers were quite well placed to survive the political and social disruption of the conquest. The situation varied on a local level. At some locations it was entirely business as usual. In York, nine out of twelve moneyers of Harold are known in subsequent coinages, together 51

Naismith, ‘London’, pp. 60–1. It should be noted that all of these figures are subject to change as new coins come to light. In particular, the north Somerset hoard of some 2,500 coins of Harold and William’s first type, which came to light in the course of 2019, will doubtless reveal a number of previously unknown moneyers. 52 About six with names of French origin can be identified in the lists published in Allen, ‘Mints and Moneyers’. 53 Naismith, Medieval European Coinage, ch. 10. 54 Ulfcetel’s coins under Edward carry the inscription vlfketel ðaginga (see for an example, Naismith, Medieval European Coinage, no. 2232), which could also be interpreted as ‘son of a thegn’ (or son of a man named Thegn): Fran Colman, The Grammar of Names in Anglo-Saxon England: The Linguistics and Culture of the Old English Onomasticon (Oxford, 2014), p. 17.

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with one from Edward’s last few types – though numbers dropped off sharply after William’s type 2 and only picked up slowly thereafter, probably in connection with the rebellions and harrying of the North in the late 1060s.55 At London, five out of eight moneyers of Harold persisted, apparently joined by an unusually large complement of seven moneyers who reappeared after last striking coins late in Edward’s reign. Other places experienced a near-total break with the past. One mint-place, Droitwich, vanished completely after Harold’s reign.56 At Hereford, just one moneyer of Harold’s five persisted after 1066, along with one unlikely case among the moneyers of Edward. Another western mint, Shrewsbury, was similar: one out of five moneyers of Harold persevered, together with three from Edward’s reign. Interestingly, all four of those who vanished after Harold’s coinage were new additions to the complement in 1066: they are known solely for this type. For whatever reason, a recruitment drive at Shrewsbury under Harold seems to have gone badly wrong. Wilton is the most remarkable case. All its moneyers under Harold ceased working after his reign, though one moneyer active under Edward apparently later resurfaced. Moreover, a distinct and unusual stylistic group was struck by the Wilton moneyers, known from the Soberton hoard of the later 1060s. Hugh Pagan and Gareth Williams have studied these coins and made a case for their being an exceptional, late segment of Harold’s coinage struck in the aftermath of Hastings under the patronage of Edith, widow of Edward the Confessor, who was closely associated with the nunnery at Wilton.57 The story of conquests in relation to coins is not a simple one. Conquest did not significantly affect the coinage, but coinage did influence the implementation of conquest. The most obvious change was the name of the king on the silver pennies produced up and down the kingdom. Both Cnut and William found a coinage which combined many virtues: it was high in quality and reputation, and also unusually responsive to royal demands. They did not create these features, but they certainly did exploit them in new ways. Cnut probably capitalized on the monetary system of England to support his extraction of tribute, and he also reinforced the centralization and unity of the coinage. William too may have milked the currency through hiking the payments due from moneyers, and he and his son oversaw the most important geographical extension of minting since the early tenth century. Under both Cnut and William, especially taking a long view beyond the immediate context of 1016 and 1066, there were fluctuations in the number of moneyers and the scale of minting which hint at how the monetary system was responding to new demands being placed upon it. This is perhaps the key role of coinage in relation to the convulsions of the eleventh century – as a particularly well adapted means of extraction and control, rather than an end in itself. 55

A point already noted in Dolley, Norman Conquest, p. 13. Sixteen mint-places of Harold are at present unknown in William’s first coin-type, although all but one of these reappeared subsequently: Allen, ‘Mints and Moneyers’, p. 57. 57 Pagan, ‘Coinage of Harold’, p. 187; Gareth Williams, ‘Was the Last Anglo-Saxon King of England a Queen? A Possible Posthumous Coinage of Harold II’, Yorkshire Numismatist 4 (2012), 159–70. 56

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6 Episcopal Exon? Exeter, Cathedral Library, MS 3500 and the Role of Bishops in the Domesday Survey LOIS LANE

B

ishops played a crucial part in the government of England and in the consolidation of the Anglo-Norman regime after 1066. Yet in spite of their fundamental importance, many of the Conqueror’s bishops remain shadowy figures, especially those who began their careers as secular clerks rather than monks. Their political contribution can often be detected most clearly in contemporary documentary sources. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the corpus of texts associated with the Domesday survey of 1086, through which the Conqueror sought to formalize and codify his conquest. Exeter, Cathedral Library, MS 3500, better known as Exon Domesday, is the earliest surviving product of the survey.1 It is a remarkable witness to a formidable administrative undertaking. The manuscript is a partially preserved record of the stage of the Domesday process immediately anterior to the compilation of Great Domesday Book, for the five south-western counties which comprised ‘Circuit II’ of the survey.2 The majority of the text consists of entries about manors, structured like the entries in Great Domesday Book, though containing extra information which is omitted from Great Domesday, especially material concerning livestock. The text has been edited only once, by Henry Ellis in 1816, and is unavailable in translation. Now, however, the AHRC-funded project ‘The Conqueror’s Commissioners: Unlocking the Domesday Survey in the South West of England’ is working

1 Throughout, references to palaeographical or codicological features of the manuscript will be given in the form ‘Exon. fol. 1r’ and references to the text in the form ‘EDB 1a1’. 2 For the reconstruction of the Domesday circuits, see Carl Stephenson, ‘Notes on the Composition and Interpretation of Domesday Book’, Speculum 22 (1947), 1–15.

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towards redressing that neglect.3 Its aim is to make material relating to Exon more accessible to scholars, including an online facsimile, expanded Latin text, English translation, and a full palaeographical and codicological description, and thereby to offer valuable new insights into long-standing debates about the execution and the purpose of the survey. In its current form, this main portion of the text (hereafter referred to as Exon Fiefs) is incomplete. It covers all of Somerset and Cornwall and most of Devon, but only about half of Dorset and a single manor in Wiltshire. The entries are arranged feudally, with the lands of each tenant-in-chief grouped together. There is a major divide between entries pertaining to Devon, Cornwall and Somerset, on the one hand, and Dorset and Wiltshire on the other. Thus the estates of tenants-in-chief like William de Moyon (d. after 1090), who held land in Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset and Devon, are recorded in two separate sections.4 The separation between these two batches of entries is maintained throughout but, within each batch, entries pertaining to more than one shire may appear in a single booklet.5 On fol. 356r, for example, one scribe finishes recording the Devon estates of William de Moyon on line eight and another begins the account of his Somerset holdings on the next line. The text of Exon Fiefs represents an intermediate stage in the processing of the tenurial and fiscal information collected during the Domesday survey. It was the final stage of the enquiry before the compilation of Great Domesday, but it must itself have drawn on a huge quantity of earlier written material.6 That the majority of this material was arranged geographically is clear, and that it took the form of individual hundred returns seems probable.7 Yet the scribes of the Exon manuscript may also have drawn upon other kinds of written material in the completion of their task. In addition to rearranging and copying from geographically arranged

3

The project website for ‘The Conqueror’s Commissioners: Unlocking the Domesday Survey in the South West of England’ (AHRC grant number: AH/L013975/1) is www.exondomesday. ac.uk [accessed 21 January 2019]. Professor Julia Crick is the principal investigator. Where this chapter quotes from Exon, I use Frank Thorn’s expanded Latin text. For palaeographical and codicological information, I draw on Francisco Álvarez López’s codicological description of the manuscript. The images, text, translation, and palaeographical and codicological description can be found at www.exondomesday.ac.uk/digipal/manuscripts/1/texts/view. 4 EDB 47a1–49b2 for William’s Wiltshire and Dorset lands; EDB 356a1–364b2 for his Devon and Somerset lands. 5 Colin Flight, The Survey of the Whole of England: Studies of the Documentation Resulting from the Survey Conducted in 1086, British Archaeological Reports, British Series 405 (Oxford, 2006), pp. 41–3. 6 See Frank and Caroline Thorn, ‘The Writing of Great Domesday Book’, in Domesday Book, ed. E. Hallam and D. Bates (Stroud, 2001), pp. 37–72 (p. 48). 7 This hypothesis is clearly articulated in Flight, Survey of the Whole, p. 3. For evidence of the underlying geographical arrangement of Exon, see Stephen Baxter, Julia Crick and Christopher P. Lewis, Making Domesday: The Conqueror’s Survey in Context (Oxford, 2020), ch. 5, ‘The Significance of Hundredal Grouping’.

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returns, produced specifically as part of the survey, they seem occasionally to have abstracted and consciously manipulated information from other pre-existing documentary sources. In addition to Exon Fiefs, Exeter, Cathedral Library, MS 3500 contains a series of geld accounts – one apiece for the counties of Dorset, Devon, Cornwall and Somerset, and three different accounts for Wiltshire.8 There is also a list of additions to and subtractions from manors in Devon, Cornwall and Somerset, entitled Terrae Occupatae, the contents of which usually duplicates information provided in Exon Fiefs.9 The following analysis is primarily concerned with the Exon Fiefs text, though it draws occasionally upon the evidence of the Terrae Occupatae list. The geld accounts are not touched upon here. As the most recent campaign of work on the manuscript has demonstrated, some twenty-five scribes worked on Exon, collaborating in a close and complicated fashion.10 In some instances a single scribe was responsible for several continuous folios, but at other times multiple hands might appear on the same page, writing only very short stints before breaking off, sometimes mid-line, in patterns which are difficult to identify or explain. All, or almost all, of the hands can be identified as being French in character, suggesting that the scribes were either French in origin, or were trained on the continent.11 The manuscript contains a very high number of interlineations, erasures, corrections and self-corrections, superscript additions, marginal annotations, blank spaces and ambiguous scribal nota. All of these features suggest that the scribes were responding to immediate stimuli in their production of the text, rather than focusing on posterity. To date, the historiography of the Exon manuscript, like that of the Domesday process more generally, has tended to focus principally on the institutions and mechanisms of royal government. Although sheriffs and shire courts must have been important in the completion of the survey, they cannot have operated in an administrative vacuum. The Domesday process involved a huge amount of writing at extraordinary speed, and hence required a great many scribes. Episcopal households and cathedral chapters on both sides of the Channel are likely to have played a significant role in providing scribes. Indeed, the hands of two Exon scribes were identified by N. R. Ker in 1976 in books copied in the cathedral chapter at Salisbury, and Teresa Webber later increased the number of identifications to three.12 8

Exon. fols 1–24, 65–82, 529. Exon. fols 495–525. 10 F. L. Álvarez López and J. C. Crick, ‘Decision-Making and Work Flow in the Making of Exon Domesday’, in Les scribes et la présentation du texte – Scribes and the Presentation of Texts, XXe Colloque international de paléographie latine, ed. B. Shailor, C. Dutschke and M. Smith (Turnhout, forthcoming). 11 Álvarez López and Crick, ‘Decision-Making and Work Flow’. 12 N. R. Ker, ‘The Beginnings of Salisbury Cathedral Library’, in Medieval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to R. W. Hunt, ed. J. J. G. Alexander and M. T. Gibson (Oxford, 1976), pp. 23–49 (pp. 35, 49); Teresa Webber, ‘Salisbury and the Exon Domesday: Some Observations 9

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Webber also noted more general palaeographical similarities between Exon and the scholarly volumes produced at Salisbury during the episcopate of Bishop Osmund (1078–99).13 Moreover, individual bishops are known to have been closely involved with the Domesday process, serving as commissioners,14 or consciously manipulating the survey to their own ends.15 Various episcopal candidates have even been advanced for the role of overall mastermind of the survey.16 Work on each of these figures, however, has tended to view their involvement in individual terms, rather than as part of a wider episcopal role in Domesday. An important exception to this generalization is Sally Harvey’s Domesday: Book of Judgement, the second chapter of which establishes a collective identity for William I’s bishops as crucial figures in his administration and ‘the pinnacle of the circle of authority that produced Domesday’.17 The present chapter employs textual evidence from Exon Fiefs and, to a lesser extent, the Terrae Occupatae list to build upon Harvey’s hypothesis about the centrality of bishops in the Domesday process. It argues that, while Great Domesday is rightly regarded as a defining monument of medieval royal administration, the Exon Domesday manuscript ought to be considered, at least in part, as an episcopal book.18 Bishops were not only involved in the survey; they were fundamental in helping to shape it, both at the centre and in the localities. Moreover, their participation need not have involved acts of deliberate deception or attempts to secure unduly favourable accounts of their own holdings. It may have been possible for bishops to assume constructive and collaborative roles in the exercise of royal government, while also defending their own interests and those of their cathedral communities. In general, the compilers of the Exon manuscript, or the hundred returns which seem to have constituted its primary source, were extremely successful in standardizing the information they received. The Exon Fiefs text is mostly extremely regular in terms of its structure and diplomatic. Traces of written sources other than standConcerning the Origins of Exeter Cathedral MS 3500’, in English Manuscript Studies, 1100–1700. Volume 1, ed. Peter Beal and J. Griffiths (Oxford, 1989), pp. 1–18 (pp. 4–6).  13 Webber, ‘Salisbury and the Exon Domesday’, p. 8. 14 David Roffe, Decoding Domesday (Woodbridge, 2007), p. 70. 15 Stephen Baxter, ‘The Representation of Lordship and Land Tenure in Domesday Book’, in Domesday Book, ed. E. Hallam and D. Bates (Stroud, 2001), pp. 73–102 (p. 74). 16 V. H. Galbraith, ‘Notes on the Career of Samson, Bishop of Worcester (1096–1112)’, EHR 82 (1967), 86–101; Pierre Chaplais, ‘William of Saint-Calais and the Domesday Survey’, in Domesday Studies, ed. J. C. Holt (Woodbridge, 1987), pp. 65–78. 17 Sally Harvey, Domesday: Book of Judgement (Oxford, 2014), p. 33. 18 F. L. Álvarez López, J. C. Crick and L. E. Lane, ‘Le Recensement Domesday Exon (Exeter, Cathedral Library ms. 3500) : rôle de l’épiscopat et ressources scribales dans l’Angleterre du Sud-Ouest 1086–1137’, in Écrire à l’ombre des cathédrales, ed. G. Combalbert and C. Senseby (Rennes, forthcoming).

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ardized geographical returns do find their way into the text, however, and appear in the presence or omission of certain pieces of information, the way that entries are ordered, or the formulae used to express them. Some of these irregularities in Exon Fiefs are purely textual, affecting features such as word choice and orthography. Others are more structural, like the order in which different hundreds appear within a fief, or deviations from the standard composition of quires. In addition, some irregularities are at least partly palaeographical; for example, the incidence of scribal corrections per page for different landholders. This chapter compares textual features of all of the surviving entries for the lands of the bishops of the south-western dioceses in 1086, and the sheriffs of the counties which comprised those dioceses (excluding Berkshire), with a sample of entries for other Exon tenants-in-chief. The portion of Exon Fiefs which survives includes all the lands of the cathedral church of Exeter in Devon and Cornwall and those of Bishop Giso of Wells (1061–88) in Somerset, all but one estate of Sheriff Baldwin (d. ante 1091) and the fief of William de Moyon, apparently in its entirety. Only two entries apiece survive for Bishop Osmund of Salisbury (1078–99) and for Edward of Salisbury (d. ante 1130), the sheriff of Wiltshire, however, and none for Aiulf (d. ante 1130), the sheriff of Dorset. My sample is therefore somewhat skewed by accidents of survival, but remains substantial enough to suggest possible types of document to which the compilers of the manuscript may have referred, and some ways in which the bishops of the south-western dioceses might have contributed to the process of its compilation. In searching the Exon text itself for traces of its possible sources, I have been influenced by Stephen Baxter’s approach in his 2001 article ‘The Representation of Lordship and Land Tenure in Domesday Book’. Baxter makes a strong case for the utility of the formulae found in Great Domesday Book in illuminating written sources, now lost, which may have contributed to its production.19 Through an analysis of some 3,450 Domesday entries, 100 sampled at random from each shire, he is able to identify diplomatic peculiarities in the fief of Bishop Wulfstan of Worcester which suggest that the bishop may have successfully manipulated the account of his own holdings. My own methodology is more qualitative than Baxter’s and less strictly diplomatic. Whilst I have tried to offer breadth, through a judicious sampling of entries, I rely more heavily on case studies and less on large datasets of standard formulae. In addition to the entries for diocesan bishops and sheriffs, my sample also includes ten entries for every tenant-in-chief other than bishops and sheriffs, excluding royal estates.20 I first consider the evidence of individual word choices, formulae and spellings within this corpus of sampled entries, and then the regularity with 19

Baxter, ‘The Representation of Lordship’, pp. 73–4. Exceptions to this rule are small fiefs containing fewer than ten entries, in which case the entire fief has been included, and the very large fiefs of the bishop of Coutances and the count of Mortain, from each of which twenty entries have been sampled.

20

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which scribal corrections appear in individual fiefs. Throughout, I compare the approach taken by the scribes when recording bishops’ and sheriffs’ holdings with the non-episcopal and non-shrieval norm, where such a norm can be established. In seeking to illuminate ways in which a range of written material might have contributed to the Domesday operation in the south-western dioceses, I do not deny that specifically produced returns were an important, even the primary source for the Exon text. Rex Welldon Finn identified geographical organizing principles at work alongside tenurial ones in the compilation of Exon Fiefs.21 More recently, Stephen Baxter, Chris Lewis and Frank Thorn, as part of the ‘Conqueror’s Commissioners’ project, have proved beyond reasonable doubt that cadastral material underpins the text.22 An administrative undertaking of the magnitude of the Domesday survey, however, is likely to have required its commissioners to use every governmental mechanism and pre-existing repository of information at their disposal. The reconstituted terms of reference found in the three late twelfth-century manuscripts of the text known as the Inquisitio Eliensis provide a model for a ‘standard’ Domesday entry.23 The existence of such a clear frame of reference ought to make identifying irregularities straightforward but, in reality, the process is complicated by a number of factors. First there is the difficulty of establishing whether any deviation from the standard pattern of an entry reflects actual circumstances on the ground, or is solely a formal or textual phenomenon. The entries in the account of the fief of Bishop Giso of Wells,24 for instance, tend to be much longer and less consistent than those dealing with the holdings of the sheriff of Somerset, William de Moyon, in the same county. Whether this indicates that the bishop’s estates were actually larger and more complex than the sheriff’s, or simply reflects different copying and compilation processes, is difficult to ascertain. Moreover, some features which seem, within the context of the Domesday corpus, to be peculiarities of the Exon text, actually emerge as being far less unusual when viewed against the background of other contemporary sources. For example, nemus is consistently employed to denote woodland in Exon, whereas Great Domesday Book overwhelmingly uses the more common Latin word silva.25 The use of nemus in Exon might be considered strange, given that elsewhere it

21 R. W. Finn, ‘The Exeter Domesday and its Construction’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 41 (1959), 360–87. 22 Baxter, Crick, Lewis and Thorn, Making Domesday, ch. 5, ‘The Significance of Hundredal Grouping’. 23 Inquisitio Comitatus Cantabrigiensis nunc primum e manuscripto unico in bibliotheca Cottoniana asservato typis mandata: subjicitur Inquisitio Eliensis, ed. N. E. S. A. Hamilton (London, 1876), p. 97. 24 EDB 156a1–160a3. 25 H. C. Darby, Domesday England (Cambridge, 1986), p. 176.

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is more often used in a poetic context,26 but in fact the term appears with some frequency in surviving Anglo-Norman royal and ducal charters from the eleventh century.27 The term’s appearance in an administrative context is therefore less peculiar than it initially seems. Nevertheless, with these caveats in mind, and whilst acknowledging that most Domesday entries are rather remarkable in their consistency, it is still sometimes possible to identify textual discrepancies in the way that information is recorded. These discrepancies suggest that the material from which the scribes were copying was less standardized than the final document they produced. Such variations not only affect the holdings of bishops, though they are arguably most pronounced there; they also suggest that scribes were using the products of the established written documentary culture in the late eleventh-century south-west.28 The information which is omitted from Domesday entries can often be as important as that which is included. One striking example of irregularity through omission occurs at the start of Bishop Osbern (1072–1103) of Exeter’s fief. Of the first ten Exeter entries, only two state who held the manor in the time of King Edward.29 In both cases, the TRE holder was someone other than the bishop of Exeter. The omission of the TRE holder from the remaining eight entries suggests that Scribes Alpha and Beta initially assumed that they did not need to record who held an estate in the time of King Edward if that estate had simply belonged to Bishop Osbern’s antecessor, Bishop Leofric (1046–72). From the beginning of fol. 118v, however, the formula ‘quam tenuit Leuricus episcopus die qua rex Eduuardus fuit uiuus et mortuus’ begins to be inserted in the standard place, after the name of the manor.30 Similarly, the second entry for Bishop Giso of Wells, and the first manor that he also held in 1066, has ‘quam ipse tenuit tempore Edwardi regis’ inserted into

26 Frank Thorn, ‘Non Pascua sed Pastura: The Changing Choice of Terms in Domesday’, in Domesday Now: New Approaches to the Inquest and the Book, ed. David Roffe (Woodbridge, 2016), pp. 109–36 (p. 123). 27 See, for example, Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie de 911 à 1066, complété d’un index rerum par Lucien Musset, ed. Marie Fauroux, Mémoires de la Société des Antiquaires de Normandie 36 (Caen, 1961), nos 55, 64; Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: The Acta of William I (1066–1087), ed. David Bates (Oxford, 1998), nos 47, 99(I), 117, 215, 258, 260, 281(II), 298. 28 For evidence of this literary and documentary culture, see Elaine M. Drage, ‘Bishop Leofric and the Exeter Cathedral Chapter, 1050–1072: A Reassessment of the Manuscript Evidence’ (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1970); Elaine Treharne, ‘Producing a Library in Late Anglo-Saxon England:  Exeter, 1050–1072’, Review of English Studies 54 (2003), 155–72; Takako Kato, ‘Exeter Scribes in Cambridge University Library, MS Ii.2.11 + Exeter Book Folios 0, 1–7’, New Medieval Literatures 13 (2011), 5–21; Charles Insley, ‘Charters and Episcopal Scriptoria in the Anglo-Saxon South-West’, Early Medieval Europe 7 (2003), 173–97. 29 EDB 117b3, 117b4. 30 ‘Which Bishop Leofric held on the day that King Edward was alive and dead’, EDB 118b1.

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the text as an interlineation by the same scribe.31 While Benoît-Michel Tock has demonstrated that there were contexts in which French scribes used interlineation as a deliberate stylistic choice,32 in this particular instance the addition of an entire clause would seem to indicate that Scribe Eta was adding information to the text which was either omitted from his source, or which he had not initially copied from it. In both this case, and that of the early part of the bishop of Exeter’s fief, it is possible that some supervising presence intervened and instructed the scribes to record who held each manor pre-Conquest, even if that holder was the same church or bishop as in 1086. Another element recorded in the Inquisitio Eliensis terms of reference which is omitted from a significant minority of Exon entries is the value of a manor when it was received. Fourteen of the nineteen entries for the estates of Bishop Giso, for instance, record only the 1086 value and not how much the manor was worth when the bishop received it.33 Most of the manors from which this information is omitted are those which the bishop already held before the death of Edward the Confessor, and there are certainly parallels to be drawn with the omission of the TRE holders from the early entries in the bishop of Exeter’s fief. It may be the case that Bishop Giso and Bishop Osbern each provided the Domesday commissioners with a written account of their entire fief, separate from the hundred returns which seem to have been the main source for the Exon Fiefs text. If the two bishops did provide individual returns, then perhaps these did not record the pre-Conquest holder of an estate, or its value when received, in cases where the bishop already held the estate in 1066. This would help to explain why this information is omitted so frequently from the accounts of the two bishops’ holdings in Exon Fiefs. By contrast the entries dealing with the lands of the sheriffs Baldwin and William de Moyon always give the value of the estate now and when received, as specified in the terms of reference. It is one of the clearest examples of the high degree of regularity displayed by the entries for the sheriffs’ holdings in Exon, vis-à-vis those of bishops. As well as identifying information omitted from Exon Fiefs, it is necessary to analyse peculiar, non-standard, or inexplicable information which has found its way into the manuscript. An interesting example of this is how the text records the presence of different classes of peasant on certain manors, which might tell us as much about the language and content of the sources from which the scribes worked as it does about the types of people who were actually present in a given place.

31

‘Which he himself held in the time of King Edward’, EDB 156a3. For the scribe, see Francisco Álvarez López, codicological description for Exon. fol. 156r, www.exondomesday.ac.uk/digipal/ manuscripts/1/texts/view. 32 Benoît-Michel Tock, Scribes, souscripteurs et témoins dans les actes privés en France (VIIe–début XIIe siècle) (Turnhout, 2005), p. 96. 33 EDB 156a3, 156a4, 156b2, 156b3, 157a1, 157a2, 157b1, 158a1, 158b1, 159a1, 159b1, 160a2, 160a3, 160a4.

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EPISCOPAL EXON?

Almost every entry in the Domesday corpus provides details of the number of villeins (villani) or slaves (slavi) on an estate, but there is also scope for less commonly recorded groups of people to appear in certain, hard-to-define contexts. Exon most commonly records the number of bordars (bordarii) after the number of villeins for each manor, in contrast with the terms of reference which specifically ask for details of a different (if similarly lowly) peasant group, the cottars (cottarii).34 Yet, on a number of occasions, amongst which no immediately discernible pattern or links can be readily identified, cottars do appear in the text of Exon Fiefs. This might serve to tell us something about the rural population of the late eleventh-century south-west, but it is more likely to reflect variation in the Exon scribes’ sources. Sometimes references to cottars occur in entries which are unusual in other ways too. For example, the final Devon entry for the bishop of Exeter, apart from that describing his churches and houses within the city itself, is for the manor of Slapton, in Chillington Hundred, where, it is recorded, there were twenty-six villeins and twenty-one cottars (and no bordars at all).35 It is possible that this is simply a reflection of the real fact that there were cottars rather than bordars living in Slapton, but there are other peculiarities about this entry that suggest this was not the case. Written by a scribe, Kappa, who does not appear elsewhere in the account of Bishop Osbern’s fief and who wrote only a few entries overall, the Slapton entry also omits the TRE holder of the manor.36 Cottars likewise appear in the accounts of Bishop Osmund of Salisbury’s manor of Chilcompton and that of Bishop Giso at Wedmore (both in the county of Somerset, in Chewton and Bempstone Hundreds respectively).37 The appearance of cottars is not restricted to episcopal estates. Other entries which mention them include William de Moyon’s manors of Brewham38 and Bathealton39 (Somerset) and Chilfrome40 (Dorset), Hurpston (Dorset),41 which belonged to the wife of the former sheriff Hugh FitzGrip, Bloxworth42 and Affpuddle43 (Dorset), belonging to the abbot of Cerne, and no fewer than twelve manors of the abbot of Glastonbury.44 Nothing immediately evident links these entries. Some are for large and complex manors, while others, like Bathealton (Somerset), are straightforward in every other respect. References to cottars appear in Devon, Somerset and Dorset, though 34 Cambridge, Trinity College, MS O.2.1 has cothcethle. Cambridge, Trinity College, MS O.2.41 and London, BL, Cotton Tiberius A. VI have cot. 35 EDB 120b2. 36 ‘Hand: Kappa, Exeter 3500’, www.exondomesday.ac.uk/digipal/hands/17/. 37 EDB 159b2, 154a2. 38 EDB 364b1. 39 EDB 362b3. 40 EDB 48b1. 41 EDB 60b2. 42 EDB 36b2. 43 EDB 36b3. 44 EDB 165b2, 166b1, 167a1, 167a2, 167b1, 168a1, 169a1, 169b2, 170a2, 170b1, 170b2, 171a1.

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notably not in Cornwall, and amongst the holdings of a variety of ecclesiastical and non-ecclesiastical tenants-in-chief. One intriguing possibility, however, for how cottars might have come to be found in this irregular minority of Exon entries, emerges from a distinction drawn long ago by F. W. Maitland.45 As a legal scholar, Maitland was primarily concerned with identifying the legal difference between bordars and cottars.46 However, he also made a significant linguistic observation, that ‘while the cot is English, the borde is French’.47 Given that we can be fairly confident of the French origins of the Exon scribes, it makes sense that they would primarily have employed the French-derived term bordarii, even in opposition to the terms of reference in the Inquisitio Eliensis. Yet cottars, whether rendered as cotarii or cosceti, have still managed to find their way into the text in a significant minority of entries.48 In some cases, their inclusion may indicate the existence of separate categories of people within the rural population of the lands in question, but it might also suggest the existence of pre-existing documentary material, written in Old English, upon which the French scribes of Exon occasionally drew in their copying task. This interpretation might help to explain the disproportionately high number of references to cottars amongst the holdings of the abbot of Glastonbury, given that Glastonbury was ‘one of the best documented monasteries of Anglo-Saxon England’.49 Perhaps this similarly helps to explain why there are no references to cottars at all in the account of Sheriff Baldwin’s fief; the sheriff may have been especially assiduous in reporting exactly as he was supposed to in his responses to the Domesday survey. Other specific designations of types of people found in Exon entries, such as ‘swineherds’ (porcarii)50 and ‘salt women’ (salinariae),51 are more likely to be reflections of their actual existence in those places, and perhaps not elsewhere, but the presence or absence of cottars seems to be as much a linguistic and textual question as an historical one. Variation in the spelling of common Domesday words is also potentially significant. For example, scribe Gamma is notable for spelling hyda (‘hide’) with a ‘y’, something which he did consistently in all the entries he copied as part the account of Sheriff Baldwin’s holdings.52 No other scribe used this spelling, either in Baldwin’s fief or elsewhere. Gamma also used the spelling hyda in entries for manors

45 F. W. Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond: Three Essays in the Early History of England, rev. edn with foreword by J. C. Holt (Cambridge, 1987; first edn, 1897). 46 Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond, pp. 39–41. 47 Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond, p. 39. 48 See, e.g., EDB 150b1, EDB 121a2. 49 Charters of Glastonbury Abbey, ed. S. E. Kelly, Anglo-Saxon Charters 15 (Oxford, 2012), p. 1. 50 See, e.g., EDB 117a3, 117a4, 118a1. 51 EDB 184a4. 52 EDB 290a2–294b2, 301a2–3, 312a4–b1, 313a2–314b2.

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EPISCOPAL EXON?

held by the abbots of Glastonbury,53 Tavistock54 and Buckfast.55 This might seem unremarkable, were it not for the fact that in other places in the manuscript, such as in all the entries he copied for the bishop of Exeter’s fief,56 Gamma employed the more normal spelling hida. Indeed, in one entry, that of the manor of Welcombe (Devon) held by the bishop of Coutances, Gamma used the spelling hyda at the bottom of one page and hida at the top of the next, within the very same entry.57 Is this a demonstration of pure scribal whimsy, or was Gamma trying to accommodate sources which employed both spellings? This question is impossible to answer confidently without further evidence. In another context, though, Carole Hough has convincingly demonstrated that the scribe of the early twelfth-century legal compilation, the Textus Roffensis, adapted his spellings to reflect multiple exemplars, thus providing a clear parallel for such a practice.58 Even more striking are some of the numerical irregularities in the Exon Fiefs text, especially those which concern numbers of sheep. For the most part, these are rounded, often to the nearest fifty, sometimes to the nearest ten or twenty-five in the case of smaller numbers. This makes sense in light of the fact that numbers of sheep tend to be rather high relative to other kinds of livestock recorded.59 These figures seem to be intended as only a rough guide to the size of the flock on each manor. There are a substantial number of entries, however, which provide much more specific figures for the estates in question, even where the number of sheep runs into the hundreds. Thus, the entry dealing with Bishop Osbern’s manor of Crediton (Devon) notes that the bishop has 388 sheep,60 in contrast with the next two entries for Bishopsteignton61 and Dawlish62 (Devon) which record 400 and 100 sheep respectively. In total, of the sixteen entries for Bishop Osbern’s Devon holdings which mention sheep at all, ten offer a specific, rather than a rounded figure.63 Rather strikingly, none of Osbern’s Cornish estates are so precise. For Bishop Giso, three entries out of nine provide a specific figure for the number of sheep,64 whilst for William de

53

EDB 173a2. EDB 179a1. 55 EDB 182a5. 56 Exon. fols 119r–120r, 120v. 57 EDB 122b3. 58 Carole Hough, ‘Palaeographical Evidence for the Compilation of the Textus Roffensis’, Scriptorium 55 (2001), 57–79 (p. 58). 59 See table of ‘Livestock in 1086 by Domesday Counties’, in H. C. Darby, Domesday England (Cambridge, 1986), p. 164. 60 EDB 117a3. 61 EDB 117a4. 62 EDB 117b1. 63 EDB 117a3, 118a1, 118a2, 118b1, 119a1, 119a3, 119b1, 119b2, 120a1, 120a2. 64 EDB 154a2, 156b3, 159a1. 54

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Moyon it is eleven out of forty-three entries,65 and for Baldwin it is thirty-five out of one hundred and thirty-nine.66 Table 6.1 provides a more detailed summary of how numbers of sheep are recorded in the fief of each of these four tenants-in-chief. No individual scribe or group of scribes seems to be responsible for a particularly high number of entries containing precise numbers of sheep; neither do precise figures disproportionately appear in any particular hundreds. Indeed, I have been able to identify no geographical pattern at all in terms of where precise or rounded numbers are more likely to appear. Table 6.1  Numbers of sheep in Exon fiefs Tenant-in-chief

Number of entries which mention sheep

Number of entries which give precise numbers of sheep

Number of entries which give rounded numbers of sheep

Percentage of entries with precise numbers of sheep

Devon

18

10

8

55.6%

Total

28

10

18

35.7%

Bishop Giso

9

3

6

33.3%

Baldwin the Sheriff

135

51

84

37.7%

William de Moyon

43

11

32

25.6%

Bishop Osbern

There is, however, variation between different tenants-in-chief, as can be seen in Table 6.1, and in some cases between demesne and subtenanted estates. Table 6.2 focuses on the lands of Bishop Osbern and Sheriff Baldwin in Devon and provides the number of entries with precise or rounded numbers of sheep for demesne and subtenanted estates. This analysis demonstrates that the entries for Bishop Osbern’s estates are no more or less likely to record sheep precisely if the manor was subtenanted than if it was held in demesne. For Sheriff Baldwin, by contrast, 65

EDB 47b1, 48a2, 49b2, 356a5, 356b2, 357a2, 360a2, 360b4, 363b2, 363b3, 364a3. EDB 288a3, 288b2, 289a1, 292a3, 293a2, 294a3, 295a1, 295a3, 295a4, 296a1, 298b2, 299a1, 301a2, 301b1, 301b3, 302a1, 302a2, 304b1, 305a1, 305a2, 305b1, 305b2, 306a1, 306b3, 306b4, 307a3, 307b2, 307b4, 308a1, 309b2, 310a1, 310b2, 311b3, 312a3, 312a4, 313a3, 313b2, 314a1, 314b1, 314b3.

66

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EPISCOPAL EXON?

a clear pattern emerges. All but one of Baldwin’s demesne estates in Devon give rounded numbers of sheep, while those held by subtenants are split more evenly between precise and rounded numbers. Once again, it appears that the sheriff was especially careful to report information about his demesne estates in a standardized form, while his subtenants interpreted their brief in a more varied way. Table 6.2 Sheep on demesne and subinfeudated manors of Bishop Osbern and Sheriff Baldwin in Devon Tenant-inchief

Total entries Demesne, with sheep precise figure

Bishop Osbern

18

Sheriff Baldwin

133

Demesne, rounded figure

Subtenant, precise figure

Subtenant, rounded figure

8

6

2

2

44.4%

33.3%

11.1%

11.1%

1

15

49

68

0.8%

11.3%

36.9%

51.1%

In some instances, the appearance of these more specific figures may be attributable to particularly conscientious tenants-in-chief or subtenants, instructing their estate managers or shepherds to count the number of sheep precisely during the process of providing information to the Domesday survey. In other cases, however, it is probable that the information had already been written down for some manors in a separate format, independent of the Domesday survey. The compilers of the Exon text drew on this more specific information when it was already available, and made do with rounded estimates when it was not. Not all such variants necessarily point towards the influence of outside sources. It is perfectly possible that two different scribes could set to work copying from the same hundred returns and interpret them sufficiently differently as to produce quite different results. Nevertheless, the presence in the text of so many orthographical and formulaic variations, however minor, demonstrates that a level of flexibility was available to the compilers of Exon which exceeds that of mechanically copying from entirely homogenous returns. Wherever there are formulaic oddities in the text, there is at least a possibility that, at some earlier stage in the process, the scribes had access to material which was not cast in a standardized form and which they had actively to manipulate in order to make it fit their brief. Where multiple irregularities coincide in a single entry then that possibility becomes a probability. In addition to textual peculiarities, another important manifestation of irregularity in the Exon manuscript is in the frequency of contemporary corrections to 111

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the text. A correction is here defined as any deliberate erasure, marginal addition, interlineation or other alteration, the purpose of which is clearly to amend or clarify an aspect of the text. By counting the total number of scribal corrections in each fief and dividing it by the number of pages that that fief occupies, it is possible to obtain an average number of corrections per page for each tenant-in-chief in Exon. This methodology comes with certain caveats. The sample sizes vary a great deal, with the lands of the church of Exeter occupying seven folios,67 while those of the bishop of Coutances cover thirty-one.68 Moreover, a wide spectrum of interventions, from the very large to the very small, have all been classed as single corrections. With these provisos in mind, however, the results of the comparison are illuminating. Table 6.3 and Fig. 6.1 show the incidence of corrections per page for nine different landholders: the king, two diocesan bishops, one bishop of a French diocese appearing in his capacity as a secular lord, two abbots, two sheriffs, and the widow of another sheriff.

The King

2.04

Osbern, Bishop of Exeter

2.08 3.89

Giso, Bishop of Wells 2

Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances William de Moyon, Sheriff of Somerset

1.36

Baldwin, Sheriff of Devon

1.32 2.19

The Wife of Hugh fitzGrip

2.27

Abbot of Tavistock

2.16

Abbot of Glastonbury 0

0.5

1

1.5

2

2.5

3

Fig. 6.1  Chart showing average number of corrections per page

67 68

Exon. fols 117r–120v, 199r–201r. Exon. fols 121r–152r.

112

3.5

4

4.5

EPISCOPAL EXON?

Table 6.3  Average number of corrections per page for sampled tenants-in-chief Tenant in chief

Land in county/ counties

Number of pages

Number of corrections

Average number of corrections per page

The king

Dorset, Devon, Somerset, Cornwall

55

112

2.04

Osbern, bishop of Exeter

Devon, Cornwall

13

27

2.08

Giso, bishop of Wells

Somerset

9

35

3.89

Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances

Devon, Somerset

61

122

2.00

William de Moyon, sheriff of Somerset

Wiltshire, Dorset, Devon, Somerset

25

34

1.36

Baldwin, sheriff of Devon

Devon, Somerset

56

74

1.32

Wife of Hugh fitzGrip

Dorset

16

35

2.19

Abbot of Tavistock

Dorset, Devon, Cornwall

11

25

2.27

Abbot of Glastonbury

Devon

25

54

2.16

The average number of corrections for most of these individuals stands at around two per page, but there are three significant variations from the mean. The accounts of the two sheriffs’ fiefs display a lower than average incidence of correction, at around 1.3 corrections per page, and Bishop Giso’s lands have a much higher than average incidence, at 3.9 corrections per page. More heavily corrected sections of text might indicate particularly close and careful supervision of the copying process for the entries in question. Or perhaps they simply reflect multiple stages of compilation, with scribes sometimes struggling to manipulate the information contained in a variety of written exemplars into an acceptable format. These explanations are not necessarily incompatible. It is certainly possible to imagine Bishop Giso himself, or his representative, looking over the shoulder of Scribe Theta as he copied the entry for ‘Aissa’, Ash Priors in 113

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Somerset, and insisting that he specify that Roger Arundel held the manor iniuste, which Giso had held on the day when King Edward was alive and dead.69 It is equally plausible, however, to suppose that the scribe had more than one record in front of him with information about Ash Priors, and that not all of his information specified that it had been appropriated by Roger Arundel. The suggestion that there may have been intervention here on behalf of Giso is strengthened by a significant addition at the end of the corresponding entry for Ash Prior in Roger Arundel’s own fief.70 This addition is written in the lower margin on four lines which are more closely spaced than the rest of the text on the same page, and notes that the land had been held from Giso TRE and that it could not be removed. Though the additional material does not use the word iniuste to describe Roger’s possession of the manor, it emphasizes the fact that Roger now holds from the king a manor which previously could not be separated from Giso’s episcopal estate. This information also appears in the Terrae Occupate entry for Ash Priors.71 Giso was the beneficiary of a series of eight royal writs in Old English and one Latin diploma in the 1060s – six writs of Edward the Confessor,72 two of Queen Edith,73 one of King Harold,74 and a writ and a diploma of William I.75 A comparison of these royal charters with the Exon entries for the estates they concern is illuminating. The 1068 diploma of William I, for instance, restores thirty hides at Banwell (Somerset) to Giso after their unjust appropriation by Harold Godwinesson. Significantly, this diploma is one of only two instances in William’s surviving acta where Harold is referred to as rex.76 The Exon entry for Banwell, however, contains a superscript addition of the title comes next to Harold’s name, in a darker ink than the rest of the entry.77 Possibly the scribe was consciously trying to stress the subordinate status of the delegitimized former king. Certainly, the darker ink suggests this was a slightly later and therefore deliberate addition. We should not press the point too far, however, since Tock has identified the interlineation of surnames and titles as a characteristic feature of a small but not insignificant proportion of eleventh-century French charters.78 Another interlined toponymic even appears in the same Exon entry for Banwell, with a reference to Serlo {de borci}. Nevertheless, even if there was no overtly political motivation for the addition of Harold’s title and it was simply to clarify his identity, this still 69

EDB 160a3. EDB 443b3. 71 EDB 520b3. 72 S 1111, F. E. Harmer, Anglo-Saxon Writs (Manchester, 1952), no. 64; S 1112, Harmer, no. 65; S 1113, Harmer, no. 66; S 1114, Harmer, no. 67; S 1115, Harmer, no. 68; S 1116, Harmer, no. 69. 73 S 1240, Harmer, no. 70; S 1241, Harmer, no. 72. 74 S 1163, Harmer, no. 71. 75 Bates, Regesta, nos 286, 287. 76 The other is a writ of 1066x1067 in favour of Regenbald the priest: Bates, Regesta, no. 223. 77 EDB 157a2. 78 Tock, Scribes, souscripteurs et témoins, p. 96. 70

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EPISCOPAL EXON?

demonstrates that either the scribe himself or a supervisor thought it necessary to add such a clarification. Furthermore, this also suggests that Harold’s title may not have been contained in the main source from which the scribe was copying. Some Exon scribes were more accurate than others, and the frequency with which different scribes habitually corrected themselves or were corrected by other scribes must be taken into account when considering the overall incidence of corrections within each fief. In order to assess how far variations in the accuracy of each scribe’s work might have affected the average incidence of correction in different fiefs, I counted the number of corrections in a randomly selected sample of fifty full lines of text written by each of the eight most prolific Exon scribes: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Eta, Theta and Iota. These fifty-line samples covered a variety of different kinds of fief: royal, episcopal, baronial, shrieval and monastic. Fig. 6.2 shows the average number of corrections per line for the eight scribes surveyed.

0.32

Alpha 0.26

Beta

0.48

Gamma

0.46

Delta 0.22

Epsilon

0.64

Eta 0.44

Theta

0.58

Iota 0

0.1

0.2

0.3

0.4

0.5

0.6

0.7

Fig. 6.2  Average number of corrections per line for each scribe On the basis of this sample, Beta and Epsilon emerge as the most accurate scribes, with Eta and Iota as the least accurate, assessments with which Francisco Álvarez López concurs in his descriptions of the individual Exon hands.79 It makes sense, therefore, that thirteen out of the twenty-six scribal stints which comprise the account of Sheriff Baldwin’s fief should be by Beta or Epsilon. Neither of the two 79

See ‘Hands: Beta, Epsilon, Eta, Iota’, www.exondomesday.ac.uk/digipal/hands.

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most heavily corrected scribes, Eta and Iota, copied any entries for Baldwin at all. Yet before we dismiss variations in the incidence of scribal correction in individual fiefs as being nothing more than a coincidental reflection of which scribes happened to work on them, let us return to the work of the three scribes who copied Bishop Giso’s fief. Scribe Theta wrote the main portion of Giso’s fief, from the beginning of line six on fol. 157r, until the end of fol. 160r, a total of 133 lines. Within this section there are ninety corrections.80 That amounts to an average of 0.68 corrections per line for Theta’s contribution to Bishop Giso’s fief, as compared with an average of 0.44 corrections per line in the randomly chosen sample of the same scribe’s work. The figures for Eta are less striking. He copied twenty-six lines, from the beginning of the fief on fol. 156r to the end of line six on fol. 156v. These twenty-six lines contain eighteen corrections, resulting in an average of 0.69 corrections per line; not very different from the 0.64 corrections per line in the random sample of Eta’s work. The nineteen lines written by Scribe Alpha, however, from the end of line six on fol. 156v to line five on fol. 157r, contain twelve corrections, which is an average of 0.63 corrections per line, and much higher than the 0.32 corrections per line in the random sample. Contributing to Bishop Giso’s fief, therefore, two of these three scribes made significantly more mistakes than they were accustomed to elsewhere, and the above-average incidence of correction in the account of Giso’s holdings cannot, therefore, be disregarded as simply the work of ill-disciplined scribes. Rather, it seems that the source material that the scribes were copying from was significantly less standardized for Bishop Giso than for other tenants-in-chief in the region, most probably because the bishop and his staff had played an active role in compiling it. What, then, might have been the other written sources which this chapter has argued contributed to the compilation of the Exon text? It is difficult to say with any certainty, since the material is, by definition, lost, but two different types of document may be tentatively proposed. The first category is internal institutional memoranda. Roughly comparable examples of this kind of document survive, such as a note detailing the weekly farm of the monks of Westminster Abbey,81 datable to the first decade of the twelfth century, and the six short, early eleventh-century, fragmentary Old English texts known as the Ely memoranda.82 Given, therefore, that we have evidence of such documents being produced before and after the date of the compilation of Exon, in Old English and in Latin, it is not difficult to imagine that similar memoranda might have been produced in the cathedral chapters and monastic houses of the late eleventh-century south-west. 80

Francisco Álvarez López, codicological descriptions for Exon. fols 157r6–160r20, www.exondomesday.ac.uk/digipal /manuscripts/1/texts/view. 81 London, Westminster Abbey, WAM 5670. 82 See Rory Naismith, ‘The Ely Memoranda and the Economy of the Late Anglo-Saxon Fenland’, ASE 45 (2016), 333–77.

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Such material, designed for transitory and pragmatic purposes, would have been inherently ephemeral. The failure of such documents to survive, especially if they were originally written in Old English rather than the Latin of the Westminster memorandum, ought not to surprise us. If documents of this kind did exist in the south-western dioceses at the time of the Domesday survey, it might help to explain some of the more unusual and specific inclusions in the Exon text of information not requested in the terms of reference; from more than usually precise numbers of sheep, to the appearance of salt-works,83 swineherds84 or wild mares.85 Another potential source is the eleventh-century charter corpus. Quite what proportion of the royal and private acta produced during the reigns of Edward the Confessor and William the Conqueror is still extant today is difficult to ascertain, but it is safe to say that many more documents must have been lost than have been preserved.86 We know that there are links between some of the manors recorded in Exon and charters which have survived. Banwell and Wedmore, for instance, are the subject of royal writs in favour of Bishop Giso, which he may well have drafted himself.87 It is perhaps not surprising, therefore, to find that both entries are long and complex, or that wild mares appear in Banwell and cottars in Wedmore. Even where no explicit links are apparent between a surviving charter and a specific entry, however, diplomatic irregularities in the Exon text might hint at the existence of lost charters. Moreover, this is precisely the period when we see the earliest surviving charters recording the subinfeudation of manors by bishops and abbots to lay tenants. The document known as the Holme Lacy chirograph, in which Robert the Lotharingian (1079–95), bishop of Hereford, granted land at Holme to Roger de Lacy, dates from 1085, and contains the provision that the bishop’s men should still be allowed to collect timber from the wood at Holme and his pigs to forage there.88 Gilbert Crispin, abbot of Westminster, had issued a similar grant of the life tenure of Tothill to William Baynard in 1083.89 In this context, it is striking that the manor of Slapton, whose peculiarities have already been noted, was granted by Bishop Osbern to his cousin, Sheriff Baldwin, in 1086. Is it too far-fetched to imagine that an agreement between the two cousins, in the style of the Holme Lacy chirograph, 83

EDB 117a4, 119a2, 184a4. EDB 117a3, 117a4, 118a1. 85 EDB 199a1, 157a2, 159b2. 86 Charles Insley, ‘Archives and Lay Documentary Practice in the Anglo-Saxon World’, in Documentary Culture and the Laity in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Warren Brown, Marios Costambeys, Matthew Innes and Adam Kosto (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 336–62 (pp. 341–3). 87 Simon Keynes, ‘Giso, Bishop of Wells’, ANS 19 (1997), 203–72. 88 V. H. Galbraith, ‘An Episcopal Land-Grant of 1085’, EHR 44 (1929), 353–72 (pp. 371–2); see also T. S. Purser, ‘The Origins of English Feudalism: An Episcopal Land Grant Revisited’, Historical Research 73 (2000), 80–93. 89 George Garnett, Conquered England: Kingship, Succession, and Tenure, 1066–1166 (Oxford, 2007), p. 94. 84

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might once have existed for Slapton, and that it might have been consulted by the compilers of Exon or the hundredal returns they drew on? The evidence is not conclusive, but it is possible to draw some tentative conclusions about what some of the textual irregularities in Exon might mean, what kinds of source material they might indicate and, more speculatively, what they can tell us about the role of the bishops of the south-western dioceses in the Domesday process. The most plausible hypothesis is as follows: the text was compiled by a team, or separate teams, of scribes, working from a variety of written material. Some, perhaps most, of this material must have been in the form of hundred returns composed specifically for the Domesday survey. Such returns were probably written under the auspices of the sheriffs, who used the shire court as a mechanism for collecting information, and perhaps also as a forum for airing grievances and producing documents to support them.90 If this interpretation is correct, it makes sense that the shrieval holdings themselves should be amongst the most regular of all the Exon entries. For tenants-in-chief representing institutions which already had a culture of record-keeping, however, other categories of pre-existing written material seem to have been consulted. These then found their way either directly or indirectly into the survey, resulting in the subtle variations in the form of entries that we find in so many holdings, and especially those of the bishops of Exeter and Wells. Had more than two entries survived from the bishop of Salisbury’s fief, it seems likely that similar idiosyncrasies would be visible there too, and it is worth noting that the hands of two of the scribes responsible for copying Bishop Giso’s fief were Salisbury scribes.91 The curial and clerical bishops of the late eleventh century and their cathedral chapters were uniquely placed to act as loci for the confluence of administrative activity on the ground with pre-existing documentary culture, which together constituted the Domesday process. Overall that process seems to have been a collaborative one in its implementation in the localities, possibly relying on meetings of the shire court (coordinated by sheriffs) as one of the primary mechanisms for eliciting information, but with ample scope for a pro-active bishop such as Giso to involve himself and defend his own interests and those of his cathedral community. In many ways, the episcopal contribution to Domesday epitomizes the Conqueror’s success in merging tradition and innovation to maximize his power after 1066. William I’s bishops – most of whom were newly appointed men, trained on the Continent – presided over the ancient English institution of the shire court, which played a crucial role in the early stages of the Domesday process. The unprecedented scale and scope of the survey nevertheless relied on existing cultures of record-keeping, often in the vernacular, and frequently centred around cathedral 90 See Robin Fleming, Domesday Book and the Law: Society and Legal Custom in Early Medieval England (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 28–31. 91 For the concordance between Flight’s Scribes Eta and Theta and Teresa Webber’s Salisbury Scribes D2 and D1, see table 12 in Flight, Survey of the Whole, p. 50.

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communities. During the turbulent decades after the Conquest, William looked to his bishops to help him navigate the political and administrative challenges of consolidating his rule over a foreign and sometimes hostile kingdom. Their involvement in the events of 1086 is emblematic of the profound role the Conqueror’s bishops played in almost every aspect of the government of England.

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II CONQUESTS, SOCIETY AND CULTURE

7 Conquest and Manuscript Culture* JULIA CRICK

The politics of knowledge works right down to the most basic level of practice. Which instruments and techniques are used, how they are used, and by whom they are used are matters of political and social order …1

I

can summarize my argument in a single image. Around 1110 a Canterbury scribe copied a charter onto the endleaves of an ancient Roman gospel book (Fig. 7.1).2 He recorded the name of the king, Henry I, and he interlined the styles and surnames of the witnesses in French fashion;3 but the anomalous feature is

*

I am very grateful to the organizers of the Oxford conference for their invitation to speak on the topic of manuscript culture, and to the editors of this volume for their extreme patience, in particular to Professor Laura Ashe for her work in bringing this chapter to publication. A significant amount of the preparation for this chapter was conducted in connection with the research project ‘The Conqueror’s Commissioners: Unlocking the Domesday Survey of SouthWest England’, dir. Julia Crick, Stephen Baxter and Peter Stokes, Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) under grant reference no. AH/L013975/1. I acknowledge the support of the AHRC with thanks. 1 Miles Ogborn, Indian Ink: Script and Print in the Making of the English East India Company (Chicago, IL, 2007), p. xxii. 2 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286, fol. ir. The charter purports to have been issued during the Lent in which King Henry betrothed his daughter to the emperor, viz., 1109. The charter must be dated within the abbatiate of Hugh (de Flori), abbot of St Augustine’s, so ?1108–26: David Knowles, C. N. L. Brooke and Vera C. M. London, The Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, I, 940–1216, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 2001), p. 36. See Helmut Gneuss and Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100 (Toronto, 2014), no. 83, pp. 97–9. 3 See Benoît-Michel Tock, Scribes, souscripteurs et témoins dans les actes privés en France (VIIe– début XIIe siècle) (Turnhout, 2005), pp. 96–106 on surnames, and pp. 100–102, 396, ill. 93 on the interlineation of styles in documentary subscriptions; Michel Parisse, ‘Sur-noms en interligne’,

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Fig. 7.1 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286, fol. ir. Reduced and cropped. Page size 245 x 190 mm. By permission of the Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

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the script. Nearly sixty years after the Norman Conquest, in the reign of the third Norman king, a scribe at the heart of the Anglo-Norman establishment wrote Latin using a distinctively English script, first attested at Canterbury in the reign of Cnut, nearly a century earlier.4 Where was he trained and by whom? He was not a peripheral figure. His hand appears in a number of Canterbury books, including liturgica, the lifeblood of any monastic institution.5 He most certainly was not alone: the continuity of English script in his community, St Augustine’s Canterbury has been well documented.6 Scarcely discussed, however, are the mechanisms which allowed the perpetuation of native scribal traditions in the new regime beyond the first generation. The prevailing model is acculturation: that scribes trained in the pre-Conquest AngloLatin tradition worked alongside continental scribes immediately after 1066, but that ‘after thirty years or so’ that style was subsumed into an Anglo-Norman amalgam.7 If native scribes and scribal traditions retained a separate identity well after 1066, however, not just in the writing of English – as has recently been argued very strongly – but in Latin, too; and not in one or two isolated centres, but in institutions across southern England, as will be argued here, then we are presented with a

in Genèse médiévale de l’anthroponymie moderne, III, Enquête généalogiques et données prosopographiques, ed. Monique Bourin and Pascal Chareille (Tours, 1995), pp. 7–24, esp. the examples discussed on pp. 10–15. 4 Dubbed Style IV Anglo-Caroline minuscule by David Dumville, English Caroline Script and Monastic History: Studies in Benedictinism A.D. 950–1030 (Woodbridge, 1993), pp. 111–40; the style was first noted by T. A. M. Bishop, English Caroline Minuscule (Oxford, 1971). Rebecca Rushforth uses the term ‘Late Anglo-Caroline’ and that has been adopted here: Rushforth, ‘English Caroline Minuscule’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, I: 400–1100, ed. Richard Gameson (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 197–210. 5 His hand is to be identified with that of the prolific scribe of the St Augustine’s Missal, Cambridge, whose contribution to seven further manuscripts was described by T. A. M. B[ishop], ‘Canterbury Scribe’s Work’, The Durham Philobiblon 2.1 (1955), 1–3. 6 The pioneering studies of ‘native’ or ‘English’ hands at post-Conquest St Augustine’s were by N. R. Ker, English Manuscripts in the Century after the Norman Conquest (Oxford, 1960), pp. 29–30 and plates 10B and 11A, and T. A. M. Bishop, ‘Notes on Cambridge Manuscripts Part I’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society 1.5 (1953), 432–41 (pp. 432 and 438); Bishop, ‘Notes on Cambridge Manuscripts Part V: MSS. Connected with St Augustine’s Canterbury, Continued’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society 3.1 (1959), 93–5 (p. 95); Bishop, ‘Canterbury Scribe’s Work’. See also Teresa Webber, ‘English Manuscripts in the Century after the Norman Conquest: Continuity and Change in the Palaeography of Books and Book Collections’, in Insular Manuscript Culture 500–1200, ed. Erik Kwakkel (Leiden, 2013), pp. 185–228 (p. 222), who noted the practice at St Augustine’s in the 1090s. 7 Ker, English Manuscripts, pp. 22–34 (p. 22). For an important recent discussion, see Teresa Webber, ‘Script, Book Production and the Practice of the Rule at Christ Church, Canterbury in the Mid-Twelfth Century’, in Scriptorium: Wesen, Funktion, Eigenheiten. Comité international de paléographie latine XVIII. Kolloquium St. Gallen 11.–14. September 2013, ed. Andreas Nievergelt, Rudolf Gamper, Birgit Ebersperger and Ernst Tremp (Munich, 2015), pp. 295–307.

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conceptual challenge.8 This practice begs many questions about the circumstances which enabled the perpetuation of such plural traditions: about the training and mobility of individuals; about their place in the institution and the duties which they discharged, and about their relationship with the hierarchies which governed them.9 Scribes writing late Anglo-Caroline, and so in the English style, worked in or for institutions directed by Francophones or otherwise aligned to the new regime; they were entrusted with the copying of texts of ideological significance, and they did so alongside scribes whose script was more or less directly indebted to continental training; there is even evidence that English script was admired and particularly valued.10 The survival and proliferation of pre-Conquest practices within the monasteries of Conquest England merits discussion not simply as a remnant of the previous regime, as the pioneers of the subject appear to have regarded it, but as an active component of the new political and social order.11 This chapter is inspired by a substantial body of recent work which has transformed scholarly perception of the status and extent of the copying and use of Old English in pre- and post-Conquest England. Solid evidence supports the hypoth-

8

I have in preparation a study of the phenomenon and its implications scheduled for publication elsewhere. The numerical significance of English scribes after the Norman Conquest was noted in passing by Richard Gameson, ‘English Manuscript Art in the Late Eleventh Century: Canterbury and its Context’, in Canterbury and the Norman Conquest, ed. Richard Eales and Richard Sharpe (London, 1995), pp. 95–144 (pp. 101–2); and the desirability of exploring post-Conquest writing in English Caroline minuscule by Teresa Webber, ‘The Norman Conquest and Handwriting in England to 1100’, in Cambridge History of the Book, ed. Gameson, pp. 211–24 (p. 211). For identification of some individual examples of post-Conquest Anglo-Caroline, see Richard Gameson, ‘Manuscrits normands à Exeter aux xie et xiie siècles’, in Manuscripts et enluminures dans le monde normand (xe–xve siècles), ed. Pierre Bouet and Monique Dosdat (Caen, 1999), pp. 107–27 (p. 126: Group 2); Michael Gullick, ‘A Christ Church Scribe of the Late Eleventh Century’, in The Medieval Book: Glosses from Friends and Colleagues of Christopher de Hamel, ed. James H. Marrow, Richard A. Linenthal and William Noel (Houten, 2010), pp. 2–10; Gullick, ‘The Canterbury Annals and the Writing of Old English at Christ Church in the Early Twelfth Century’, English Manuscript Studies, 1100–1700 17 (2012), 43–59 (pp. 48–53); M. B. Parkes, Their Hands Before Our Eyes: A Closer Look at Scribes: The Lyell Lectures Delivered in the University of Oxford 1999 (Aldershot, 2008), pp. 97–8; R. M. Thomson, Books and Learning in Twelfth-Century England: The Ending of Alter Orbis (Walkern, 2006), pp. 50–1. On English writing see below, notes 12–13. 9 For reflections on plural and homogeneous traditions of writing in monastic centres in the early Middle Ages, see Parkes, Their Hands, pp. 8–13; Webber, ‘Script’; David Ganz, ‘Can a Scriptorium Always be Identified by its Products?’, in Scriptorium, ed. Nievergelt et al., pp. 51–62. 10 Instances of the aesthetic appreciation and even imitation of English manuscript art and occasionally script in Normandy have been documented by Richard Gameson, ‘La Normandie et l’Angleterre au xie siècle: le témoignage des manuscrits’, in La Normandie et l’Angleterre au Moyen Âge, ed. Pierre Bouet and Véronique Gazeau (Caen, 2003), pp. 129–59 (pp. 140–2). 11 For an example of the former model, see R. W. Southern, ‘The Place of England in the Twelfth-Century Renaissance’, History 45 (1960), 201–16 (pp. 208–9); see also Thomson, Books and Learning, pp. 50–1.

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esis that the level of vernacular literacy in England in the eleventh century has been grossly underestimated;12 that the vernacular was a major language of religious instruction for the general population well into the twelfth century; and that Old English continued to be used for teaching, and for other purposes more generally, after the Norman Conquest.13 My purpose here is to take these insights and turn back to the much larger corpus of Latin manuscripts, where considerable published palaeographical discussion lies, and to review the evidence synoptically, across the linguistic divide. What does this significant vernacular undertow mean for how we understand manuscript evidence more generally? My emphasis will be on script, and not at all on vernacular texts, and I will need to make a series of small-scale points in order to build to a larger one. It goes without saying that I am deeply indebted to the work of others. Five catalogues now list all the manuscript evidence from Anglo-Saxon England to 1130, vernacular and Latin, imported and written in Britain, the latter the work of English, French, Welsh, German- and Flemish-speakers.14 Three of these research tools have been published since 2010. Meanwhile the burgeoning number of digital surrogates makes the surviving evidence and possible comparanda more accessible than ever before, allowing scholars of England to be vastly better informed about continental script, for example.15 Synthesis is difficult, however, because some of the 12

Donald Scragg, A Conspectus of Scribal Hands Writing English, 960–1100 (Cambridge, 2012), p. xiii: ‘very large numbers of people were capable of writing English in the “long eleventh century”, and... even larger numbers were consequently able to read it.’ 13 See, e.g., Orietta Da Rold, Takako Kato, Mary Swan and Elaine Treharne, The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060 to 1220 (2010), www.le.ac.uk/english/em1060to1220/ [accessed May 2019]; Elaine Treharne and Mary Swan, eds, Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, 2000); Michael Gullick, ‘The Canterbury Annals’; Mary Swan, ‘Preaching Past the Conquest: Lambeth Palace 487 and Cotton Vespasian A.xxiii’, in The Old English Homily: Precedent, Practice and Appropriations, ed. Aaron J. Kleist (Turnhout, 2007), pp. 403–23; Elaine Treharne, Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English, 1020–1220 (Oxford, 2012); Treharne, ‘Making Their Presence Felt: Readers of Ælfric, c. 1050–1350’, in A Companion to Ælfric, ed. Hugh Magennis and Mary Swan (Leiden, 2009), pp. 399–422; Treharne, ‘The Form and Function of the Twelfth-Century Old English Dicts of Cato’, Journal of English and German Philology 102 (2003), 465–85; George Younge, ‘An Old English Compiler and His Audience: London, British Library MS Cotton Vespasian D. xiv, fols 4–169’, English Manuscript Studies, 1100–1700 17 (2012), 1–25. 14 N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford, 1957) [400+ manuscripts]; Richard Gameson, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c. 1066–1130) (Oxford, 1999) [c. 990 manuscripts]; Da Rold, Kato, Swan and Treharne, Production and Use of English Manuscripts [204 manuscripts]; Scragg, A Conspectus [1,063 scribes]; Gneuss and Lapidge, AngloSaxon Manuscripts [947 manuscripts]. Erik Kwakkel has detected in Rochester manuscripts the presence of scribes trained in the Netherlands, Italy and Germany: ‘Hidden in Plain Sight: Continental Scribes in Rochester Cathedral Priory’, in Writing in Context: Insular Manuscript Culture 500–1200, ed. Erik Kwakkel (Leiden, 2013), pp. 231–59. 15 See, e.g., BVMM (Bibliothèque virtuelle des manuscrits médiévaux), bvmm.irht.cnrs.fr; SCRIPTA (Site Caennais de Recherche Informatique et de Publication des Textes Anciens), dir.

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catalogues list manuscripts without offering detailed description of either contents or script or both. The big question is how should we interrogate this body of material? What can we learn from it about conquest? Self-evidently it makes visible otherwise hidden relationships between individuals, institutions and cultures, and it is here that new observations can begin to be made.

Palaeography and Conquest Palaeographers have reason to view conquest less cataclysmically than do historians. The cynic might say that this is because they are unable to date their evidence very precisely: plus or minus thirty years, rarely closer than quarter of a century.16 The lifetime of a scribe necessarily blurs sharp chronological divides. But for eleventh-century England there is a deeper reason: the movement of people and texts between England and the Continent is a continuum from the advent of the historical record in England to the Danish conquest and beyond.17 Both conquests of the eleventh century altered the rate and direction of those exchanges, but it is significant that, palaeographically speaking, they were accompanied by changes of style, but not a change of script.18 For England the moment of deepest palaeographical rupture falls in the tenth century, with the decision to adopt of the script of north-western Europe, Caroline minuscule, and so to supplement the indigenous tradition written since at least the seventh century in all parts of Britain and Ireland. Caroline became the carrier of the texts of Benedictine reform, practised by multiple scribes in major reformed centres.19 Pierre Bauduin, www.unicaen.fr/scripta/pages/index.html; TELMA (Chartes originales antérieures à 1121 conservées en France), www.cn-telma.fr/originaux/index/ [all accessed May 2019]. 16 See Parkes, Their Hands, pp. xviii–xix. 17 For example, Richard Gameson, ‘The Circulation of Books Between England and the Continent, c. 871–c. 1100’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, I, ed. Gameson, pp. 344–72; Gameson, ‘L’Angleterre et la Flandre au xie et xiie siècles: le témoignage des manuscrits’, Actes des congrès de la Société des historiens médiévistes de l’enseignement supérieur public 32 (2001), 165–206; Gameson, ‘La Normandie’; Michael Gullick, ‘Manuscrits et copistes normands en Angleterre (xie–xiie siècles)’, in Manuscripts et enluminures, ed. Bouet and Dosdat, pp. 83–91; Rosamond McKitterick, ‘Exchanges with the Continent, 450–900’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, I, ed. Gameson, pp. 313–37. The value of a supranational approach has been demonstrated by Erik Kwakkel, who has identified the hands of Flemish and Italian as well as Norman and English scribes in manuscripts from Rochester Cathedral: Kwakkel, ‘Hidden in Plain Sight’. 18 The classic statement is by N. R. Ker, ‘The Beginnings of Salisbury Cathedral Library’, in Medieval Learning and Literature: Essays Presented to Richard William Hunt, ed. J. J. G. Alexander and M. T. Gibson (Oxford, 1976), pp. 23–49; and Ker, English Manuscripts, pp. 22–32. 19 On the Benedictine associations of English Caroline, see Bishop, English Caroline Minuscule, pp. xxi–xxiii, and Dumville, English Caroline Script, esp. pp. 1–5. On the rupture see, for example, Julia Crick, ‘The Art of Writing: Scripts and Scribal Production’, in The Cambridge History of

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The first conquest of the eleventh century is not one acknowledged by palaeographers, on the whole, although it is true to say that significant palaeographical change coincides at least chronologically with the Danish conquest.20 First, this entailed what is known as the separation of scripts. In England, as in Ireland and Wales, the practice of scribes from the earliest times was to write Latin and the vernacular in the same script. With the introduction of Caroline minuscule in the tenth century, however, scribes started to signal the presence of Latin using the newly adopted continental script, choosing to write not only entire texts but individual words or phrases of Latin in the letter-forms of Caroline rather than Insular minuscule. After the second decade of the eleventh century, the graphic distinction between languages becomes fixed: Insular minuscule becomes a script reserved almost entirely for the copying of the vernacular; Latin is almost always written only in Caroline.21 As is well recognized, these are the outward signs of fundamental changes: the vernacularization of English government and culture which coincides with the Anglo-Danish regime, and the apparent withering of the efflorescence of English Latin writing which had accompanied the Benedictine reform of the tenth century.22 A second, coeval change is the development of distinct and highly influential new styles of both Caroline and Insular minuscule, first seen in the decade of Cnut’s conquest from the pen of the scribe known to scholars as Eadwig Basan. He produced the Caroline notable for its distance from the continental origins of that script, both in its proportions, which are much squatter than those of classic Caroline, and in its considered rotundity and artificial protruberances.23 This mannered and striking new style which was essayed, apparently, at Canterbury, influenced subsequent developments at Exeter and Worcester, and is known as Style IV Anglo-Caroline or late Anglo-Caroline. Palaeographers have written much more about the Norman Conquest, because the continental-trained clerics who accompanied and followed William’s expedition left a deep and traceable imprint on script and book production. Such men not only rapidly came to dominate the governance of the church, as prelates, reformers Early Medieval English Literature, ed. Clare A. Lees (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 50–72 (pp. 62–3), and the extensive recent study of Colleen Curran, ‘Changing the Tradition: The Morphology of Nascent Insular Caroline Minuscule in Tenth-Century Britain’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, King’s College London, 2017). 20 The exception is Peter A. Stokes, English Vernacular Minuscule from Æthelred to Cnut, c. 990–c. 1035, Publications of the Manchester Centre for Anglo-Saxon Studies, 14 (Cambridge, 2014), pp. 11–23. 21 Dumville, English Caroline Script, 18–19. For exceptions, see Stokes, English Vernacular Minuscule, pp. 104–5, 201. 22 See, for example, Christopher A. Jones, ‘Ælfric and the Limits of “Benedictine Reform”’, in A Companion to Ælfric, ed. Hugh Magennis and Mary Swan (Leiden, 2009), pp. 67–108. 23 Above, note 4. For the scribe and his script see Richard Gameson, ‘Eadwig [Eadui] Basan (fl. c. 1020)’, ODNB. On the parallel development of Caroline and Insular styles, see Julia Crick, ‘English Vernacular Script’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, I, ed. Gameson, pp. 174–86 (pp. 174–81).

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and colonizers of ecclesiastical property, but they must have been present in the entourages not just of the king and leading barons but of every aristocratic settler with a chaplain. Palaeographers have tended to write about the Norman Conquest’s ultimate effects on scribal practice as a mutual or gradual process. Richard Gameson has done so most recently, noting that the transfer of personnel and books effected a change on both sides of the English Channel, with English calligraphy and decoration exerting a beneficial influence on Norman and northern French book-production, well into the twelfth century.24 N. R. Ker, writing in the middle of the last century, opted for a model of fusion: not an immediate break, but a process which ended with the production of something very different from what had gone before. He observed that the effects of the conquest were readily apparent in the script used for Latin writing, with the increased appearance of Norman and French scribes and scribal practices in books and documents made in English institutions, and the creation of hybrid Anglo-Norman styles of script, most notably that associated with Christ Church Canterbury and Rochester.25 In 1957 Ker laid the foundation for all study of vernacular manuscript culture before 1200 in his Catalogue of Manuscripts containing Anglo-Saxon, in which he observed a comparable process of hybridization in vernacular writing, with the gradual slackening of the sharp differentiation between the scripts used for Latin and Old English. This was a process which he regarded as culminating in the loss of identity of English writing.

A Model? The Conquering of Literate Peoples ‘[The British in India] never controlled the bulk of capital, the means of production or the means of persuasion and communication in the subcontinent.’26 The conquest of a much larger country by a small political elite can be expected necessarily to have involved the participation of members of the majority population at almost every level of government.27 In the decades after the Norman Conquest, then, who controlled the means of persuasion and communication? One can dismiss the question as anachronistic: eleventh-century England was not a world of printing, castes and colonizing nation-states. Normandy and the Normans’ relationship with England was fundamentally different from that of the British in India. Perhaps ‘persuasion and communication’ in the context of eleventh-century England might be understood as pertaining to processes of law and oral communication, which leave a shallow 24

Gameson, ‘L’Angleterre’; Gameson, ‘La Normandie’. English Manuscripts, pp. 22–34. 26 C. A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge, 1997), p. 7. 27 For a detailed exposition of how this might have worked in Conquest England, see Stephen Baxter, Julia Crick and Christopher P. Lewis, Making Domesday: The Conqueror’s Survey in Context (Oxford, 2021). 25 Ker,

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imprint in manuscript culture.28 But until very recently, the question of intellectual and spiritual control in Conquest England was characterized by discussion of evidence which demonstrated how the Francophone conquerors dominated the intellectual and spiritual resources of their new land: by commandeering and reforming religious and educational institutions; by importing new exemplars (especially to supply the supposed lack of patristic texts and the Latin classics), and by displacing native officeholders: all of which phenomena have been said to be demonstrated by new ways of writing and a new style of script.29 These events are all well documented;30 they do indeed dominate the surviving record; their presence is tangible and significant. But this evidence now has to be read against a strengthening body of work which attests the continuity of vernacular traditions across two conquests. This is a literary phenomenon, and a palaeographical one, and it throws a slanting but revealing light on our understanding of the Conquest. My purpose in the second half of this chapter, inspired by these insights, is to suggest that palaeographical evidence can be used to document unexpected contacts between old and new. First, I return to the comparison with India. Eleventh-century England, like eighteenth-century India, was a place in which medical, poetic and legal knowledge took vernacular form, and so one initially alien to the conquerors.31 Furthermore, as in Conquest England, in India the difference between cultural traditions was signalled by the use of separate scripts: Persian-derived Urdu script for Muslim tradition, and Sanskrit-derived Nagari script for Hindi:32 uncompromisingly so, because they were 28

Paul A. Brand, ‘The Languages of the Law in Later Medieval England’, in Multilingualism in Later Medieval Britain, ed. D. A. Trotter (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 63–76. 29 The argument is made most strongly by Rodney M. Thomson, ‘England and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance’, Past & Present 101 (1983), 3–21, repr. in Thomson, England and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance (Aldershot, 1998); see also Thomson, Books and Learning, elaborating Southern, ‘The Place of England’. For vigorous assessments of the effects of the Norman Conquest on book production and the stocking of libraries, see Gameson, ‘The Manuscripts’, esp. pp. 1–41; Richard Gameson, ‘English Book Culture in the Late Eleventh and Early Twelfth Century’, in Symeon of Durham: Historian of Durham and the North, ed. David Rollason (Stamford, 1998), pp. 230–53. 30 Richard Gameson, Michael Gullick and Teresa Webber have all illustrated the complexity and significance of palaeographical and textual contacts across the English Channel in the third and final quarters of the eleventh century: see Teresa Webber, ‘Les manuscrits de Christ Church (Cantorbéry) et de Salisbury à la fin du xie siècle’, in Manuscripts et enluminures, ed. Bouet and Dosdat, pp. 95–105; Webber, ‘Monastic and Cathedral Book Collections in the Late Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries’, in The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland, I. to 1640, ed. Elizabeth Leedham-Green and Teresa Webber (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 109–25; Webber, ‘The Provision of Books for Bury St Edmunds Abbey in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries’, in Bury St Edmunds: Medieval Art, Architecture and Economy, ed. Antonia Gransden (Leeds, 1998), pp. 186–93. 31 To judge from the chronological distribution of the entries listed in Ker, Catalogue, and Scragg, Conspectus. See also Tony Hunt, ‘The Language of Medical Writing in Medieval England’, SPELL: Swiss Papers in English Language and Literature 28 (2013), 79–101 (p. 82). 32 Christopher R. King, One Language, Two Scripts: The Hindi Movement in Nineteenth-Century North India (Oxford, 1994), pp. 8–9.

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written in opposite directions (Urdu right-left and Nagari left-right). The separation of scripts in England involved the differentiation of at least eight letters and sometimes up to eleven. Finally, in India as in England, native traditions of writing were cultivated generations after conquest. The evidence for the continuity of English vernacular writing has been in print since 1957, scattered through the pages of Neil Ker’s Catalogue, but it is the work of scholars of the vernacular in this century – Donald Scragg, Elaine Treharne, Mary Swan, Peter Stokes and others – which has opened our eyes to the significance and scale of literacy in English in the late eleventh and the twelfth centuries. Scragg has listed more than a thousand scribes copying Old English in the eleventh century. His figures are lent credibility by the work of Peter Stokes, who found nearly 500 in the half century from 990 to c. 1035.33 Multiple scholars, led by Treharne, are engaged in reviewing the evidence for the reading and writing of English in the century and a half after the Norman Conquest, a phenomenon dominated by the evidence of the perpetuation of texts for pastoral care, but also for learning and administration.34 Importantly, they have catalogued evidence of trilingual engagement: English, French and Latin.35 A consensus has emerged which situates Old English not as a peripheral or precarious language, but one located in central institutions and one which Normans strove to learn.36 Bayly argued that the British in India never controlled what he called the information order: the groups and networks which perpetuated native culture. In Cnut’s England, monastic and secular institutions continued relatively undisturbed; but in Norman England the standard historical narrative is of institutional disruption reflected in cultural change, as we have seen. But the vernacular continued to be written, and writing the vernacular takes distinctive training: certainly the differentiation of routine letter-forms does. How did this training happen in Conquest England, and how did this activity fit with the work of Norman institutions? As I have argued elsewhere, we do not yet have a full set of models for locating the range of institutional contexts in which this work belongs.37 Treharne and others have argued powerfully that Old English was copied widely, including by scribes trained in good 33 Stokes,

English Vernacular Minuscule, pp. 20–2. See, e.g., Swan and Treharne, eds, Rewriting Old English; Aidan Conti, ‘The Circulation of the Old English Homily in the Twelfth Century: New Evidence from Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 343’, in The Old English Homily, ed. Kleist, pp. 365–402; Swan, ‘Preaching Past the Conquest’; Mark Faulkner, ‘Archaism, Belatedness and Modernisation: “Old” English in the Twelfth Century’, Review of English Studies 63 (2011), 179–203; George Younge, ‘Monks, Money, and the End of Old English’, New Medieval Literatures 16 (2016), 39–82. 35 See further Melinda J. Menzer, ‘Multilingual Glosses, Bilingual Text: English, Anglo-Norman and Latin in Three Manuscripts of Ælfric’s Grammar’, in Old English Literature and its Manuscript Context, ed. Joyce Tully Lionarons (Morgantown, WV, 2004), pp. 95–119. 36 Elaine Treharne, ‘Categorization, Periodization: The Silence of the English in the Twelfth Century’, New Medieval Literatures 8 (2007), 247–73, and above, note 13. 37 Julia Crick, ‘Learning and Training’, in A Social History of England, 900–1200, ed. Julia Crick and Elisabeth van Houts (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 352–72 (pp. 368–70). 34

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calligraphic practice, who worked at major Benedictine centres like Christ Church Canterbury and Rochester.38 For the purposes of this chapter I present three situations of permeability across the Norman–native boundary, the first two of which indicate the perpetuation of pre-Norman practices; the last one suggests, to me at least, a direct connection between contemporary Norman and English writing. First an example from Wales. The poetry of the sons of Sulien, bishop of St David’s (who died in 1091), is well known to scholars as a kind of cultural last stand: the assertion of Welsh identity in the face of Norman oppression, a circumstance closely datable by the suppression of the native institution within which they were housed. Michael Lapidge, who edited the texts, noted that they bear witness to the learning of pre-Norman Wales, in the Carolingian texts cited and the form of orthography and decoration employed; these make entirely plausible the claim of Sulien’s youngest son, Ieuan, that his father completed his education in Scotland and Ireland, where he spent ten years.39 Two manuscripts of the poems survive in apparently contemporary form, one identified as Ieuan’s autograph, both written and decorated in the late Celtic style current in the Irish Sea zone.40 They have a claim to being the last contemporary witnesses to a form of intellectual and institutional life which the Norman Conquest suppressed. Texts, institutional context, native tradition, hereditary succession: all might be expected to have been swept away when the community of Llanbadarn Fawr became a priory of St Peter’s, Gloucester, in 1111.41 However, forty years ago Daniel Huws published an article illustrating part of a twelfth-century quire of Bede’s De natura rerum, now Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, MS Peniarth 540B.42 The script is Caroline minuscule, and the execution is French, not at all English. And yet there are clear symptoms of continuity with the Welsh past: most obviously in

38

See, especially, Elaine Treharne, ‘Scribal Connections in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in Texts and Traditions of Medieval Pastoral Care: Studies Presented to Bella Millett, ed. Cate Gunn and Catherine Innes-Parker (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 29–46; Gullick, ‘The Canterbury Annals’; Peter A. Stokes, ‘The Problem of Grade in English Vernacular Minuscule, c. 1060 to 1220’, New Medieval Literatures 13 (2011), 23–47. 39 Michael Lapidge, ‘The Welsh-Latin Poetry of Sulien’s Family’, Studia Celtica 8/9 (1973/74), 68–106, esp. pp. 76–7; on this claim, see pp. 86–7. 40 Lapidge, ‘The Welsh-Latin Poetry’, pp. 76–7. Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 199, https://parker.stanford.edu/parker/catalog/sk095st1718; Dublin, Trinity College, MS 50, https:// digitalcollections.tcd.ie/home/#folder_id=924&pidtopage=MS50_001&entry_point=1 [accessed May 2019]. See Wallace Martin Lindsay, Early Welsh Script, St Andrew’s University Publications, 10 (Oxford, 1912), p. 33 and Plate XVII. 41 On the history of the priory, see Alison Peden, ‘Science and Philosophy in Wales at the Time of the Norman Conquest: A Macrobius Manuscript from Llanbadarn’, Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 2 (1981), 21–45, at pp. 26–7 and note 34. 42 Daniel Huws, ‘A Welsh Manuscript of Bede’s De natura rerum’, Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 27 (1976–78), 491–504, repr. in Huws, Medieval Welsh Manuscripts (Aberystwyth, 2000), pp. 104–22. The manuscript has been digitized at http://hdl.handle.net/10107/4398303.

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the animal decoration, but also in the use of specifically Celtic abbreviations and suspensions, alongside universal ones; in the presence of Welsh glosses, and in the use of construe marks, common in Celtic manuscripts.43 Huws concluded that the scribe was Welsh, and that his work showed direct continuity with eleventh-century Llanbadarn. He postulated that the Welsh clas had stayed put in Llanbadarn after the institution was given to St Peter’s in 1111, only to revert in the Welsh revolts after the death of Henry I. Another manuscript from eleventh-century Llanbadarn is London, British Library Faustina C.i, containing Rhigyfarch’s Lament (Fig. 7.2).44 Here, in a probably earlier iteration, the scribe wrote Caroline minuscule with a strong Welsh aspect, demonstrating likewise a familiarity with common Celtic abbreviations and practices of suspension, the wedges showing much stronger affinity with contemporary Celtic than contemporary English production. Plausibly this manuscript too is the work of someone trained to write Late Celtic script.45 Evidence of similar sorts of continuities can be found much closer to the centres of Norman power. We began with a charter of Henry I copied by a Canterbury scribe, writing the distinctive English Caroline hand of the early eleventh century. He was one of at least two Canterbury scribes to use such a style in the twelfth century.46 But the same practice can be found at other centres, including Exeter, one of the few places in eleventh-century England to have practised a house style. In the episcopate of Leofric (1050–72) almost all of its more than a dozen scribes wrote a variant of Style IV Anglo-Caroline and its Vernacular Minuscule equivalent.47 Takato Kato, in a recent survey of the vernacular additions to a single manuscript, identified nineteen scribes using English after Leofric’s pontificate, an indication of the strength of the vernacular there: something already demonstrated by the dozens of short post-Conquest administrative texts in English listed by

43 rr, eti. Construe marks are also found in Ieuan’s manuscripts: Lapidge, ‘The Welsh-Latin Poetry’, p. 76. 44 Peden, ‘Science and Philosophy’, plate III. 45 Peden identified Faustina C.i on textual grounds as a manuscript from Llanbadarn Fawr, written in two hands, Hand A in ‘Welsh Caroline minuscule’: ‘Science and Philosophy’, p. 27. Lapidge had earlier hypothesized that the manuscript was ‘perhaps written by a Norman scribe in England’: ‘The Welsh-Latin Poetry’, p. 73. Palaeographical evidence includes the presence of Welsh abbreviations and contractions such as ’’ for [ra] and the Tironian nota for enim as well as est and et, Welsh glosses by the scribe, and the splayed wedged ascenders. The extended descenders of f and s, both finished with pronounced feet, indicate French rather than English antecedents. 46 Above, notes 5–6, and Gullick, ‘The Canterbury Annals’. 47 Parkes, Their Hands, pp. 12–13, 97–8. The classic exposition of the script and scribes of Leofric’s scriptorium remains Elaine M. Drage, ‘Bishop Leofric and the Exeter Cathedral Chapter, 1050–1072: A Reassessment of the Manuscript Evidence’ (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 1979); see p. 184 on the continuity of this style of script. Also Ker, Catalogue, pp. lvii–lviii.

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Fig. 7.2 London, British Library Cotton MS Faustina C.i, fol. 75r (from Llanbadarn Fawr). Reduced and cropped. Page size 305 x 205 mm. © The British Library Board.

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David Pelteret.48 But this continuity extended well beyond rough annotating hands writing English, to scribes who copied the Latin texts of the new regime: Ambrose, Augustine, Gregory the Great, Jerome, Gregory of Tours, Liturgica.49 They did so in well-produced books: decorated, mostly large-format, with good standard of calligraphy. But the arresting thing is the script: English Caroline minuscule. The style employed had evolved since the middle of the eleventh century and some of these manuscripts have been dated by Bishop as late as the twelfth century: analogy with the Henrician charter at Canterbury suggests that this is perfectly possible.50 But the point is that the English element of the scriptorium at Exeter survived the conquest, was actively perpetuated after it under one or more bishops, involved collaboration between English-trained and French-trained craftsmen, and, most importantly, someone somewhere taught the scribes to write English script: not just the conventions for copying Old English, but an alternative way of writing Latin. A final point emerges from the last, and this has not been given the scholarly attention which it deserves. These last identifiable examples of the pre-Conquest tradition of Anglo-Latin writing attest active engagement with contemporary scholarly developments. Not only do the texts copied and the display script belong to the repertoire of post-Conquest Norman scribes, but some of the graphic characteristics indicate a connection with the European mainstream. Indeed, English vernacular as well as Latin writing can be understood as caught up in broader European trends of book production and copying which produced the shift from Caroline to Gothic bookhands between 1050 and 1200.51 Scholars have long regarded the Anglo-Norman realm as the first location to show signs of the development towards Gothic writing, a finding recently reinforced

48 Takato Kato, ‘Exeter Scribes in Cambridge, University Library, MS Ii. 2. 11+ Exeter Book Folios 0, 1–7’, New Medieval Literatures 13 (2011), 5–21; David A. E. Pelteret, Catalogue of English Post-Conquest Vernacular Documents (Woodbridge, 1990), nos. 91–140, pp. 97–116. 49 Gameson, ‘Manuscrits normands’, p. 126 (Appendix II, List 2) lists nine such manuscripts on the basis of script. See, e.g., London, BL, MS Add. 28188, digitized at www.bl.uk/ manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=add_ms_28188_fs001r; Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.14.30, trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage.php?index=176&history=1; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 14782, gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10506545w/f1.image.r=latin%20 14782; Cambridge, Trinity College, MS O.10.23, trin-sites-pub.trin.cam.ac.uk/james/viewpage. php?index=595&history=1; Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Bodley 815. For discussion, see T. A. M. Bishop, ‘Notes on Cambridge Manuscripts Part II’, Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society 2.2 (1955), 185–99 (p. 199). For texts under-represented in pre-Conquest English libraries, see Webber, ‘Les manuscrits’, p. 103. 50 Bishop, ‘Notes on Cambridge Manuscripts Part II’, p. 199. 51 Ker, Catalogue, pp. xxv–xxxiii. The criteria for the transition to Gothic script have been reviewed comparatively by Erik Kwakkel, ‘Biting, Kissing and the Treatment of Feet: Transitional Script in the Long Twelfth Century’, in Turning Over a New Leaf: Changes and Development in the Medieval Book, ed. Erik Kwakkel, Rosamond McKitterick and Rodney Thomson (Leiden, 2012), pp. 79–125, 206–8.

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by a major comparative survey of Latin bookhands of the period.52 In the present context, it is striking first that a number of precocious symptoms of the Caroline– Gothic transition are found not just in the Norman and Anglo-Norman bookhands developed in Conquest England, but recur in examples of late Anglo-Caroline hands: straight-backed a, the adoption of equal-limbed x, the turning of the feet of minims to the right, and sometimes e with an angled cross-stroke. Examples can be seen from several centres, including Exeter (Fig. 7.3) and Winchester (Fig. 7.4).53 This suggests – at the very least – cross-fertilization between the continental and insular traditions. Comparable trespass across geographical, cultural and linguistic borders is suggested by the spread of another palaeographical feature, this time recognized in the vernacular corpus. Neil Ker, in his Catalogue of Manuscripts containing Anglo-Saxon, had noted the characteristic closing of the head of s in four manuscripts from Worcester and Exeter, which he dated to the second half of the eleventh century.54 This feature also occurs in Latin writing. One of the discrepant elements in the late Anglo-Caroline at Exeter is the treatment of the tops of f, which form closed loops;55 note, too, the leftward dragging of the descenders in Ker’s sample, something which he observed in vernacular writing of the mid- and later eleventh century.56 Both the looped s and the leftward-dragging descenders occur likewise in Norman charters of mid-eleventh-century date. Although the route of transmission cannot yet be reconstructed, it is far from improbable that these stylistic features began life in continental diplomatic practice before being imitated by English scribes, writing Latin or English, or even both.57

52

Kwakkel, ‘Biting’, pp. 93–4. The data for his survey came from published lists of dated and datable manuscripts for England, France and the Germanic regions (Austria, Germany and Switzerland): Kwakkel, ‘Biting’, pp. 112–25. No manuscripts written in Late Anglo-Caroline Minuscule formed part of the sample. 53 For the symptoms, see Kwakkel, ‘Biting’, pp. 86–7. See furthermore, e.g., Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 9 (Worcester); Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.14.30 (Exeter); Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 286 (Canterbury: Fig. 7.1, above). 54 Ker, Catalogue, xxx, nos 21 hand 2, 60, 338, 395. See, e.g., Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 322, parker.stanford.edu/parker/catalog/ks785nk0024 [accessed May 2019]. 55 See, e.g., Cambridge, Trinity College, MS B.14.30, or the forged charter of Æthelstan, S 433: Canterbury, Dean and Chapter Library, MS 2, Chart. Ant. T 37, in S. D. Keynes, Facsimiles of Anglo-Saxon Charters (Oxford, 1991), no. 30 (p. 9 and plate 30). 56 Ker, Catalogue, p. xxxii. 57 See, e.g., Rouen, Archives départementales, 14 H 327 (1): Roger de Clères to Saint-Ouen, Rouen, 1050 x 1066, unicaen.fr/scripta/acte/1634; Paris, Archives nationales, K20, no. 5: William the Conqueror to the Abbey of Saint-Denis, grant of Deerhurst, Gloucestershire, 13 April 1069; Bates, Regesta, no. 254, www2.culture.gouv.fr/Wave/image/archim/0015/dafanch06_ n302257n00001_2.jpg [accessed May 2019].

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Fig. 7.3  Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 190, p. 293. Reduced and cropped. Page size 285 x 185 mm. By permission of the Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge.

Fig. 7.4 London, British Library MS Arundel 60, fol. 1r. Reduced and cropped. Page size 320 x 220 mm. © The British Library Board. 138

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Conclusions Script indicates unexpected continuities across conquests. Alongside the archetypal hybrid Anglo-Norman script which Ker identified, Vernacular Minuscule was written concurrently, as is well known; but so too was English Caroline, as late as the twelfth century, by scribes not even born in 1066. Invented early in the reign of Cnut, this characteristically English style of script was still being practised in the reign of Henry I. There was no obvious practical reason, and certainly no necessity, for perpetuating English Caroline script. Vernacular characters were employed in the writing of Old English because they were developed to represent phonemes for which there was no valid alternative representation: but there are other ways of writing Latin. The conclusion is inescapable that there must be an element of active cultivation of the indigenous style here. Manuscript evidence suggests borrowing across language groups, from English to Norman, Norman to Welsh, and Norman to English. Vernacular practices of writing must have been cultivated, and probably even taught, inside Norman-led institutions. And if they weren’t taught there, where were they taught? Do we envisage the existence of English equivalents of Llanbadarn Fawr: native institutions which had not yet succumbed to the reformed mother house, or to the Augustinians? Perhaps both patterns coexisted; or perhaps the assumption of native suppression and resistance must to some extent be re-examined. The traces of survival which I have been documenting in this chapter are in some ways unsurprising. One of Bayly’s questions about the (analogous, albeit radically different) situation in India is: what happens to the scribes, a highly skilled and, indeed, politically important workforce? The few examples of admittedly unusual scribal performance collected here document phenomena not readily articulated in written sources: stasis, the silent majority; the scribes who have stayed put, upon and with whose work later developments were built. And so, I think, the formation of scribal hands provides a visible manifestation of the kind of processes of assimilation posited by historians of language.58 In short, this could be one facet of an explanation as to how the Normans became English.59

58

Cecily Clark, ‘The Myth of the “Anglo-Norman Scribe”’, in History of Englishes: New Methods and Interpretations in Historical Linguistics, ed. Matti Russanen (Berlin, 1992), pp. 117–29. 59 This question lies at the heart of John Gillingham, The English in the Twelfth Century: Imperialism, National Identity and Political Values (Woodbridge, 2000); see also Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066–c.1220 (Oxford, 2003); Laura Ashe, Fiction and History in England, 1066–1200 (Cambridge, 2007).

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8 Kings, Saints and Conquests SARAH FOOT

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his chapter reflects on the ways in which the two foreign kings who conquered England in the eleventh century – the Danish monarch, Cnut, and Norman duke, William – used native English saints’ cults as a means of bolstering their royal status among their new subjects. It suggests that the patronage of the Church in general, and the promotion of the cults of the saints in particular, provided a valuable mechanism for these kings to ally themselves with the concerns and religious values of the English people. That the two men proved generous patrons to the Church hardly needs stating and should cause us little surprise. As is well known, both founded new churches with generous endowments on the sites of the major military engagements that led to their acquisition of the English crown: Cnut founded a church at Ashingdon, where he had defeated Edmund Ironside on St Luke’s day in 1016, and William established an abbey at Battle in Sussex.1 Many monasteries and cathedrals across England claimed Cnut and William among their benefactors, preserving records not only of landed estates that one or both kings had added to their endowments but also (especially in Cnut’s case) evidence of the king’s donation of precious books, vestments and liturgical objects.2 Both men 1

For Cnut’s founding of the church at Ashingdon, see ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1020; M. K. Lawson, Cnut: The Danes in England in the Early Eleventh Century (London, 1993), pp. 145–6; Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden and Boston, MA, 2009), p. 94. For William’s foundation of Battle Abbey, see The Chronicle of Battle Abbey, ed. and trans. Eleanor Searle (Oxford, 1980), pp. 36–7 (for the king’s vow to found a monastery on the site of the battlefield should he be victorious as an act of atonement) and pp. 42–3 (for the fulfilment of the vow and the foundation of the abbey); discussed by David Bates, William the Conqueror (New Haven, CT, 2016), pp. 385–6. 2 Churches in England that received Cnut’s patronage included: Abingdon, Ashingdon, Bury St Edmunds, Canterbury (Christ Church and St Augustine’s), Coventry, Crowland, Ely, Evesham,

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depended closely on the support of leading churchmen as much as secular nobles to secure and maintain their grip on royal power (and both interfered directly in the appointment of new men to senior clerical posts). In practical terms it would seem that little had changed since the celebrated seventh-century bishop of York, Wilfrid, divided up his property on his deathbed, giving a portion of his money to the abbots of his own monasteries at Ripon and Hexham in order that they might ‘buy the favour of kings and nobles’.3 As foreign kings, ruling by force of arms and right of conquest rather than blood succession, both Cnut and William manifestly needed to deploy a range of strategies to build alliances across the realm, and giftgiving provided an obvious means of securing clerical allegiance to the crown. This chapter will suggest that although political expediency certainly constituted one factor underpinning at least some of the ecclesiastical patronage exercised by William and Cnut, other more complicated issues were involved as well. These included their own individual religious sentiments (including a desire to atone for the sins each had committed during his conquest of England) and, arguably, their recognition of the relationship between particular saints associated with certain religious houses and the promotion of collective English identity. Cnut enjoyed a reputation as among the most generous of all pre-Conquest English rulers to ecclesiastical recipients; indeed, no king after him made gifts on such a scale again until the thirteenth century. The role of Emma, Cnut’s wife, in encouraging that munificence attracted the attention of a number of medieval commentators, including her encomiast; several of the churches that benefited from their generosity remembered both the king and his wife.4 Among recent studies of the nature and extent of Cnut and Emma’s giving are significant essays by Richard Gem and T. A. Heslop, while both of Cnut’s modern biographers devoted chapters to the ecclesiastical politics of his reign.5 By contrast, the historiography of William the Conqueror’s reign has largely painted his relations with the Church on a wider, European canvas. David Douglas argued that no aspect of William’s career was of more importance or greater interest than the part that he played in the history of Glastonbury, St Benet at Holme, Sherborne, Westminster, Wilton, Winchester (Old and New Minsters). William made grants to a number of English monastic houses founded before the Conquest and to others newly created after 1066, but he made fewer than fifty such gifts in England, whereas he made grants to nearly eighty continental monastic houses: Emma Cownie, Religious Patronage in Anglo-Norman England (Woodbridge, 1998), pp. 185–94. 3 Stephen, Vita S. Wilfridi, ed. and trans. Bertram Colgrave, The Life of Bishop Wilfrid by Eddius Stephanus (Cambridge, 1927), ch. 63, pp. 136–7. 4 Encomium, chs 19–22, pp. 34–7. 5 Richard Gem, ‘A Recession in English Architecture During the Early Eleventh Century and its Effect on the Development of the Romanesque Style’, Journal of the British Archaeological Association 38 (1975), 28–49 (pp. 33–9); T. A. Heslop, ‘The Production of de luxe Manuscripts and the Patronage of King Cnut and Queen Emma’, ASE 19 (1990), 151–95. Surveys of Cnut’s relations with the Church appear in Lawson, Cnut, ch. 4, and Bolton, The Empire, ch. 4. Interestingly, the volume of essays in Rumble, Reign of Cnut included no paper specifically devoted to the Church.

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the western Church.6 Douglas thus proved to be more interested in tracing the implications of William’s conquest of England for western Christendom than in looking in close detail at the king’s dealings with individual churches and saints’ cults after he became king of the English.7 In his first biography of the Conqueror, David Bates explored the question of the king’s attitudes towards the faith. In a chapter called ‘William and the Church’, Bates considered the king’s own Christian formation and identity in some detail, analysing his religious sentiments and the genuineness of pious statements that contemporaries placed in his mouth.8 Bates’s most recent biography, on the other hand, is ordered chronologically and therefore contains no specific chapter on the Church, but rather weaves ecclesiastical policy throughout the narrative.9 Emma Cownie has provided the most comprehensive survey to date of houses and cults in England favoured by William and his queen, Matilda, as well as leading members of the aristocracy, in the decades after the Conquest in her study of Anglo-Norman religious patronage.10 The continuing historiographical debate over the extent to which the Normans, above all Archbishop Lanfranc, took a dim view of England’s native saints and tried to suppress their cults in the decades after 1070, will not form a central part of this chapter, but this question will become relevant in the third of the case studies to be explored.11 The original impetus for this chapter came from research that Kathryn Lowe and I undertook on the pre-Conquest charters of Bury St Edmunds Abbey in Suffolk, a church that purported to have enjoyed the patronage of several eleventh-century kings (Cnut, Harthacnut, Edward the Confessor, William and William Rufus), but which supported its claim to those gifts via a sequence of Latin and vernacular documents in its archive, few of which are genuine in the form in which they 6

David C. Douglas, William the Conqueror: The Norman Impact upon England (London, 1964), p. 317. For an overview of Norman attitudes towards the English church and the cults of its saints, see John Crook, English Medieval Shrines (Woodbridge, 2011), ch. 5. 7 Benjamin Savill’s chapter in this volume offers a valuable fresh perspective on the ways in which England fits into wider narratives of ecclesiastical reform in the mid-eleventh century: pp. 307–30. 8 David Bates, William the Conqueror (London, 1989), ch. 10. 9 Bates, William (2016); the index lists ‘Church, English’ and ‘Church, Norman’ separately, and also includes individual entries for many churches across England and Normandy as well as the church of Rome. 10 Cownie, Religious Patronage. 11 See, for example, David Knowles, The Monastic Order in England: A History of its Development from the Times of St Dunstan to the Fourth Lateran Council, 940–1216, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 1963), 118–19; Richard W. Southern, St Anselm and His Biographer (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 248–52; Susan J. Ridyard, ‘Condigna veneratio: Post-Conquest Attitudes to the Saints of the Anglo-Saxons’, ANS 9 (1987), 179–206; Jay Rubenstein, ‘Liturgy Against History: The Competing Visions of Lanfranc and Eadmer of Canterbury’, Speculum 74 (1999), 279–309; Rebecca Browett, ‘The Fate of AngloSaxon Saints after the Norman Conquest of England: St Æthelwold of Winchester as a Case Study’, History 101 (2016), 183–200; Simon Yarrow, ‘The Invention of St Mildburg of Wenlock: Community and Cult in an Anglo-Norman Shropshire Town’, Midland History 38 (2013), 1–15.

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have survived.12 That Latin royal diplomas, the normal bedrock of any Anglo-Saxon monastic archive, in fact constitute such a small percentage of the surviving pre-Conquest documents from Bury potentially raises interesting issues, and led me to question what (if anything) one might say about the interests of these successive monarchs in the promotion of the cult of the former East Anglian king. It seemed profitable to compare the treatment of Bury by Cnut and William with their attitudes towards some other English churches housing prominent cults, of which the community of St Cuthbert and the cathedral church at Canterbury appeared the most obvious choices. A case could also have been made for discussing both kings’ relationships with the churches in Winchester closely connected with the West Saxon royal family, but that has already occasioned a good deal of scholarly comment, and the focus of this chapter lies specifically on Cnut’s and William’s involvement in the cult of saints.13

The Cult of St Cuthbert Tenth-century West Saxon kings had recognized the political potential that could accrue from the promotion of the cult of the seventh-century Northumbrian monk-bishop Cuthbert, as part of their efforts to secure direct control over English territories north of the Humber. King Æthelstan, the first West Saxon king to rule over all the lands occupied by the Anglo-Saxons, took the trouble to visit Cuthbert’s shrine on one of his northern expeditions (either in 934 on his way to subdue a rebellion by his Scottish allies, or in 937 during the Brunanburh campaign). He made major gifts to the saint, including a copy of Bede’s Lives of Cuthbert, into the front of which he had bound a portrait of his presentation of the book to the saint.14 He also gave other lavish presents, including a number of vestments and other fabrics for ecclesiastical use: two chasubles, an alb, a stole and matching maniple, a girdle, three altar-coverings, three curtains and seven pallia.15 Furthermore, the author of the community’s house history, the Historia de sancto Cuthberto, claimed that Æthelstan filled two silver cups with coin and ordered his 12

Due to be published as Kathryn A. Lowe and Sarah Foot, The Anglo-Saxon Charters of Bury St Edmunds with St Benet at Holme, British Academy, Anglo-Saxon Charters (Oxford, forthcoming). 13 Particular attention has been given to the gifts made by Cnut and Emma to the New Minster, and the image of the pair presenting a cross to the altar of that church: London, BL, MS Stowe 44, fol. 6, image in this volume, p. ii. See Catherine Karkov, The Ruler Portraits of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 119–40; also, Cownie, Religious Patronage, pp. 19–21, 142–3; Nicole Marafioti, The King’s Body: Burial and Succession in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto, 2014), pp. 21–40. 14 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 183, fol. 1v. 15 Historia de sancto Cuthberto: A History of Saint Cuthbert and a Record of His Patrimony, ed. and trans. Ted Johnson South (Cambridge, 2002), ch. 26, pp. 64–5 (hereafter HSC); Sarah Foot, Æthelstan: The First King of England (New Haven, CT, 2011), pp. 119–24.

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whole army to give to St Cuthbert a large cash sum of more than 1,200 shillings. He instructed his brother Edmund, to whom the king had already explained the significance of the saint and his shrine, to ensure that ‘if anything sinister should befall him on this expedition, to return his body to St Cuthbert and commend it to him for presentation on the Day of Judgement’.16 In his turn, Edmund also visited and made gifts to Cuthbert’s shrine after his accession to the throne, recognizing the value of having this powerful northern saint interceding on his own behalf. Liturgical evidence explored by David Rollason has revealed how enthusiastically the West Saxon church adopted masses, hymns and offices for the saint into their own worship, and the extent to which the West Saxons had come to adopt Cuthbert – associated in legend with King Alfred on the night before his great victory at Edington – as a saint whose intercession would prove particularly efficacious for the West Saxons and indeed the wider, newly united English realm.17 It thus seems obvious that both Cnut and William would have appreciated the benefits of allying themselves with this prominent saint. Overt gestures of generosity to Cuthbert’s shrine and the clergy responsible for preserving his memory would continue long-standing West Saxon traditions and reflect well on the personal piety of the two kings. More importantly, however, each may further have hoped that the intercession of the Northumbrian saint would advance his own cause, not just in the south, but particularly among the wider English populace north of the Humber. Whether Cnut felt any sense of residual responsibility for the actions of his distant forebears, either in desecrating the shrine at Lindisfarne in the first datable Viking raid on English shores in 793, or in the later conquest of York and the kingdom of Northumbria, must remain uncertain. Nevertheless, he would have recognized the benefits of making some gesture of reconciliation towards the population of northern Northumbria following his killing of Earl Uhtred.18 William also had recent ills for which to make reparation when he visited the saint in Durham in 1072, following the devastation he had orchestrated in the north in 1069–70.19 The Norman king suffered the further disadvantage that he could of course not claim, as Cnut might have done, any historic kinship with the Anglo-Danish population of the region.20 Yet William and his queen, Matilda, were both consulted in 1082 about the plans of Bishop William of Durham to replace the secular canons 16

HSC, ch. 27, pp. 64–7. David Rollason, ‘St Cuthbert and Wessex: The Evidence of Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 183’, in St Cuthbert, His Cult and His Community to AD 1200, ed. Gerald Bonner, David Rollason and Clare Stancliffe (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 413–24 (pp. 416–19). 18 ASC, MS D, s.a. 793; MS A, s.a. 867; MSS CDE, s.a. 1016. Despite the Chronicle’s testimony on this point, Alex Woolf has argued that Uhtred may not in fact have died until after the battle of Carham in 1018: From Pictland to Alba: 789–1070 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 236–9. 19 ASC, MSS DE, s.a. 1069–70; Bates, William (2016), pp. 313–28; for William’s visit to Durham, see ibid., pp. 362–3. 20 William Aird, St Cuthbert and the Normans: The Church of Durham, 1071–1153 (Woodbridge, 1998), p. 89. 17

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responsible for maintaining Cuthbert’s shrine with monks, a momentous decision for which papal approval also proved necessary.21 The Historia de sancto Cuthberto (a text originally constructed in the reign of Edmund of Wessex but revised in Cnut’s day) reported that Cnut had made a gift to St Cuthbert of land at Staindrop with all its dependencies during the time of Bishop Edmund (bishop of Durham c. 1020–c. 1040).22 Symeon of Durham made much more of that visit to the shrine of the saint at Durham in his Libellus de exordio, saying of the ‘pious and religious king of the English, Cnut’, that he: so venerated and honoured the church of that holy bishop and confessor worthy of God, Cuthbert, that he walked barefoot to the saint’s most sacred body for the place called Garmondsway (that is a distance of five miles). Moreover, he gave freely and in perpetual possession to the saint and those who served him the vill of Staindrop with all its appurtenances [listed in detail]. The terms of this gift were that no one should interfere with it, except those who served the saint himself in his church. Anyone who should do otherwise, or should presume to take anything away from these possessions, or to diminish them, the king himself together with Bishop Edmund excommunicated, and by excommunicating them they consigned them to the company of those who on the Day of Judgement should go down into the eternal fire. On a similar basis, the same king gave to the saint the vill called Brompton.23

Symeon’s stress on Cnut’s humility appears striking, describing his penitential act of approaching the saint barefoot, but it may simply reflect literary licence, with Symeon attributing to the king behaviour that he thought he should have demonstrated. Later in the same text, Symeon reported King William’s initial scepticism about the relics of St Cuthbert and his change of heart, inspired in large measure by the saint’s continuing miraculous deeds: When these and other miracles of St Cuthbert had been made known, King William himself held the holy confessor and his church always in great veneration, honoured it with royal gifts and also increased its landed possession. 21

Symeon of Durham, Libellus de exordio atque procursu istius, hoc est Dunhelmensis, ecclesie = Tract on the Origins and Progress of this the Church of Durham, ed. and trans. David Rollason (Oxford, 2000), 4.2, pp. 226–9; Bates, William (2016), pp. 434–5. 22 HSC, ch. 32, pp. 68–9. 23 ‘Huius sancti presulis et Deo digni confessoris Cuthberti ecclesiam etiam pius et religiosus rex Anglorum Cnut multo uenerabatur honore, in tantum ut ad ipsius sacratissimum corpus nudis pedibus a loco qui uia Garmundi dicitur (id est per quinque milaria) incedens ueniret, et ei suisque seruitoribus mansionem Standrope cum omnibus suis appendiciis libere in perpetuum possidendam donaret, id est […..]. Hec itaque ea quidem ratione dedit, ut preter eos qui ipsi sancto in ecclesia derseruirent, nemo se intromitteret. Eum autem qui aliter faceret uel auferre uel inde minuere presumeret, rex ipse cum Eadmundo episcopo excommunicauit, et excommunicando discessuris in die iudicii in ignem eternum associauit. Simili ratione idem rex et uillam que Brontun appellatur sepedicto sancto donauit.’ Symeon, Libellus, 3.8, pp. 166–9.

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For he restored to the church Billingham, which had formerly been founded for St Cuthbert by the violence of evil men; and for the salvation of himself and his sons the king gave it for the sustenance of those serving St Cuthbert in this church, quit and free of all customs and to be held in perpetuity. He also confirmed by his authority and consent the laws and customs of the saint, as they had been established by the authority of former kings, and ordered that they should be kept by all without infringement.24

Conventional understanding of the movements of the displaced community of St Cuthbert during the later ninth and tenth centuries has always followed the chronology established by Symeon of Durham. Writing in the early twelfth century, he maintained that the community relocated to Durham in 995. According to this reading of events, both Cnut and William made their gifts (and said their own prayers) to the shrine in its final resting-place at Durham, where the community was by their day already well established. A recent doctoral thesis by Neil McGuigan has, however, challenged this understanding, arguing persuasively that St Cuthbert’s body remained at Norham on Tweed (Ubbanford in English sources) until well into the eleventh century.25 McGuigan advances a powerful case for challenging Symeon’s chronology (and thus the chronology of all those other authors that depend on him) and for rethinking the saint’s movements in the latter part of the tenth century. This is not the place to go into all the details of what is a complex and sophisticated argument, but essentially, McGuigan has explored how Anglo-Norman writers at Durham tried to work out a chronology for the past history of their see, and finds those calculations wanting. The chronology recorded in Symeon of Durham was first attested in the Annales of Lindisfarne and Durham, and then fully developed in Symeon’s Libellus de Exordio. That text, on the basis of an outline framework of Southumbrian English and European history, inserted dates of importance to Durham after the Conquest, specifically the deaths and accessions of bishops and occasions when the saint’s remains were translated to new locations.26 The story told in the Libellus de Exordio, McGuigan has argued, had importance to those men whom he described as ‘regional stakeholders’, men who claimed an inherited right 24 ‘His

et aliis uirtutum miraculis per sanctum Cuthbertum declaratis, rex ipse Willelmus sanctum confessorem et illius ecclesiam in magna semper ueneratione habuit, et regiis muneribus honorauit, terrarium quoque illius possessiones augmentauit. Nam et Billingham quam olim ab Ecgredo episcopo conditam sancto Cuthberto diximus, quam uiolentia malignorum abstulerat, ipse rex ecclesie restituit, et pro sua suorumque filiorum salute ad uictum in ipsa ecclesia sancto Cuthberto ministrantium, quietam et ab omni aliorum consuetudine liberam in perpetuum possidendam donauit.’ Symeon, Libellus, 3.20, pp. 198–201. 25 Neil McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England: Middle Britain c.850–1150’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of St Andrews, 2015), https://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk/ bitstream/handle/10023/7829/NeilMcGuiganPhDThesis.pdf?sequence=6 [accessed 4 July 2016]. I am grateful to Levi Roach and Kieran Ball for introducing me to this thesis, and to McGuigan’s supervisor, Alex Woolf, for discussing this element of his argument with me. 26 McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, p. 68.

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to attend the body of Cuthbert. These persons (Symeon used the word personae) claimed descent from those who, according to legend, had personally guided the body of the saint on his seven-year peregrination around Northumbria; the Libellus names four of these and supplies a genealogy for a further two.27 McGuigan has demonstrated the importance of treating the details of this chronology with suspicion, since it synchronizes the period of the saint’s wanderings with the time of Guthred, Abbot Eadred and King Alfred of Wessex in the later part of the ninth century. In McGuigan’s view, we can assign no specific era to the tale other than to note that it must be ‘pre-Norman’, and he proceeds to argue that ‘even if we take it as an historical narrative, we need not put it into the ninth century’.28 Instead, we should look at sources independent of Symeon’s reframing of the chronology, notably to a text incorporated into the late twelfth-century Vita S. Oswaldi regis, sometimes attributed to Reginald of Durham. This work gathers together edited extracts from earlier texts relating to the life, death and relics of St Oswald. One of these, which McGuigan has labelled the ‘Norham account’, concerns the movement of the martyred king’s head (with the body of St Cuthbert and that of King Ceolwulf ) from Lindisfarne to a church dedicated to St Peter and St Paul at Norham in the year 884 during the time of Bishop Ecgred.29 The same source seemingly lies behind a similar statement in the Historia de sancto Cuthberto that Ecgred moved the bodies of Cuthbert and Ceolwulf to Norham. The compiler of the Historia arranged this event much earlier in the ninth century, attempting to reconcile this portion of the narrative with the later statement in the same text that it was in the time of Guthred, Bishop Eardulf and Abbot Eadred that the bishop took the body of St Cuthbert directly from Lindisfarne to various locations across the north of England, before finally ending up at Chester le Street.30 Although historians (relying on Symeon’s testimony) have conventionally assumed that Bishop Ecgred held the see earlier in the ninth century (from 830 and 845), McGuigan has suggested that Ecgred (who does not appear in early Anglo-Norman Cuthbertine episcopal lists, nor in the account provided by William of Malmesbury) might well have served the church later in the century, as the Norham account appears to suggest. Later Durham historians, struggling to fit this bishop into a longer chronology, placed him much earlier; the author of the Historia de sancto Cuthberto even makes him St Cuthbert’s immediate successor.31 Yet more important is the witness of the earliest extant list of saints’ resting-places in England, the text that opens with the words Secgan be þam Godes santum þe on Engla

27

Ibid., pp. 71–2. Ibid., pp. 73–4. 29 McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, pp. 74–5; Reginald of Durham, Vita Sancti Oswaldi Regis et Martyris, in Symeonis monachi opera omnia, ed. T. Arnold, 2 vols (London, 1882–85), I:326–85 (without third book). 30 HSC, ch. 9, pp. 48–9; ch. 20, pp. 58–9. 31 HSC, ch. 9, pp. 48–9; McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, pp. 76–7. 28

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lande ærost reston (henceforth Secgan). This text survives in two manuscripts, one of which is the Liber Vitae of the New Minster at Winchester, datable to the first half of the eleventh century, although the list itself can be dated more precisely to 1013x1031.32 A second copy, dating from the middle years of the eleventh century, survives in a manuscript in Cambridge.33 David Rollason’s work on the Secgan established that the text preserved in the Winchester Liber Vitae unites two originally separate lists of the resting places of the saints, the first of which – the one that preserves the information about Cuthbert’s remains – is significantly earlier than the second. Dating probably from the ninth century, the first part preserved the locations of the resting places of various Northumbrian and Midland saints from the pre-Viking period.34 The second half, which relates principally to southern and eastern England in the period of West Saxon domination, contains a different selection, including not just southern English saints but also a number of foreign saints.35 In the eleventh century the two parts were incorporated into the full version that now survives, and copied into the Winchester Liber Vitae.36 When combined with the later list, however, the earlier one was clearly updated at various points in order to reflect the new locations of some of the relics that it recorded. For example, it notes that Oswald’s body lay at Gloucester, whither his remains were not moved until 909; that Edmund could be found at Bedricesworth, where he was translated from his first resting place only at some point early in the tenth century; and it located Eadburg at Southwell, although she did not move there until the late tenth century.37 Of Cuthbert the list reports: ‘Đonne resteð sanctus Cuthbertus on þare Stowe seo is genemned Ubbanford neh þære ea, þe is genemned Twiode’ (‘Then lies St Cuthbert in the place called Ubbanford, near the water that is known as the Tweed’). The later updated version of the list in the Cambridge manuscript erroneously altered ‘seo is genemned Ubbanford neh þære ea’, to read ‘þe men hatað Donholm’ (‘that men call Durham’). When this text was translated into Latin late in the eleventh century the translator, unfamiliar with place name Ubbanford, incorrectly added ‘uel Dunholm’ to ‘in loco uocatur Ubbanford’.38 As McGuigan has argued, Rollason’s explanation as to why – uniquely – the details of Cuthbert’s location were not updated at the time of the copying of the 32

‘The tale of God’s saints who first rested in England’; London, BL, Stowe MS 944, fols 34v–39r. 33 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 201, pp. 149–51. 34 The text was printed by Felix Liebermann, Die Heilgen Englands: Angelsächsisch und Lateinisch (Hanover, 1889); the first portion, beginning ‘Her cyð ymbe þa halgan þe on Angelcynne restað’, printed pp. 1–10. 35 The second part – ‘Her onginneð secgan on Engla lande ærost reston’ – was printed by Liebermann, Die Heilgen Englands, pp. 9–20. 36 David Rollason, ‘Lists of Saints’ Resting-Places in Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 7 (1978), 61–93 (p. 68). 37 Rollason, ‘Lists’, p. 63; McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, pp. 77–8. 38 ‘He sunt notations de sanctis, qui in Anglica patria requiescunt’, ed. Liebermann, p. 10; McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, p. 77.

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Secgan in the early eleventh century are unconvincing. We should, McGuigan has suggested, take the Secgan’s testimony seriously as evidence of the location of Cuthbert’s remains at the time the final version of the list was compiled, viz. between 1013 and 1031 (after the arrival of the relics of St Florentinus at Peterborough in 1013, and before 1031, the year in which the Winchester monk Ælfsige wrote the manuscript for the New Minster).39 From this, it follows that we must locate Cuthbert at Norham on Tweed in the first part of the eleventh century. Although McGuigan did not directly spell out the implications of this conclusion in his thesis, beyond noting that the see moved ‘from Norham to Durham sometime in the early eleventh century’,40 his findings lead to an obvious further deduction: namely, that it was most plausibly in the time of Cnut that Cuthbert’s body first went to Durham. Could we go further and argue that Cnut was involved in, or even instigated, the saint’s translation from Norham to Durham? Symeon supplied other evidence for the relocation of the relics of Northumbrian saints from across the region to the care of the community of St Cuthbert in the 1020s. According to his account, Ælfred, son of Westou, a priest of the community, apparently set out after having had a vision to visit ‘the former sites of monasteries and churches in the kingdom of the Northumbrians. He raised from the earth the bones of those saints whom he knew to be buried in these places, and enshrined them above ground so that they might be better known to the people and venerated by them.’41 The accumulation of the relics of such highly respected earlier saints will, of course, have helped to enhance the reputation of the shrine of St Cuthbert as a place of particular sanctity, and no doubt assisted the church in its claim also to possess all the early churches from which these relics came.42 But this narrative serves further to deepen the context in which we might situate the relocation of the relics of Cuthbert himself from their potentially dangerous location on the River Tweed, close to the site of the battle of Carham, fought between the Scots and Northumbrians probably in 1018 or 1019.43 Cnut may have concerned himself with the affairs of the community of St Cuthbert early in his reign, during the three-year period when that church apparently lacked a pastor following the death of Ealdhun in 1018.44 Rollason has observed that this vacancy might have been 39

N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (1957; reissued with supplement, Oxford, 1990), pp. 338–9; The Liber vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey, Winchester: British Library Stowe 944, ed. Simon Keynes, EEMF 26 (Copenhagen, 1996), p. 15. 40 McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, p. 81. 41 Symeon, Libellus, 3.7, pp. 162–5. The saints whom he relocated were the anchorites Balthere and Billfrith; the bishops of Hexham Acca and Alchmund; King Oswine; and two abbesses, Æbbe and Æthelgitha. He also reputedly brought the relics of Boisil (prior of Melrose) and of Bede to Durham, burying the latter’s bones in the coffin of St Cuthbert, contained in a linen bag: Symeon, Libellus, 3.7, p. 166; cf. ibid., 1.11, pp. 56–9; 1.14, pp. 68–9. 42 David Rollason, Saints and Relics in Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 1989), p. 212. 43 Woolf, From Pictland to Alba, pp. 235–40. 44 Symeon, Libellus, 3.6, pp. 156–7.

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connected to Cnut’s wish to increase his control over the church at Durham.45 Certainly, when a new bishop was finally elected and consecrated, Cnut reputedly played a direct role in his installation.46 According to Symeon’s account the new bishop, Edmund, took a particular interest in the observance of the discipline of the monastic rule, bringing to Durham a monk from the Benedictine community at Peterborough who taught the discipline of the monastic life in Ealdhun’s church (and after him became bishop).47 Are we to imagine that it was at much the same time that the relics of Cuthbert moved to Durham? That was what William of Malmesbury believed. William’s narrative of the church of Durham in his Gesta pontificum Anglorum – an account that was, as McGuigan has emphasized, entirely independent of Symeon’s chronology – was compiled in the years before 1125 ‘from pre-existing episcopal lists and miscellaneous other sources, including pre-Symeonic or undeveloped Symeonic material’.48 In the light of our preceding discussion, William’s report acquires particular significance: On the death of Bishop Ealdhun, therefore, the clerics had gone into session to discuss the choice of their future rule, and, as happens on such occasions, they could not come to a decision because of a party split. Then Edmund, whom no one had thought of calling in, came upon them as they hesitated, and in his usual joking manner said: ‘Take me and make me bishop.’ They all, as if God had inspired them, snatched the words out of his mouth, as though God had spoken. Aghast and repenting what he had said (for he preferred ball games to the cowl), he was made monk; then they asked Cnut,49 who was king at that time, to make him their bishop… Under Edmund’s rule the church’s prosperity was much advanced. The holy body [of Cuthbert] was taken to Durham, the church there was completed from its foundations, and many other things happened besides which deceiving oblivion will never blot out among these people in any age.50

45 Symeon, 46 Symeon, 47 Ibid.

Libellus, p. 157 n. 22. Libellus, 3.6, pp. 160–1.

48

McGuigan, ‘Neither Scotland Nor England’, p. 74. One manuscript here reads Æthelred, but that was clearly an error: William of Malmesbury, GP, I:410, n. 130. 50 ‘Defuncto ergo Aldhuno antistite, clerici consederant, de rectoris futuri electione consultantes, nec, ut fit in talibus, quicquam certi pro scismate partium diffinientes. Tum Edmundus, quem nullus accersiendum putauerat, cunctantibus superueniens consuetaque usus facetia “Me” inquit “accipite et episcopum facite”. Illi omnes, quasi diuinitus accensis spiritibus, rapuerunt ex ore illius uerbum quasi diuinum oraculum; stupentemque et dicti penitentem, utpote qui mallet lusum pilae quam usum cucullae, monachum fecerunt, et regi Cnutoni, qui tunc regnabat, in episcopum sibi postulauerunt. … Sub eo enim presule multum in modum aecclesiae promouit prosperitas: corpus sanctum Dunelmum delatum, basilica ibidem a fundamentis consummata, multa preterea quae nullo umquam apud ciues aeuo fallax consumet obliuio.’ William of Malmesbury, GP, 3.130, I:410–11. 49

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William thus stated clearly that Cnut not only participated in the election of Edmund, but that it was in his time that the saint’s relics moved to Durham. This chronology fits with what McGuigan has called the ‘Norham narrative’ and seemingly with the evidence of the early list of saints’ resting places,51 but represents a version of events that runs contrary to the sequence of events confected by Symeon. McGuigan’s argument has cast severe doubt on Symeon’s chronology and made a strong case for placing the relocation of Cuthbert’s remains at Durham in the eleventh century, most plausibly in the reign of Cnut. If we made such a deduction, we could reasonably argue that the relocation of the saint’s remains reflected Cnut’s policy of promoting his causes above the interests of those local magnates of the former regime, such as Uhtred and Ulfcytel and the house of Bamburgh.52 He seemingly recognized the value of a policy of associating himself with the cult of the most celebrated and most efficacious saint in that region, one whom previous kings of all England had also venerated. And a tradition that the introduction of Benedictine observance to Durham had some connection with King Cnut would interestingly mirror evidence of his involvement in the promotion of Benedictine monasticism elsewhere, notably at Bury.

Bury St Edmunds Edmund, king of the East Angles, was killed by the Danes on the overthrow of his kingdom in 869.53 A cult seems rapidly to have arisen around the dead king, to which the so-called memorial coinage of St Edmund issued in the 890s bears witness.54 As Lesley Abrams has argued, the coinage reveals not only that a cult of the recently dead king had already emerged, but that there were Christians in East Anglia to promote that cult as early as the last decade of the ninth century.55 It thus seems reasonable to assume that a community of some sort devoted to the maintenance of Edmund’s cult came into existence at around the same time, even though the first written records attesting to the existence of such a congregation date only from the 940s.56 I shall argue in the forthcoming edition of the Bury 51

This would have to mean that the Secgan was not updated after 1013 and that, when the scribe copied it into the New Minster Liber Vitae in 1031, it was (just) already out of date. Alternatively, the move could conceivably be dated not to the 1020s but to the 1030s. 52 Lawson, Cnut, pp. 184–7. 53 ASC, MS A, s.a. 870. 54 Mark Blackburn and Hugh Pagan, ‘The St Edmund Coinage in the Light of a Parcel from a Hoard of St Edmund Pennies’, British Numismatic Journal 72 (2002), 1–14. 55 Lesley Abrams, ‘Conversion and Assimilation’, in Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian Settlement in England in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries, ed. D. M. Hadley and J. D. Richards (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 135–53 (p. 147). 56 The earliest surviving documents from the archive of Bury date from the 940s: Electronic Sawyer, S 507, 1483, and 1526.

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charters that members of the local East Anglian elite established this religious congregation community out of devotion to the memory of their last native king.57 The locals’ involvement in the creation of the first religious community at Bedricesworth may go some way towards explaining the unique shape of the Bury archive (notably the fact that the bulk of the extant Anglo-Saxon documents take the form of vernacular instruments, not Latin diplomas, and that the monks failed to preserve records of any genuine royal gifts, although we have reason to believe such grants were made). By the time that Cnut became king in 1016, Edmund’s cult was well established and Bury’s endowment had grown significantly, supported largely by gifts from members of the local aristocracy including at least the local bishop (Theodred of London, who held the vacant East Anglian see in plurality).58 The community claimed to have received a gift of land in 945 from their king’s namesake, Edmund of East Anglia, and may well once have held a genuine charter in his name, although later archivists appear to have ‘improved’ the dispositive clause of the text that the abbey preserved in its archive.59 Similarly, the bilingual diploma in Cnut’s name that now survives as a beautifully crafted single sheet, has little claim to authenticity (having apparently been carefully fabricated by a scribe working for Abbot Baldwin in the decade after the Norman Conquest, in order to advance the abbey’s claim to independence from the control of the local bishop).60 Historians have not always paid much attention to Cnut’s possible involvement in the affairs of Bury St Edmunds, perhaps because of the doubts surrounding the authenticity of the charter in his name, and the fact that the monks preserved no evidence that Cnut had made any other gifts to the abbey.61 Yet, there is in fact a good deal of evidence that the king – perhaps spurred on by the example of his queen, Emma – took a direct interest in the community of St Edmund at Bury and instigated, probably with the local bishop, a reform of the secular congregation at 57

Lowe and Foot, The Anglo-Saxon Charters (forthcoming). See also Sarah Foot, ‘Households of St Edmund’, in Religion and the Household, ed. John Doran, Charlotte Methuen and Alexandra Walsham, Studies in Church History 50 (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 47–58. 58 S 1526; Dorothy Whitelock, Some Anglo-Saxon Bishops of London, Chambers Memorial Lecture 1974, University College, London (London, 1975), reprinted in her History, Law and Literature in 10th–11th Century England (London, 1981), no. II. 59 For although all other elements of this document (S 507) appear to derive from a genuine charter in Edmund’s name, the statement that the grant conveyed represents all the land around that place to be held by the monastery in perpetuity, without specifying any particular number of hides involved, relates suspiciously closely to Bury’s later claim to jurisdiction over the banleuca of the abbey (that is the area of special authority which that monastery enjoyed in its immediate vicinity): M. D. Lobel, ‘The Ecclesiastical Banleuca in England’, in Oxford Essays in Medieval History Presented to Herbert Edward Salter, ed. F. M. Powicke (Oxford, 1934), pp. 122–40. 60 King’s Lynn, King’s Lynn Borough Archives, KL/C2/61; S 980. 61 For example, Bury was not included in the catalogue of churches patronized by the Danish king found in Heslop, ‘The Production’, pp. 182–8.

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Bedricesworth into an observant Benedictine community.62 The surviving charter in Cnut’s name purported to install a flock of monks at Bury without saying much about how the community should live beyond asserting their freedom from any outside interference, specifically that of the bishop (a clause couched in terms that seem unlikely to have dated from the 1020s). However, various manuscripts from Bury, including a Psalter now in the Vatican,63 and the abbey’s bilingual copy of the Rule of St Benedict (now in Corpus Christi College, Oxford)64 preserve in mid-eleventh-century hands notes beside the year 1020 declaring: ‘Here (i.e. in this year) Bishop Ælfwine [bishop of East Anglia 1012x1017 – 1023x1038], in the time of (or with the assistance of ) Thorkell [the Tall, earl of East Anglia 1017–21] established the rule of monks in the monastery of St Edmund, at the desire and with the permission of King Cnut [and] it continues there until the present day.’65 By the time an interpolation was added to a version of the Chronicon of John of Worcester, copied at Bury in the mid-twelfth century (1133x1143), the king’s role had become the determining factor.66 For the year 1020 the additional text reads: In the same year, in the third indiction, Cnut, King of the English and of many other peoples, with the advice and recommendation of his archbishops, bishops and leading men, especially that of Ælfgyue, that is his queen and Ælfwine, the bishop of the East Angles, and Earl Thorkell, established monks in the monastery called Badriceswrde, in which the most holy king and martyr Edmund awaits the blessed resurrection in incorrupt body. Over them he placed a father and abbot called Wius (Ufi), a humble, modest, mild and pious man; but the priests, who had been dwelling there irregularly (inordinate), he either raised up to the highest level of religious observance, or having given them adequate supplies of food and clothing, moved them to other places.67 62

David N. Dumville, English Caroline Script and Monastic History. Caroline Studies in Benedictinism AD 950–1030 (Woodbridge, 1993), pp. 31–43; Tom Licence, ‘The Origins of the Monastic Communities of St Benedict at Holme and Bury St Edmunds’, Revue bénédictine 116 (2006), 42–61 (pp. 53–7). 63 The ‘Bury Psalter’, Rome, Vatican Library, MS Reginensis lat 12, fol. 16v. See The New Palaeographical Society Facsimiles of Ancient Manuscripts, series II (London, 1913–30), plates 166–8. 64 Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 197, fol. 105r, lines 6–15; Dumville, English Caroline, pp. 31–2. 65 ‘Hinc denique presul Aelfwinus sub comite Thurkyllo constituit regulam monachorum sancti Eadmundi monasterio, et sub voluntate licentiaque Cnutoni Regis permanent usque in presens.’ Dumville has suggested (English Caroline, p. 38 n. 156) that the final clause would make more sense if an additional et were inserted after the words ‘Cnutoni regis’, so that the king’s will is understood to be that the Rule be adopted, not – as it seems to mean as it stands – that the community should continue to function. 66 For the date of these notes see John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:lii–liii. 67 ‘Eodem etiam anno indictione .iii., Canutus rex Anglorum aliarumque gentium plurimarum, cum consilio et decreto archiepiscoporum, episcoporum, et optimatum suorum, maxime uero Ælfgyue, id est Emme, regine sue et Alfuuini presulis Orientalium Anglorum, et Turkilli comitis,

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Whether derived ultimately from the notes in the abbey’s copy of the Benedictine Rule, or from the Bury Psalter,68 this account conveys not just a clear – if not particularly specific – narrative of how Bury became a regular monastic community, but it also transforms the abbey in effect into a royal foundation.69 The reordering of the community was not the only act attributed to Cnut’s initiative by Bury’s monks. A second note, written by the same hand on the next folio of the Bury Psalter, starts beside the year 1032 and extends to 1035. It asserts that a church was built under King Cnut and consecrated by Archbishop Æthelnoth ‘of blessed memory’70 in honour of Christ, St Mary and St Edmund.71 More information about this event comes in the kalendar in the same manuscript which reports (in gold majuscule script) the dedication of the church of St Mary and St Edmund on St Luke’s day, 18 October, which in 1032 fell on a Wednesday. While one might have expected the dedication to take place on a Sunday, 18 October held particular significance for Cnut, for it was on that day that he had defeated Edmund Ironside at the battle of Assandun sixteen years previously.72 We learn more about Cnut’s involvement in the reordering of Bury in a narrative preceding a confraternity agreement that the monks made with St Benet’s, a

constituit monachos in monasterio quod Badriceswrde uocatur, in quo sanctissimus rex et martyr Eadmundus incorruoto corpore diem expectat beate resurrectionis. Prefecitque eis patrem et abbatem nomine Wium, uirum scilicet humilem, modestum, mansuetum and pium, presbiteros uero, qui inibi inordinate uiuebant aut in eodem loco ad religionis culmen erexit, aut datis aliis rebus de quibus habundantius solito uictum et uestitum haberent in alia loca mutauit.’ Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS 297 (SC 2468), p. 350 (col. 2, lines 9–25); printed in John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:643, and Dumville, English Caroline, p. 32. 68 Dumville, English Caroline, p. 33. 69 The comments about how the irregular clerks were offered the choice either to become monks or to move to other institutions probably derive either from the account of the Benedictine reform of southern English minsters during Edgar’s reign given earlier in John of Worcester’s Chronicle, or from the relevant annals in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, and have little independent value: compare ASC, s.a. 964; John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 963 (II:416–17). Antonia Gransden, ‘The Legends and Traditions Concerning the Origins of the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds’, EHR 100 (1985), 1–24 (pp. 14–15). 70 Æthelnoth died in 1038. 71 Bury Psalter, fol. 17v: ‘Hic sub Cnutono rege constructam basilicam beate memorie archipresul Aegelnoðus consecrauit eam in honore Christi et sancte Marie sanctique Eadmundi’. Dumville, English Caroline, p. 34; Rebecca J. Rushforth, ‘The Eleventh- and Early Twelfth-Century Manuscripts of Bury St Edmunds Abbey’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2003), pp. 119–20. Two separate notes dated 1020 and 1032 conveying the same information (couched in almost identical words) were copied in a hand datable to c. 1100 onto an additional quire added to the end of Bury’s copy of the bilingual Rule of St Benedict: Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 197, fol. 105r, lines 6–15; Dumville, English Caroline, pp. 31–2. 72 See Dumville, English Caroline, pp. 40–1; Tim Pestell, Landscapes of Monastic Foundation: The Establishment of Religious Houses in East Anglia c.650–1200 (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 117–18; Licence, ‘The Origins’, p. 56.

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text preserved in two late thirteenth-century manuscripts: one a customary from Bury St Edmunds (London, BL, MS Harley 1005), the other the Register of the Abbey of St Benet at Holme (London, BL, Cotton MS Galba E. ii). The narrative states that in the time of King Cnut, the body of Edmund, king and martyr, was found in the wooden monastery of St Mary in the town called Bedricesworth, being attended without due reverence or proper religious observance by secular priests. On the advice of his nobility, Cnut determined to place monks in the church there, to serve God and St Mary, while caring for the body of the precious martyr. To fill that new community, he recommended that half of the twenty-six devout monks then serving the church of St Benet at Holme should go to Bury, taking with them all that they would need to set up Benedictine monastic life there, with a prior set over them.73 This arrangement ensured that the community of St Edmund’s would be equipped with the books, liturgical objects and personnel it needed to effect its reformation on regular lines. Cnut’s interest in the abbey at St Benet at Holme extended beyond his recommendation that its members should provide the first contingent of monks to go to Bury. The origins of this Norfolk abbey remain obscure, but as in the case of St Edmund’s, its archive preserves a text of a bilingual diploma from the Danish king, supplied with (a different version of) essentially the same witness list as that attached to the Bury charter.74 If we assume that a genuine grant underlies this charter, then we might surmise that a pre-existing community at St Benet’s received this grant from King Cnut. Whether that community were a congregation of secular clergy made Benedictine at this time in a royally instigated reform of their customs on regular lines, or rather a monastery already observing Benedictine principles, we cannot determine. It is hard to see how the ‘reform’ of St Benet’s could have been made at the time that Cnut supposedly gave the monks this charter (1021x1022), and that this reformed community could have been resilient enough almost immediately to divide itself in two in order to populate Bury. Perhaps a grain of truth lies in the later house histories from this abbey, which suggested that St Benet’s was reformed late in the tenth century. If so, that reform might have occurred at much the same time as the founding of the abbey of Ramsey (966), another house dedicated to St Benedict.75 Why Cnut took such an interest in these hitherto obscure East Anglian houses remains unclear. No obvious motives seem to have drawn him to St Benet’s at Holme, unless the attraction of this community to the Danish king was that it was already Benedictine. He might, however, have sought out the Bedricesworth community in order to make reparation for the part played by his ancestors in the death of King Edmund in 869. More recently Cnut’s father, Svein, had died allegedly as a direct result of the dead saint’s intervention, after he had tried to 73

Printed by J. R. West, St. Benet of Holme, 1020–1210: The Eleventh and Twelfth Century Sections of Cott. MS. Galba E.ii, Norfolk Record Society 2‒3, 2 vols (Fakenham, 1932), I:35–6, no. 67. 74 S 984. 75 Pestell, Landscapes, pp. 114–15; Licence, ‘The Origins’, pp. 42–8.

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impose an unreasonably heavy tax on East Anglia, one that the local population had refused to pay.76 Had Cnut heard that story, it might have led him to believe that he had amends to make in the region. The new king might equally have chosen to ally himself to this saint because previous members of the West Saxon royal family had done so; he could have seen devotion to the martyred king as one means of ingratiating himself with the local population. We commented earlier on the gift made to St Edmund’s by Edmund of Wessex, and we might wonder whether that West Saxon prince had been named after the East Anglian martyr. The second youngest of the sons of Edward the Elder, Edmund was born to his father’s third wife c. 920, after Edward’s acquisition of power over East Anglia. That event might have brought the saint and his cult to the attention of the West Saxon king and influenced his choice of name for his new son. Æthelred II had also chosen the name Edmund for one of his sons, whom Cnut later defeated at Assandun. Cnut clearly recognized Edmund Ironside as a legitimate ruler and, according to William of Malmesbury, honoured the dead king’s body as he would that of a brother. Visiting Glastonbury (where Edmund lay buried, near the tomb of his grandfather, King Edgar), Cnut honoured his corpse ‘with pious lamentations, laying on the sepulchre his cloak which, they say, was woven over many-coloured peacock feathers’.77 Whether Cnut thought to associate Ironside with the East Anglian monarch whose name he shared cannot be determined. Bury St Edmunds had functioned as an important house in the East Anglian region long before Cnut’s reign, but we might reasonably argue that the direct patronage of the Danish king and the keen interest that he (and his wife) took in this community served to raise the profile of the martyr’s shrine on a national stage. Cnut had taken the example of a local saint (one who, admittedly, already enjoyed a strong local cult) and, by harnessing not only his own piety but also his very Danishness to Edmund’s banner, did much to repair the past wrong done by his distant forebears who had removed Edmund from power. Further, he set in motion the making of Edmund into a national saint, one who might intercede for the whole nation, English and Danish, newly brought together under his crown. That process received additional impetus from the actions of Edward the Confessor and William the Conqueror, who both followed Cnut’s example in patronizing the saint. A series of vernacular writs, starting with those issued by Edward the Confessor (who viewed Edmund as his own kinsman)78 and continued

76

The story is told by Herman the Archdeacon in his Miracula S. Edmundi, chs 4–9: Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, pp. 14–25. 77 William of Malmesbury, De antiquitate Glastonie ecclesiae, ed. and trans. John Scott, The Early History of Glastonbury: An Edition, Translation and Study of William of Malmesbury’s De antiquitate Glastonie ecclesie (Woodbridge, 1981), ch. 64, pp. 132–3; cf. also William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:330–1; Gem, ‘A Recession’, p. 46; Bolton, The Empire, pp. 94–5. 78 See Edward’s writs to the abbey in which he called the martyred saint his kinsman (min mæg): S 1073, 1078, 1084.

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by William, demonstrate these kings’ direct interest in the cult of Edmund. As is well known, Bury fared particularly well in the years following the Norman Conquest, weathering the political upheavals of the era more successfully than many other English monasteries, especially other East Anglian communities (notably Ely).79 The abbey of St Edmund owed its success in large measure to the efforts (and royal connections) of its abbot, Baldwin, who had been appointed by Edward the Confessor, yet still remained in office after the death of the Conqueror. Baldwin used the advantage of his birth (at Chartres) and his close connection with the Norman king to encourage William and his wife Matilda to make significant benefactions to Bury.80 In contrast to the tenurial losses suffered by other local abbeys such as Ely and Ramsey, Bury’s lands increased in both number and value between 1066 and the time of the Domesday survey.81 Although William demanded that Baldwin hand over to him all the land of the men from St Edmund’s soke who had fought against him at Hastings and died, Baldwin succeeded in recovering many of those estates by 1086.82 William gave the Suffolk abbey an important role in the defence of East Anglia with a substantial obligation to provide knight service, but also a grant of five manors in Suffolk to help it fulfil its quota of forty knights.83 The king made various new donations to the abbey of land in Suffolk and Norfolk and diversified their landholdings into Bedfordshire and Northamptonshire; his queen Matilda also made a gift to St Edmund’s.84 Herman praised King William effusively in his account of the miracles of St Edmund, asserting that divine intervention had brought him to power as king of the English.85 He frequently described William as rex gloriosus, as for example when recording his judgement in the abbey’s favour in 1081, or in recounting the extent of his royal sponsorship and generous backing for the building of a new stone church.86 Likewise, Herman termed Queen Matilda illustrious (inclita).87 The abbey

79 Cownie,

Patronage, pp. 70–2, 74–6. M. D. Lobel, The Borough of Bury St Edmunds: A Study in the Government and Development of a Monastic Town (Oxford, 1935), pp. 14–15; Antonia Gransden, ‘Baldwin, Abbot of Bury St Edmunds, 1065–1097’, ANS 4 (1982), 65–76 (pp. 66–7). William and Matilda’s gifts totalled twenty-three carucates, seven hides and one virgate of land, valued in 1086 at over £65 and spread over four counties: Cownie, Patronage, p. 71. 81 Cownie, Patronage, pp. 70–1. 82 David C. Douglas, Feudal Documents from the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Records of the Social and Economic History of England and Wales 8 (London, 1932), no. 1, p. 47; David Bates, Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: The Acta of William I (1066–1087) (Oxford, 1998), no. 37; Gransden, ‘Baldwin’, p. 67; Cownie, Patronage, p. 68. 83 Douglas, Feudal Documents, p. 4; Cownie, Patronage, pp. 70–1. 84 Cownie has noted the exceptionality of Queen Matilda’s grant to Bury, the only English abbey other than Malmesbury in Wiltshire that she is known to have patronized: Patronage, p. 71. 85 For a contrasting reading, see Elisabeth van Houts’ chapter in this volume: pp. 000–000. 86 Herman, Miracles of St Edmund, ch. 25, pp. 63–4; ch. 39, pp. 110–11; ch. 40, pp. 116–17. 87 Ibid., ch. 27, pp. 80–1. 80

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clearly benefited from Abbot Baldwin’s ability to maintain close relations with the royal court by serving as doctor to both William and his son, William Rufus; it is therefore unsurprising that the monks chose to record the names of the early Norman kings among their benefactors. Every sign thus indicates that Edmund’s cult had developed significantly since the early eleventh century, and that the promotion of the saint by the two conquering kings, together with their combined support for the religious community that maintained the martyr’s cult, did much to increase Edmund’s standing not only in East Anglia but also farther afield. Until his reputation was eclipsed after 1170 by that of Thomas Becket at Canterbury, Edmund served effectively as England’s patron saint; more than sixty English churches bear dedications to his name.88 William of Malmesbury, writing in the 1120s, declared Edmund to be the ‘first’ (in the sense of foremost) of the saints of his country.89 Several English kings showed especial affection for the saint, including Richard II. The famous Wilton diptych, now in the National Gallery, shows Richard kneeling before the Virgin, with his three patron saints standing behind him: John the Baptist, Edward the Confessor and Edmund, who holds an arrow as a symbol of his martyrdom.90

Ælfheah My third example comes from Canterbury: the cult of the martyred archbishop, Ælfheah, who died in London in April 1012. After pigheadedly refusing to allow anyone to pay a ransom for his release from the Danish army that had captured him, Ælfheah was eventually killed by the Danes who, ‘drunk on wine from the south’ at the end of a meal, found his pious pronouncements infuriating.91 Originally buried at St Paul’s, he was rapidly treated as a martyr. Yet in 1023, Cnut returned his incorrupt body to Canterbury (most plausibly at the instigation of his archbishop Æthelnoth) and the whole city received the king’s remains with ‘ineffable joy’.92 88

R. M. Thomson, The Archives of the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk Records Society 21 (Woodbridge, 1980), pp. 1–2; N. Scarfe, Suffolk in the Middle Ages: Studies in Places and PlaceNames, the Sutton Hoo Ship-Burial, Saints, Mummies and Crosses, Domesday Book, and Chronicles of Bury Abbey (Woodbridge, 1986), p. 55. Edmund was also among the few Anglo-Saxon saints culted in medieval Scandinavia and Iceland: Christine E. Fell, ‘Anglo-Saxon Saints in Old Norse Sources and Vice Versa’, in Proceedings of the Eighth Viking Congress, Århus, 24–31 August 1977, ed. H. Bekker-Nielsen et al. (Odense, 1981), pp. 95–106 (pp. 100–1). 89 William of Malmesbury, GP, 2.74, I:242–3. 90 The Wilton Diptych, London, The National Gallery, accession no. 4451; T. K. Derry, ‘The Martyrdom of St Edmund, A.D. 869’, Historisk Tidsskrift 66 (1987), 157–63 (pp. 157–8). 91 ASC, MS C, s.a. 1012. 92 Translatio Sancti Ælfegi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi et martiris (BHL 2519), lines 222–3, ed. and trans. R. Morris and Alexander R. Rumble, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 283–315 (pp. 312–13).

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According to Osbern (a later eleventh-century monk of Canterbury, who wrote a life of Ælfheah at Archbishop Lanfranc’s request c. 1080), Cnut was motivated to restore the martyr’s body to his metropolitan cathedral church by pious motives: ‘Most holy father, sweeter than all delight, most blessed father, more precious than all the treasures of the world, have pity on this sinner of a king, lest either the first indignity or the later cruelty unjustly perpetrated on you by my kinsmen against justice and goodness, should stand to my charge.’93 Osbern made Cnut the main player in a vivid narrative, recounting how the archbishop came at his king’s summons to London and brought him out of his bath to speak to the importance of raising the martyr’s body. Cnut himself witnessed the miraculous rolling away of the stone over the saint’s resting place and the incorrupt state of the martyr’s body, and supposedly carried him in his own arms to the ‘royal longship with golden dragon prows’ by which he was transported down the river to Canterbury.94 Yet it would not seem unduly sceptical to wonder if political factors were not as important in this event as spiritual ones. Even more than in the case of his patronage of Edmund at Bury, the translation of the murdered archbishop’s remains provided Cnut with an opportunity to use major public spectacle to demonstrate visually and symbolically his repentance for the violence of the Danish army during his father’s lifetime, and his willingness to do reparation for their sins. As William of Malmesbury described it, Cnut lifted St Ælfheah’s body ‘with his own hands, and transferred it back to Canterbury, venerating it with due marks of respect. Thus he did his best to correct all the misdoings of himself and his predecessors, and wiped away the stain of earlier injustice, perhaps before God and certainly in the eyes of men.’95 Although the version of the saint’s translation recorded in MS D of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles had made the translation an entirely peaceful occasion, Osbern’s narrative had the saint removed from London by force of arms. According to him, Cnut charged ‘all the soldiers of his household, who are called “housecarls” in the language of the Danes, that some of them should incite strife at the outer gates of the city, and others, fully armed, should take possession of the bridge and banks of the river, so that the people of London would not be able to stand in the way of those leaving with the saint’s body’.96 Writing so long after the event, Osbern scarcely offered eyewitness testimony, but it does not seem implau93

‘Pater inquit sanctissime. super omne delectamentum suauissime. pater beatissime. super omnes mundi thesaurus preciossime. huius peccatoris regis miserere. nec mihi obsistat uel propria indignitas. uel parentum meorum in te contra iustum & bonum expleta crudelitas.’ Translatio Ælfegi, lines 143–7, pp. 306–7. 94 Translatio Ælfegi, line 171, pp. 308–9. 95 ‘Corpus beati Elfegi, apud Sanctum Paulum Lundoniae tumulatum, ipse suis manibus inde leuauit, et ad propria remissum dignis assentationibus ueneratus est. Ita omnia quae ipse et antecessores sui deliquerant corrigere satagens, prioris iniustitiae neuum apud Deum fortassis, apud homines certe abstersit.’ William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:322–3. 96 ‘[Cnut] mandans omnibus familiae suae militibus quos lingua Danorum huscarles uocant. ut eorum alij per extremas ciuitatis portas seditiones concitent. alij pontem & ripas fluminis armati

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sible that the people of London might have attempted to resist the removal of the archbishop’s remains. Cnut might further have been at least partly motivated by the opportunity this act gave him to punish the city of London and its inhabitants, who had been the last Englishmen to hold out against the Danish king in 1016.97 London clergy appear to have been closely connected with King Æthelred and his family: Ælfhun, bishop of London, had acted as tutor to the king’s sons, Edward and Alfred, and escorted them into exile in Normandy in 1013, and Ælfhun’s successor, Ælfwig, was close to Edmund Ironside.98 The heavy tribute of £10,500 exacted from London by Cnut in 1018 must have come at least in part from the city’s ecclesiastical communities, and St Paul’s lost some of its landed estates during Cnut’s reign.99 Meanwhile, Cnut showed much greater favour to Westminster, at that time a rather insignificant church outside the city of London, making grants of land and giving some relics including – Westminster sources claimed – a finger from the body of St Ælfheah.100 If we believe this then it would seem that Cnut deliberately sought to end the cult of the martyred archbishop in London, directing the interest of pilgrims upriver to Westminster and, of course, to the metropolitan see in Canterbury.101 Leaving Cnut’s depredation of London aside, if his primary ambition in relocating the martyr’s relics had been to raise Ælfheah to greater prominence and make him, also, into a national saint – one who might intercede with the saints in heaven on behalf of the whole English people – that desire proved in vain. Not only did William the Conqueror fail to follow his predecessor’s example in promoting this saint, but Ælfheah’s cult led to one of most celebrated post-Conquest debates about the Anglo-Saxon church, a dispute that had wider ramifications for the way that Normans treated the English Church, and particularly the cults of its saints. Eadmer’s account of the discussion between Lanfranc and Anselm is well known. He maintained that Lanfranc was still ‘rather green’ as an Englishman (‘adhuc quasi rudis Anglus’) and had yet to accept some of the customs he found in England. Lanfranc thus apparently said to Anselm: These Englishmen among whom we are living have set up for themselves certain saints whom they revere. But sometimes when I turn over in my mind their own accounts of who they were, I cannot help having doubts obsidant. ne exeuntes eos cum corpore sancti Lundanus populus praepedire ualeat.’ Translatio Ælfegi, lines 88–91, pp. 302–3. 97 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1016. 98 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1013; John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1013 II:474–5); Bolton, The Empire, p. 86. 99 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1018; Bolton, The Empire, p. 87; for St Paul’s landed losses in the eleventh century, see Charters of St Paul’s, London, ed. S. E. Kelly, Anglo-Saxon Charters 10 (Oxford, 2004), pp. 195–201. 100 John Flete, The History of Westminster Abbey by John Flete, ed. J. A. Robinson (Cambridge, 1909), ch. 14, p. 70. 101 Bolton, The Empire, p. 88.

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about the quality of their sanctity. Now one of them lies here in the holy church over which by God’s will I now preside. He was called Elphege, a good man certainly, and in his day archbishop of this place. This man they not only number among the saints, but even among the martyrs, although they do not deny that he was killed, not for professing the name of Christ, but because he refused to buy himself off with money.102

Lanfranc clearly did not consider this to constitute genuine martyrdom, but Anselm’s reported response – that it was not only because he refused to buy himself off with money, but also that the archbishop had stood out against his pagan persecutors and tried to convert them from their infidelity – proved that he died for justice. Thus, in effect, he had died for Christ, and on this ground Anselm persuaded Lanfranc to take a more generous view of this saint.103 Ælfheah was not, of course, the only English saint about whom Lanfranc seems to have had some doubts; he proved, at least initially, hardly better disposed towards the tenth-century archbishop Dunstan, whose relics he also had moved from their original resting place, although he did later re-inter them near the high altar.104 As Jay Rubenstein has argued, Lanfranc’s motives in reorganizing the cult of saints and the liturgy at Canterbury were not so much motivated by hostility towards English, pre-Conquest saints, as by his desire to refocus the worship of the cathedral church away from the local and particular towards the universal (and especially the Eucharistic).105 Engagement with this wider debate falls outside the scope of this chapter, but I chose deliberately to discuss the example of Ælfheah’s cult in order to show the contrast between that saint’s fate after 1066 and the two more successful narratives already given. It might be worth reflecting momentarily on saints whom Cnut and William did not apparently seek to promote, while bearing in mind the danger of attempting to extrapolate too much from the silence of the surviving sources. It is striking, for example, that even after the Danish king had begun to enter into closer relations with religious houses in the Eastern Danelaw (from which, as Timothy Bolton has shown, he appears to have remained frostily distant during the early part of his reign),106 Cnut apparently took no interest in the emergent cult of Eadnoth, 102 ‘Angli

isti inter quos degimus, instituerunt sibi quosdam quos colerent sanctos. De quibus cum aliquando qui fuerint secundum quod ipsimet referunt mente revolvo, de sanctitatis eorum merito animum a dubietate fletere nequeo. Et ecce unus illorum est in sancta cui nunc Deo auctore præsidemus sede quiescens Ælfegus nomine, vir bonis quidem, et suo tempore gradui archiepiscopatus præsidens ibidem. Hunc non modo inter sanctos verum et inter martires numerant, licet eum non pro confessione nominis Christi, sed quia pecunia se redimere noluit occisum non negent.’ Eadmer, The Life of St Anselm Archbishop of Canterbury by Eadmer, ed. and trans. R. W. Southern (London, 1962), ch. 30, p. 51. 103 Rubenstein, ‘Liturgy Against History’, pp. 284–5. 104 Browett, ‘The Fate’, p. 189; Cownie, Patronage, p. 166. 105 Rubenstein, ‘Liturgy Against History’, pp. 294–8. 106 Bolton, The Empire, pp. 89–92.

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the former abbot of Ramsey who had become bishop of Dorchester and died at Assandun in 1016.107 Even after participating in public reconciliation ceremonies at Assandun (and Thorney) in 1020x1021, and perhaps something similar at Ely, where Cnut was present on the feast of St Æthelthryth in 1022,108 no evidence links Cnut with the cult of Eadnoth of which the Ely monks had charge.109 This contrasts so sharply with his veneration of Ælfheah as to require some explanation. Was it too soon for the king to associate himself with the cult of someone for whose death he might be said personally to have been responsible? Or should we read this as speaking rather to continuing tensions between Cnut and Ely, from where the monks alleged he had removed the relics of a certain St Wendreth, giving them instead to Canterbury?110 William, of course, also had a difficult relationship with Ely, especially in the earlier part of his reign following the crushing of Hereward’s revolt.111 Later, he made some reparation for the damage done to the abbey, giving a number of grants to restore their lands and showing some (cautious) respect for the abbey’s powerful patron saint, Æthelthryth.112 Otherwise, besides Cuthbert and Edmund, William seems to have taken a particular interest in just one other native English saint: Modwenna, who was culted at Burton Abbey in Staffordshire.113

Conclusion In this exploration of the patronage of the cult of English saints by England’s two eleventh-century foreign rulers, we have seen that neither Cnut nor William randomly chose the saints in whose cults they took a particular interest. The kings selected their saints, and honed their cults carefully, in order to give them significance on a national stage, fashioning them as saints whose intercession could be demonstrated as efficacious not just in their home region but across all England. In this process, Cnut has stood out more sharply than William. We have seen that Cnut has a strong claim to be considered as more than merely a notably generous 107 ASC,

MS C, s.a. 1016. The Liber Eliensis reported that Eadnoth had been killed while celebrating mass on behalf of the English army at Ashingdon. Although his body was to have returned to Ramsey, it only travelled as far as Ely, where the monks, led by Ælfgar, former bishop of Elmham, seized it and hid it. Eadnoth was thereafter venerated at Ely as a martyr: Liber Eliensis, ed. E. O. Blake, Camden Society 3rd ser. 92 (London, 1962), II.71, pp. 141–2. 108 S 958; see Simon Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 43–88 (p. 49), and Bolton, The Empire, pp. 92–3. 109 Bolton, The Empire, pp. 92–3. 110 Liber Eliensis, ed. Blake, II.79, pp. 147–8. 111 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1071–2. 112 Ridyard, ‘Condigna veneratio’, pp. 180–7. For William’s caution at the shrine of the saint, see Liber Eliensis, ed. Blake, II.111, pp. 193–4. 113 Cownie, Patronage, p. 166; cf. Bates, Regesta, no. 33.

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patron of English religious houses. Consideration of his involvement in the cults of three Anglo-Saxon saints has revealed the extent of his interest in the religious life and in its proper practice and regulation, something that led him to initiate what we might almost describe as a second wave of Benedictine reform during his reign. Cnut appears either to have overseen, or at least to have played a close role in, the reordering of some secular religious communities along regular, Benedictine lines, including two in East Anglia: St Edmund’s at Bury and St Benet’s at Holme. Furthermore, it was apparently during Cnut’s reign – and most plausibly under his auspices – that St Cuthbert’s relics were moved from their dangerous home in the borders at Norham on Tweed and relocated to the relative safety of Durham. Before Cnut’s time, Cuthbert had already effectively taken on the role of a quasi-national saint, a figure in whose promotion the West Saxon royal dynasty had taken close interest. Cnut attached himself to the banner of this most holy of saints for a range of reasons, political as much as spiritual, and William the Conqueror wisely followed suit. Both kings will perhaps have been motivated by a desire to augment royal power in the north of England. The case of Edmund differed somewhat. In the tenth century, his was a much more local cult, closely associated with the identity of the East Angles and with the members of the local aristocracy who had initiated the cult and given generously for the maintenance and support of the community that cared for the martyr’s relics. Cnut’s adoption and promotion of Edmund’s cult, and his support for the building of a new church at Bury, did much to enhance Edmund’s profile and helped raise him from local to national status. Cnut’s son reputedly, and Edward the Confessor demonstrably, continued to support Edmund’s cult, and William promoted it similarly, recognizing the saint’s wider significance to all the English. The cult’s success was such that by the early twelfth century there is evidence, as Tom Licence has noted, that Edmund was being seen as the patron of all England (‘totius Anglie patronum’), as he was described by Abbot Lambert of St Nicholas’s in Anjou. That he should have been thus perceived by an Angevin outsider is, of course, the more remarkable.114 The third example that I chose sits slightly uneasily in the wider picture of Cnut’s (and William’s) veneration of early English saints. Archbishop Ælfheah could – and indeed should – have been readily reconfigured as a national hero and saint; after all he died for sustaining the principles of Christianity against a barbarian Danish horde. But Cnut’s efforts to promote his cult at Canterbury had only limited success, at least in the short term, largely because of continental snobbishness about what constituted a real saint in the years after the Norman Conquest. William seemingly showed no interest in reviving his memory. It took the efforts of a monk at Christ Church, Canterbury – the Precentor Osbern – to recreate Ælfheah’s legend, turning him into a heroic figure, while at the same time giving the central role in this piece of political theatre to the Danish king. Compunction might have driven 114 Tom

Licence, ‘The Cult of St Edmund’, in Bury St Edmunds and the Norman Conquest, ed. Tom Licence (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 104–30 (pp. 117; 118 n. 86).

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Cnut’s actions in relocating the remains of the archbishop to Canterbury, but the translation may have owed as much to the prompting of the then-archbishop of Canterbury, Æthelnoth, who intended to treat his martyred predecessor as one of the most prized saints in Christ Church. That his later successor, Lanfranc, would see things so differently, Æthelnoth could not have predicted.

9 Cultures of Conquest: Warfare and Enslavement in Britain Before and After 1066 JOHN GILLINGHAM

I

n few spheres is the contrast between the Danish and Norman Conquests greater than in relation to slavery and slave-raiding. The Danish Conquest was followed by the continuation, quite possibly the intensification, of these practices. To say this is emphatically not to endorse the traditional custom, once very strong in Ireland, of blaming heathen Vikings for introducing the good Christian people of Britain and Ireland to ‘bad habits’. Slavery and slave-raiding appear to have been features of nearly all societies around the world ‘since time immemorial’.1 But it is to accept the likelihood that all sorts of cross-North Sea contacts, including slaving, increased after 1016. I see nothing implausible in William of Malmesbury’s assertion, despite its much later date, that Earl Godwine’s first wife, Cnut’s sister, had made a fat profit through the ‘hideous traffic’ of buying slaves in England, especially young and attractive girls, and selling them in Denmark.2 By contrast the Norman Conquest was followed by the demise of these practices. True, if Normans had conquered England in 1016, they might well have taken many captives to sell in Normandy, where, as the tale of Moriuht’s search for his wife and child reveals,

1 Thomas Bartlett, Ireland: A History (Cambridge, 2010), p. 40. For the wider point, see Jack Goody, ‘Slavery in Time and Space’, in Asian and African Systems of Slavery, ed. James L. Watson (Berkeley, CA, 1980), pp. 16–24; Warfare, Violence and Slavery in Prehistory, ed. Mike Parker Pearson and I. J. Thorpe (Oxford, 2005); Invisible Citizens: Captives and Their Consequences, ed. Catherine M. Cameron (Salt Lake City, UT, 2008); Michael Zeuske, Handbuch Geschichte der Sklaverei. Eine Globalgeschichte von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Berlin, 2103). 2 ‘agmina mancipiorum in Anglia coempta Danemarkiam solere mittere, puellas presertim quas decus et aetas pretiosiores facerent, ut earum deformi commertio cumulos opum aggeraret’, William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:362. According to William, she was punished for this by being struck dead by lightning.

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there was still an active market in slaves.3 On the other hand, had the Danes conquered England in 1066, there is no reason to think they would have presided over slavery’s disappearance. According to Adam of Bremen, writing in the 1070s, the Danes of Zealand were still deeply involved in the Baltic slave trade.4 If the continuation of customary practice after 1016 seems unproblematic, that is certainly not the case with its discontinuance after 1066. It is ‘very puzzling’, ‘one of the most intractable problems’.5 While Domesday evidence suggests that, in Essex at least, slave numbers dwindled markedly between 1066 and 1086, no strictly contemporary comment on that stage of the process is known to survive. Given how little written material survives from those twenty years this is hardly surprising. Nonetheless one consequence of the absence of comment is that it is difficult to work out just what the changing number means. The scale and nature of slavery in 1066 are themselves problematic. A Domesday-based estimate of the number of slaves in 1066 as 10 per cent or more of the recorded population, is high enough for Orlando Patterson, in his remarkably wide-ranging survey of slavery around the world, to regard late Anglo-Saxon England as a ‘genuine slave society’, i.e. a society in which slavery occupied a central place, as opposed to ‘merely’ one of the many ‘societies with slaves’.6 This estimate of number is at any rate roughly in line with those estimates of late Roman population which suggest that slaves comprised 10 per cent of the total.7 Yet if in 1066 ‘the majority of Domesday servi had their own plots of land, families and even servants’, as Robert Bartlett suggested, then merely an exercise in relabelling may be a partial explanation of what he termed ‘the apparent disappearance of slavery between the time of DB and approximately 1120’.8 A beneficial relabelling of people who nonetheless continued to live in various forms of unfreedom is compatible with Alice Rio’s suggestion that the decline in slave numbers, rather than reflecting a trend towards ‘economic intensification in general or a bold new approach to land management’ (the old

3

Warner of Rouen, Moriuht, a Norman Latin Poem from the Early Eleventh Century, ed. and trans. C. J. McDonough (Toronto, 1995), lines 243–330. 4 Adam of Bremen, Gesta, p. 233. On the continuing history of slavery in Scandinavia, see Ruth Mazo Karras, Slavery and Society in Medieval Scandinavia (New Haven, CT, 1988). 5 David A. E. Pelteret, Slavery in Early Medieval England (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 4, 258; Marjorie Chibnall, The Debate on the Norman Conquest (Manchester, 1999), p. 148. 6 Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death (Cambridge, MA, 1982), pp. vii, 354. 7 Kyle Harper, Slavery in the Late Roman World AD 275–425 (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 59–60. 8 Robert Bartlett, England Under the Norman and Angevin Kings 1075–1225 (Oxford, 2000), p. 319. On the subject of later documents that appear to involve the sale of individuals, note Paul Hyams’s argument that even those charters ‘which purport to transfer a villain on his own may have actually envisaged that his holding would pass with him’: Paul R. Hyams, Kings, Lords and Peasants in Medieval England: The Common Law of Villeinage in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries (Oxford, 1980), pp. 4–5.

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favourites), reflected rather the response of ‘new landlords settling in and having to assert control in all sorts of places at once’.9 In this chapter, however, I shall be chiefly concerned, not with the great bulk of settled and serf-like servi, but with the no doubt many fewer servi who were traded. The basic difference between the two sorts corresponds to that between the two distinct sorts of slaves that Mungo Park observed in the West African slave-owning, slave-trading societies in which he lived and travelled in 1795–6. While all slaves ‘claim no reward for their services except food and clothing, and are treated with kindness or severity, according to the good or bad disposition of their masters’, he distinguished between those over whom the rights of masters were restricted by certain rules of custom and the others. ‘These restrictions extend not to the case of prisoners taken in war, nor to that of slaves purchased with money. All these unfortunate beings are considered as strangers and foreigners, who have no right to the protection of the law.’10 Such slaves might in time improve their lot and especially that of their children, but at around the time of their capture and/or sale, they were in a desperate plight.11 Something of their misery comes across in William of Malmesbury’s description of the slave export trade from Bristol to Ireland: Videres et gemeres concatenatos funibus miserorum ordines et utriusque sexus adolescentes, qui liberali forma, aetate integra, barbaris miserationi essent, cotidie prostitui, cotidie venditari.12 (You would have groaned to see files of wretches roped together, young people of both sexes, whose youth and appearance would have aroused the pity of barbarians, daily exposed to prostitution, daily offered for sale.)

William, whose date of birth is uncertain but was probably 1085x90, was a monk of Malmesbury from boyhood, and must have seen many slaves.13 Some of them 9 Alice Rio, Slavery After Rome 500–1100 (Oxford, 2017), pp. 206–9. This would, as she points out, ‘make better sense of the fact that royal and church estates, where new deals did not have to be negotiated from scratch with all dependants at once, tend to show far less of a drop in the proportion of unfree people between 1066 and 1086’. 10 There were, he noted, ‘regular markets where slaves of this description are bought and sold’: Mungo Park, Travels in the Interior of Africa (London, 1817), ‘Chapter XXII: War and Slavery’, p. 99. 11 For the turbulent and spectacular career of one English woman enslaved by Norwegian raiders, see William of Malmesbury, GP, 1:614–17. 12 William of Malmesbury, Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom and R. M. Thomson (Oxford, 2002), pp. 100–3. Here, as elsewhere, I have slightly changed the published translation. 13 Domesday Book enumerates more than 1,500 male and female slaves in Wiltshire, including eighty-seven slaves on Malmesbury’s estates in the shire in 1086, and there were still greater numbers in Gloucestershire, Devonshire, Hampshire and Somerset: Pelteret, Slavery, pp. 192–3. For discussion of William’s date of birth and youth, see Rodney M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, rev. edn (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 4–5.

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may still have been alive when he was writing in the 1120s.14 Nonetheless, he gives the distinct impression that a once-flourishing slave export trade was by this date a thing of the past. In his Life of Wulfstan he credited Bishop Wulfstan of Worcester (died 1095) with an assiduous campaign to end it.15 In his much more widely read Gesta regum, he gave Wulfstan and Archbishop Lanfranc (d. 1091) joint credit for persuading a reluctant William I (d. 1087) to prohibit the sale of slaves to Ireland, despite the financial loss to the crown incurred.16 Other evidence also points to the years around 1100 being of crucial importance. According to Eadmer of Canterbury, a ban was proclaimed at the Council of Westminster in 1102 on ‘that wicked trade by which human beings in England were customarily sold like brute animals’ (‘illud nefarium negotium quo hactenus homines in Anglia solebant velut bruta animalia venundari’).17 The past tense of the verb ‘solebant’ is worth noting here; also significant is the fact that after the edict of 1102 there were, so far as is known, no more bans. Moreover, all previous English bans had been directed against the export trade, whether of Christians to non-Christians – which obviously would not have touched the Irish trade – or of compatriots to foreigners, as in that law of the West Saxon King Ine which laid down punishment for ‘anyone who sells one of his own countrymen, bond or free, over the sea’.18 To find a forerunner to 1102’s apparently blanket ban against all trade in human beings we have to go across the Channel, to tenth- and early eleventh-century Francia.19 William of Malmesbury regarded as particularly ‘inhuman’ (‘a natura abhorrens’) a practice he polemically claimed had been common in England on the eve of the Norman Conquest: men profiting by selling their slaves abroad after they had made them pregnant.20 His attitude here was strikingly different from the 14

At any rate, the unknown author of the Leges Henrici primi thought it expedient to devote several chapters to servi: Leges Henrici Primi, ed./trans. L. J. Downer (Oxford, 1972), pp. 238–45. 15 ‘Hunc tam inveteratum morem et a proavis in nepotes transfusum Wlstanus ut dixi paulatim delevit’: Malmesbury, Saints’ Lives, pp. 102–3. 16 ‘Ipsius etiam impulsu ambitum nebulonum fregerat qui consueto more mancipia sua Hiberniam venditabant… qui regem pro commodo venalitatis quod sibi pensitabantur renitentem vix ad hoc cogerint nisi quod Lanfrancus laudaverit Ulstanus preceperit’, William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:496–9. Domesday Book’s reference to a toll of 4d on each person sold as a slave at Lewes (Sussex) helps to explain the king’s reluctance: DB i, fol. 26ra. 17 Eadmer, Historia Novorum in Anglia, ed. Martin Rule (London, 1884), p. 143; Councils and Synods, 1:678; Pelteret, Slavery, p. 78. 18 The Laws of the Earliest English Kings, ed. and trans. F. L. Attenborough (Cambridge, 1922), pp. 40–4. 19 Hartmut Hoffmann, ‘Kirche und Sklaverei im frühen Mittelalter’, Deutsches Archiv 41 (1986), 1–24 (pp. 1–4). 20 ‘Illud erat a natura abhorrens, quod multi ancillas suas ex se gravidas, ubi libidini satisfecissent, aut ad publicum prostibulum aut ad externum obsequium venditabant’: William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:458–9. He made the same criticism of the merchants of Bristol: Saints’ Lives, pp. 100–1. The Arab traveller, Ibn Fadlan, was similarly offended by the behaviour of Rus slavedealers: Ibn Fadlan’s Journey to Russia, trans. Richard Frye (Princeton, NJ, 2005), pp. 64–5.

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value-system evident in the Irish Penitential of Finnian – one in which material profit was immaterial – since this laid down that a man who had sex with his slave woman should be required to sell her.21 Indeed, it was precisely the action of an Irish slave-owner selling a slave he had got pregnant (in due course she was to be St Brigid’s mother), that led Lawrence of Durham, in his Life of St Brigid, written in the 1130s, to comment on the passing of slavery in England. After alluding to ‘the ancient custom among the English, Irish and Scots whereby they resorted to trading in human beings more than in any other market activity’, and deploring the sale of family members, he noted that: After England began to have Norman overlords, the English no longer suffered at the hands of foreigners what they had formerly suffered at their own hands. In this respect they found that foreigners treated them better than they had treated themselves. Scotland and Ireland, on the other hand, which continue to have rulers from amongst their own people, while not altogether discontinuing their custom, do not practice it on the same scale as formerly.22

Although both William and Lawrence were particularly shocked by people selling members of their own family into slavery, it is unlikely that these unfortunates can have comprised more than a small proportion of those who came onto the market. The majority of those exported from Bristol are likely to have been Welsh, captured in raids into Wales, then brought to England to be sold. William described Bristol’s slave export trade as ‘old and well-established’, with dealers ‘buying up people from all over England’ and ‘daily putting people up for sale’.23 It is hard to see how an established export business can have relied on supply from people choosing to sell their own kindred.24 The evidence of Irish annals, much richer in that island than anywhere in Britain, suggests that selling

21

In addition to doing a year’s penance. The Penitential of Cummean contains a similar provision: The Irish Penitentials, ed. Ludwig Bieler (Dublin, 1975), pp. 88–9, 116. 22 ‘Mos enim ab antiquis temporibus Anglis, Hyberniensibus et Scottis hic inolevit, ut plusquam ceterarum mercium nundinas hominum frequentarent; magnam penes eos erat laudem meruisse et multos homines vendidisse. Et quod ferarum immanitate crudelius est, mater in filiam, filius in patrem, frater in sororem, in socerum gener, in uxorem maritus, et nature simul obliti et gratie, hanc plerumque noxam exercebant. Sed postquam Anglia dominos cepit habere Normannos, nuncquam hoc Anglici passi sunt ab alienis quod sepe passi sunt a suis, et hac in parte sibi meliores extraneos quam seipsos. Scotia autem et Hybernia, dominos habent de gente sua, nec omnino amisit ne cut olim exercet hunc morem suum.’ Life of St Brigid, in Vitae sanctorum Hibernie, ed. W. Heist (Brussels, 1965), p. 1. 23 Malmesbury, Saints’ Lives, pp. 100–3. 24 Especially while sale into other forms of unfreedom/servitude was an option. Note the prohibition on a daughter sold into servitude being treated like her purchaser’s other slaves, including being sold on to foreigners: Pelteret, Slavery, p. 83.

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members of one’s family happened very rarely and was associated with famine.25 By contrast, up until the mid-twelfth century the annals are full of laconic references to captives as well as cattle being carried off in warfare between Irish kings. Poul Holm counted forty-one instances between 913 and 1149.26 This is not, of course, high-quality quantitative evidence, but it is in line with comparative studies of enslavement around the world. Orlando Patterson concluded that in most societies capture in war was the dominant route into slavery.27 My argument will be that in almost all slave-owning societies, the number of slaves, unless replenished from outside, and principally by war, tended to dwindle over time, as slaves or their children gradually became assimilated.28 In the case of England, after 1066 the Normans and Anglo-Normans might have used their wars against the Welsh to replenish the stock of slaves – as the English had done in the past, with the result that, during the tenth century, the Old English word wealh (Welsh or foreigner) had come to mean ‘slave’.29 But for some reason the new lords chose not to do so. The underlying assumption always seems to have been that the end of slave-raiding warfare was itself no more than a secondary consequence of more fundamental developments in other spheres. No doubt the anti-slave trade campaign headed by Lanfranc and Wulfstan of Worcester played its part, since slave raiding depended to a large extent on raiders finding buyers for some of their captives, but the evidence that the Normans had given up slaving well before then is strong. There had, after all, under the influence of Archbishop Wulfstan of York, been repeated bans on the export of slaves in the reigns of Æthelred II and Cnut.30 But those bans had been ineffective. Ecclesiastical disapproval of the trade became effective only after slaving had already ceased being part of warrior culture. Before turning to the subject of the new culture of war in post-1066 England, a few paragraphs, however sketchy, on the treatment of the demise of slavery and the slave trade in English historical writing may be useful.31 Very striking is that, once gone, slavery and the slave trade were soon forgotten. William himself, and just possibly Lawrence, might have seen young people put up for sale, but those 25 A New History of Ireland. Volume I: Prehistoric and Early Ireland, ed. Dáibhí Ó Cróinín (Oxford, 2005), pp. 576–7. 26 Poul Holm, ‘The Slave’s Tale’, in Tales of Medieval Dublin, ed. Sparky Booker and Cherie N. Peters (Dublin, 2014), pp. 39–51 (p. 49). He discussed many of them in Poul Holm, ‘The Slave Trade of Dublin’, Peritia 5 (1986), 317–45. 27 A conclusion he reached despite his own insistence that the role of warfare can easily be exaggerated: Patterson, Slavery and Social Death, pp. 106–15. 28 ‘Almost all’ because the most famous slavery of all, in the antebellum American South, provides a glaring exception to this pattern. 29 Pelteret, Slavery, pp. 319–22. 30 The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I, ed. and trans. A. J. Robertson (Cambridge, 1925), pp. 78–9, 94–5, 112–13, 176–7; Pelteret, Slavery, p. 91. 31 See also the historiographical chapter in David Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors in Medieval Britain and Ireland, 800–1200 (Leiden, 2009), pp. 1–60.

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born a generation later may never have seen a slave. So far as I know, not one of the many who read William’s Gesta regum during the next few centuries took any notice of his remarks about William I, Lanfranc, and the ban on selling slaves abroad. It appears that the English, like many other peoples around the world, soon reached a state of collective amnesia about the fact of slaving in their own past.32 It went remarkably quickly from being taken for granted, to being remembered and reviled, and then to being forgotten. After this, when the English wrote about servitude in English history, they meant something else.33 It may be that for centuries to come the twin myths of Germanic liberty and Norman Yoke made it hard to engage with the notions of slavery in England and of the Normans’ – descendants of Vikings! – overseeing its decline.34 Instead, other alleged changes consequent upon the Norman Conquest came to dominate the historiography, notably the introduction of feudalism/knight service – despite the absence of any contemporary or near-contemporary evidence for it. Effective discussion of the decline of slavery in England began in 1897, with a single paragraph in the short chapter entitled ‘The Serfs’, in which Maitland demonstrated the sharp decline in slave numbers in Essex between 1066 and 1086: We shall not readily ascribe the change to any mildheartedness of the lords. They are Frenchmen, and in all probability they have got what they could out of a mass of peasantry made malleable and manageable by the Conquest. We may rather be entitled to infer that there has been a considerable change in rural economy.35

Maitland’s interpretation was reinforced by Vinogradoff: ‘that slavery... became obsolete in the feudal period is best explained by social and economic, not by religious or humanitarian considerations’.36 It may be that consensus around this point helps to explain the lack of interest in the subject in the first half of the twentieth century. Even so, it comes as shock to see that Stenton, in devoting over a hundred pages in 1947 to the Norman Conquest and settlement – and this in a work routinely described as ‘magisterial’ – said not a single word about the phasing out of slavery. In his analysis of Anglo-Saxon society slaves simply did not count, 32

See also Jacques Heers, Esclaves et domestiques au Moyen Âge dans le monde méditerranéan (Paris, 1996), pp. 9–11; Cameron, Invisible Citizens, pp. 2–3; Ann Brower Stahl, ‘The Slave Trade as Practice and Memory’, in Cameron, Invisible Citizens, pp. 25–56 (pp. 26–33). 33 William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:458–9. 34 Hence the starting point of David Pelteret’s book: ‘The existence of slavery as an integral part of early English society for over half a millennium comes as a considerable surprise to most people’: Pelteret, Slavery, p. 1. 35 In writing that ‘it is by no means impossible that with a slavery so complete as that of the English theów the Normans were not very familiar in their own country’, Maitland brought Norman culture into the discussion, but he clearly intended the culture of estate management, not of war: F. W. Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond (Cambridge, 1897), pp. 60–1. 36 Paul Vinogradoff, The Growth of the Manor, 2nd edn (London, 1911), pp. 333–4.

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enabling him to conclude that ‘to the ordinary Englishman who had lived from the accession of King Edward to the death of King William, the Conquest must have seemed an unqualified disaster’.37 In 1962 Henry Loyn took a different view: ‘In one respect the Normans made conditions better. The institution of slavery declined to such an extent under their rule that within a generation or two it became socially negligible.’ His discussion of causes was characteristically open-ended, embracing ecclesiastical thinkers, economic reasons and law, but it was also brief, comprising just two, widely separated paragraphs.38 More than twenty years later Marjorie Chibnall, in her Anglo-Norman England (1986), still deemed the subject worthy only of a single paragraph.39 Only with the publication of David Pelteret’s book in 1995, the culmination of work he had been engaged in since the 1970s, did the subject of slavery and its end in England begin to approach the prominence it deserved. He took from Orlando Patterson the idea that some sort of shock was necessary if a slave system were to come to an end. Unsurprisingly he identified conquest ‘by an alien group who did not share the traditions of those they subjugated’ as the ‘shock to the body politic that ultimately spelled the doom’ of slavery in England.40 Although Pelteret acknowledged war as ‘the major source of slaves’, he did not pursue the ways in which English and Norman customs of war might have differed.41 Instead, he remained within the existing consensus based on a mix of economic, legal and religious factors.42 Since slavery lingered longer in the Celtic parts of Britain than in the economically more developed south-east, the situation here seemed to fit 37

Frank Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1947), pp. 473, 488, 573–678, 677–8; 3rd edn (1971), pp. 686–7. Contrast his wife’s very different emphasis: ‘the very real distinction between the unfree peasant farmer and the slave’. Her suggestion that the disappearance of slaves can best be explained ‘by the increasing power of the king and the law’ reveals her characteristic faith in the civilizing effect of central government: D. M. Stenton, English Society in the Early Middle Ages (Harmondsworth, 1951), p. 135. 38 H. R. Loyn, Anglo-Saxon England and the Norman Conquest (London, 1962), pp. 326, 350–1. 39 Although she noted that the Norman Conquest was the first conquest in Britain that did not result in an increased supply of slaves, this did not impel her to say more about war: Marjorie Chibnall, Anglo-Norman England, 1066–1166 (Oxford, 1986), pp. 187–8. The subject went unmentioned in Brian Golding, Conquest and Colonisation: The Normans in Britain, 1066–1100 (Basingstoke, 1994), but made its way into the second edition (Basingstoke, 2013), p. 78. 40 Pelteret, Slavery, pp. 234, 253, 258–9. 41 Indeed, he observed that ‘from a comparatist perspective’ little had been written on warfare since H. Munro Chadwick’s The Heroic Age in 1912: Pelteret, Slavery, pp. 34 n. 172, 70–3, 256. I also managed to omit warfare in three long paragraphs, written in the late 1980s, on the decline of slavery: John Gillingham, ‘Some Observations on Social Mobility in England Between the Norman Conquest and the Early Thirteenth Century’, in England and Germany in the High Middle Ages, ed. Alfred Haverkamp and Hanna Vollrath (Oxford, 1996), pp. 333–55 (pp. 341–4). 42 Pelteret, Slavery, pp. 251–9. Chibnall’s summary in 1999 of the causes of slavery’s disappearance was clearly based on his work: ‘it resulted from a combination of economic, legal and religious factors’, Chibnall, Debate on the Norman Conquest, p. 148.

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the widespread belief associating the end of slavery with demographic, urban and economic growth.43 But throughout the world slavery has been compatible with many advanced socio-economic systems. Thus, although the decline of slavery in late eleventh- and early twelfth-century England occurred at a time of economic growth, it would be courageous to make that a sufficient cause. The old assumption that Christian teaching made a significant contribution to the decline of slavery in Europe still has adherents, notably Jeffrey Fynn-Paul. He has written of ‘the Latin Church’s increasingly anti-slavery ideology’, and even of ‘the church’s anti-slavery campaign’.44 But views giving weight to ideas such as that it was wrong to treat slaves cruelly are vulnerable to the objection that there was nothing specifically Christian about them.45 Fynn-Paul cites no evidence in support of his claim that ‘church leaders became increasingly vocal about the virtues of manumitting slaves’.46 While it is undoubtedly true that in Christian Europe manumitting slaves was thought of as a pious act of charity, the fact remains that it was not only in Christian societies that slaves were frequently manumitted. High rates of manumission have been compatible with very long-lasting slave systems, such as those of imperial Rome and the Moslem world. In most slave-owning societies, ‘the better the treatment of slaves and the more numerous the escape routes out of slavery, the more violence was required to replenish the ever-emptying pool’.47 In societies where war captives were relatively easily able to work their way along a slavery-to-kinship continuum until they or their children came to be settled into new structures, one of the functions of near constant warfare was to replace those needed to perform menial work and demeaning services.48 Pelteret’s suggestion that manumission ‘would probably have led to the eventual disappearance of slavery in England’ works only when

43

Hostility to this association led David Wyatt to insist that cultural factors, not economic ones, were determinative. But since no one has thought that slavery was compatible only with ‘backward’ economies (for the ‘only’ see Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors, pp. 57, 341), much of his argument takes on a straw man. The once ‘classic’ argument that it was more profitable to be a lord of peasant tenantry than an owner of slaves had already been undermined. See, e.g., Ross Samson, ‘The End of Early Medieval Slavery’, in The Work of Work: Servitude, Slavery and Labour in Medieval England, ed. Allen J. Frantzen and Douglas Moffat (Glasgow, 1994), pp. 95–124. 44 Jeffrey Fynn-Paul, ‘Empire, Monotheism and Slavery in the Greater Mediterranean Region from Antiquity to the Early Modern Era’, Past & Present 205 (2009), 3–40 (pp. 16–19). For the church of Rome’s acceptance of slavery into modern times, see John T. Noonan, Jr, A Church That Can and Cannot Change: The Development of Catholic Moral Teaching (Notre Dame, IN, 2005), pp. 17–123. 45 Hoffmann, ‘Kirche und Sklaverei’, pp. 9–10. 46 Fynn-Paul, ‘Empire, Monotheism and Slavery’, p. 19. 47 Goody, ‘Slavery in Time and Space’, p. 41. On manumission in Islam, see Patterson, Slavery and Social Death, pp. 114–15. 48 As noted in, for example, Pekka Hämäläinen, The Comanche Empire (New Haven, CT, 2008), p. 258.

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combined with a drying up of supply.49 Similar objections can be raised against the argument that the decline of slave ownership was in part an unintended outcome of the Church’s insistence that slaves could make a valid marriage.50 In the Islamic world, for instance, slavery persisted for many more centuries despite slave marriage being recognized in law.51 It makes little sense to overlook changing patterns of warfare when considering the question of supply of slaves.52 Land warfare does, of course, play some part in traditional explanations of the end of slavery in Frankish Western Europe. A receding frontier, whether for religious reasons, the spread of Christianity – or for political ones, Carolingian expansion – meant that West Frankish raiding parties had to travel further before they could get down to business in their ‘slaving zones’/‘hunting grounds’. Hence the supply of prisoners of war eventually became scarcer and more expensive than free labour.53 But we cannot simply assume that the kinds of explanation – such as the rising cost of slave-raiding warfare – that make sense in the situation of eighthand ninth-century West Francia will make equally good sense in another region several hundred years later. After the foundation of a single English kingdom in 927 its boundaries remained remarkably stable for many centuries.54 If the nature of warfare in England changed after 1066, it was not because the new lords of England had to go further than several generations of their predecessors when going to war against Welsh and Scots. Nonetheless the culture of war in England was transformed. What make the scale of change highly visible are those twelfth-century English descriptions of Scottish warfare that Matthew Strickland studied more closely than anyone before him 49 Pelteret,

Slavery, pp. 253, 259. But he had himself noted earlier that in the Roman Empire widespread manumission functioned as a driver to war as slave hunt: Pelteret, ‘Slave Raiding and Slave Trading in Early England’, ASE 9 (1980), 99–114 (p. 100). For a more complex assessment of the impact of manumission on various European societies, see Rio, Slavery, pp. 75–131 (pp. 114–26 on England). 50 Samson, ‘The End of Early Medieval Slavery’, p. 113; J.-P. Devroey, ‘Men and Women in Early Medieval Serfdom’, Past & Present 166 (2000), 3–30 (pp. 8, 19). For qualification of this line of argument, see Rio, Slavery, pp. 216–19. 51 A male slave was, however, entitled to only half the number of wives allowed a free man: Shaun E. Marmon, ‘Domestic Slavery in the Mamluk Empire’, in Slavery in the Islamic Middle East, ed. Marmon (Princeton, NJ, 1999), pp. 1–23 (pp. 5–6). 52 Even if this was for long made respectable by Finley’s dictum: ‘War produces captives, not slaves; captives are transformed into slaves by the consumers, who obtain them through the agency of slave traders’: M. I. Finley, Ancient Slavery and Modern Ideology (London, 1980, repr. 1992), p. 86. 53 Particularly difficult and costly was the inevitably much slower journey back from a successful strike, burdened with plunder, including captives, many of whom could move only with difficulty, and after all element of surprise had gone. 54 For a recent and forceful discussion, see David N. Dumville, ‘Origins of the Kingdom of the English’, in Writing, Kingship and Power in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Rory Naismith and David A. Woodman (Cambridge, 2018), pp. 71–121.

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had.55 He set out the implications in an important article in 1992. The Norman Conquest had resulted in the introduction ‘of differing conceptions and conventions of warfare’ into England, differences that had been lost sight of by historians transfixed by the fame and carnage of the Battle of Hastings. Before 1066 the Anglo-Scandinavians had shared with the Vikings, Irish, Scots, Welsh and Strathclyde Britons ‘the same general attitude to the enslavement of prisoners of war. Males stood a greater chance of being slain outright, while women and children were destined for the slave markets.’56 But by the mid-eleventh century the only human plunder the Normans took were those who were worth returning to family and friends after payment of a ransom, i.e., nearly always men.57 It was not that the Normans slaughtered women and children. It was rather that hunting them down was no longer part of the routine of war. In consequence in their wars in France they no longer had to face fierce resistance from males desperate to save their wives, daughters and sisters from being dragged off into captivity. After 1992 it should no longer have been possible to claim that ‘by the eighth and ninth centuries’ no evidence can be found to show that ‘Christian leaders of western kingdoms reduced other Christians to slavery during time of war’.58 In fact some Christian kings were still at it as late as the 1130s. But not those who ruled the post-1066 kingdom of England. They no longer invaded their neighbours’ lands prepared to do whatever was necessary to overcome the desperate resistance of men trying to save their families. What this had involved is made plain by this short extract from Richard of Hexham’s detailed narrative of the Scottish invasions of the North in 1138: They spared no rank, age or condition. They brutally killed children and kindred in the sight of their family, masters in the sight of their servants, and servants in front of their masters, husbands in front of their wives. 55

In the chapter on Scottish warfare in his 1989 Cambridge PhD thesis, subsequently published as Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996). There had already been important pointers in Robert Bartlett, ‘Technique militaire et pouvoir politique, 900–1300’, Annales 41 (1986), 1135–59 (pp. 1147–52), later reworked in idem, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350 (London, 1993), pp. 78–80, 303–5. 56 Matthew Strickland, ‘Slaughter, Slavery or Ransom: The Impact of the Conquest on Conduct in Warfare’, in England in the Eleventh Century, ed. C. Hicks (Stamford, 1992), pp. 41–59 (pp. 47, 59); Matthew Strickland, ‘Killing or Clemency? Ransom, Chivalry and Changing Attitudes to Defeated Opponents in Britain and Northern France, 7–12th Centuries’, in Krieg im Mittelalter, ed. Hans-Henning Kortüm (Berlin, 2001), pp. 93–122. For episodes of slaving by Anglo-Scandinavians, see ASC, MS C, s.a. 1036; MS E, s.a. 1052; MS D, s.a. 1065. 57 Although William of Poitiers twice referred to the possibility of the count of Ponthieu ‘selling’ the shipwrecked Earl Harold, the earl was much too high-status a figure to be sold as a slave. R. H. C. Davis and M. Chibnall were plainly correct in translating vendere as ransom: Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 68–70. 58 Fynn-Paul, ‘Empire, Monotheism and Slavery’, p. 17.

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Then, alas, they carried off their plunder and the women, both widows and maidens, stripped, bound and roped together they drove them off, goading them with spears on the way.59

Richard’s narrative, composed by an English author who had assimilated the Norman ‘code of war’, is a long one, sixteen pages long in the Rolls Series edition of his chronicle. Not since the sixth century had a year of slaving war across one of Western Europe’s internal frontiers (as opposed to various forms of civil war or rebellion) been described in anything approaching this level of detail.60 Indeed, surviving narratives from the previous five centuries are so few and so laconic that it was easy to miss two features of the cross-frontier warfare of the period. First, the systematic killing, not only of adult males but also of small children and the elderly, ‘those categories of persons who would move too slowly or whom it was uneconomic to put to work, but whose lamenting, living, clinging presence would have impeded the whole operation’.61 Second, the presence of females among the captives. Given that in the most influential studies of slavery the slave is typically ‘he’, it is easy for historians whose instinct is to picture prisoners of war as men to overlook the women.62 No doubt in these contexts the word ‘he’ ought to be read as though it embraces ‘she’, but it seems that for most early medieval historians female slaves long remained features of Islam and the harem.63 It was not until the 1990s, probably as a result of a combination of women’s history and the ‘cultural turn’ in general, that more serious attention was given to female slaves in medieval Europe. Even then the women who pioneered this approach remained, like their male counterparts, chiefly interested in the role and status of slaves, in how they fared after they had been sold, not in the circumstances of their enslavement.64 It took a while for the implications of Strickland’s work to come to the attention of historians of 59

Richard of Hexham, De Gestis regis Stephani, in Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II and Richard I, ed. R. Howlett, 4 vols, Rolls Series 82 (London, 1884–9), 3:156. 60 For thoughtful remarks on ‘why people did not write in detail about warfare’, see Guy Halsall, Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West, 450–900 (Abingdon, 2003), pp. 1–6. 61 John Gillingham, ‘Conquering the Barbarians: War and Chivalry in Twelfth-Century Britain and Ireland’, HSJ 4 (1992), 67–84 (p. 72), repr. in idem, The English in the Twelfth Century (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 41–58 (p. 46). 62 Sometimes owing to a casual translation of Latin and Old English words as ‘men’ instead of ‘people’: see John Gillingham, ‘Women, Children and the Profits of War’, in Gender and Historiography: Studies in the Earlier Middle Ages in Honour of Pauline Stafford, ed. Janet L. Nelson, Susan Reynolds and Susan M. Johns (London, 2012), pp. 61–74 (pp. 68–9). 63 Pelteret, Slavery, p. 71. Despite the wealth of information about female slaves in this book, the index has only one entry under ‘slave, female’ and none under ‘ancilla’. 64 Ruth Mazo Karras, ‘Desire, Descendants and Dominance: Slavery, the Exchange of Women, and Masculine Power’, in The Work of Work, ed. Frantzen and Douglas, pp. 16–29; Susan Mosher Stuard, ‘Ancillary Evidence for the Decline of Medieval Slavery’, Past & Present 149 (1995), 3–28; and M. Obermeier, Ancilla: Beiträge zur Geschichte der unfreien Frauen im Frühmittelalter (Pfaffenweiler, 1996).

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slavery, and perhaps they still have not.65 As Catherine Cameron, editor of a collection of essays dealing with slavery and captive-taking on four continents, observed as late as 2008, ‘while slavery is a well-studied practice, captive-taking is not’.66 It has, however, gradually become increasingly clear that, in Strickland’s words, ‘the ubiquity of slaving in early medieval Europe meant that… immunity from violence for women, children… simply did not exist’.67 It would be rash to assume that every Norman lord who came to England in and after 1066 always adhered to the French culture of war. There were certainly some in northern France who thought of the English as barbarians.68 Normans who saw the slave-owning English as markedly different and inferior might have been happy to treat them much as they had treated Muslims in Sicily.69 Two lines in Guy of Amiens’s Carmen de Hastingae Proelio point in this direction: ‘The Norman has taken captive boys and girls, even widows and also all the cattle.’70 A letter written in 1088, 65

For an exception, see a couple of sentences in David Eltis, The Rise of African Slavery in the Americas (Cambridge, 2000), p. 76. 66 Cameron, Invisible Citizens, p. 3. 67 Matthew Strickland, ‘Rules of War or War Without Rules? – Some Reflections on Conduct and the Treatment of Non-Combatants in Medieval Transcultural Wars’, in Transcultural Wars from the Middle Ages to the Twenty-First Century, ed. Hans-Henning Kortüm (Berlin, 2006), pp. 107–40 (p. 119). See also John Gillingham, ‘Christian Warriors and the Enslavement of Fellow Christians’, in Chevalerie et christianisme aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, ed. Martin Aurell and Catalina Girbea (Rennes, 2011), pp. 237–56; Gillingham, ‘Surrender in Medieval Europe – An Indirect Approach’, in How Fighting Ends: A History of Surrender, ed. Holger Afflerbach and Hew Strachan (Oxford, 2012), pp. 55–72. 68 The fact that William of Poitiers described the people of Kent as ‘less savage’ (minus feris) than their fellow-countrymen, implies that when he referred to the English force at Hastings as barbaricus and barbari, he meant something more condemnatory than merely ‘foreign’: Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 128, 132, 164. Writing to Alexander II, Lanfranc famously referred to his reluctance to be an archbishop in a land where ‘the language was unknown and the people barbarous’: The Letters of Lanfranc Archbishop of Canterbury, ed. and trans. H. Glover and M. Gibson (Oxford, 1979), p. 30. 69 When campaigning in Sicily, in 1063 for example, the Normans took and sold prisoners. ‘Nostri… reliquos vero debellatos vendentes, pecuniam infinitam accipiunt’: De rebus gestis Rogerii Calabriae et Siciliae comitis auctore Gaufredo Malaterra, ed. E. Pontieri (Bologna, 1927), p. 44. See also G. A. Loud, ‘Coinage, Wealth and Plunder in the Age of Robert Guiscard’, EHR 114 (1999), 815–43; Kordula Wolf, ‘Sostegni, sacchaggi, schiavi: relazioni tra cristiani e musulmani all’ombra delle conquiste normanne’, in Civiltà a contatto nel Mezzogiorno normanno-svevo. Economia Società Istituzioni, ed. Maria Bocuzzi and Pasquale Cordasco (Bari, 2018), pp. 169–217. They would do the same on crusade: John Gillingham, ‘Crusading Warfare, Chivalry and the Enslavement of Women and Children’, in The Medieval Way of War: Studies in Medieval Military History in Honour of Bernard S. Bachrach, ed. Gregory Halfond (Farnham, 2015), pp. 133–51. 70 ‘Captivos ducit pueros, captasque puellas, / insuper et viduas, et simul omne pecus’: The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio of Guy Bishop of Amiens, ed. and trans. Frank Barlow (Oxford, 1999), lines 165–6.

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or soon afterwards, either by William of St Calais, bishop of Durham, or by one of the bishop’s adherents, can be read as alluding to the slaving activities of the Norman sheriff of Yorkshire, Ralph Paynel. He invaded and plundered church lands, ‘distributed plunder, sold some people and allowed others to be ransomed’.71 But these are tiny scraps of uncertain evidential value. The penitential promulgated by a papal legate, Ermenfrid of Sion, probably at Rouen in 1067, dealt principally with the sins committed by those who killed during the war of conquest. It also briefly touched on adultery, rape, fornication, and the violation or theft of church property, but did not waste so much as a single word on enslavement. This suggests either that Ermenfrid and the assembled Norman bishops did not regard slaving as a sin, or that it did not occur to them that William’s soldiers, whatever Guy of Amiens may have imagined, could have acted like that.72 In the eyes of the Norman duke who claimed to be king of the English, his onetime enemies had to be treated, not as potential slaves, but as his subjects, and indeed that, at least formally, is how they were treated.73 But people who lived beyond the borders of the kingdom of England retained both their independence and their separate identities. A perception of them as barbarians became widely held and deeply entrenched. Orderic Vitalis, writing in Normandy in the 1130s, but who spent the first ten years of his life in the marches of Wales – he was born in 1075 – referred to the Welsh as unruly and savage barbarians. Even so, he condemned Robert of Rhuddlan (d. 1093), the man whom King William appointed to defend his kingdom against their attacks, for the way he carried out his task: For fifteen years he harried the Welsh mercilessly, invaded the lands of men who when they still enjoyed their original liberty had owed nothing to the Normans, pursued them through woods and marshes, and over steep mountains, and found many different ways of securing their submission. Some he slaughtered mercilessly on the spot like cattle; others he kept for years in fetters, or forced into a harsh and unlawful slavery (indebitae servituti). It is not right that Christians should so oppress their brothers, who have been reborn in the faith of Christ by holy baptism.74 71

‘predam distribuit, hominum vero quosdam vendidit, quosdam redimi permisit’, ‘De iniusta vexacione Willelmi episcopi’: Chronology, Conquest and Conflict in Medieval England, ed. H. S. Offer, Camden Miscellany 34 (Cambridge, 1997), p. 76. The fact that the word quosdam is used here does not mean that the preceding hominum necessarily means ‘men’ (as in the translation in EHD 2, p. 655) rather than ‘people’. For an alternative, non-slaving, interpretation of the passage, see Strickland, War and Chivalry, p. 279. William of Malmesbury believed that a slave market in Northumbria still operated in his day: William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:60–1. 72 Councils and Synods, 1:582–4. 73 The fading away of the markers of ethnic and cultural difference between the two peoples that had been visible in 1066 presumably reinforced this process. Assimilation after 1066 has been thoroughly discussed by Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity, 1066–c.1220 (Oxford, 2003). 74 Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, IV:138–9.

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I no longer assume that Orderic intended his readers to envisage individual Welsh people being dragged off into slavery.75 Perhaps he did, but striking though his condemnation of Robert of Rhuddlan is, especially in the light of Robert’s donations to Saint-Évroul (Orderic’s monastery), there is nothing here about the capture of women and children; these prisoners were kept in chains, not sold, as both the Scots and Welsh are said to have done in the 1130s. According to Richard of Hexham, the Galwegians and others ‘either kept their captives as slave women (ancillas) or sold them on to other barbarians in return for cattle’; according to John of Worcester, the Welsh ‘killed, dispersed and sold into captivity abroad innumerable people, both rich and poor’.76 Orderic may have meant only what William of Malmesbury had meant when he wrote that the Normans had reduced the English to servitude (servituti).77 If so, ‘unlawful servitude’ may be a safer translation of Orderic’s indebitae servituti than the published ‘unlawful unslavery’ quoted above. That, on the other hand, the Welsh, like the Scots, were still taking slaves when they attacked Norman and English settlements in the 1130s is plain enough. Indeed, in David Wyatt’s view, Celtic peoples insisted on retaining slave-raiding into the twelfth century as ‘a power-affirming symbol of cultural identity’ at a time when they were being provoked by ‘external cultural forces’.78 In the case of the Welsh the greatest of these provocations was, of course, the loss of their freedom, the invasion and settlement of their lands by the followers of the king of England, the kind of development which by the 1130s had made the author of the Gesta Stephani write that Wales was beginning to look like a ‘second England’.79 Irrespective of whether we are dealing with more Celtic slave-raiding, as Wyatt argued, or merely with more frequent reporting, it is the case that the period saw a long period of conflict as the English set out to conquer and, as writers such as William of Malmesbury saw it, to civilize the barbarous Celts.80 One early piece of evidence for disdain for Celts that has long escaped notice can be found in the letter that Hugh of Die, 75

See, for example, Gillingham, ‘Christian Warriors’, pp. 253–4 and Gillingham, ‘Surrender in Medieval Europe’, p. 71 n. 97. 76 Scots ‘eas vel sibi ancillas fecerunt, vel pro vaccis aliis barbaris vendiderunt’: Richard of Hexham, De Gestis regis Stephani, p. 157; ‘hominum innumerabilium, divitum et pauperum, occisio, dispersio et in exteras terras venditio’: John of Worcester, Chronicle, 3:220–1. 77 William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:458–9. For a single passage in which the word servitudo is used four times, twice to mean ‘slavery’ and twice to mean ‘servitude’, see Gerald of Wales, Expugnatio Hibernica: The Conquest of Ireland, ed. and trans. A. B. Scott and F. X. Martin (Dublin, 1978), pp. 70–1. 78 Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors, chapter 5, esp. pp. 362, 375–6, 392. 79 Gesta Stephani, ed. and trans. K. R. Potter and R. H. C. Davis (Oxford, 1976), pp. 16–17, not 14–15 (as claimed for purposes of argument in Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors, p. 348 n. 48). 80 John Gillingham, ‘The Beginnings of English Imperialism’, Journal of Historical Sociology 5.4 (1992), 392–409, and idem, ‘The Context and Purposes of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the Kings of Britain’, ANS 13 (1991–92), 99–118. Both repr. in The English in the Twelfth Century, pp. 3–18, 19–40.

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archbishop of Lyons, sent to William victorioso Anglorum regi in 1099. Here Hugh referred to the ‘many victories by which you have overcome barbarous peoples’ (‘tot victorias quibus barbaras nationes assidue superas’).81 Since, apart from his wars in France, William II had led or organized campaigns only against the Welsh and Scots, it is clear whom this ‘Gregorian’ archbishop had in mind. There can be no doubt that Celtic marriage customs inclined many monastically minded churchmen to condemn them.82 On the other hand, there is good reason to doubt Wyatt’s contention that the ‘behavioural norms expounded by the reform movement’ lay behind the Normans’ adoption of a new code of war. His view of William the Conqueror as a duke who ‘despite his brutal tactics at Hastings was committed to the revised codes of warfare endorsed by ecclesiastical authorities and expounded in the Truce of God’, relies upon a view of the ‘Peace of God movement’ that is hard to sustain. According to him, ‘for the architects of the Peace of God movement endemic warfare, lawlessness, rape and slave-taking were all associated symptoms of a wider disruption of God’s order’.83 On the basis of some of the secondary literature it is possible to see how Wyatt came to this conclusion. For Frederick Russell, the historian of the just war in the Middle Ages, the Peace of God was ‘the medieval expression of non-combatant immunity’. These days it seems perfectly reasonable to assume that ‘non-combatant immunity’ implied disapproval of enslaving the women and children of the enemy.84 But the decrees of those late tenth and early eleventh-century French diocesan assemblies contain not a single word about slave-taking. Indeed, the oaths taken by those who swore to uphold those decrees make explicit that they did not see wars waged by kings or other acknowledged public authorities as coming within their remit.85 81

J. P. Gilson, ‘Two Letters Addressed to William Rufus’, EHR 12 (1897), 290–1. Wyatt was reluctant to see William of Malmesbury as ‘an early exponent of the splendid English habit of regarding the course of English history as the triumph of civilisation over barbarism’ on the grounds that William’s negative attitude towards the Celts drew on ‘well established arguments and allusions evident in both the classical texts and the contemporary reform discourse of continental Christendom’, but the only example he offered of an ‘anti-Celtic’ author clearly earlier in date than William of Malmesbury is Warner of Rouen, author of the verse invective Moriuht: Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors, pp. 350–3. It is not easy to see the author of this picaresque and scabrous poem, as explicit about sex as it is about grammar, as someone who shared the ‘ascetic norms and objectives of the reform movement’. It is more plausible to see Warner looking back to a Carolingian anti-Irish tradition than ‘forward’ to Gregorian reform: see Keith Bate, ‘Les Normands et la litterature latine au début du nouveau millénium’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 43 (2000), 233–41. 83 Wyatt, Slaves and Warriors, chapters 4 and 5, esp. pp. 305–20, 324, 331–42, 393–4. 84 Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1975), p. 186. Cf. Robert C. Stacey, ‘The Age of Chivalry’, in The Laws of War: Constraints on Warfare in the Western World, ed. Michael Howard, George J. Andreopoulos and Mark R. Shulman (New Haven, CT, 1994), pp. 27–39 (p. 29): ‘In the Peace and Truce of God movements of the tenth and eleventh centuries we see the first systematic attempts to define and protect the status of non-combatants.’ 85 The aim was only the thoroughly traditional one of trying to limit the damage done by internal feuds: Hans-Werner Goetz, ‘Die Gottesfriedensbewegung im Licht neuerer Forschungen’, 82

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Conclusions The ‘Norman’ code of war, a code within which slaving was off the menu, was the product of Frankish political culture, not of the ecclesiastical reform movement. By the ninth century, Carolingian military triumphs had established what Paul Fouracre has termed ‘Frankish cultural hegemony within Europe’. Such was the Frankish empire’s great size that when Carolingian culture ‘began to dissolve into its component localisms’, the wars fought by the elite living in the western and central parts, West Francia and the Rhineland, an elite into which the ‘Northmen’ of Normandy became assimilated, were wars against their fellows, not wars against foreigners such Slavs and Magyars.86 Without there being any evidence of a churchmen-led campaign to bring it about, slaving warfare became a practice unknown to the ‘wars of the princes’ that characterized tenth- and eleventh-century France.87 This is why the ‘Peace of God’ councils, even if they had tried to legislate for the wars of kings, would still have had nothing to say about slaving. All of Europe’s polities continued slaving for several centuries after they had become Christian. (And, of course, wherever they came into contact with non-Christians along Europe’s eastern and southern frontiers, and later more widely still, they either continued or resumed slaving.) What mattered was not the explicit teaching of the Christian church, but the different cultures of warfare that different Christian societies assumed were compatible with their religion. In early Christian Ireland, for example, ‘a man could gain a slave for himself in bed as well as on the battlefield or in the market-place’.88 For the English before 1066 slaving warfare had been acceptable; under Norman rule it no longer was. Wherever the non-slaving culture of war became embedded, those who accepted the new norm condemned as savage and barbarous that form of warfare in which fellow-Christian women and children were targeted. All those who wrote about this, and whose opinions can still be read today, were churchmen, but this does not mean that the opinion-formers themselves had been churchmen. There is no evidence to suggest there had ever been a church-led campaign to end slaving in war. Insofar as there had ever been any ecclesiastical discussion of conduct in war – which was not very far at all –

in Landfrieden. Anspruch und Wirklichkeit, ed. Arno Buschmann and Elmar Wadle (Paderborn, 2002), pp. 31–54 (pp. 46–7). Cf. Philippe Contamine, La guerre au moyen age (Paris, 1980), p. 435. 86 On this, and how it came about as Frankish identity slowly spread through all the peoples who lived within the borders of the Carolingian empire, see Paul Fouracre, ‘Francia and the History of Medieval Europe’, HSJ 23 (2011/2014), 1–21 (pp. 12–15). Cf. ‘Frankish Europe, the Lands Ruled by the Carolingians, was the Heart of the West’: Bartlett, Making of Europe, p. 20. 87 Dominique Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight and the Historian (Ithaca, NY, 2009), p. 109; idem, La chevalerie. De la Germanie antique á la France du XIIe siècle, rev. edn (Paris, 2012), esp. ch. 3, ‘Une féodalité sans barbarie’ and ch. 4, ‘La mutation chevaleresque (1050–1130)’. 88 T. M. Charles-Edwards, Early Christian Ireland (Cambridge, 2000), p. 108.

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the question was ‘to kill or not to kill’, not ‘to enslave or not to enslave’.89 On the question of the morality of enslaving fellow-Christians defeated in war, it appears that churchmen had nothing to say until after the practice itself had vanished from the countries in which they were brought up. This was of a piece with their general lack of interest in the subject of ‘right conduct’ in war (ius in bello).90 No doubt the number of human beings traded may well mean that this commerce played only a small part within the overall economy of medieval England. Nonetheless the closing down of slaving in war as a source of supply after 1066, first in England and then gradually during the twelfth century throughout Ireland and the rest of Britain, hastened the end of slavery. In practice historians writing about slave supply have usually had plenty to say on trade and very little on war.91 In this respect, the historiography has reflected the priorities of an abolitionist campaign that focused on the slave trade, and made no attempt to ban slave-raiding. But if closer consideration of the ways war functioned as a source of slaves reveals that the majority of war captives were women and children, then this needs to be fed into any explanation of the decline of slavery within Europe. Compared with the question of the end of slavery in Europe, the question of why it disappeared in Britain and Ireland is, no doubt, a second-order question, just one aspect of that process which Robert Bartlett christened ‘the Europeanization of Europe’.92 Second-order it may be, but thanks to the remarkable surge of historical writing in twelfth-century England, revealing the nature of slave-taking warfare far better than anything composed in early medieval Western Europe, there may yet be something specifically ‘British’ that can usefully be contributed to the discussion of the fading away of slavery in Europe.

89

For example, Nicholas I’s letter to the Bulgars in 866: ‘you have greatly sinned in killing your enemies after victory and depriving innocent women and children of their lives’: Nicholas I, Epistolae ad res orientales pertinentes, ed. E. Perels, MGH Epistolae 6 (Berlin, 1925), no. 99, p. 577. 90 This comes across very clearly from a reading of David S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War c.300–c.1215 (Woodbridge, 2003). 91 See, for example, Joseph C. Miller, The Problem of Slavery as History: A Global Approach (New Haven, CT, 2012), pp. 36–72, where war and trade are grouped together as ‘slaving strategies’, with trade given far greater prominence. 92 Bartlett, Making of Europe, p. 269.

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10 Conquest and Material Culture CATHERINE E. KARKOV

I

n many respects the art of pre-modern England has always been an art of conquest. Waves of conquerors, settlers and invaders; foreign languages, customs and styles made a home on the island from the coming of the Britons to that of the Normans, and indeed beyond. Each successive conquest created something new, but also incorporated and built on that which had come before. The art of the Romans incorporated British styles and British sites in the creation of a uniquely Romano-British art, as can still be seen in the sculpture and architecture that survives in the frontier area of Hadrian’s Wall. The Anglo-Saxons in turn incorporated both British and Roman styles, sites and objects into their new art.1 This combination of reuse and reworking could go on for centuries, as it did, for example, on the Nunburnholme Cross, which began its art-historical life as part of a Romano-British building before being transformed into an Anglo-Saxon cross shaft in the late ninth or tenth century. It was then re-carved by an Anglo-Scandinavian sculptor later in the tenth century, and finally added to by an Anglo-Norman sculptor working some time shortly after the Norman Conquest.2 Reuse and reworking with the addition of some new styles or motifs was also a feature of the art associated with the conquests of 1016 and 1066. The art and cultural practices of the conquered were incorporated or appropriated into the art of the conquerors alongside imported styles and images, resulting in new 1 Catherine E. Karkov, The Art of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge, 2011), pp. 11–79; Martin Henig, ‘Remaining Roman in Britain AD 300–700: The Evidence of Portable Art’, in Debating Late Antiquity in Britain AD 300–700, ed. Rob Collins and James Gerrard, BAR British Series 365 (Oxford, 2004), pp. 13–23; Sarah Semple, Perceptions of the Prehistoric in Anglo-Saxon England: Religion, Ritual and Rulership in the Landscape (Oxford, 2013). 2 Catherine E. Karkov, ‘Postcolonial’, in A Handbook of Anglo-Saxon Studies, ed. Jacqueline Stodnick and Renée R. Trilling (Chichester, 2012), pp. 149–63; Martin K. Foys, Virtually AngloSaxon: Old Media, New Media, and Early Medieval Studies in the Late Age of Print (Gainesville, FL, 2007), ch. 5.

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hybrid styles that changed the art of both cultures. Yet the art associated with 1016 and 1066 differed from that of previous conquests in that it was explicitly concerned with creating a narrative record of its own history and new self-identity. This, in turn, created an ambivalence in the art of both conquests. Much of this art presents images and narratives of known historical events in ways that allow for multiple, sometimes contradictory, readings. Subtle details, such as the presence of a sword or the re-clothing of a figure in contemporary dress could help to shift the meaning in one direction or another, but criticism of the conquerors is rarely overt. The total destruction of the works of either the conquered or the conquerors, as far as we can judge from the historical record, is less common than the reworking or rebuilding of monuments, or the retelling or re-presentation of stories and image cycles. Commentary from both sides often lies hidden just beneath the surface of historical or biblical exempla that the viewer is left to interpret in the context of current political events. There is much retelling and repetition. Both conquests were, however, violent events, which large sections of the population would have experienced as trauma. It is possible that we should also be thinking about the ambivalence of the art of the conquered as a symptom of the inability to speak trauma, by its very definition an experience so profoundly wounding as to be inexpressible, yet at the same time one that emerges through mute, often unacknowledged, repetition.3 It is important to state at the outset that the dating of works of early medieval art is often imprecise. Much of the art from the period 1016–66 can be dated no more precisely than ‘eleventh-century’, and in some cases there is heated debate about which side of a conquest particular works might lie. Therefore, I will look first at those manuscripts and sculptures for which we do have relatively precise dates, and at one manuscript that spans the two conquests, before drawing some general conclusions about how both conquests changed the art of medieval England.

1016 1016 is a convenient date on which to pin the ‘conquest’ of the Scandinavians, but it should be remembered that it came after years of battles, invasions and settlements, and it is hard to separate commentary on the reign of Cnut from that on the attacks of the previous fifteen years. Moreover, by 1016 there was already a well-developed Anglo-Scandinavian style in England, especially in the sculpture of the north, which showed the incorporation of styles, motifs or monument types of one culture into that of the other.4 I will therefore focus in this chapter on works that are likely 3

See further, Cathy Caruth, Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (Baltimore, MD, 1996). 4 See Karkov, Art of Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 247–71; Lilla Kopár, Gods and Settlers: The Iconography of Norse Mythology in Anglo-Scandinavian Sculpture (Turnhout, 2012); Richard N. Bailey,

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to deal specifically with Cnut or the struggles that led directly to his conquest. As a number of studies have shown, Cnut was adept at manipulating his image as a means of establishing and maintaining his authority over different parts of his empire.5 Less consideration, however, has been given to the ways in which some of his own image-making might have been used against him. In England, Cnut stabilized his ascension to the throne by marrying Ælfgyfu/Emma, the widow of the former Anglo-Saxon king, Æthelred II, and ensuring that the æthelings Alfred and Edward remained in exile in Normandy – both acts that would eventually help to ease William and the Normans’ claim to the English throne half a century later. Cnut promoted an image of himself as a powerful Christian king very much in the model of his Anglo-Saxon predecessors and Ottonian/Salian contemporaries. The well-known image of Cnut and Emma donating a golden altar cross to the New Minster, Winchester that prefaces the Liber Vitae of New Minster and Hyde Abbey (London, BL, MS Stowe 944, fol. 6) begun in 1031, is a perfect visualization not only of this image of the king, but also of the narrative of his consolidation of power (frontispiece). It casts him as king, emperor and legitimate successor to the throne of Anglo-Saxon England. The miniature portrays both the king and queen, identified by name and by title, flanking an altar on which the king is placing his golden cross. Below, the monks of the New Minster witness the donation from beneath a domed structure probably meant to represent the Minster choir in which the book, as well as the cross, would have been displayed. Above the royal couple, angels swoop down from heaven to place a veil on the head of the queen and a crown on that of the king, and to direct their attention to the blessing figure of Christ in Majesty seated in a mandorla and flanked by the Virgin Mary and St Peter at the top of the page. It is known that the donation took place in 1020, not long after the king seized power, and that it was made in Cnut’s name alone. The composition is modelled on that of Ottonian and Byzantine ruler portraits – no doubt as a means of expressing Cnut’s imperial pretensions – but it unusually places the queen in the position of honour to Christ’s right and beneath his blessing hand.6 There are multiple ways of interpreting this anomaly, just as there are multiple ways of reading the miniature as a whole. It is possible that the arrangement was meant to provide visual documentation of the queen’s role in securing the king’s throne. It was she who stood for the old regime and continuity with the Anglo-Saxon court and its culture. She was already established as an important benefactor of the New Viking Age Sculpture in Northern England (London, 1980). 5 Elaine Treharne, Living Through Conquest: The Politics of Early English 1020–1220 (Oxford, 2012); Matthew Townend, ‘Contextualizing the Knútsdrápur: Skaldic Poetry at the Court of Cnut’, ASE 30 (2001), 145–79. 6 See further, Catherine E. Karkov, The Ruler Portraits of Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 119–56; Gale R. Owen-Crocker, ‘Pomp, Piety and Keeping the Woman in Her Place: The Dress of Cnut and Ælfgifu-Emma’, Medieval Clothing and Textiles 1 (2005), 41–52; Jan Gerchow, ‘Prayers for King Cnut: The Liturgical Commemoration of a Conqueror’, in England in the Eleventh Century, ed. Carola Hicks (Stamford, 1992), pp. 219–38.

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Minster, as well as numerous other monasteries, and is thus likely to have smoothed (or attempted to smooth) acceptance of the new king at one of the most powerful Anglo-Saxon monasteries, and the one most closely connected with the court. But it is also possible to read a subtle subversion of Cnut’s authority in the image. The New Minster community may well have been wary of the new king, his violent taking of the English throne, and his claims to a very imperial model of authority. The two readings, an image that asserts authority and an image that is critical of that authority, are not mutually exclusive, as there is more than a little ambivalence around the king’s portrayal. It is perhaps possible that the placement of the queen was entirely accidental (this is the first image of its kind to survive from AngloSaxon England), or simply dictated by the necessity of placing her beneath the figure of the Virgin, though both Cnut and the monks of the New Minster would have been keenly aware that kings take precedence over queens. One argument for reading the image as a visual narrative of succession and continuity is that other, later documents and images, for better or worse, convey a similar story. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles record Cnut’s summoning of Emma to become his queen, and the Encomium Emmae Reginae (hardly an unbiased source) casts Emma as the lynchpin of succession and continuity of rule.7 The Normans would create much more detailed narratives in both visual and textual form (such as the Bayeux Tapestry or the Life of St Margaret), intended to record the legitimacy of their claims to the throne, and their connections through descent or marriage with the line of Alfred. Be that as it may, the image of Cnut and Emma is unprecedented in Anglo-Saxon art, and has been studied almost universally in terms of its sources and its beneficent portrait of the king. Virtually no attention has been paid to its larger narrative context, and its role in the creation of a new type of art that would span the two conquests. So, what type of power might Cnut be seeking to exhibit in this portrait? Certainly, he is portrayed as a pious king. The brightly coloured cross at the centre of the page makes that much abundantly clear. But, almost as prominent as the cross, is the sword that Cnut grips firmly in his left hand. Its blade violates the borders of the drawing, a visual device habitually used in medieval art to draw attention to particularly important, intrusive or subversive elements in a work of art.8 Cnut is thus also a powerful military ruler, as any successful king would need to be. But the prominent sword is not a feature of the Ottonian and Byzantine images on which this drawing is based, such that its prominence seems out of place, especially in an image created in a monastic scriptorium and recording an act of piety. On the one hand, it can be read in relation to the key held by St Peter who stands above the king. Sword and key identify both figures as the guardians of their respective kingdoms, and Peter’s key is wielded as a weapon used to separate the saved from 7

Encomium, p. 32. The standard work on the subject is Michael Camille, Image on the Edge: The Margins of Medieval Art (London, 1992).

8

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the damned in the depiction of heaven and hell on (the following) folio 7r, which I will discuss further below. The pairing further makes it clear that Cnut rules with the authority of Rome and St Peter. On the other hand, would any Anglo-Saxon viewing the image have been able to forget that Cnut conquered by the sword, or that he continued to wield power through strength of arms and severity of law?9 His Letter to the English of 1019–20, written in the English vernacular, declares that he had received the pope’s authority to ‘suppress wrong and establish full security, by that power which it has pleased God to give me’; that he travelled to Denmark to suppress a threat to the country so that ‘never henceforth shall hostility reach you from there as long as you support me rightly’, and that defiance of the king was punishable by death or exile.10 This is an aspect of the conqueror’s rule that seems never to have been far from the minds of even some of the king’s most vocal supporters. Elaine Treharne’s analysis of Wulfstan’s final homiletic writings between 1020 and 1023 – the copy of the Sermo Lupi, Be Hæðendome and Be Christendome, which accompany Cnut’s Letter to the English in a quire the archbishop added to his York Gospels (York Minster Library 1) – has demonstrated that, at least by the end of his life, Wulfstan was as critical of the treachery and turmoil of Cnut’s reign as he had been of Æthelred’s.11 Similarly, the compiler of the c. 1030 Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 188, may have deployed Ælfric’s criticisms of the Viking raids and chaos of the years between 1005 and 1014–20 as a subtle attack on the final years of Cnut’s reign. Treharne cites the homily for the Second Sunday after Easter in particular, to which Ælfric had added a passage attacking the pride, treachery and deceit of the contemporary men and women: ‘they have the appearance of piety and they deny its virtue’.12 In each of these cases, criticism is couched in general moral or religious terms, or through historical exempla. Direct criticism would have been unspeakable for fear of retribution, but also perhaps because of the horror of the violence inflicted in the name of king and law. The fear and condemnation in these texts, written or copied in the period between the 1020 donation of the cross and the 1031 portrait, increases the probability that not all is as it seems in the Liber Vitae image of the king and queen. It is possible, then, that Cnut’s placement to Christ’s left was dictated by the need to make the sword and the violence it symbolized a prominent part of the image.13 Were the king in Emma’s position, the sword would have been at least partially obscured by his body, since the donation of the cross would have had to be made with his right hand.

9 On Cnut’s laws, see Katherine O’Brien O’Keefe, ‘Body and Law in Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 27 (1998), 209–32. 10 Gesetze, I:273–4; trans. in EHD 1, p. 453. 11 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 61–8. 12 ‘He habbað arfæstnysse hiw and wiðsacað þære mihte’: Treharne, Living Through Conquest, pp. 74–5. 13 I thank Laura Ashe for this suggestion.

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Another novelty of the image is that it depicts this king of the Anglo-Saxons as a ruler of imperial pretensions. The crown that the angel places on the king’s head is modelled on that of the Holy Roman emperors, immediately identifiable by its prominent arch.14 It is quite distinct from the crown worn by King Edgar in his two surviving portraits (London, BL, Cotton MS Vespasian A. viii, fol. 2v; London, BL, Cotton MS Tiberius A. iii, fol. 2v), and from those worn by other figures in Anglo-Saxon art. Cnut would have seen the imperial crown personally in 1027, when he travelled to Rome to attend the coronation of the emperor Conrad II in Old St Peter’s. It is clear from Cnut’s Letter to the English of 1027, written while he was returning north from Rome (and written this time in the Latin of the papacy and Empire), that Cnut was eager to cast himself as an emperor on a continental stage. In this second letter, Cnut identifies himself as king of all England, Denmark, Norway and parts of Sweden (Canutus, rex totius Anglie et Denemarcie et Norreganorum et partis Suanorum).15 He commences the letter by stating that he has gone to Rome to pray for the salvation of the ‘kingdoms whose people are subject to my rule’, not only for himself and the English.16 Cnut also declares that he had demanded from the assembled pope, emperor, kings and princes rights of safety for all the English travelling to and from Rome, and that his demands had been granted and confirmed by an oath sworn before archbishops, bishops and assembled nobles.17 Reaction to the horrors of the conquest and the power, or claim to power of the king, is undoubtedly reflected in a new set of images that became popular during Cnut’s reign – scenes of the Harrowing of Hell and the suffering of the damned in hell. These are by no means the first images of hell created in Anglo-Saxon England, but they are far more dramatic, narrative and focused on hell’s human inhabitants than were earlier images.18 The Liber Vitae portrait of Cnut and Emma introduces a two-page depiction of the saved waiting to enter heaven (fol. 6v) and a drawing of heaven and hell with a scene of judgement between them (fol. 7r).19 It might be possible to see the figure of Cnut present in this narrative. He could be represented by the figure of a noble layman, dressed something like Cnut, standing amongst the saved at the top left of fol. 6v. Alternatively, he could be represented by the slightly less grandly but similarly dressed figure of a layman who, along with a woman, is being carried off towards hell by a winged demon in the middle register of fol. 7r 14 Karkov,

Art of Anglo-Saxon England, p. 43. As Treharne notes (Living Through Conquest, p. 33 n. 12), the kingship of Norway was added to the letter in 1031. This was, of course, the same year in which the Liber Vitae was begun, and Cnut’s imperial self-fashioning was no doubt on the rise. 16 Treharne, Living Through Conquest, p. 30. 17 Gesetze, I:276–7; trans. in EHD 1, p. 477. 18 Compare, for example, the images of hell in the Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Junius 11, pp. 3, 16, 20 (dated c. 1000), or those on the eighth-century Rothbury Cross. 19 The relevant portion of the manuscript is digitized at: bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=stowe_ms_944_f006r [accessed September 2019]. 15

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(a veiled criticism of Cnut’s adulterous relationship with Ælfgifu of Northampton perhaps?). A third possibility is that the similarities between the three male figures are intended to suggest that Cnut’s fate hangs in the balance. Of course, this may be reading too much into this Last Judgement sequence; whatever the case, however, it is clear that judgement is the focus of the page. The key of Peter, symbol of his authority as well as the authority by which Cnut claimed to rule, features prominently in each of the image’s three registers. At the top it opens the gate of heaven; in the centre it is the weapon Peter wields against a demon; and at the bottom it locks the damned inside the gates of hell. Cnut explicitly stated in the Letter of 1027 that he had sought the special protection of St Peter, who was the bearer of the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and who had been granted by God the power of binding and loosing.20 This is followed by accounts of the assembled nobles who honoured him and the concessions Cnut was granted by kings and the pope; the implication being that he now ruled with the authority of St Peter, symbolized most particularly by his key. The key represented the power to forgive or condemn, as does Cnut’s sword on the portrait page.21 The repetition and prominence of the key in the opening sequence of images in the Liber Vitae would have served as a potent reminder to the king and the New Minster community of the need for fairness and justice – which Wulfstan, drafter of the I Cnut law code, clearly felt to be lacking. It is also noteworthy that hell is the most active and eye-catching section of this page. Peter stands with his key at the door to heaven, at the top of the page, but nobody is shown entering that kingdom, and it is inhabited only by tiny souls who look up at Christ in praise or peer from its windows. Hell, on the other hand, is an open beast mouth in which the damned writhe or wrestle with a giant demon, while a pair of sinners appears to plummet from the middle register into the hell mouth below. Again, there is no clearly identifiable criticism of the king in this image. Read in the context of the texts that were being produced and circulated at the time, however, its focus on violence and the suffering of those in hell could only have called to mind contemporary troubles, and the duplicity and greed of the king and his nobles, as reflected in the writings of the homilists. Images of the Harrowing of Hell grew in popularity between the conquest of the Scandinavians and that of the Normans. One of the iconographic sources for the Harrowing lies in late Roman images of the emperor extending his hand to liberate conquered peoples, an image that was quickly appropriated to represent an image of the triumph of Christ and the church over evil.22 The subject is thus ironically appropriate within this particular historical context. Four depictions of the Harrowing survive: two in the Harley Psalter (London, BL MS Harley 603,

20 Karkov,

Ruler Portraits, pp. 136–7. See further, Karkov, Ruler Portraits, pp. 133–4. 22 André Grabar, L’Empereur dans l’Art Byzantin (Paris, 1936), pp. 245–9; André Grabar, Christian Iconography: A Study of its Origins (Princeton, NJ, 1968), p. 126. 21

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fols 8 and 71);23 one in the Tiberius Psalter of c. 1020 (London, BL, Cotton MS Tiberius C. vi, fol. 14), and the mid-eleventh-century relief carving now in Bristol Cathedral.24 The Bristol Harrowing of Hell is a monumental piece of architectural sculpture, perhaps part of a larger series of narrative panels or a frieze, but its exact original location remains unknown. The life-size figure of Christ is shown treading on a very human looking (and only slightly smaller) Satan, whose chained, twisted and broken body writhes in the fanged beast mouth of hell. With his left hand Christ reaches down to pull Adam and Eve from the muzzle of the hell-mouth, while the arms of other figures reach towards him from across the right-hand edge of the sculpture. The biblical episode has been turned into a human emotional drama. The reaching arms of the tiny human souls effectively convey their urgency, and Christ has already clasped the wrist of one figure in his hand and begun to raise him upward. Though it is difficult to see in illustrations, Christ bends down towards the souls in hell with a remarkable look of compassion on his face. The human appearance of Satan might be compared with the representations of Satan in hell in the Junius 11 manuscript (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Junius 11, pp. 3, 16, 20), although in that manuscript Satan retains some demonic elements, while here there appear to be none.25 Rather, Satan is shown as a grotesque and naked man with an elongated nose (or is he wearing a helmet?) who snarls at Christ’s ankle with bared teeth as if about to bite it. There is no exact parallel for the figure in either Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-Norman art, and his human form in this panel certainly encourages the viewer to read him through the lens of contemporary battle and conflict. He is violent and grotesque, but he is also a figure that might not be out of place in the contemporary landscape. The panel is a monumental sculpture and would have been displayed in a public setting. Like the sermons of the homilists, its message of torment and the hope of ultimate salvation was both a product of the years following the 1016 conquest and a critique of them, that would have reached a wide audience. The opposition between good and evil, peace and violence, is one of the main themes of the psalms, and hence of the psalter and its illumination. In the Harley 603 Psalter the drama of that conflict is illustrated even more violently and in more 23

The Harley Psalter, begun c. 1020, is modelled in part on the Carolingian Utrecht Psalter of c. 800 (Utrecht, Rijksuniversiteit Bibliotheek, MS 32). Both images of Hell are present in the Utrecht model, though the Harley artists have introduced significant differences. The Utrecht manuscript is discussed further below. 24 Image and description available in The Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture (Durham, 2019) at: ascorpus.ac.uk/catvol7.php?pageNum_urls=37 [accessed September 2019]. For the date of the panel, see Maria Muñoz de Miguel, ‘The Iconography of Christ Victor in Anglo-Saxon Art: A New Approach to the Study of the “Harrowing of Hell” Relief in Bristol Cathedral’, in ‘Almost the Richest City’: Bristol in the Middle Ages, ed. Laurence Keen, British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions 19 (Leeds, 1997), pp. 75–80; The Medieval Art, Architecture and History of Bristol Cathedral, ed. Jon Canon and Beth Williamson (Woodbridge, 2011), p. 6. 25 Karkov, Art of Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 240–3.

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contemporary terms than in perhaps any other surviving Anglo-Saxon illuminated manuscript. Generations of art historians have studied Harley 603 for its relationship to its prime exemplar, the Utrecht Psalter, and its place in the so-called Utrecht tradition. It was only towards the end of the last millennium that scholars began to appreciate the psalter for its weaving of contemporary history into its images, and for its commentary on historical events. The manuscript was begun at either Christ Church or St Augustine’s, Canterbury c. 1020, worked on intermittently for over a century, and ultimately left unfinished. It was begun for, or in honour of, one of the early eleventh-century archbishops: Ælfric (995–1005), Ælfheah (1005–12), Lyfing (1012–20) or Æthelnoth (1020–38). In light of the increased drama and violence of its miniatures, and the generally accepted references it contains to Ælfheah’s martyrdom in a section completed in the first half of the twelfth century by Artist H,26 it seems most likely that it was produced in the martyred archbishop’s honour. Ælfheah had been martyred in 1012 when he was taken prisoner by Danes under the command of Cnut’s father Svein. When he refused to pay the enormous ransom demanded for him, or to allow it to be paid on his behalf, he was pelted with objects at a drunken feast and then killed with a blow from an axe.27 Celia Chazelle has suggested that the illustration to Psalm 1 in the Psalter, which shows the blessed man meditating on his book and the wicked man as a military leader with an armed entourage, carries a message against the violence of the Danes under both Svein and Cnut.28 I have expressed doubts regarding whether it could really be understood as being antiCnut, since Cnut was responsible for translating Ælfheah’s remains from London to Canterbury in 1023.29 Yet would it have been possible for the conquering king to have been separated from the previous decade of Scandinavian atrocities so easily? And would Cnut’s actions have been understood as entirely religious or, at least in part, as a political manoeuvre to ‘buy’ the monastery’s favour? The artist of this opening image (Artist A) has departed from his Utrecht model by updating the clothing of the wicked man and his retinue, so that they now wear contemporary garments rather than classical attire. The wicked man’s sword has been magnified in size, so that it is almost as large as the soldier standing next to it. The wicked man himself has been given a contemporary beard, and a scowling face with an expression not that far removed from that of Satan in the Bristol Harrowing of Hell relief. In contrast, the blessed man, though not a monk, is depicted as a scholar not just meditating on, but 26 My identifications of the artists follow those of William Noel, The Harley Psalter (Cambridge, 1995). 27 For a discussion of Ælfheah’s cult in the eleventh century, see Sarah Foot’s chapter in this volume, ‘Kings, Saints and Conquests’, pp. 140–64. 28 Celia Chazelle, ‘Violence and the Virtuous Ruler in the Utrecht Psalter’, in The Illustrated Psalter: Studies in the Content, Purpose and Placement of its Images, ed. F. Büttner (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 337–48 (p. 341). 29 Catherine E. Karkov, ‘Reading the Trinity in the Harley Psalter’, in Crossing Boundaries: Interdisciplinary Approaches to the Art, Material Culture, Language and Literature of the Early Medieval World, ed. Eric Cambridge and Jane Hawkes (Oxford, 2017), pp. 90–6.

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tracing with his fingers the opening words of Psalm 1, written in tiny letters in the book before him.30 The arrangement, and the fact that the blessed man was intended to be understood in connection with monastic contemplation, if not with the archbishop for or in honour of whom the book was made, is strengthened by the work of Artist I who, at some point in the 1030s or 1040s, added the historiated initial that begins the text of Psalm 1 on the facing page. The initial contains the figure of Christ, at whose feet an archbishop hunches over the end of a scroll, his pose mirroring that of the blessed man hunched over his book, and contained within the very words the blessed man is shown reading. Work on the Harley Psalter continued into the twelfth century, and the manuscript thus spans the years of both conquests. Artist H, working in the first half of the twelfth century, added a number of drawings, including those for Psalms 52 (Fig. 10.1) and 59, both of which are understood to contain the same anti-Scandinavian message of the Psalm 1 illustration – indeed, the style of his work looks back to that of the original artist. The illustration to Psalm 52 includes, at left, an image of a figure being stoned, as Ælfheah was pelted, in front of an evil military king with a large sword who is clearly based on the wicked man of the Psalm 1 illustration. The drawing has been changed from the Utrecht exemplar, in which the figure being murdered is sawn in half, the evil ruler is a classical figure, and there is no demon counselling him. The overall level of violence has been increased so that there are more dead bodies, and figures are trampled and die by the sword as if in a contemporary battle. In the illustration to Psalm 59, the violence has again intensified from that of the same image in Utrecht. At left, the ground is covered with the bodies of the dead, and a man about to be beheaded throws up his arms in despair, while at centre a group defends a walled town by pelting their attackers with stones and spears. It was clearly understood at the time as a depiction of the Scandinavian siege of Canterbury, since it served as the model for that scene in the twelfth-century St Ælfheah window in Canterbury Cathedral.31 Whether it was also meant as a warning to, or comment on the actions of the Normans, is unclear, but the violent deaths and gruesome faces of the Danes have much in common with similar details in the twelfth-century Life and Miracles of St Edmund King and Martyr (New York, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.736). Both Barbara Abou el-Haj and Cynthia Hahn have elucidated in great detail how the images of the death of Edmund and the atrocities committed by Svein and the Scandinavians depicted in that manuscript were intended as warnings against infringements on the wealth and independence of the monastery by the Normans.32 The Anglo-Saxon 30

The book in the corresponding image in the Utrecht Psalter only contains squiggles, not actual words. 31 Noel, The Harley Psalter, p. 141. 32 Barbara Abou-el-Haj, ‘Bury St Edmunds Abbey Between 1070 and 1124: A History of Property, Privilege and Monastic Art Production’, Art History 6 (1983), 1–30; Cynthia Hahn, ‘Peregrinatio et Natio: The Illustrated Life of Edmund, King and Martyr’, Gesta 30.2 (1991), 119–39.

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Fig. 10.1 Psalm 52 (London, BL, MS Harley 603, fol. 29). © The British Library Board.

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past, its saints, and its history continued to resurface to warn, protest, and do battle against the conquerors.33 Such stories were told and repeated to speak for those unable to speak in the present.

1066 The Norman Conquest of 1066 had a more immediate and dramatic impact on the material culture of England, perhaps because the Normans were more keenly aware of the power of art and architecture as both propaganda and a means of control. It could also be due to the fact that they had the time and resources to appropriate, destroy and/or rebuild on a monumental scale, and perhaps also that their rebuilding, reworking and rewriting of the material record means that much of what was original to the conquest of 1016 has since been lost. By 1120, all of the established Anglo-Saxon cathedrals had been rebuilt or relocated. Monasteries too were rebuilt – Canterbury, Jarrow and Wearmouth are prime examples – and repopulated with new Benedictine communities.34 It was the cathedrals, however, that made the grandest of statements. In 1067 Canterbury Cathedral was destroyed by fire and its complete rebuilding began in 1070 under its first Norman archbishop, Lanfranc (1070–7). The new cathedral was built in the imported Norman style of St-Etienne, Caen, with high stone vaults, thick walls, large stained-glass windows and, eventually, a large and highly decorated crypt and choir. Stone for the church was imported from Caen, making Canterbury in effect both Norman and English, and hence a conspicuous statement of a new hybrid Anglo-Norman identity. Bishop William de Warelwast, nephew of the conqueror-king William, began a new Norman-style cathedral at Exeter in 1107. At Winchester, Bishop Walkelin also began work on an entirely new cathedral in 1079, but in this case features of the Anglo-Saxon cathedral (as well as references to Edward the Confessor’s Westminster Abbey and Old St Peter’s, Rome) were incorporated into the new structure, most likely as an expression of cultural continuity as well as Norman appropriation.35 Perhaps the most powerful architectural statements were reserved for the North of England, a particularly unstable area of potential rebellion in the years immediately following the Conquest. Edgar Ætheling (1051–1126), son of 33 On the continuity of such a use of Norman saints in medieval art, see especially Alyce A. Jordan, ‘Postcolonialising Thomas Becket: The Saint as Resistant Site’, in Postcolonising the Medieval Image, ed. Eva Frojmovic and Catherine E. Karkov (Farnham, 2017), pp. 169–95. 34 On Norman rebuilding in the north, see Deirdre O’Sullivan, ‘Normanising the North: The Evidence of Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Scandinavian Sculpture’, Medieval Archaeology 55 (2011), 163–91. 35 On Winchester, see Richard Gem, ‘The Romanesque Cathedral of Winchester: Patron and Design in the Eleventh Century’, in Medieval Art and Architecture at Winchester, British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions 6 (London, 1983), 1–12.

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Edward the Exile and the last surviving direct male descendent of the West Saxon line had been named king in 1066, although he was never crowned. Fleeing to Scotland in 1068, he returned in 1069 with English, Scottish and Danish support to lead a rebellion that briefly overthrew Norman power in the north. William responded by harrying the north, devastating or destroying many of its major Anglo-Saxon monuments, and Edgar fled back to Scotland in 1070. York Minster was badly damaged, repaired and destroyed again by the Danes in 1075, at which point it too was rebuilt in the Norman style. The finest surviving example of the new Norman style of architecture, and the clearest statement of Norman control of the North, is Durham Cathedral (Fig. 10.2), begun in 1083 under William of Saint-Calais, who had also been appointed Durham’s first prince-bishop in 1080. The prince-bishops had political and military authority in addition to being religious leaders, and their power was manifested architecturally in the erection on the Durham peninsula of the combined cathedral and castle complex that continues to dominate the local landscape. Symeon of Durham records that the new bishop ordered the old Anglo-Saxon church to be demolished, and the first stones of the new structure were laid by the bishop and his prior, Turgot, in 1093.36 The dimensions of the new cathedral were based on those of Old St Peter’s in Rome, and the spiral design carved into many of its piers is believed to have been modelled on the spiral columns surrounding the shrine of St Peter. This was particularly appropriate to a cathedral that housed the shrine of St Cuthbert, England’s great national saint. As Malcolm Thurlby has noted, the spiral columns and ribbed vaults that were a feature of what was basically architectural furniture in Rome, have at Durham been translated into monumental architectural form, as befits the ambition of Durham’s architectural statement.37 On the other hand, the wall passage of the clerestory and the chevron and dog-tooth patterns of much of the interior ornament and articulation are identifiably Norman – again, a combined statement of political and religious authority on an awe-inspiring scale. Bishop William was also careful to ensure that his new cathedral both referenced and surpassed in grandeur and ornamentation the other major new Anglo-Norman churches, especially Winchester.38 The imposing twinned towers of the eastern and western facades gave the cathedral a fortified appearance (in addition to dominating the landscape), and the expanded gallery reached by unusually wide staircases may have been designed with the potential need for defence in mind.39 There is little

36

Symeon of Durham, Libellus de exordio atque procursu istius hoc est Dunhelmensis ecclesie, ed. and trans. David Rollason (Oxford, 2000), 4.8. 37 Malcolm Thurlby, ‘The Roles of the Patron and the Master Mason in the First Design of the Romanesque Cathedral of Durham’, in Anglo-Norman Durham, ed. David Rollason, Margaret Harvey and Michael Prestwich (Woodbridge, 1994), pp. 161–84 (p. 165). 38 See further, Thurlby, ‘Roles of the Patron and the Master Mason’. 39 See A. W. Klukas, ‘The Architectural Implications of the Decreta Lanfranci’, ANS 6 (1983/4), 136–71 (pp. 151–65); Thurlby, ‘Roles of the Patron and the Master Mason’, pp. 173–4.

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Fig. 10.2  Durham Cathedral (author’s own photograph).

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that can be identified as Anglo-Saxon in the new cathedral, although the linearity and interest in surface pattern evident in features such as the overlapping arches adorning the presbytery aisles, and the carving of the nave piers, are certainly in accord with Anglo-Saxon tastes. Thurlby has compared the former to the canon tables of Anglo-Saxon gospel books, suggesting that it may have been a deliberate reference to continuity for the rebuilt shrine of St Cuthbert.40 Anglo-Saxon England was certainly referenced in the poem ‘Durham’, most likely composed to commemorate the 1104 translation of Cuthbert’s relics into the new cathedral. The poem makes it clear that Cuthbert, together with the other saints whose relics formed part of the Cuthbert community, was envisaged as inhabiting the city alongside the Norman conquerors: Is ðeos burch breome geond Breotenrice steppa gestaðolad, stanas ymbutan wundrum gewæen. Weor ymbeornad, ea yðum stronge, and ðer inne wunað feola fisca kyn on floda gemonge. And ðær gewæxen is wudafæstern micel; wuniad in ðem wycum wilda deor monige, in deope dalum deora ungerim. Is in ðere byri eac bearnum gecyðed ðe arfesta eadig Cudberch and ðes clene cyninges heafud, Osuualdes, Engla leo, and Aidan bsicop, Eadberch and Eadfrið æðele geferes. Is ðer inne midd heom Æðelwold biscop and breoma bocera Beda, and Boisil abbot, ðe clene Cudberte on gecheðe lerde lustum, and he his lara welgenom. Eardiæð æt ðem eadige in in ðem minstre unarimede reliquia, ðær monia wundrum gewurðað ðæs ðe writ seggeð, midd ðene drihtnes wer domes bideð. (This city is famous throughout Britain, steeply founded, the stones around it wondrously grown. The Wear runs around it, the river strong in waves, and there in it dwell many kinds of fish in the mingling of the water. And there has also grown up a secure enclosing wood; in that place dwell many wild animals, countless animals in the deep dales. There is also in the city, as it is known to men, the righteous blessed Cuthbert and the head of the pure king – Oswald, lion of the English – and Bishop Aidan, Eadbert and Eadfrith, the noble companions. Inside with them is Bishop Æthelwold 40

Thurlby, ‘Roles of the Patron and the Master Mason’, p. 174.

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and the famous scholar Bede, and Abbot Boisil, who vigorously taught the pure Cuthbert in his youth, and he learned his lessons well. Along with the blessed one, there remain in the minster countless relics where many miracles occur, as it is said in writing, awaiting the Judgement with the man of God.)41

The foundations of Northumbria – personified in particular by its first great Christian king, Oswald, its first historian, Bede, and, of course, St Cuthbert – thus became the foundations of the new Anglo-Norman principality. As has been noted, ‘Durham’ is a postcolonial poem that complicates any attempt to understand the post-1066 conquest period simply in terms of competing AngloSaxon or Anglo-Norman identities.42 That complication is symptomatic of AngloNorman rewriting both of Anglo-Saxon history and of their own history as part of Anglo-Saxon history, as well as of Anglo-Norman claims to the land. The rebuilding of the cathedrals and the appointing of a Norman clerical elite were also means of gaining control of the relics of the saints, and the control over land and wealth that was vested in their bodies.43 There was nothing new or particularly Norman about this – Bishop Æthelwold had employed similar tactics during the tenth-century monastic reform, most notably at Winchester and Ely – but the geographical and architectural magnitude of the endeavour was unprecedented. New also was the extent of its documentation. As Laura Ashe has demonstrated, the century or so following 1066 witnessed an explosion of narrative writing, ‘fictional’ and ‘historical’ – the two can not always be separated – that was focused on the creation of a unified English postcolonial identity.44 That process is particularly well documented at Durham, perhaps because of the extent of the legacy and lands of St Cuthbert. Symeon of Durham’s Libellus de Exordio, written between 1104x1107 and 1115, is a prime example of the writing of contemporary Anglo-Norman identity into an Anglo-Saxon past from which it is shown to be inseparable. The Libellus is both history and hagiography, beginning with an account of St Oswald, and documenting both Northumbrian history and the history of the Cuthbert community from its origins at Lindisfarne to the present day. In the process, it rewrites the histories of those whose relics rest in Durham Cathedral – the same relics cata41

Text and translation from Heather Blurton, ‘Reliquia: Writing Relics in Anglo-Norman Durham’, in Cultural Diversity in the British Middle Ages: Archipelago, Island, England, ed. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen (New York, 2008), pp. 39–56 (pp. 40–1). 42 See further, Meryl Foster, ‘Custodians of St Cuthbert: The Durham Monks’ Views of their Predecessors, 1083–c. 1200’, in Anglo-Norman Durham, ed. Rollason, Harvey and Prestwich, pp. 53–65; Blurton, ‘Reliquia: Writing Relics in Anglo-Norman Durham’. 43 See, e.g., St Albans with its relics of Alban (1077); Winchester with its relics of St Swithun as well as those of many of the kings and queens of the West Saxon dynasty (1079); St Æthelthryth and her sisters at Ely (1081); Bury St Edmunds with the relics of King Edmund of East Anglia, who was said to have protected the abbey and its wealth from Svein, dealing him his death blow in the process (1081). 44 Laura Ashe, Fiction and History in England, 1066–1200 (Cambridge, 2007).

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logued in the ‘Durham poem’.45 Symeon records the migration of the Lindisfarne monks across the north carrying the body of St Cuthbert and their other relics, in the process cataloguing their resting places, and thus the bounds of the land that formed the core geographical patrimony of the community. Other endowments are also recorded, such as the land given to the community while they were located at Chester-le-Street by the Viking King Guthred.46 The travels of the Lindisfarne monks provided a parallel for the travels of the Norman bishop and the monks who accompanied him across the sea, and the two became one within the new post-1083 Benedictine community.47 As David Rollason has emphasised, Symeon was also careful to justify the expulsion of the community of secular clerks and their replacement with the Benedictines, and to establish the origins of the Benedictine community in a Bedan historical past of Jarrow, Wearmouth and Lindisfarne.48 Much of Symeon’s early material was taken verbatim from Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica, figuring Symeon himself as successor to Bede as both historiographer and hagiographer. Symeon adds to or rewrites portions of the Life of Cuthbert to include previously undocumented events, such as the loss of Cuthbert’s gospel book in the North Sea and its miraculous recovery (an indication that the saint wished to remain in England rather than be taken to Ireland); the desire of Cuthbert to be taken to Durham rather than returning to Chester-le-Street; and Cuthbert’s violent misogyny, the latter as a possible justification for the expulsion of the married clerks in 1083.49 If Anglo-Saxon saints such as Ælfheah could be deployed against the conquerors, the Normans now showed that they could be just as effectively exploited in the spread and consolidation of Norman control. Art and architecture were also used to establish or create historic connections between sites and patrons, old and new. In the early twelfth century Lindisfarne Priory was re-founded and rebuilt in the style of Durham Cathedral, with details such as its chevron ornamented piers making explicit its ties to its new mother church. Dunfermline Abbey was also built as a scaled-down version of Durham Cathedral, with the hands of some of the same masons and sculptors who worked on Durham evident in many of its architectural details.50 The architectural reference 45

For the possibility that Symeon also rewrote the chronology for Cuthbert’s arrival at Durham, see Sarah Foot’s chapter in this volume, ‘Kings, Saints and Conquests’, pp. 140–64. 46 Symeon of Durham, Libellus, ed. Rollason, pp. 124–5. 47 Both stories also fit the retelling of the myth of Exodus that was so much a feature of the Anglo-Saxons’ own version of their history: see Nicholas Howe, Migration and Mythmaking in Anglo-Saxon England (New Haven, CT, 1989). 48 Symeon of Durham, Libellus, ed. Rollason, pp. xvi, lxxxi–lxxxv, xci. 49 Symeon of Durham, Libellus, ed. Rollason, pp. 115, 187, lxxxiii, 104–11, 176–7. See also Victoria Tudor, ‘The Misogyny of St Cuthbert’, Archaeologia Aeliana, 5th ser., 12 (1984), 157–67; Meryl Foster, ‘Custodians of Cuthbert’, pp. 53–65. 50 Neil Cameron, ‘The Romanesque Sculpture of Dunfermline Abbey: Durham versus the Vicinal’, in Medieval Art and Architecture in the Diocese of St Andrews, ed. John Higgitt, British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions 14 (Leeds, 1994), pp. 118–23; Eric Fernie,

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was in part a way for the Scots to affirm their allegiance to William after King Malcolm III Canmore and Queen Margaret’s support of Margaret’s brother, Edgar Ætheling, which had resulted in William’s invasion of Scotland and Malcolm’s submission to William in 1072. But it was also a means of appropriating some of the power of Durham, and especially of St Cuthbert, for themselves. Margaret was the granddaughter of Æthelred II, a direct descendant of King Alfred, and a blood relative of William the Conqueror. In claiming a right to the English throne through his blood ties to the Wessex dynasty, William elevated the status of Margaret, her children, and her heritage as well.51 Malcolm and Margaret maintained uniquely close ties with the Durham community. In his Historia Regum, Symeon records that Malcolm was the only layman present at the laying of the foundations of Durham Cathedral, and Margaret is known to have been one of Durham’s greatest patrons.52 At the same time that Symeon was working on his Libellus, Turgot, prior of the community, was writing his Life of St Margaret for her daughter Edith/Matilda, Henry I’s new queen. In the Life, Margaret becomes a Cuthbert-like figure when her gospel book is dropped in a river and later recovered with only minor damage to its end leaves and all its illuminations intact.53 The miracle is recorded a second time in a poem on fol. 2r of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Lat. Liturg. F5, believed to have been the very book that was saved from the river: Christe tibi semper grates persoluimus omnes Tempore qui nostro nobis miracula pandis; Hunc librum quidam inter se iurare uolentes; Sumpserunt nudum sine tegmine nonque ligatum Presbyter accipiens ponit sinuamine uestis. Flumine transmisso codex est mersus in amnem; Portitor ignorat librum penetrasse profundum; Sed miles quidam cernens post multa momenta; Tollere iam uoluit librum de flumine mersum Sed titubat subito librum dum uidit apertum; Credens quod codex ex toto perditus esset; At tamen inmittens undis corpus cum uertice summo; ‘The Romanesque Churches of Dunfermline Abbey’, in ibid., pp. 25–37; Richard Fawcett, ‘Dunfermline Abbey Church’, in Royal Dunfermline, ed. Richard Fawcett (Edinburgh, 2005), pp. 27–63. 51 Catherine Keene, Saint Margaret, Queen of the Scots: A Life in Perspective (New York, 2013), p. 56. 52 Symeon of Durham, Symeonis monachi opera omnia, ed. Thomas Arnold, 2 vols, Rolls Series 75 (London, 1882–5), vol. II, p. 220; Valerie Wall, ‘Malcolm III and the Foundation of Durham Cathedral’, in Anglo-Norman Durham, ed. Rollason, Harvey and Prestwich, pp. 325–37. 53 See Lois L. Huneycutt, Matilda of Scotland: A Study in Medieval Queenship (Woodbridge, 2003), p. 175.

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Hoc euangelium profert de gurgite apertum; O uirtus clara cunctis, O gloria magna; Inuiolatus enim codex permansit ubique; Exceptis foliis binis que cernis utrinque; In quibus ex undis paret contractio quedam; Que testantur opus Christi pro codice sancto; Hoc opus ut nobis maius mirabile constet De medio libri pannum lini abtulit unda; Saluati semper sint rex reginaque sancta; Quorum codex erat nuper saluatus ab undis. Gloria magna Deo, librum qui saluat eundem. (O Christ, we will always give thanks to you who make miracles known to us in our own time. Certain folk who wanted to swear an oath among themselves took up this book, bare without a wrapper and not fastened. A priest took it and placed it in the fold of his robe. As he crossed the river, the codex plunged into the torrent. The bearer was unaware that the book had sunk to the depths. Much later, however, a certain soldier caught sight of it. Straightaway he wanted to raise the submerged book out of the river; but when he saw that the book was open, suddenly he hesitated, believing that the codex would be utterly ruined. Nevertheless, he hurled himself head first into the waves and bore the open gospel book out from the whirlpool. What virtue clear to all, what great glory! For the codex survived entirely undamaged except for the two folios which you see at either end in which some cockling from the water is apparent, which proclaim the work of Christ on behalf of the sacred codex. In order that this work should be manifested to us as even more miraculous, the water washed away the sheet of linen from the middle of the book. May the king and holy queen be safe for ever whose codex was recently saved from the waves. All glory be to God who saved the book in question!)54

While by no means a copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels – the manuscript generally assumed to have been swept into the sea – the evangelist portraits in Margaret’s book do have closer similarities with those in the Lindisfarne Gospels than has previously been acknowledged. Though very different in style and iconographic details (Margaret’s book does not include the evangelist symbols in the portraits, for example) the basic poses in which the evangelists sit are the same. In both manuscripts Matthew sits beginning to write in his open book, Mark holds his book in one hand and his pen in the other,55 Luke holds a scroll on which he is about to

54

Text and translation from Richard Gameson, ‘The Gospels of Margaret of Scotland and the Literacy of an Eleventh-Century Queen’, in Women and the Book: Assessing the Visual Evidence, ed. Jane H. M. Taylor and Lesley Smith (London, 1997), pp. 149–71 (pp. 165–6). 55 In Lindisfarne he is also writing on a second book or sheet of parchment in front of him.

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Fig. 10.3 Discovery of Cuthbert’s incorrupt body, Life of Cuthbert. Oxford, University College MS 165, p. 118 (by permission of University College Oxford). write, and John sits frontally displaying his book.56 Margaret herself went on to be sainted, and relics of her teeth and hair joined the relics of Cuthbert and the other saints in Durham after her death. Her body was enshrined, along with that of her husband, in Dunfermline. The monks of Durham also produced a grand new manuscript of the Life of Cuthbert in which each chapter is illuminated with a coloured outline drawing (Oxford, University College, MS 165). Palaeographically and iconographically, the manuscript can be associated with the writings of Symeon of Durham, though not produced by his own hand, and is dated c. 1100–20.57 The manuscript consists of 56 57

He displays a scroll rather than a codex in Lindisfarne. C. M. Kaufmann, Romanesque Manuscripts 1066–1190 (London, 1975), p. 67.

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Bede’s Life of the saint plus seven chapters of post-Bedan material, with the last few chapters dedicated to events of the eleventh century that highlight the need for obedience to the saint by kings – Anglo-Saxon, Viking, Anglo-Norman and Scottish. In the final chapter a Norman soldier dies in agony after attempting to steal treasures from the cathedral in 1080. This post-1066 Cuthbert was, first and foremost, a protector of his community and its property, over whom the Normans could maintain only an uneasy control. The manuscript also makes visible, and keeps visible through its narrative miniatures, that which remained largely hidden from view: the body of St Cuthbert. The illustration to chapter 42 depicts the discovery of Cuthbert’s miraculously incorrupt body at the time of its translation into the church at Lindisfarne eleven years after the saint’s death (Fig. 10.3). His original burial is not depicted, and nor is the re-enclosure that would have been the culminating act of translation. Symeon records that Cuthbert’s body was again found to be incorrupt at the time of his translation into his new shrine in Durham Cathedral in 1104. One of the assembled abbots had doubts about the miracle, but it was confirmed for all by the abbot of Sées: Involuta explicans vestimenta circa venerandum caput, utraque illud manu cunctis aspicientibus paululum erexit, et in diversas reflectendo partes integra omnibus juncturis colli compage reliquo id corpori cohaerere invenit. Deinde, manu admota, firmius aurem trahens et retrahens, et post hoc alias quoque corporis partes manu perscrutante explorans, solidum nervis et ossibus, cum carnis mollitie repperit corpus. Id etiam per caput tenendo concutiens, adeo in sublime erexit, ut in habitaculo suae quietis pene sedere visum fuerit…58 (‘Unfolding the vestments around the venerable head, he raised [the head] a little in both hands for all who were looking on, and by bending it in different directions found it to be connected with all joints of the neck to the rest of the skeleton of the body. Then, probing, more firmly pulling and tugging the ear, and examining other parts of the body with his probing hand, he found the body solid in sinews and bones with the softness of the flesh. Also shaking it by holding the head, he raised it up so that it was seen almost to sit in its abode of quiet…’)59

This event is not depicted in the manuscript, but I would suggest that this absence is quite deliberate. The image of the first translation allows both events to be read as one, and the contemporary miracle to be rewritten into the original miracle, giving it added authenticity – a mode of narration that, as we have seen, is absolutely 58

Symeonis Dunelmensis opera et collectanea, ed. I. Hodgson-Hinde, Surtees Society 51 (London, 1868), p. 196. 59 For translation and discussion, see The Relics of St Cuthbert, ed. C. F. Battiscombe (Oxford, 1956), pp. 105–6; Barbara Abou-el-Haj, ‘Saint Cuthbert: The Post-Conquest Appropriation of Anglo-Saxon Cult’, in Holy Men and Holy Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and Their Contexts, ed. Paul E. Szarmach (Albany, NY, 1996), pp. 177–206 (p. 192).

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typical of the texts being produced at Durham at the time. Moreover, Cuthbert’s enclosure is never shown, allowing his body to remain hovering between life and death, a spectre of the all-powerful body of the saint sleeping restlessly within his tomb. Whatever the case, both the discovery of the still incorrupt body and the new illustrated Life served to make the same point Symeon had made in his Libellus: Cuthbert was now an English saint rather than just another Anglo-Saxon saint, and obedience to him transcended ethnic identities and political affiliations. The work most commonly associated with the Norman Conquest is undoubtedly the Bayeux Tapestry. Yet it is also in many ways the most problematic. It is the most ambivalent of all the works I have discussed (or perhaps the one that best expresses the trauma of the years immediately following the conquest of 1066), as, while it is possible to read pro- or anti-Norman sentiments into its narrative, such readings are very difficult to sustain. As Ashe points out, the Tapestry seems ‘purposefully lacking in overt political bias’,60 depicting specific moments in the events leading up to the conquest, but not revealing the exact nature of what was said or how separate scenes might be connected. So, for example, Harold meets with Edward the Confessor, or swears something before William, but what was said or sworn, and how (if at all) Harold’s meeting with Edward might relate to his departure for Normandy, remain unknown. An eleventh- or twelfth-century viewer may well have had his or her own ideas about how to fill these silences, but there is nothing in either the images or inscriptions to direct our reading. It seems to present an objective historical narrative and nothing more, but its seeming objectivity might also be understood as cryptic and/or traumatized. The Tapestry is someone’s narrative. Someone selected the events to be included and designed the way in which they were to be depicted. If we were certain about who the patron was, where it was designed and produced, or where it was intended to be displayed, it might be possible to identify a particular bias. The Tapestry does not so much silence events in its failure to clarify what transpired between its various protagonists, as it depends on an embedded viewer to determine how they should be voiced. In this respect, its ambivalence is comparable to that of the Becket window discussed by Jordan,61 or to that which underlies most, if not all, of the works I have discussed here. It is once again a question of the scale and extent of the narrative. To see the Tapestry as in some way a justification for the 1066 conquest is indeed likely to be the wrong approach (as both Ashe and Bouet have stressed).62 The tapestry ends with a victory in battle, but not necessarily with a conquest. It is a retelling of a certain history, to be set alongside the many others produced in England during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It does not portray the Anglo-Saxons and the 60 Ashe,

Fiction and History, p. 37. Jordan, ‘Postcolonialising Thomas Becket’. 62 Ashe, Fiction and History, p. 44; Pierre Bouet, ‘Is the Bayeux Tapestry Pro-English?’, in The Bayeux Tapestry: Embroidering the Facts of History, ed. Pierre Bouet, Brian Levy and François Neveux (Caen, 2004), pp. 197–215 (pp. 214–15). 61

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Normans as a united English people, but rather positions itself as readable by both sides, during a turbulent period in which the stability and longevity of the 1066 conquest were still uncertain.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that the art that emerged from the conquests of 1016 and 1066 was concerned with both documenting and responding to historical events, in a way that the art of England had not been before. Narratives emerged in all media, but they were above all narratives of ambivalence, seemingly saying one thing but open to multiple and often diametrically opposed readings. AngloSaxon art had, from its beginnings, been full of riddles and ambiguities, but this was a new type of ambiguity that revolved not around verbal or visual playfulness, but around a fundamental opposition between what could or could not be expressed. This was an art of concealment, masquerade and subversion. The Liber Vitae portrait of Cnut might depict a generous Christian king, but then again it might represent a violent tyrant with the ‘appearance of piety only’. The illumination of the Harley Psalter demonstrates quite clearly that, over the course of the eleventh century, artists became adept at depicting one story but actually telling quite another. And one and the same work might be intended both to declare allegiance and to warn against violence – as the Durham Life of Cuthbert both rewrites conquest as continuity and invokes the power of its saint to turn on the conquerors. The trauma of conquest was conveyed only through metaphor, retelling and repetition, yet it was also present everywhere as that which could not be said, that which went unrepresented, and that which was perhaps unrepresentable.

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11 Remapping Literary History: The Patronage of English Queens across the Norman Conquest* ELIZABETH M. TYLER

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he model of the Conquest of 1066 bringing England into Europe still prevails in literary history. This framework positions England as influenced by the Continent, usually a shorthand for France, rather than being integral to a more broadly conceived Europe which is not the same without it.1 This chapter uses a discussion of the Vita Ædwardi Regis, a text written at the behest of Queen Edith, wife then widow of Edward the Confessor, to challenge this narrative. The Vita Ædwardi is a key example of the intellectually demanding, innovative and politically weighty texts commissioned by royal women of both the West Saxon and Norman dynasties. Its timing, begun on the cusp of the Norman Conquest and completed in its wake, sharply illustrates that the international horizons of English literary culture predate 1066 and that women, in particular, determined those horizons.2 Many factors have come together to occlude what is in fact a surprisingly obvious story, about the international dimensions of the development in eleventh-century *

The research for this chapter has been carried out as part of the Centre for Medieval Literature (University of Southern Denmark and University of York), supported by the Danish National Research Foundation (project DNRF102ID). 1 For an influential example, see A. G. Rigg, A History of Anglo-Latin Literature, 1066–1422 (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 9–11. 2 The argument of this chapter draws on and develops material presented in my England in Europe: English Royal Women and Literary Patronage, c.1000–c.1150 (Toronto, 2017) and earlier articles. The monograph, cited in this chapter, contains fuller reference to other scholars’ work and my own earlier articles than is possible to present here. However, important recent discussions of the Vita should be flagged: V. Jordan, ‘Chronology and Discourse in the Vita Ædwardi Regis’, Journal of Medieval Latin 8 (1998), 122–55; M. Otter, ‘Closed Doors: An Epithalamium for Queen Edith, Widow and Virgin’, in Constructions of Widowhood and Virginity in the Middle Ages, ed. C. L. Carlson and A. J. Weisl (Basingstoke, 1999), pp. 63–92, and Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 40–8.

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England of a model of queenship to which literary patronage was central.3 These occluding factors include nationalizing literary history, disciplinarity, periodization, established models of lay learning, and our still gendered assumptions about Latin literary culture, despite many years of groundbreaking feminist scholarship.4 This story of the consequences of royal female patronage is exciting precisely because it evades so many of our modern paradigms for understanding high medieval literary culture, within which we do not normally situate pre-Conquest England. Thus, it requires that we rethink accepted narratives not just of literature in England from Alfred to 1066 but also of medieval European literature more broadly. From this perspective, the Vita Ædwardi, and other texts from eleventh- and early twelfth-century England, reveal how attending to women in literary history does not simply provide a missing piece or two, but crucially demands a more fundamental remapping. The need for this remapping is well known, but the determining role of women’s literary patronage risks being missed when we look at the study of the literary culture of eleventh-century England, since national literary history, periodization and disciplinarity need to be rethought at the same time as gender. The innovations of the Vita Ædwardi, which form the subject of this chapter, offer us an especially acute instance of the transforming role of women in literary history and the part conquest played in this.

I Queen Edith was the wife and widow of Edward the Confessor, last king of the West Saxon dynasty, which claimed to have ruled since the early sixth century. She commissioned the Vita Ædwardi to protect and promote her interests in the final year of her husband’s life. As Edward approached death without an heir, Edith was not only threatened by, but was herself active in, the bitter factional politics which had marked his reign, and which exploded in 1065–6.5 Though he had no son, Edward had too many potential successors. Two of Edith’s brothers, Harold and Tostig, sons of the powerful Earl Godwine, vied to succeed Edward. Throughout his reign, Edward was reluctantly dependent on the Godwines. Earl Godwine himself had risen to power under Cnut and was married to Gytha, a woman of the Danish 3

For key essays on women’s literary patronage, see the essays by Lois L. Huneycutt, ‘“Proclaiming Her Dignity Abroad”: The Literary and Artistic Network of Matilda of Scotland, Queen of England, 1100–1118’, pp. 155–74; J. H. McCash, ‘The Cultural Patronage of Women: An Overview’, pp. 1–49; and J. C. Parsons, ‘Of Queens, Courts, and Books: Reflections on Literary Patronage of Thirteenth-Century Plantagenet Queens’, pp. 75–201, all in The Cultural Production of Medieval Women, ed. McCash (Athens, GA, 1996). On women’s Latinity, see J. Stevenson, Women Latin Poets: Language, Gender, and Authority from Antiquity to the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 2005). 4 Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 6–7 and 9–12. 5 Stafford, Emma and Edith, esp. pp. 40–48 and 255–79; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 138–9.

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royal family. The rivalry between the two brothers proved devastating, leaving the door open for William the Conqueror. Harold was occupied defeating Tostig and his ally King Harald Hardrada of Norway at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in the north of England when William invaded in the south. Both brothers were dead by the end of October 1066; in effect they had killed each other. William’s blood claim to the throne was traced through his second cousin, Edward’s Norman mother Emma. Emma first married Edward’s father, the English king Æthelred, in 1002 and then the conquering Danish king, Cnut, in 1017. The West Saxon dynasty also produced a contender for the throne: Edgar Ætheling, great-half-nephew of Edward. He was born in central Europe to Æthelred’s grandson, Edward, who was exiled after Cnut’s victory, and his Kievan Rus’ wife Agatha, or rather Agafia.6 In recounting Edward the Confessor’s potential successors, I have purposely flagged up, but in no way over-emphasized, their international connections; none was straightforwardly English. The events of 1066 were much more complex than a Norman conquest of England. Likewise, the literary culture of Edward’s reign does not conform to our expectations of English literature before the twelfth century when aimed at the laity, which is commonly held to be Anglocentric; vernacular and dominated by homilies, religious and Germanic heroic poetry and annals; and early rather than high medieval.7 Yet mid-eleventh-century England, like western Europe more generally, was being transformed by elite mobility. While England’s vernacular literature has been rightly celebrated, this should not blind us to the role England played in the literary innovations of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, especially those involving lay audiences. The movement of women and their capacity, through patronage, to attract elite male clerics was decisive for high medieval literary culture well beyond England. Thus, I have mentioned and named the women whose marriages were a major element in the international nature of Edward’s court.8 Other marriages also shaped the wide European connections of literary culture during Edward’s reign, even if they did not affect the succession. Most importantly, Edward’s half-sister, Gunnhild, the daughter of Cnut and Emma, had married Conrad II’s son, the future German emperor Henry III. Although she died early in 1038, the Vita Ædwardi records the kinship this marriage created between Henry III and Edward. Early in Edward’s reign, The Cambridge Songs (Carmina Cantabrigiensia) – an anthology of Latin verse ranging from poems composed in 6

Stephen Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor and the Succession Question’, in Edward the Confessor: The Man and the Legend, ed. R. Mortimer (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 77–118, and C. Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe: Kievan Rus’ in the Medieval World (Cambridge, MA, 2012), pp. 104–6. For Edgar’s claim to the throne, see also the chapter by Emily Ward in this volume, pp. 331–52. 7 E. M. Tyler, ‘From Old English to Old French’, in Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England, c.1100–c.1500, ed. J. Wogan-Browne et al. (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 164–78, and England in Europe, pp. 5–6. 8 R. Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350 (London, 1993), pp. 24–59.

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medieval Germany, France and Italy back to excerpts from classical and late antique authors – was copied into a large codex of poetry at Saint Augustine’s Canterbury. Described by Jan Ziolkowski as ‘the most varied and substantial assemblage of Medieval Latin lyrics… extant from the centuries between the Carolingian corpora of the ninth century and… the thirteenth’, they were probably collected together in the court of Henry III. Although the songs have often been seen to have arrived in England accidentally, they too are a testimony to the ties created by dynastic marriage. The poem which laments the death of Henry’s father, Conrad II, also commemorates the death of Gunnhild.9 Turning to visual art, we find that Tostig’s wife, Judith, daughter of Baldwin IV, count of Flanders, was an active patron of English illuminated manuscripts. Her return to Flanders after the Conquest and her subsequent marriage to Welf IV, duke of Bavaria, was instrumental in extending the influence of English artistic styles.10 After 1066, Gytha, Godwine’s widow and Harold’s mother, now unwelcome in England, fled back to her native Denmark with her granddaughter and namesake. They are subsequently found in the court of Gytha’s kinsman, King Svein Estrithson. The elder Gytha’s knowledge of English history would eventually find an outlet in the writing of a famous eleventh-century historian, when Svein became Adam of Bremen’s informant on eleventh-century English history. The granddaughter, meanwhile, went on to marry Vladimir, prince of Smolensk and (later) of Kiev.11 These links to Kiev are especially interesting, illustrating how marriages forged connections to the farthest reaches of Europe, not just with neighbouring dynasties. Moreover, the marriages of Gytha and of Agafia, a generation earlier, are not isolated unions. Agafia’s two sisters, Anna and Elisabeth, also married into western European ruling houses. Anna married Henry I, king of France, whom the Vita Ædwardi remembers as a kinsman of Edward. We may catch glimpses of her literacy in her signature, in Cyrillic, in her husband’s charters. Elisabeth, meanwhile, was married to Tostig’s ally, 9 Vita Ædwardi 1.1, and The Cambridge Songs (Carmina Cantabrigiensia), ed. and trans. J. M. Ziolkowski (New York, 1994), carmen 33. See Ziolkowski’s introduction to the Carmina Cantabrigiensia, esp. pp. xxxix–xliv; E. M. Tyler, ‘German Imperial Bishops and Anglo-Saxon Literary Culture on the Eve of the Conquest: The Cambridge Songs and Leofric’s Exeter Book’, in Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. R. Stephenson and E. Thornbury (Toronto, 2016), pp. 177–201 (esp. pp. 185–6); and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 177–8. 10 Philip Grierson, ‘The Relations between England and Flanders before the Norman Conquest’, TRHS, 4th ser., 23 (1941), 71–112 (pp. 109–11); P. McGurk and J. Rosenthal, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Gospel Books of Judith, Countess of Flanders: Their Text, Make-Up and Function’, ASE 24 (1995), 251–308; and Tyler, England in Europe, p. 269. 11 Adam of Bremen, Gesta, Prologue, 1.48, 1.61, and 2.54. Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 22–4; Timothy Bolton, ‘English Political Refugees at the Court of King Sveinn Ástriðarson, King of Denmark (1042–76)’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 15 (2005), 17–36 (pp. 21–25); L. B. Mortensen, ‘From Vernacular Interviews to Latin Prose (ca. 600–1200)’, in Oral Forms and Their Passage into Writing, ed. E. Mundal and J. Wellendorf (Copenhagen, 2008), pp. 53–68 (pp. 56–7); and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 266–7 and 268.

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Harald Hardrada. The densest literary connections lie between England, France and Flanders, and connections with the German Empire were not marginal. But the links with the Danish and Kievan Rus’ monarchies illustrate the much wider European connections these women forged between courts across Europe, and not only within Latin Europe but as far east as the Dnieper River.12 In this context, we should not be surprised to find that displays of participation in international literary cultures had social and political value over and above local literary traditions.

II The Vita Ædwardi is a very complex text, offering multiple perspectives on Edward’s troubled reign and the role the Godwines played in it. In this way it interrogates the capacity of narrative to give a truthful account of events. The Anonymous author does this through a series of doublings. Part I of the Vita is, at its most basic, a biography of the king. Part II begins anew, attempting to redeem the Confessor’s life by shaping it into an incipient hagiography and making a case for Edward and Edith’s marriage as chaste. Part I is prosimetrical, offering two views of each episode, with the poems providing devastating criticism of Edward and the Godwines while the prose passages praise them. The Anonymous explicitly draws his readers’ attention to this duality: the prose he says is clearer, but the poetry is primary: Et ne continuo ledatur musica cursu, interdum proso carmina uerte gradu, pagina quo uario reparetur fessa relatu, clarius et pateat historie series. (And, lest monotony should spoil the tune, Set now and then your narrative in prose, So that with shifts the weary page revives And the order of history more lucidly appear.) (Vita Ædwardi 1, Prologue)

All this doubling both captures the competing accounts of the fast-changing events of 1065–6 and carefully mirrors Edith’s divided position. She is caught between her natal family and the West Saxon dynasty, between her two warring brothers, and between the dire dynastic consequences of the barrenness of her marriage and the utility of a story of holy chastity. In the end, amidst all this doubling, the message of the text is clear: in the context of the destructiveness of the Godwines, Edith pins 12

Vita Ædwardi 1.1. M. Dimnik, ‘Kievan Rus’, the Bulgars and the Southern Slavs, c.1020–c.1200’, in The New Cambridge Medieval History, Vol. 4, c.1024–c.1198, ed. D. Luscombe and J. RileySmith (Cambridge, 2004), 2:254–60; W. V. Bogomoletz, ‘Anna of Kiev: An Enigmatic Capetian Queen of the Eleventh Century’, French History 19 (2005), 299–32; Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe, pp. 108–9; and Tyler, England in Europe, p. 268.

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her position to Edward’s sanctity and her own marital chastity. Meanwhile although literary history, like history more generally, views the latter half of the eleventh century through the lens of 1066, the Norman Conquest hardly makes a ripple in this text. Rather it is consumed by two crises: the childlessness of Edward and Edith’s marriage, and the struggle between Edith’s two brothers to be recognized as Edward’s heir. The Vita’s tenacious focus on the strife between the Godwinesons reminds us the international nature of this text is a dimension of eleventh-century England, regardless of the Conquest.13 The sophistication of the Vita Ædwardi comes into sharp focus in its classicism, beginning with the Anonymous’s ostentatious Ovidianism. The text is full of Ovid and, for the Anonymous, metamorphosis was very overtly a way of thinking and an interpretative framework. Ovidian metamorphosis is most obvious in the terrifying poem in which the Godwine family is likened to four streams. These streams turn into a tree, then into a serpent, which first eats the chicks sheltering in a nest at the top of the tree, and then devours the roots of the tree. The Anonymous writes: Sic de fonte tuo, paradise, latentibus uno deriuas orbi signis in quattuor amnes sufficienter aquas, uegetent ut uiscera terrę, atque statum uitę foueant hominum pecorumque; seque uno laudant utero generata potenter, pignora dissimili partu generis uariati corpore, uoce, loco, spatio quoque, tempore, motu. Aera conscendit pars hec herendo supernis, spemque sui generis nido fouet arboris altę. Illa profunda petit tranans inimica uoratrix, dampna suę stirpis faciens truncumque parentem pendit ab ore tenens, dum certo tempore uitę flatus uiuificans animal de non animata matre creat; studet inde suis resoluta rapinis. Felicem mundum si seruent flumina cursum quęque suum, proprias sic fecundantia terras, fędere seruato, statuit quod celicus ordo! (Thus from your single fount, O Paradise, You part in secret water for all lands, Four ample streams to stir the earth’s recess And nourish the estate of men and beasts. Themselves they loudly praise, born from one womb, Issue of various kind, unlike in birth, In flesh and voice, place, space, and time and motion. The one part mounts the skies, to heaven twined, 13 Tyler,

England in Europe, pp. 145–93 (esp. pp. 140–2).

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And tends its race’s hopes in tree-top nest. The other, gulping monster, seeks the depths, Attacks its roots and mouths the parent trunk, And holds, until, as doomed, the breath of life Creates a creature from a lifeless dam; And losing grip, pursues again its prey. O happy world, if each would keep its course And water its own lands, with pacts observed, As the celestial order has ordained!) (Vita Ædwardi 1.2)

From an Ovidian perspective, the starting point for this shocking image of monstrous transformation is a specific episode from the opening of Book 12 (lines 1–23) of the Metamorphoses, which marks the beginning of Ovid’s account of the story of Troy and Rome. The Greeks, keen to set off to war but held back by stormy winds, are amazed by the strange sight of a serpent climbing up a tree. At the top of the tree the mother (mater) has built a nest (nidus) for her now damned (damna) nestlings, whom the serpent seizes and devours in its mouth (os). Coiled around the tree branches, the serpent then changes into stone. The Greek augur interprets the destruction of the nest as a joyful portent of their coming conquest of Troy, which for Ovid is redeemed as the beginning of Rome. The poet of the Vita Ædwardi is preoccupied by the Trojan legend but, for him, the paradigm is ultimately unusable as he narrates the end of the West Saxon dynasty and the failed efforts of the Godwines to take over – there can be no second Aeneas, no translatio imperii.14 Further evidence of the Anonymous’s skill as an Ovidian is evident in his handling of the erotic. Distinctively, the Anonymous suppresses or avoids Ovidian erotics. He does this so carefully that he reveals himself as a poet who, although fully aware of the erotic potential of Ovid, deliberately and very sure-footedly excludes it in order not to undermine his representation of Edith and Edward’s marriage as chaste, which is central to the Vita’s defence of Edith.15 The strong influence on the Anonymous’s poetics of the pressing need to defend Edith further suggests that he was writing for an audience which he envisaged as paying keen attention even to his Ovidianism. We will return to this audience below. The Anonymous’s use of Ovid flags up his internationalism, and places him on the cutting edge of a revolution in contemporary Latin poetry which saw it engage with secular life, love, women and ideas of fiction. This Ovidian poetics flowers fully in the twelfth century when it feeds into the beginnings of French vernacular poetry. The key Loire poets of this movement include Marbod of Rennes (1035–1123), Baudri of Bourgueil (1045/6–1130) and Hildebert of Lavardin (1056–1133).16 Their 14 Tyler,

England in Europe, pp. 160–6. England in Europe, pp. 167–8. 16 J.-Y. Tilliette, ‘Troiae ab oris: aspects de la révolution poétique de la seconde moitié di XIe siècle’, Latomus 58 (1999), 405–31; G. A. Bond, The Loving Subject: Desire, Eloquence and Power in Romanesque France (Philadelphia, PA, 1995), pp. 42–69; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 166–7. 15 Tyler,

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influence extended far beyond the Loire to many named and unnamed poets, and there is much that we do not yet know about the social and poetic networks behind this verse. In this regard, it is worth noting Godfrey of Reims (c. 1020/1040–95) among the known poets of the Loire School.17 Since Gerbert of Aurillac’s period as school master and archbishop in the late tenth century, Reims had been known for classicizing history-writing and later also for poetry.18 The place of Saint-Bertin in the archdiocese of Reims gives us a hook into understanding how a Flemish monk might come to compose Loire poetry. A prefatory letter to a mid-eleventh-century Saint-Bertin account of the discovery of the relics of its patron saint, in which matters of invention and credibility are raised, shows the abbot of this monastery acknowledging his foundation’s intellectual debts to Reims.19 Given the date of the Vita, we must see the Anonymous not as a follower but as a leader. Baudri’s famous historical poem for William the Conqueror’s daughter Adela, countess of Blois, for example, was written between 1099 and 1102. His poetry for the nuns of Le Ronceray (see further below) dates from between 1078/82 and 1107, while Marbod’s poetry for women from the same nunnery dates from 1069 to 1096.20 Strong verbal and thematic links between the Vita and the Loire poets, especially the poetry of Baudri and Hildebert, show that the Anonymous was not writing from the outer fringes of the Loire School. Instead, he was at the centre of this poetic movement, driving it in new directions which others followed,

17

A. Boutemy, ‘Autour de Godefroid de Reims’, Latomus 6 (1947), 231–55; J. R. Williams, ‘Godfrey of Rheims: A Humanist of the Eleventh Century’, Speculum 22 (1947), 29–45; J.-Y. Tilliette, ‘Le retour d’Orphée: refléxions sur la place de Godefroid de Reims dans l’histoire littéraire du XIe siècle’, in Latin Culture in the Eleventh Century: Proceedings of the Third International Conference on Medieval Latin Studies, Cambridge, September 9–12, 1998, ed. M. W. Herren, 2 vols (Turnhout, 2002), 2:449–63; and Gottfried von Reims: Kritische Gesamtausgabe, ed. E. Broecker (Frankfurt, 2002), pp. 14–24. 18 J. R. Williams, ‘The Cathedral School of Rheims in the Eleventh Century’, Speculum 29 (1954), 661–77; G. Glauche, Schullektüre im Mittelalter. Entstehung und Wandlungen des Lektürekanons bis 1200 nach den Quellen dargestellt (Munich, 1970), pp. 62–83; P. Riché, Gerbert d’Aurillac: Le pape de l’an mil (Paris, 1987); and J. Lake, ‘Gerbert of Aurillac and the Study of Rhetoric in Tenth-Century Rheims’, Journal of Medieval Latin 23 (2013), 49–85, and Richer of Saint-Rémi: The Methods and Mentality of a Tenth-Century Historian (Washington, DC, 2013). 19 Bovo, Relatio de inventione et elevatione sancti Bertini, ed. O. Holder-Egger, MGH SS 15/1: 525–34 (Hanover, 1887), Prologue (pp. 525–6). M. Otter, Inventiones: Fiction and Referentiality in Twelfth-Century Historical Writing (Chapel Hill, NC, 1996), esp. p. 42; K. Ugé, Creating the Monastic Past in Medieval Flanders (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 72–91; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 53–4, 62, 64, 118–20, 133, 148–9, 167, 229, 248, 251 and 254. 20 E. Van Houts, ‘Latin Poetry and the Anglo-Norman Court 1066–1135: The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio’, Journal of Medieval History 15 (1989), 39–62 (p. 49); Bond, Loving Subject, pp. 71–2; Baudri of Bourgueil, Carmina, ed. and trans. J.-Y. Tilliette, 2 vols (Paris, 1998–2002), 1:xv; and M. Otter, ‘Baudri of Bourgueil, “To the Countess Adela”’, Journal of Medieval Latin 11 (2001), 60–141 (p. 60).

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built on, and responded to.21 The Anonymous did not do this alone. The Flemish outsider relied on Edith as an informant on eleventh-century English history and politics, as Pauline Stafford has persuasively demonstrated.22 But his debt to Edith was also literary. In the first poetic prologue, he carefully acknowledges the instrumental role Edith played in the composition of its poetry, representing her as an agent in the literary ambition of the Vita.23 This move is not simply flattery in return for patronage. Written to protect Edith’s interest amidst the turmoil of the 1060s, the Vita could not have done that if no one read it or understood it; this imperative has implications both for Edith’s role in the Vita’s composition and for the text’s wider audience. Its sophistication does not push it away from Edith; nor did it render it useless in advocating her cause. On the contrary, the Vita is evidence of the political utility of intellectual leadership in West Saxon elite circles. That Edith should take the trouble to patronize an innovative and demanding poet amidst the chaos of 1065–7 reveals much about English literary culture on the eve of the Conquest, and the central role its cultivation played in queenship. The Anonymous portrays Edith as Latinate. More specifically, she is said to read both religious and secular books (‘lectione diuina uel seculari sedula’) and to write both poetry and prose (‘ipsa per se prose uel uersa eximia’).24 That is, according to the Anonymous, she is expert in reading and producing just the sort of text which he has produced – a prosimetrum, which follows secular history with an incipient hagiography. We know from other sources far less sympathetic to Edith than the Anonymous, including Godfrey of Winchester and William of Malmesbury, that she was considered to be learned.25 This was the result of her education at the West Saxon royal nunnery, Wilton, an institution where learning was far more extensive than once thought, as Stephanie Hollis has recently shown.26 Furthermore, the Anonymous represents Edith as directly involved in his composition of poetry, engaging with him in interrogating its value. He pointedly bases his Muse on Boethius’s Lady Philosophy and portrays himself as dependent on her, while purposefully blurring her identity with Edith’s. Thus, we see the queen invoked as 21

For two examples, compare the treatment of ‘antiquumque chaos’ in Vita Ædwardi 1.2 with Baudri, Carmina 134.101; and ‘artificum studio’ in Vita Ædwardi 2, Prologue with Hildebert, Carmina minora, ed. A. B. Scott, rev. edn (Munich and Leipzig, 2001), 36.36 (‘Par tibi, Roma’). Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 168 and 199. 22 Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 40–8. 23 Vita Ædwardi 1.Prologue. Tyler, England in Europe, p. 203. 24 Vita Ædwardi 1.2. Barlow restores this passage from Richard of Cirencester, hence too much weight should not be put on specific language: Vita Ædwardi, ed. Barlow, pp. xxxiii–xliv. 25 Godfrey of Winchester, Epigrammata historica 4, in The Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets and Epigrammatists of the Twelfth Century, ed. T. Wright, vol. 2, Rolls Series 59 (London, 1872), pp. 148–55 and William of Malmesbury, GRA, 2:197. Rigg, Anglo-Latin, pp. 17–20, and Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 26–7. 26 Stephanie Hollis, ‘Wilton as a Centre of Learning’, in Writing the Wilton Women: Goscelin’s Legend of Edith and Liber Confortatorius, ed. Stephanie Hollis (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 307–38.

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a formidable interlocutor, even guide, who is a creative agent in the production of the Vita Ædwardi. The Anonymous’s bold reworking of Boethius’s Lady Philosophy anticipates similar moves by four prosimetrical poets: Hildebert, Adelard of Bath (c. 1080–c. 1150), Bernard Silvestris (fl. 1130–50), and Alan of Lille (d. 1203), all of whom modern literary scholars recognize as working at the forefront of new literary developments.27 Hildebert’s reworking of Lady Philosophy is a further tie between his poetry and the Vita Ædwardi. This portrait of Edith not only as an active patron but as a collaborator in the Anonymous’s poetry is striking and, in this, he was carving out new territory. This is partly about Reims, where, earlier in the eleventh century, poets fascinated by Vergil’s relationship with Mecenas and Octavian became interested in the possibility of lay patronage. Frustrated that they could not find such patronage in northern France, they cast both the pope and the archbishop of Reims as patrons. In this context, English queens made attractive patrons, despite their gender. Equally, however, this is a story of women’s own desire to exercise patronage. Edith was following in the footsteps of her mother-in-law, Emma, who also commissioned a classicizing text from a monk of Saint-Bertin, the Encomium Emmae Reginae, to protect herself amidst earlier court factionalism. When the Encomiast presented Cnut as a second Aeneas founding the Anglo-Danish dynasty, he prominently figured himself as Vergil and Emma as Octavian, as he raised questions about history and fiction. In commissioning the Encomium, Emma herself was following in the footsteps of her mother Gunnor, who was among those whom Dudo claimed as patrons of his prosimetrical history of the Normans.28 Our Anonymous not only knows the Encomium: his poetry requires that its audience also know this text for the Vita to be interpretable, suggesting that Edith, and those she wished to persuade 27

When the Anonymous puns on the dual anatomical and metrical meaning of pedes, saying that the queen will ‘fixit’ his feet, the reader simultaneously imagines someone who will take care of physical and poetic feet. While the poet complains to the Muse that ‘longa quies calami dissoluit mentis acumen’ (‘the pen’s long rest destroys the mind’s sharp point’), it is actually Edith who ‘abiectos restituit calamos’ (‘put back the pens… thrown away’). Both examples are from Vita Ædwardi 1.Prologue. For the Muse as Lady Philosophy, see, e.g., the reference to her nursing the Poet in Vita Ædwardi 2.Prologue, which evokes Boethius’s Consolatio 1.2 (prose). Hildebert, De querimonia, in Hildeberts Prosimetrum “De Querimonia” und die Gedichte eines Anonymous, ed. P. Orth (Vienna, 2000), and Ordering Chaos: The Self and the Cosmos in Twelfth-Century Latin Prosimetrum, trans. B. K. Balint (Leiden, 2009), pp. 174–90; Adelard of Bath, De eodem et diverso, ed. and trans. C. Burnett, in Adelard of Bath, Conversations with His Nephew: On the Same and the Different, Questions on Natural Science, and On Birds (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 2–79; Bernard Silvestris, Cosmographia, ed. P. Dronke (Leiden, 1978), and The Cosmographia of Bernardus Silvestris, trans. W. Wetherbee (New York, 1973); Alan of Lille, De planctu Naturae, ed. N. M. Häring, in ‘Alan of Lille, De Planctu Naturae’, Studi Medievali 19 (1978), 797–879, and The Plaint of Nature, trans. J. J. Sheridan (Toronto, 1980). Peter Dronke, Verse with Prose from Petronius to Dante: The Art and Scope of the Mixed Form (Cambridge, MA, 1994), pp. 46–53; Balint, Ordering Chaos, esp. chapters 1 and 2; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 148–9. 28 Dudo of Saint-Quentin, De moribus et actis primorum Normanniæ ducum, ed. J. Lair (Caen, 1865), trans. E. Christiansen, History of the Normans (Woodbridge, 1998).

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of her innocence, knew it too. Two generations of English queens used Latin texts to intervene on their behalf at points of crisis. The Anonymous’s thematization of Edith’s learning within the pages of the Vita Ædwardi displays it to best advantage, revealing that it is a political asset in the eyes of the audience whose opinion matters.29 This active patronage of and engagement with classicism plays out in the text of the Vita. We have seen how the Anonymous deploys his Ovidianism with acute sensitivity to Edith’s situation, managing it so as to support his message of Edith and Edward’s chastity. If we return to the metamorphosing tree of the House of Godwine which we discussed earlier, we find further evidence of Edith’s role as poetic collaborator. The tree finds its literary roots not only in Ovid’s poetry, but in Old Norse mythology. The Anonymous invokes the Yggdrasil, the world tree, an ash which links earth (Miðgarðr) with the home of the gods (Ásgarðr) and whose roots spread out through the universe. The Yggdrasil is best known from the Grímnismál, a poem of the Icelandic Poetic Edda, preserved in the late thirteenth-century Codex Regius.30 In this account, the tree is eaten alive – its foliage by harts and its roots, in a detail which brings us back to the Vita Ædwardi, by serpents. Like the Anonymous’s tree, Yggdrasil is situated withn a divine landscape of primal rivers, although these rivers flow from the antlers of a hart rather than a Paradisal font. Calling up the Yggdrasil casts the Scandinavian ties of the Godwines as a source of danger. This was no hollow warning, given that Tostig’s alliance with Harald Hardrada would ultimately destroy the powerful family just as Harold Godwineson finally secured the throne. The Old Norse mythology in the Vita represents Edith’s literary heritage and learning, rather than that of a Flemish monk. Its inclusion here very overtly signals Edith’s influence on the text and, at the same time, the way it is combined with Ovidian imagery and poetics figures the Anonymous and Edith as poetic collaborators, playing out within the text the claims made in the prologue. For all of this evidence of Edith’s collaborative influence on how the Anonymous uses Ovid, the Anonymous’s Ovidianism was deeply imbued in him before he came to England from France. In terms of looking for Edith’s influence on the classicism of the text, we find even stronger evidence when we turn to the Anonymous’s use of Statius’s Thebaid, which recounts the conflict between Oedipus’s sons Polynices and Eteocles for control of Thebes.31 The Anonymous explicitly invokes this grim epic of fratricide and war without winners when he has the Poet complain to the Muse that his initially Virgilian task, of praising Edward’s glorious reign, has 29

T. Haye, ‘Nemo Mecenas, Nemo Modo Cesar: Die Idee der Literaturförderung in der Lateinischen Dictung des Hohen Mittelalters’, Classica et Mediaevalia 55 (2004), 203–27; Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 51–100, 121–4, 128–33 and 151. 30 Grímnismál, 26–35, in Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern I: Text, ed. G. Neckel, rev. H. Kuhn, 5th edn (Heidelberg, 1983), pp. 56–68, trans. A. Orchard, in The Elder Edda: A Book of Viking Lore (Harmondsworth, 2011), pp. 49–59. Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 186 and 215. I am grateful to James Williams (York) and Amy Mulligan (Notre Dame) for pointing out this allusion. 31 See Statius, Thebaid, ed./trans. J. H. Mozley, 2 vols (Cambridge, MA, 1928).

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turned into a Theban song: ‘et nunc Thebaidos fedo sub scemate carmen / hoc opus horrenti discipulo retegis’ (‘And now / You show your shrinking pupil that his work / Becomes a Theban song with horrid form’: Vita Ædwardi 2.Prologue). It is important to underscore that Thebes is not a subtext in the Vita, but rather an interpretative framework the audience is invited to see. References to Thebes and echoes of Statius’s Thebaid run throughout the poetry of the Vita. Yet, while the poet certainly knows both the story of Thebes and Statius’s poem, he does not know the latter in the same depth that he knows Lucan’s Civil War; indeed, in some places when he invokes Thebes he actually alludes to Lucan’s poetry. The Anonymous has Statius’s story and poetry in mind, but it is Lucan’s poetry in which he was saturated.32 This is not surprising. Although Statius’s Thebaid was part of the school curriculum in the eleventh century, it was not yet a well-known text, only gaining in popularity in the twelfth century. A century later, the popularity of Statian poetry would contribute to the emergence of courtly romance. Thebes was the first of the classical legends to move into written vernacular romance, when a poet associated with the Angevin court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine produced the Roman de Thèbes. Thebes was already an intertwined literary and political language in English elite circles in the eleventh century.33 The Anonymous’s use of Thebes, as a framework which he expects his secular audience to understand, is thus one of the most breathtaking aspects of the Vita Ædwardi. This move demands that we step back and reimagine the literary culture of England in the decades between the conquests of 1016 and 1066. The reason the Anonymous stretched to bring the Thebaid into his poetry points to Edith and her situation. The two brothers, Polynices and Eteocles, mirror her own brothers, Harold and Tostig, and Oedipus, with his curse, stands as a dark figure for her father Godwine. Even more fundamentally, Antigone presents a powerful figure with whom Edith could identify, and who could be used to interpret her own position. Furthermore, Antigone was a figure who could project Edith’s position outwards to a wider audience. In Statius’s poem, Antigone, sister of the warring brothers, counsels peace, brotherly love and pietas. This is exactly what the Vita Ædwardi represents Edith as doing. Antigone-like, she strains to hold her brothers 32

For example, compare ‘Thebanis accincta rogis’ and ‘Hec quoque tempestas scindit nequissima flammas / fratribus impositis per mutua uulnera lapsis’ (Vita Ædwardi 1.5) with Lucan, The Civil War, Books I–X, ed./trans. J. D. Duff (Cambridge, MA, 1928), 1.549–52. 33 M. D. Reeve, ‘Statius’, in Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics, ed. L. D. Reynolds (Oxford, 1993), pp. 394–6; B. Munk Olsen, ‘The Production of the Classics in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries’, in Medieval Manuscripts of the Latin Classics: Production and Use, ed. C. A. Chavannes-Mazel and M. M. Smith (London and Los Altos Hills, CA, 1996), pp. 1–17 (p. 3); W. Wetherbee, ‘From Late Antiquity to the Twelfth Century’, in The Cambridge History of Literary Criticism, Vol. 2, The Middle Ages, ed. A. Minnis and I. Johnson (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 99–144 (p. 125); Carmina Cantabrigiensia, ed. Ziolkowski, p. 263; C. E. Newlands, Statius, Poet Between Rome and Naples (London, 2012), pp. 131 and 133; and Tyler, ‘German Imperial Bishops’, pp. 182–3, and England in Europe, pp. 144–6 and 175–80.

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back from violence. She is no inciter of hostility as others accuse, but one who holds violence in check.34 The Anonymous addresses not only the Virgin Mary but also Edith, who elsewhere in the poem is figured as Concord, when he exclaims: sedans pace tua, mater, concordia sancta, ne de pignore regali seu stirpe fideli ignis perpetuam stipulam sibi rideat hostis collegisse suis incendia longa fauillis. (O mother, Holy Concord, soothe with peace, Lest from the royal kin and loyal stock The hostile fire should laugh to have procured An endless stubble – fuel for its sparks.) (Vita Ædwardi 1.5)

Although Statius’s Thebaid was not yet widely popular when the Anonymous wrote, it was known to those within Edith’s circle. Bishop Leofric left a glossed copy of Statius to Exeter, alongside the more famous Exeter Book of poetry, when he died in 1072. Leofric, who had returned to England from continental exile with Edward in 1040 and been a royal chaplain, remained connected to the king and queen after his preferment as bishop. The charter recording the consecration of Exeter Cathedral asserts Leofric’s continuing close ties with the king and queen, describing Edward leading Leofric on his right arm, and Edith on his left arm, to the altar.35 Meanwhile, in the Cambridge Songs, the poem mourning the death of Emperor Conrad II and mentioning also the death of Edward’s sister Gunnhild is directly preceded by an excerpt from the Thebaid: the lament of Argia for the death of her husband Polynices, another woman’s grief caused by the famous fratricide.36 The poetic anthology and the Vita share the use of Statius as political discourse. The desire for a classical framework that spoke very specifically to Edith’s situation pushed the Anonymous to reach beyond his own poetic formation.

III Those around Edith, to whom the Vita Ædwardi was addressed, matter alongside the author and his patron. Without them, the Vita is a literary exercise, shared between the Anonymous and Edith, rather than a mode of political leadership. In looking for an audience, the text and other evidence points towards the West Saxon royal nunnery of Wilton. Edith was certainly at Wilton in the years after 34

Vita Ædwardi 1.Prologue and 2.Prologue. Tyler, England in Europe, p. 177. Anglo-Saxon Charters, ed. A. J. Robertson, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 1956), pp. 228–9 and Electronic Sawyer S 1021. Tyler, ‘German Imperial Bishops’, pp. 194 and 198, and England in Europe, pp. 178–9. 36 Carmina Cantabrigiensia, carmen 33. Tyler, England in Europe, p. 177; see also above, p. 209. 35

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the Conquest, and she may have returned there when Harold became king and his wife displaced her as queen early in 1066. The Anonymous writes both that she was educated there as a girl and that she returned there when Edward set her aside in 1051. Later, he locates an unfamiliar village by its proximity to Wilton, suggesting this is one of the fixed points of his English geography. The final chapter of Book I recounts the building of new churches for Westminster and Wilton. Westminster was Edward’s project, a massive church whose architectural innovations are key to the development of the Romanesque style in England and Normandy. Despite Westminster’s precedence, it is Wilton on which the Anonymous lavishes attention. He describes its building but also devotes attention to the nuns who filled it, depicting them, in an epithalamium, as the children of Wilton, with the abbey standing in for the queen. The nuns, the queen’s spiritual children, are more than consolation for her childless marriage.37 In writing of Edith this way, the Anonymous appeals to the living community at Wilton to support the dowager queen. In the years around 1066, the Wilton community included women alongside the queen who were players in Edith’s story, as recounted in the Vita, and present in her life after the death of Edward and the conquest. Like other royal nunneries, Wilton became a refuge for elite English women after the conquest. Among those who enjoyed safety at Wilton was Gunnhild, daughter of Harold Godwinson. Gunnhild’s high level of education is suggested by her ambition to become abbess of Wilton, and by the excoriating letters Anselm sent her when she eloped with Count Alan Rufus (‘the Red’).38 Stephanie Hollis also suggests that Margaret, the learned sister of Edgar Ætheling and daughter of Agafia who went on to marry King Malcolm of Scotland, was educated there.39 In the next generation, Margaret certainly sent her own daughters, Edith/Matilda and Mary, to Wilton.40 Perhaps Edith’s sister Gunnhild, a nun who fled to the Continent in 1068 and died at Bruges, was also a Wilton woman, if not the product of another West Saxon royal nunnery (although the experiences of Edith and the older Gunnhild suggest that the Godwines favoured Wilton).41 These women, from Harold’s and from the Ætheling’s families, would not have been sympathetic to Edith’s support for Tostig; she had to explain herself to them. The women who were at or may have been at Wilton in the decades around the Conquest suggest the presence of a community who both engaged with Edith’s 37

Vita Ædwardi 1.2, 1.3, 1.4, 1.6 and 1.7; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 203–7. Epistolae, in Sancti Anselmi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi opera omnia, ed. F. S. Schmitt, vols 4 and 5 (Edinburgh, 1949 and 1951), and The Letters of St Anselm of Canterbury, trans. W. Fröhlich, 3 vols (Kalamazoo, MI, 1990–4), Ep. 168 and 169. Richard Sharpe, ‘King Harold’s Daughter’, Haskins Society Journal 19 (2007), 1–27; Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, Stealing Obedience: Narratives of Agency and Identity in Later Anglo-Saxon England (Toronto, 2012), pp. 185–209; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 263–5. 39 Hollis, ‘Centre of Learning’, pp. 333–4, and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 269–70. 40 Orderic, Historia ecclesiastica, vol. 4, 8.22. Lois L. Huneycutt, Matilda of Scotland: A Study of Medieval Queenship (Woodbridge, 2003), p. 18. 41 Grierson, ‘England and Flanders’, p. 109. 38 Anselm,

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account of the reign of Edward the Confessor and who were potentially literate enough to understand the complex poetry of the Vita.42 These learned and politically active women were not confined to the nunnery; many were educated there to becomes wives rather than nuns. As we saw, Margaret married the king of Scotland. Margaret’s daughter Edith/Matilda married Henry I, William the Conqueror’s son and king of England. Edith/Matilda’s sister Mary married Eustace III, the powerful crusading count of Boulogne. Their daughter, another Matilda, married King Stephen of England.43 As noted above, the younger Gunnhild famously eloped with, but did not marry, Alan Rufus (and then, after his death, his brother Alan Niger (‘the Black’)). Perhaps marriage was impossible for Gunnhild because she had been veiled as a nun. Nonetheless, the relationship forged a strong alliance with the counts of Richmond, among the most powerful magnates of Norman England, and it may account for their possession of land which had formerly belonged to Gunnhild’s mother, Edith Swanneshals.44 During their lifetimes, the women of Wilton moved between court and cloister. The mobility of these women, between the nunnery and marriage, is important if we are to understand how a sophisticated text written for a Wilton audience could be imagined as doing political work. These women were both the immediate community to which Edith had to explain herself and conduits to leading men among the English elite.45 The presence of educated religious and secular women at Wilton and their role as poets, patrons, and audience has important implications for literary history, and for understanding literary culture in eleventh-century England. To see this larger picture, we need to return to the poetry of the Loire School. The poetic correspondence with the women of the nunnery of Le Ronceray in Angers was a direct spur, and in no way incidental, to the innovative poetics of the Loire School, especially for Marbod and Baudri.46 The role of the women of Le Ronceray might seem to be wholly separate from, or parallel with, the role that Edith and Wilton played in the composition of the Vita. However, there were connections between the two foundations. Goscelin’s beloved friend, the recluse Eve, left Wilton for a hermitage in the grounds of Le Ronceray. Goscelin’s Liber Confortatorius, written for her after her departure, as well as other poems and documents relating to her, allow us to see established links between the women of Le Ronceray and Wilton.47 Later in the eleventh century and early in the 42

Hollis, ‘Centre of Learning’, and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 213–42, 262–5 and 270. England in Europe, pp. 273 and 303. 44 See above, note 38. 45 Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 213–17. 46 Marbod, in W. Bulst, ‘Liebesbriefgedichte Marbods’, in Liber Floridus: Mittellateinische Studien, ed. B. Bischoff and S. Brechter (St Ottilien, 1950), pp. 287–301 (pp. 290–2) and Baudri, Carmina 139 and 153 (acknowledging the poetic superiority of Emma). Peter Dronke, Women Writers of the Middle Ages: A Critical Study of Texts from Perpetua (†203) to Marguerite Porete (†1310) (Cambridge, 1984), p. 85, and Stevenson, Women Latin Poets, pp. 122–4. 47 Goscelin of Saint-Bertin, The Liber Confortatorius of Goscelin of Saint Bertin, ed. Charles H. Talbot, in Analecta Monastica: Textes et études sur la vie des moines au Moyen Âge, ed. M. M. 43 Tyler,

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twelfth, both Baudri and Hildebert would write to Muriel, a poet of Wilton (as the Anonymous said Edith had been a generation or so earlier). Baudri claims that Muriel is the first woman he has written to, dating his correspondence with her prior to that with the women of Le Ronceray. Serlo, a canon of Bayeux, meanwhile, describes Muriel as living in ‘faecunda versibus urbs’ (‘a city fruitful in poetry’). Where established literary paradigms would lead us to expect a move from France to England, in fact the opposite is the case: it was the women of Wilton who provided a model of active patronage later taken up by the women of Le Ronceray.48 This should not surprise us. Le Ronceray was a recent foundation, established in 1028, whose educational and poetic culture, however exceptional and lively, did not have the long history attested at Wilton. When the nunnery was founded, it was the only one in the diocese of Angers.49 By contrast, royal nunnery culture was long and densely established within Wessex, especially at Wilton. Loire School poetry certainly finds its centre in France. But the female patron who is also a collaborator and a female poetic correspondent are initially distinctive contributions from England, where they were rooted in the experience of the West Saxon royal nunnery education.50 It is hardly surprising that the Vita Ædwardi – a history written in England, by a Fleming, for an Anglo-Danish queen, in a style of poetry associated with France and the ‘Twelfth-Century Renaissance’ – has largely been overlooked by literary history, a field of scholarly study with investments in nation, period and discipline.51 Yet the way the Vita Ædwardi crosses all these boundaries provides a compelling example of a woman fusing together intellectual and political leadership. In so doing, Edith not only drew on the example of her predecessor, Emma, but also set an example for future queens.

Lebreton et al., Studii Anselmiana 37 (Rome, 1955), 2–117, and Goscelin of St Bertin: The Book of Encouragement and Consolation (Liber Confortatorius), trans. Monika Otter (Cambridge, 2004). A. Wilmart, ‘Éve et Goscelin [I] and [II]’, Revue Bénédictine 46 (1934), 414–38, and Revue Bénédictine 50 (1938), 42–83; T. Latzke, ‘Robert von Arbrissel, Ermengard und Eva’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch 19 (1984), 116–54; and Stephanie Hollis, ‘Goscelin’s Writings and the Wilton Women’, in Wilton Women, pp. 228–31. 48 Baudri, Carmina 137; Hildebert, Carmina Minora 26, and Serlo of Bayeux, ‘Versus ad Muriel sanctimonialem’, in The Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets, ed. Wright, pp. 233–41. J. S. P. Tatlock, ‘Muriel, the Earliest English Poetess’, Publications of the Modern Language Association of America 48 (1933), 317–21; and Baudri, Carmina, ed. Tilliette, 2:218–19. 49 J. Verdon, ‘Les moniales dans la France de l’Ouest aux XIe et XIIe siècles: Étude d’histoire sociale’, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 19 (1976), 247–64; J. Avril, ‘Les fondations, l’organisation et l’évolution des éstablissements de moniales dans le diocèse d’Angers (du XIe au XIIIe siècle)’, in Les religieuses en France au XIIIe siècle, ed. M. Parisse (Nancy, 1989), pp. 27–67 (pp. 27–33, 38–40 and 45–8); and B. Venarde, Women’s Monasticism and Medieval Society: Nunneries in France and England, 890–1215 (Ithaca, NY, 1997), pp. 17–51. 50 Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 242–8. 51 For recent literary discussion, see, in addition to Otter, ‘Closed Doors’, Jordan, ‘Chronology and Discourse’; L. Ashe, Fiction and History in England, 1066–1200 (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 28–30.

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IV Looking ahead, Edith’s model of literary leadership was carried across the Conquest and brought directly into the Anglo-Norman court, as a result of the marriage of Edith/Matilda to William the Conqueror’s son, Henry I.52 This marriage was celebrated as uniting the Norman and West Saxon dynasties, a message Edith/Matilda vigorously pursued through her patronage both of William of Malmesbury’s Gesta Regum Anglorum and of a number of poets, including Hildebert. William depicts a queen who put literary patronage at the heart of her queenship, attributing this to her Wilton education: ‘A teneris annis inter sanctimoniales apud Wiltoniam et Rumesium educata, litteris quoque femineum pectus exercuit’ (‘She had been brought up from her earliest years amongst nuns at Wilton and Romsey, and had even exercised her intelligence, though a women, in literature’).53 Both the history and poetry which Edith/Matilda patronized forwarded her ideological aim of uniting the two dynasties. William acknowledges that his history was begun at Edith/Matilda’s instigation, and that she not only requested it but, dissatisfied with his brief first effort, pushed him to write more extensively. Edith/Matilda, William claims, wanted the Gesta Regum so that present kings could learn from the good examples of past kings, her West Saxon ancestors.54 But William also takes seriously the need for queens to have examples from the past, and the role of women as the audience of exemplary history. In this he has in mind not only Edith/Matilda but also her daughter, the Empress Matilda of Germany, whose claim to inherit her father’s throne, after the premature death of her brother, was supported by William.55 A desire to include royal women, often in stories from which they had previously been excluded, marks William’s text throughout: from his account of the Adventus Saxonum, which includes a reference to the marriage of the German invader Hengest’s daughter to the British Vortigern, to his portrait of Edith/Matilda herself. As Rodney Thomson notes, William wrote about ‘no fewer than ninety-one’ royal women, and Joan Ferrante has strongly elaborated their importance in William’s work.56 In this context it seems no accident that one of William’s many sources should have been the Vita Ædwardi.57 Hildebert’s poetry for Edith/Matilda, meanwhile, recalls the Anonymous’s discreet use of Ovid in writing about Edith in the Vita Ædwardi. Hildebert’s ‘Anglia

52 J. M. Ferrante, To the Glory of Her Sex: Women’s Roles in the Composition of Medieval Texts (Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN, 1997), pp. 100–4; Huneycutt, Matilda, esp. pp. 125–43; and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 302–53. 53 William of Malmesbury, GRA, 5.418. Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 338 and 342–51. 54 William of Malmesbury, GRA, Ep. 2. 55 William of Malmsebury, GRA, Ep. 2. 56 William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1.7 and 5.418. Ferrante, To the Glory of Her Sex, pp. 100–4; Thomson, ed.,William of Malmesbury, GRA, 2:381. 57 Thomson, ed., William of Malmesbury, GRA, 2:466.

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terra ferax’, for example, takes Edith/Matilda and Henry I as its dual focus.58 As well as praising Edith/Matilda through her men (her father, her husband, her son, and her son-in-law, Emperor Henry V), the poem is remarkable for its insistence on the importance of her saintly mother Margaret, from whom Edith/Matilda traced her West Saxon descent, in forming her character. The poem is also interesting for the way in which Hildebert pointedly desexualizes Edith/Matilda, despite owing much of its language to Ovid.59 Hildebert describes her modesty and chastity, but also displaces Edith/Matilda and writes instead of Anglia, whose checks are adorned not with beauty but with genius (line 31), an intellectual quality. Her breasts, meanwhile, are not physical but rather the location of law, which flourishes under Henry’s rule (‘pectora legis erunt’: line 32). Hildebert, as discussed earlier, may have been familiar with the poetry of the Vita Ædwardi; at the very least he wrote within the same school of poets.60 In writing for the queen, William, and perhaps Hildebert too, could draw on the Vita Ædwardi, learning from it as an example of an English queen using the patronage of demanding literary works for political ends. Edith/Matilda’s practice of queenship proved influential beyond the women of the West Saxon dynasty. Henry I’s second wife, Adeliza of Louvain, had not enjoyed the same elite Latin education as Edith/Matilda, and with her accession the queen’s literary patronage shifted from Latin to French texts, an act that would be seminal for the use of French as a written language. Named in four of the five surviving manuscripts of Benedeit’s Anglo-Norman Voyage of Saint Brendan, and also as the dedicatee of Phillipe de Thaon’s Bestaire, Adeliza is likely Benedeit’s patron (rather than Edith/Matilda, who is named in the one remaining manuscript). Benedeit presents Adeliza as an active patron, twice referring to her in his prefaces as commanding him to write. Yet lay patronage, male or female, was not a hallmark of literary culture in her native Lotharingia.61 The disagreement between 58 Hildebert, Carmina Minora, 37. T. Latzke, ‘Der Fürstinnenpreis’, Mitellateinisches Jahrbuch 14 (1979), 22–65 (53–4). 59 For Ovidian language, see, e.g., ‘terra ferax’ (line 1) (Amores, ed. Antonio Ramirez de Verger, in Carmina amatoria, 2nd edn (Saur, 2006), 2.16.7; Metamorphoses, ed. William S. Anderson, 2nd edn (Leipzig, 1982), 1.314; and Fastorum libri sex, ed. E. H. Alton, Donald E. Wormell and Edward Courtney, 4th edn (Stuttgart, 1997), 1.68); ‘rege sub hoc’ (line 15) (Meta. 4.633 and 14.623); ‘pignora multa’ (line 28) (Fasti 3.74), and ‘sceptra manu’ (line 30) (Meta. 1.596). 60 See above, note 21, and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 199 and 319. A tissue of linguistic echoes and similar treatment of Lady Philosophy are key here. He also had first-hand knowledge of Wilton, writing to Muriel in the early twelfth century. 61 Benedeit, The Anglo-Norman Voyage of St Brendan, ed. Ian Short and Brian Merrilees (Manchester, 1979), and The Voyage of Saint Brendan, trans. W. R. J. Barron and Glyn S. Burgess (Exeter, 2005), lines 10 and 13. See O’Donnell in Thomas O’Donnell, M. Townend and E. M. Tyler, ‘European Literature and Eleventh-Century England’, in The Cambridge History of Early Medieval English Literature, ed. C. A. Lees (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 607–36 (pp. 631–3) and Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 361–5.

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manuscripts and modern scholars regarding the dedicatee of Brendan underscores how central an ultimately English, and specifically West Saxon, model of queenship was to the production of some of the earliest written French texts.

V None of this is a story of an isolated England before 1066, or of French poets composing in England, or of English practices being transferred to France and into the French vernacular. Rather, it is a story of the queens of the late West Saxon and Norman dynasties, whose horizons extended as far east as Kiev, harnessing a display of internationalism to further their dynastic ambitions in an age marked, across Europe, by elite mobility. In so doing they intertwined, and left a lasting mark upon, both the literary and the political history of Europe.

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12 Queens and Demons: Women in English Royal Genealogies, c. 1100–c. 1223 PETER SIGURDSON LUNGA

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his chapter discusses the development and function of female generations in English royal genealogies and genealogical narratives from the long twelfth century. To English historians both before and after 1066, genealogies provided perspective, and were important tools both in comprehending the past and in structuring historical narratives.1 Genealogies established a certain ownership of the past, making them politically significant because questions of descent, prestige and identity mattered in royal succession. The genealogical histories analysed in this chapter were largely products of a process of negotiation and exchange of patronage for dynastic prestige and political legitimacy. They were written by historians who desired to ‘place events within a moral framework of interpretation’.2 As genealogies influenced the emphasis and accuracy of historical narratives, they can be seen as dynastic propaganda.3 Medieval historians believed that a part of their task was to provide their patrons with historical models whose exemplary lives were to be followed, and antitypes whose misfortunes were to be avoided.4 In royal genealogies, ancestral panegyric could also promote legitimation. Emphasis on women of great symbolic or histor1 Gabrielle M. Spiegel, ‘Genealogy: Form and Function in Medieval Historical Narrative’, History and Theory 22 (1983), 43–53; David N. Dumville, ‘Kingship, Genealogies and Regnal Lists’, in Early Medieval Kingship, ed. P. H. Sawyer and I. N. Wood (Leeds, 1977), pp. 72–104; Kenneth Sisam, ‘Anglo-Saxon Royal Genealogies’, Proceedings of the British Academy 39 (1953), 287–348. 2 Björn Weiler, ‘Kingship, Usurpation and Propaganda in Twelfth-Century Europe: The Case of Stephen’, ANS 23 (2001), 299–326 (p. 301). 3 Dumville, ‘Kingship, Genealogies and Regnal Lists’, p. 83. 4 Joan M. Ferrante, To the Glory of Her Sex: Women’s Roles in the Composition of Medieval Texts (Bloomington, IN, 1997), p. 102; William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:6–9.

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ical significance, such as saints or particularly noble or powerful queens, provided such models and increased the prestige of their descendants. By the same token, antitypes could be warnings against foolishness, pride, and their resulting misfortunes. When portrayed as particularly villainous, or even demonic, antitypes could even delegitimize a dynasty or explain present calamities. A common feature shared by many European royal genealogies is their origin from euhemerized (humanized) pagan gods. Modern historians tend to believe that euhemerized gods contributed positively to the political legitimacy of Christian rulers.5 While at least some traces remain of euhemerized pagan goddesses or otherworldly women from pagan antiquity or Celtic and Scandinavian genealogical myth – where descent from such women conferred certain legitimacy onto their descendants – there are very few traces of euhemerized goddesses from English genealogies.6 The absence of euhemerized goddesses is even more striking considering the increasing popularity in twelfth-century England of the Trojan origin myth. According to this myth, Brutus, a Trojan refugee, became the eponymous founder of Britain. He was descended from the Trojan hero and traditional founder of Rome, Aeneas, whose mother, according to Roman myth, was the goddess Venus. Many twelfth-century histories include Brutus as well as a genealogy from Aeneas, but most omit the divine genetrix of this line. One explanation for this might be inherited patterns, for extant royal genealogies from pre-conquest England are almost exclusively male-oriented. This is clearly illustrated by the single-column ancestor tables for the various royal dynasties in the eighth-century Anglian Collection.7 The euhemerized pagan god Woden made his earliest appearance in Bede’s 5

Margaret Clunies Ross, ‘Two Icelandic Theories of Ritual’, in Old Norse Myths, Literature, and Society, ed. Margaret Clunies Ross (Odense, 2003), pp. 279–99; Anthony Faulkes, ‘Descent from the Gods’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 11 (1978–79), 92–125; Olof Sundquist, Freyr’s Offspring: Rulers and Religion in Ancient Svea Society (Uppsala, 2002); Eric John, Reassessing Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester, 1996), pp. 55–7; Harald Kleinschmidt, Understanding the Middle Ages: The Transformations of Ideas and Attitudes in the Medieval World (Woodbridge, 2000), p. 245. 6 Gro Steinsland, Det hellige bryllup og norrøn kongeideologi: en analyse av hierogami-myten i Skírnismál, Ynglingatal, Háleygjatal og Hyndluljód (Oslo, 1991); Gro Steinsland, ‘Origin Myths and Rulership. From the Viking Age Ruler to the Ruler of Medieval Historiography: Continuity, Transformations and Innovations’, in Ideology and Power in the Viking and Middle Ages, ed. Gro Steinsland, Jón Viðar Sigurðsson, Jan Erik Rekdal and Ian Beuermann (Leiden, 2011), pp. 15–67; Else Mundal, ‘Coexistence of Saami and Norse Culture – Reflected in and Interpreted by Old Norse Myths’, in Old Norse Myths, ed. Clunies Ross, pp. 346–55; Brynley F. Roberts, ‘Melusina: Medieval Welsh and English Analogues’, in Mélusines continentales et insulaires. Actes du colloque international tenu les 27 et 28 mars à l’Université Paris XII et au Collège des Irlandais, ed. JeanneMarie Boivin and Proinsias MacCana (Paris, 1999), pp. 281–95 (pp. 281–2); Proinsias MacCana, ‘The Theme of King and Goddess in Irish Literature’, Études Celtiques 7 (1955–6), 76–114, 356–413, and Études Celtiques 8 (1956–7), 59–65. 7 David N. Dumville, ‘The Anglian Collection of Royal Genealogies and Regnal Lists’, ASE 5 (1976), 23–50.

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Kentish genealogy from the Historia Ecclesiastica (c. 731),8 and became a unifying ancestor of this tradition, and a symbol of Anglo-Saxon kingship and royal legitimacy.9 Over the centuries, his genealogy was gradually extended backwards by the insertion of new ancestral generations. In the tenth-century Life of King Alfred by Asser, and in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, this extension culminated with a biblical connection and descent from Noah and Adam.10 In England, this agnatic principle dominates extant genealogies before 1066, as it did in the biblical genealogies of Christ, which provided the models for the earliest generations in Asser’s and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ variants.11 However, this changed with the Norman Conquest, at least in genealogical representation of the later historical generations. Spurred on by rapidly changing political circumstances, twelfth-century historians started acknowledging female progenitors in royal genealogies. The most significant events that encouraged the inclusion of women in genealogies in this period were, first, the marriage in 1100 of the Norman King Henry I of England (r. 1100–35) to the Scottish princess, Edith/ Matilda II (d. 1118), who was a descendant of the Anglo-Saxon royal house through her mother Margaret of Scotland (d. 1093); second, the claim for the English throne put forward in 1135 by Empress Matilda (1102–67), the sole surviving offspring of Henry I and Matilda II; and, finally, the succession of Henry FitzEmpress (1154–89) to the English throne in 1154, whose claim had been inherited from his mother, the Empress Matilda. In the decades after the marriage between Henry I and Matilda II, the significance of Matilda’s ancestry was recorded by several historians, including Orderic Vitalis, Eadmer and William of Malmesbury.12 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ MS E even notes that Matilda was of ‘the rightful royal family of England’.13 Naturally the children of 8

Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, ed. Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford, 1969), pp. 50–1. 9 Richard North, Heathen Gods in Old English Literature (Cambridge, 1997); Anthony Faulkes, ‘The Genealogies and Regnal Lists in a Manuscript in Resen’s Library’, in Sjötíu Ritgerðir Helgaðar Jakobi Benediktssyni 20. Júlí 1977, ed. Jakob Benediktsson, Einar G. Pétrusson and Jónas Kristjánsson (Reykjavík, 1977), pp. 177–90; Barbara A. E. Yorke, ‘Anglo-Saxon Origin Legends’, in Myth, Rulership, Church and Charters: Essays in Honour of Nicholas Brooks, ed. Julia Barrow and Andrew Wareham (Aldershot, 2008), pp. 15–30. 10 Daniel Anlezark, ‘Sceaf, Japheth and the Origins of the Anglo-Saxons’, ASE 31 (2002), 13–46; Asser’s Life of King Alfred, ed. W. H. Stevenson (Oxford, 1904), pp. 2–4; trans. in Alfred the Great: Asser’s ‘Life of King Alfred’ and Other Contemporary Sources, ed. S. Keynes and M. Lapidge (Harmondsworth, 1983), p. 68. 11 Matthew 1:1–17; Luke 3:23–38. 12 Joanna Huntington, ‘St Margaret of Scotland: Conspicuous Consumption, Genealogical Inheritance, and Post-Conquest Authority’, Journal of Scottish Historical Studies 33.2 (2013), 149–64; Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, V:298; Eadmer’s History of Recent Events in England: Historia Novorum in Anglia, ed. M. Rule, trans. G. Bosanquet (London, 1964), p. 126; William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:714–16, 754. 13 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1100.

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this union, Empress Matilda and William Adelin (1103–20), would have a ‘particularly strong hereditary claim to the English throne’.14 Queen Matilda II had a strong sense of the legitimacy of her line, commissioning works of history that highlighted her English royal ancestors.15 William of Malmesbury’s history was produced after Matilda had inquired about her kinship to the West Saxon Saint Aldhelm (d. 709/10).16 Along with Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae, William’s history offers more extensive, meaningful narratives on royal women than earlier texts.17 Matilda similarly asked Turgot of Durham to write a Life of her mother Queen Margaret (completed 1004x7). The Life includes a genealogy from Queen Margaret to her Anglo-Saxon royal forbears, but Turgot curiously devoted significant attention to individuals such as Edward the Confessor (1042–66), and Duke Richard I of Normandy (942–96), who were not ancestors of Matilda and Margaret.18 Joanna Huntington has suggested that such ‘anomalies’ in Margaret’s Life constitute a reluctance to give prominence to Margaret’s and Matilda II’s English ancestors, and that Englishness had low symbolic capital in the Anglo-Norman court.19 The AngloSaxon nicknames Godric and Godgifu which, according to William of Malmesbury, were contemptuously given to the royal couple by members of the court, indicate that Matilda II’s Englishness had its political drawbacks.20 Moreover, the change of name upon her marriage in 1100 from distinctively English to Norman, Edith to Matilda, could perhaps be interpreted as a necessary ‘Normanization’ of a queen with an uncomfortably English identity. Indeed, the name Edith seems to have been chosen by her parents Margaret and Malcolm III (1058–93), king of Scots, precisely for its Anglo-Saxon connotations.21 But such name changes were not particular to Matilda or to England. Elisabeth van Houts has argued that foreign marriages provided aristocratic women with 14

Marjorie Chibnall, The Empress Matilda: Queen Consort, Queen Mother and Lady of the English, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1993), p. 7. 15 Elisabeth van Houts, Memory and Gender in Medieval Europe, 900–1200 (Basingstoke, 1999), p. 74. 16 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:8–9. 17 Ferrante, To the Glory of Her Sex, pp. 100–4; Laura D. Barefield, ‘Gender and the Creation of Lineage in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae’, Enarratio 9 (2002), 1–14; Fiona Tolhurst, Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Translation of Female Kingship (New York, 2013), pp. 16, 155. 18 Huntington, ‘St Margaret of Scotland’, pp. 158–60; Turgot of Durham, Vita Margaretae, ed. J. Hodgson Hinde, in Symeonis Dunelmensis Opera et Collectanea, Surtees Society 51 (Edinburgh, 1868), pp. 234–54 (p. 237). 19 Huntington, ‘St Margaret of Scotland’, p. 162; Pauline Stafford, ‘The Meanings of Hair in the Anglo-Norman World: Masculinity, Reform, and National Identity’, in Saints, Scholars, and Politicians: Gender as a Tool in Medieval Studies, ed. M. van Dijk and R. Nip, Medieval Church Studies 15 (Turnhout, 2005), pp. 153–71. 20 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:716–17; Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity 1066–c.1220 (Oxford, 2003), p. 141. 21 Huntington, ‘St Margaret of Scotland’, p. 154.

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new identities, and that a change of name helped women adjust to new social environments.22 Edith’s change to Matilda, therefore, is not necessarily evidence of the ‘low symbolic capital’ of Englishness. Moreover, the treatment and social position of the surviving members of the Anglo-Saxon royal family in England and Scotland after 1066 indicate deference rather than contempt for their AngloSaxon blood ties.23 Queen Margaret’s brother, Edgar Ætheling, was established at William the Conqueror’s court, granted substantial land holdings by the king, and was long associated with the Conqueror’s sons.24 Queen Margaret’s sister, Christina, was also granted land, and probably became abbess of Romsey Abbey in 1086.25 And Edward the Confessor’s widow, Edith, was allowed to live out her life peacefully, with revenues and estates largely intact.26 The legitimizing force of genealogical ‘Englishness’ was illustrated by the Conqueror himself, who justified his claim to England both by King Edward the Confessor’s supposed promise of the throne, and his rather remote kinship with that king. Edward’s mother, Emma of Normandy, wife of both Æthelred II and Cnut, was the Conqueror’s great-aunt; this tenuous connection was sufficiently important to justify making the additional claim to succession by right of consanguinity.27 Emma’s father was Richard I, the same duke of Normandy who is mentioned in Margaret’s Life. The attention devoted to Edward and Richard in Turgot’s genealogy of Queen Margaret, therefore, was not anomalous; it increased the prestige of Margaret and the legitimacy of her daughter. The emphasis on Edward and Richard illustrates a further point. Direct descent was not always relevant even in questions of succession or legitimacy, because distant relatives and ‘spiritual’ ancestors could provide equal, or occasionally more significant, prestige or precedence to their ‘descendants’. This is illustrated in the Chronicle of John of Worcester, written during the first half of the twelfth century and containing a comprehensive, genealogical preface consisting of several interconnected tables and an accompanying narrative.28 In 22

Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Changes of Aristocratic Identity: Remarriage and Remembrance in Europe 900–1200’, in Memory and Commemoration in Medieval Culture, ed. Elma Brenner, Meredith Cohen and Mary Franklin-Brown (Farnham, 2013), pp. 221–42 (pp. 225–6). 23 Catherine Keene, Saint Margaret, Queen of the Scots: A Life in Perspective (New York, 2013), p. 49. 24 Nicholas Hooper, ‘Edgar Ætheling (b. 1052?, d. in or after 1125)’, ODNB; Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 49. 25 Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 49; Domesday Book: Oxfordshire, trans. John Morris and Clare Caldwell (Chichester, 1978), p. 54; Domesday Book: Warwickshire, trans. John Morris and Judy Plaister (Chichester, 1976), p. 42. 26 Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 49; Stafford, Emma and Edith, pp. 274–9. 27 Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 49; Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 150–1. See also Emily Ward’s chapter in this volume, pp. 331–52, for a discussion of William’s blood claim. 28 The Chronicle’s most recent editors have dated the text to between 1095x1106 and 1140x1143. See John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:lxxxi.

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modern editions of the Chronicle this section is referred to as Accounts, but since it is itself awaiting a modern critical edition, this discussion refers only to the chief manuscript of the Chronicle from the twelfth century.29 The narrative of Accounts is an abbreviation of English history, from the arrival of Hengist and Horsa to the succession of Henry I in 1100. The genealogical tables mainly show descent through the male line, from Adam to the founders of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms and their descendants, but it occasionally includes women as wives, mothers and daughters of the men in the main line. Ancestors of female generations are only given if the women are themselves daughters of men in the main lines of descent. The earliest generations reflect the male focus of Anglo-Saxon legendary genealogies, and they are listed in a single column in the middle of the page. Unlike Anglo-Saxon genealogies, Accounts also provides cadet branches parallel to the main line that runs down the centre of each page. Accounts frequently includes more than one child for each generation, using red lines to indicate the relationship between parents and children.30 This extends the genealogical scope beyond descent and filiation to kinship. The genealogy from Adam to Woden, for example, is supplemented by parallel generations from the Old Testament, with the descendants of Noah’s sons, Shem, Cham and Japheth for several generations on each side of the central column.31 The majority of the Old Testament generations mentioned are also men, copied from the genealogical tables of 1 Chronicles, but four women appear among the descendants of Shem: Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel, the four matriarchs of Judaism.32 Although the genealogy is organized by a patrilineal principle, its female generations and cadet branches unfold in impressive detail. Marginal notes and the accompanying genealogical narrative provide further information that shows the complex inter-connected nature of the various dynasties through intermarriage. Rubrics are added to both men and women of particular significance, such as Old Testament patriarchs or Anglo-Saxon saints, nuns and martyrs. Accounts is an extensive prosopography of Anglo-Saxon royalty. Its purpose seems to have been to structure the past through genealogical form, with the text functioning perhaps as a reference work for readers of history, or participants in the historical workshops in Worcester.33 29

Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 157, pp. 47–54 (hereafter OCCC 157); designated as MS C in John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:xxi–xxxv, lxxiv–lxxvi. Digitized at https://digital.bodleian. ox.ac.uk/inquire/p/ff6a111a-48dc-44d4-b31b-abbb57306e49. 30 Laura Cleaver, Illuminated History Books in the Anglo-Norman World, 1066–1272 (Oxford, 2018), p. 161; Christiane Klapisch-Zuber, L’Ombre des ancêtres (Paris, 2000), pp. 92–4. 31 OCCC 157, p. 47. 32 Amalie Fößel, ‘The Political Traditions of Female Rulership in Medieval Europe’, in The Oxford Handbook of Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, ed. Judith Bennett and Ruth Karras (Oxford, 2013), pp. 69–81 (pp. 71–2). 33 Martin Brett, ‘John of Worcester and His Contemporaries’, in The Writing of History in the Middle Ages: Essays Presented to Richard William Southern, ed. R. H. C. Davis and J. M. Wallace-Hadrill (Oxford, 1981), pp. 101–26.

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Despite the introduction of women in Accounts, it was not yet developed into a full bilateral genealogy. The Norman kings of England appear as a somewhat disconnected family in the centre column of the West Saxon list, with no apparent connection to the Anglo-Saxons. The marginal narrative reveals that John of Worcester was perfectly familiar with Queen Margaret’s West Saxon ancestry and her marriage to King Malcolm of Scotland. But John’s Chronicle entry on Matilda’s wedding to Henry does not invoke her Anglo-Saxon ancestry.34 If Accounts is not considered, John of Worcester appears to be exceptional among his contemporaries in not stressing Matilda’s Anglo-Saxon ancestry.35 Matilda II is also disconnected from her Wessex ancestors in the genealogical table of Accounts, where she only appears as Henry’s wife. Queen Margaret is entirely omitted.36 However, Margaret’s inclusion in the textual narrative of both Accounts and the Chronicle provides sufficient information to allow the reader to reconnect Matilda II and her offspring to the entire West Saxon genealogy, with its plethora of powerful and saintly ancestors and relatives. The combined use of the Chronicle and Accounts thus establishes continuity between the Anglo-Saxon past and the Anglo-Norman present, relying on female generations. In the war between King Stephen (r. 1135–54) and Empress Matilda, genealogy played at least some part in Matilda’s propaganda. In his account of the magnates’ oath to support the empress as successor to Henry I, William of Malmesbury highlighted her descent from the Old English line of kings, and Robert of Torigni emphasized the Anglo-Saxon forbears of the empress in his additions to Gesta Normannorum Ducum.37 Robert of Torigni also mentions a certain Life of Queen Matilda II, which, if it was ever written, is now lost. While he might have been referring to Turgot’s Life of Saint Margaret, Elisabeth van Houts argues that the empress probably intended to have Robert add such a Life of her mother to his Gesta Normannorum Ducum to build legitimacy for herself and her children as future heirs to the English throne.38 Curiously, genealogical legitimation played a negligible part in King Stephen’s propaganda. Both Stephen and his wife, Queen Matilda III (d. 1152), were cousins of the empress. Stephen’s mother was Henry I’s sister Adela (d. 1102); he claimed succession as the grandson of William the Conqueror on his mother’s side. His wife Queen Matilda III had the same Anglo-Saxon ancestry as the Empress Matilda, being descended from Matilda II’s younger sister Mary. The children of King Stephen and Queen Matilda III, then, were descended both from the Conqueror, through their paternal grandmother, and also from the Anglo-Saxon kings, through

34

John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1100 (III:96–7). Kirsten A. Fenton, Gender and Conquest in the Works of William of Malmesbury, Gender in the Middle Ages 4 (Woodbridge, 2008), p. 124, n. 137. 36 OCCC 157, pp. 53–4. 37 William of Malmesbury, Historia Novella: The Contemporary History, ed. Edmund King, trans. K. R. Potter (Oxford, 1998), pp. 6–8; GND, II:240–3. 38 Van Houts, Memory and Gender, p. 74. 35

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their maternal grandmother. The family could claim the same genealogical legitimacy as Empress Matilda, but no surviving source records that they ever did so. Queen Matilda III was apparently less interested in her Scottish or Anglo-Saxon heritage than the empress, and only commissioned a Life of her paternal grandmother, Ida of Lorraine, which did nothing to increase the legitimacy of her children with Stephen.39 Furthermore, the Scottish branch of this family led by King David I (r. 1124–53), uncle to both Queen Matilda III and Empress Matilda, favoured the empress’s claim, and he invaded Northumbria repeatedly to demonstrate this support. This might have discouraged King Stephen’s supporters from using a connection to that family as legitimation. Nevertheless, the Scottish connection with the English royal house was evidently of some importance, as is suggested by the historical works of the Cistercian abbot Aelred of Rievaulx. In what follows, I will consider how Aelred portrayed women in his Genealogia regum Anglorum, written in 1153 or 1154, at the time of the transference of power from King Stephen to Matilda’s son Henry FitzEmpress. Aelred was educated at the Benedictine priory of Durham, which enjoyed the patronage of Malcolm III, king of Scots, Queen Margaret, and their sons.40 There were also strong collaborative links between Worcester and Durham, involving the exchange of historical material.41 Aelred seems to have known John of Worcester’s genealogies at the time of writing his Genealogia. Aelred arrived at the Scottish court aged fourteen, and he became intimately acquainted with Princess Edith (the future Matilda II of England) and her brother, the future King David I, whom Aelred held in great esteem. Later, as abbot of Rievaulx (1147–67), Aelred compiled the Genealogia, which contained one of the first royal bilateral genealogies in English historiography that followed a line through generations of both genders back to Adam. The work was dedicated to the recently selected heir-apparent to the throne of England, Henry FitzEmpress, son of Empress Matilda and Geoffrey of Anjou. The Genealogia traces Henry’s descent from three women of three royal families: Empress Matilda and the Anglo-Norman conquerors; Queen Matilda II and the Scottish house of Malcolm III; and Queen Margaret and the Anglo-Saxon royal dynasty. Aelred’s primary purpose was to legitimize Henry’s approaching rule by glorifying his ancestors in a lineage enabled by his descent from these three women.42 Even though the Genealogia contains female generations, it devotes more 39 Ibid. 40

Anselm Hoste, ‘A Survey of the Unedited Work of Laurence of Durham, with an Edition of His Letter to Aelred of Rievaulx’, Sacris Erudiri 11 (1960), 249–60. For the special relationship between the monastic community at Durham and the Scottish royal family, see Keene, Saint Margaret, pp. 98–100. 41 Brett, ‘John of Worcester and His Contemporaries’, p. 121; David Rollason, ‘Symeon of Durham’s Historia de Regibus Anglorum et Dacorum as a Product of Twelfth-Century Historical Workshops’, in The Long Twelfth-Century View of the Anglo-Saxon Past, ed. Martin Brett and David A. Woodman (Aldershot, 2015), pp. 95–111 (p. 110). 42 Elizabeth Freeman, Narratives of a New Order: Cistercian Historical Writing in England, 1150– 1220, Medieval Church Studies 2 (Turnhout, 2002), p. 73.

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space to male ancestors, and largely confines the women to a functional role of connecting the dynasties together.43 Despite its bilateralism, prestige and legitimacy were predominantly conferred by the genealogical connection between Henry FitzEmpress and other powerful men. Aelred devoted a large section of his work to a lament for the recently deceased David I of Scotland, Henry’s great uncle, who had knighted the young duke in 1149.44 Within the Genealogia, Henry’s genealogy is first presented as a summary, moving backwards from the empress to Anglo-Saxon royalty, and from the euhemerized gods of Anglo-Saxon myth to the biblical figures of Noah and Adam. The genealogy then moves forward from Adam, offering comments on individuals of special significance. From King Æthelwulf of Wessex (d. 858) until the Norman Conquest, kings are presented in individual chapters. Not all the individuals to whom Aelred devotes special attention were in fact Henry’s ancestors. Rather, his attention is divided between direct ancestors and more distant relations. Much like in Turgot’s Life, the subject of the genealogy is presented as part of a larger, more complex kinship group involving relatives, bloodline ancestors and spiritual ancestors. Yet once again, the genealogical subject’s membership of this group depends on female ancestors. Although serving a primary function of linking powerful men to other male rulers and legendary patrilineal genealogies, female ancestors and relatives are also praised for their virtues. A few exceptionally wise, capable, and saintly women are mentioned in Aelred’s Genealogia. The praise offered to them increases Henry’s prestige and the legitimacy of his royal aspirations. However, compared with the praise lavished upon Henry’s male ancestors and relatives in Aelred’s Genealogia, the attention devoted to women is rather brief. Henry’s mother, the empress, is described as gloriosissima (‘most glorious’ or ‘most illustrious’). Her mother, Queen Matilda II, is called christianissima (‘most Christian’) and excellentissima (‘most distinguished’).45 Queen Matilda II’s mother, the saintly Queen Margaret of Scotland, was a woman one could reasonably expect Aelred to have a lot to say about, but she is simply described as ‘sanctissime femine… que nominis sui splendorem morum sanctitate praeferebat’ (‘a holy woman… who set sanctity of life above the lustre of her name’).46 Aelred seems more than willing to comply with Queen Margaret’s declared dislike of further renown. Rather than providing many examples of her saintly virtues, Aelred laconically refers to the work of Turgot’s Life of Queen Margaret, observing that her ‘laudabilem uitam et mortem preciosissimam liber inde editus satis insinuat’ (‘praiseworthy life and precious death a book published

43 Freeman,

Narratives of a New Order, pp. 70–85. Aelred of Rievaulx, The Genealogy of the Kings of the English, ed. Marsha L. Dutton, trans. Jane Patricia Freeland, in Aelred of Rievaulx: The Historical Works (Kalamazoo, MI, 2005), p. 43. 45 Aelred of Rievaulx, Genealogia regum Anglorum, in Aelredi Rievallensis Opera historica et hagiographica, ed. Domenico Pezzini, CCCM 3 (Turnhout, 2017), pp. 3–56 (p. 22); Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 72. 46 Aelred, Genealogia, p. 23; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 72. 44

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there [in Scotland] shows well enough’).47 Such brevity on women is the norm in most of Aelred’s Genealogia. Compared to the comprehensive Worcester Accounts, Aelred’s narrative is brief, condensed to include only the Wessex line of kings and the families of William the Conqueror and Malcolm III. Even compared to the Wessex section of Accounts, Aelred still mentions fewer women, although he initially provided three female generations. Among Henry’s remaining female ancestors only three are mentioned by name: Ealhswith (‘Elswida’), wife of Alfred the Great; Eadgifu (‘Aedgiva’), wife of Edward the Elder; and Ealdgyth (‘Agatha’), wife of Edmund Ironside.48 Two more are mentioned without the inclusion of their names. The mother of King Æthelred II is mentioned simply as regina (‘queen’), possible reasons for which will be considered shortly; and Æthelred II’s first wife appears as ‘filia Torethi nobilissimi comitis’ (‘daughter of Thored the Noble Earl’).49 Considering Aelred’s panegyric intentions, it is quite surprising that he failed to mention Queen Ælfgifu, wife of King Edmund I, whose veneration as a saint did not evade John of Worcester. Both Aelred and John mentioned Edmund’s sister, Saint Eadburh, a Life of whom was written by Osbert of Clare in the early twelfth century.50 Even among the women in the three female generations closest to Henry, Aelred only provides a slightly longer commentary on Queen Matilda II of England, elaborating on her saintly reputation as a ‘most Christian’ and ‘most distinguished’ woman. Aelred adds an anecdote told by King David, who had served as a young man at the court of King Henry I and Matilda II. Once, the queen called him to her chambers, and he discovered her washing the feet of lepers and kissing them with devotion. The terrified David rebuked her, saying that the king would surely never kiss her again if he knew what she was doing. Matilda, however, invites her brother to join her: ‘Pedes, ait, Regis eterni quis nesciat labiis regis morituri esse preferendos? Ego certe iccirco vocavi te, frater carissime, ut meo exemplo talia discas operari. Sumpta proinde pelui, fac quod me facere intueris’ (‘Who does not know that the feet of the eternal king should be preferred to the lips of a king who will die? Indeed I called you for this, my dearest brother, so that you would learn by my example to do the same. Take the basin then, and do what you see me doing’).51 Still spiritually immature, David refuses his sister’s request and leaves the queen in shame. It says much of Aelred’s esteem for Matilda II that his friend, the future King David I of Scotland, is portrayed as spiritually inferior to his sister. Indeed, Matilda had a reputation for holiness which is buttressed by Aelred’s comparison of her to the Old Testament Queen Esther: ‘De cuius admirabili gloria animique uirtute, 47 Aelred,

Genealogia, p. 53; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 116. Genealogia, pp. 33, 52. 49 Aelred, Genealogia, p. 44; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 105. 50 Barbara Yorke, ‘Eadburh [St Eadburh, Eadburga] (921x4–951x3)’, ODNB. 51 Aelred, Genealogia, p. 55; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 120. 48 Aelred,

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quamque fuerit in officiis diuinis sacrisque uigiliis assidua ac deuota, in tanta insuper potestate quam humilis, qui scribere uoluerit, alteram nobis Hester nostris temporibus declarabit’ (‘Anyone who wants to write about her [Matilda II’s] wonderful renown and her strength of mind, how assiduous and devoted she was at the divine offices and holy vigils, how humble she was, especially considering her great power, will show us another Esther in our time’).52 The comparison is likely to be modelled on a similar description of Queen Margaret from Turgot’s Life,53 but such Old Testament comparisons are also frequently invoked in the Genealogia to praise Anglo-Saxon kings: King Alfred is compared to King David and Job, King Edwin is compared to Elijah, and King Edgar is compared to the Persian King Cyrus.54 The invocation of the Esther topos for Matilda II is potentially multivalent, and might have a genealogical significance.55 Aelred emphasized the contrast between Matilda’s humility and the power she wielded as queen of England, but the ‘English’ Matilda II’s wedding to the son of the Conqueror can also signify cultural reconciliation. This echoes Esther’s union with a foreign king and her many intercessions on behalf of her oppressed people.56 The comparison with Esther not only increased the prestige of Matilda II and her grandson Henry FitzEmpress, but also highlighted her Englishness, as a symbol of compromise and union between the conquerors and the conquered. This symbolism is conferred upon Henry, who is at once portrayed as English, Norman, Scottish and Angevin, and a man ‘in quo cum omnium antecessorum tuorum uirtutes conuenerint’ (‘in whom the virtues of all your ancestors have come together’).57 The only other woman whom Aelred describes at any length is Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, the daughter of Alfred the Great. Although not Henry’s ancestor, she nonetheless adds ‘decoris plurimum’ (‘a great deal of nobility’), according to Aelred.58 Elizabeth Freeman has shown how medieval writers consider Æthelflæd as either pugnacious, pious or kingly depending on their outlook and intentions.59 Much like the author of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles annal, Aelred praised Æthelflæd for stereotypically masculine qualities, such as courage, strength and military prowess: ‘sexu quidem femina, sed animo ac uirtute plus uiro… Ipsa pugnauit contra Walenses et uicit, et Derebi expugnauit et cepit. Tantaque fortitudine emicuit, ut a pluribus rex diceretur’ (‘In sex she was a woman, but in spirit and strength more a 52 Aelred,

Genealogia, pp. 54–5; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 119. Lois L. Huneycutt, ‘Intercession and the High-Medieval Queen: The Esther Topos’, in Power of the Weak: Studies on Medieval Women, ed. J. Carpenter and S. MacLean (Urbana, IL, 1995), pp. 126–46; Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 87. 54 Aelred, Genealogia, pp. 17, 38. 55 Huntington, ‘St Margaret’, pp. 154–5; Freeman, Narratives of a New Order, pp. 82–3. 56 Lois L. Huneycutt, Matilda of Scotland: A Study in Medieval Queenship (Woodbridge, 2003), p. 6. 57 Aelred, Genealogia, p. 4; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 43. 58 Aelred, Genealogia, p. 32; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 87. 59 Freeman, Narratives of a New Order, pp. 76–7. 53

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man. She herself fought the Welsh and bested them, and she stormed Derby and took it. She displayed so much courage that many called her king’).60 Æthelflæd’s success in military matters makes her transgression of traditional gender boundaries a notable marvel in the eyes of twelfth-century ecclesiastical writers. Aelred’s view that Æthelflæd was both masculine and kingly is shared by Henry of Huntingdon.61 Freeman considers this re-gendering of Æthelflæd necessary because it was ‘culturally impossibly to conceive of women as political leaders’.62 But the emphasis on Æthelflæd’s ‘manliness’ can also be seen as an acknowledgment of her achievements to the glory of her dynasty, in the context of the changing role of queens in England since the Norman Conquest. It is perhaps also intended as a comment on the activities of a rather unconventional contemporary royal woman: Empress Matilda. Anglo-Saxon royal consorts had traditionally shared in royal power with the king, but the cross-Channel realm resulted in an even greater delegation of authority to queens because of the kings’ frequent absences from England.63 While there is no evidence of Anglo-Saxon queen consorts ever holding regal powers during their husbands’ lifetimes, a queen such as Matilda II was effectively vice-regent during Henry I’s stays in Normandy. Matilda issued charters and writs in her own name, and sat in the Winchester Exchequer court of 1111.64 The exceptional circumstances of the civil war also made it necessary for women such as the Empress Matilda and Queen Matilda III to raise troops and be involved in military matters, not unlike Æthelflæd from Aelred’s narrative.65 Aelred was, of course, far too careful to discuss the civil war between Stephen and Matilda, and taking sides was entirely unnecessary since the succession had already been decided in favour of Matilda’s son Henry, following the 1153 Treaty of Winchester. This did not prevent Aelred from devoting praise to Henry’s distant relative Æthelflæd, however, and by praising Æthelflæd for her nobility, strength and courage, Aelred distances his work from chroniclers who condemned the ‘masculine’ qualities of the capable and powerful Empress Matilda as arrogance, obstinacy and anger.66 Instead, Henry was offered a model of a powerful and accomplished female military leader who almost became king in her own right. By directing this praise to Æthelflæd, Aelred could indirectly imply approbation of the empress’s ‘masculine virtues’. 60 Aelred,

Genealogia, pp. 32–3; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 87. Henry of Huntingdon, HA, pp. 308–9. 62 Freeman, Narratives of a New Order, pp. 76–7. 63 Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Queens in the Anglo-Norman/Angevin Realm’, in Mächtige Frauen? Königinnen und Fürstinnen im europäischen Mittelalter (11.–14. Jahrhunderdt), ed. Claudia Zey (Ostfildern, 2015), pp. 199–224. 64 Lois L. Huneycutt, ‘Proclaiming Her Dignity Abroad: The Literary and Artistic Network of Matilda of Scotland, Queen of England 1100–1118’, in The Cultural Patronage of Medieval Women, ed. June Hall McCash (Athens, GA, 1996), pp. 155–74; Robert Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075–1225 (Oxford, 2000), p. 39. 65 Chibnall, Empress Matilda, pp. 95–7. 66 Chibnall, Empress Matilda, p. 96. 61

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Such historical prefiguration would not be an entirely new way to approach the empress. J. S. P. Tatlock and Fiona Tolhurst have shown how Geoffrey of Monmouth invented a historical precedent for female rulership in Historia regum Britanniae, demonstrating to the aristocratic audience of civil war England that women could rule successfully.67 There are no fewer than four ruling queens in the Historia: Guendolena, Cordeilla, Marcia and Helena. All were, in different ways, similar to the empress. Guendolena and Marcia, like Matilda, are mothers of princes who were too young to assume power alone. Guendolena raises troops and organizes armies, as Matilda did. Similarly to Cordeilla and Guendolena, Matilda was challenged by male relatives who refused to accept a female monarch, preferring instead to throw the kingdom into civil war.68 Geoffrey thus establishes a narrative pattern where the stability of the kingdom and legitimate female rulership are ruined by rebellious male relatives. Since the Historia was completed at some point before 1139, these stories were certainly intended to warn English magnates about the dangers of war and dynastic instability, albeit wisely making no direct comment on those magnates who had betrayed their oath to Matilda by rallying to Stephen in 1135. Warnings such as these could also be formulated in genealogical histories by employing female antitypes. According to William of Malmesbury’s letter to the empress, one of the central purposes of history was to learn from and avoid the misfortunes of others.69 Along with this letter, William gifted a copy of his Gesta regum Anglorum to the empress, explaining that it primarily dealt with her ancestors.70 In between appropriate praise offered to both male and female ancestors of the empress, William also devotes attention to a few highly problematic women.71 One of these is Queen Ælfthryth (d. 1000), who was directly related to the empress. In eleventh-century hagiography, Ælfthryth was the wicked step-mother who had her stepson, Edward the Martyr (r. 975–78), murdered in order to enthrone her son, Æthelred II (r. 978–1013 and 1014–16).72 Most twelfth-century historians repeat the allegations against Ælfthryth, portraying her as an ambitious, seductive and violent woman.73 As noted above, Aelred of Rievaulx omits her name and all details of her 67 J. S. P. Tatlock, ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Motives for Writing His “Historia”’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 79 (1938), 695–703 (p. 702): Fiona Tolhurst, ‘The Britons as Hebrews, Romans, and Normans: Geoffrey of Monmouth’s British Epic and Reflections of Empress Matilda’, Arthuriana 8 (1998), 69–87 (p. 78). 68 Tolhurst, ‘The Britons’, p. 78. 69 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:6–9. 70 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:8–9. 71 Ferrante, To the Glory of Her Sex, p. 102. 72 Barbara Yorke, ‘The Women in Edgar’s Life’, in Edgar King of the English 959–975: New Interpretations, ed. Donald G. Scragg (Woodbridge, 2008), pp. 143–57 (pp. 152–4); Edward King and Martyr, ed. Christine E. Fell (Leeds, 1971), pp. 1–17. 73 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:256-67; Henry of Huntingdon, HA, p. 324; John of Worcester, Chronicle, II:428–31; but cf. the more sympathetic account of Geffrei Gaimar, Estoire des Engleis: History of the English, ed. and trans. Ian Short (Oxford, 2009), lines 3561–4094.

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life from his narrative, referring to her only as regina, possibly because his panegyric mission would have been severely compromised by the inclusion of such a controversial figure. Aelred simply observes that Edward was murdered by ‘wicked men’.74 The most severe calumniation of Ælfthryth is found in Liber Eliensis, which portrays the queen as a sexually insatiable sorceress who had the first abbot of Ely murdered when he rejected her advances.75 Abbot Byrhtnoth is compared to Joseph in his persistence against the temptress Ælfthryth, in an obvious parallel with the episode of Potiphar’s wife in Genesis 39. William of Malmesbury portrays Ælfthryth’s cruelty as the trigger for divine punishment, greater historical calamities for England, and the ultimate overthrow of the royal dynasty. Upon her son Æthelred’s coronation, William has Archbishop Dunstan prophesy the Danish invasions as divine retribution against Ælfthryth and her co-conspirators for Edward’s murder.76 Kirsten Fenton argues that for William, Ælfthryth exemplifies the dangers of feminine power.77 But the episode cannot be regarded as an attempt to delegitimize all female ambition; William enthusiastically supported the empress’s claim to the English throne. Rather, it is likely that William attempted to influence the empress by offering an antimodel of feminine depravity, whose misfortunes were to be avoided at all cost. A more explicit example of demonizing a royal ancestor comes from Gerald of Wales’s De Principis Instructione (written c. 1190, though not circulated until 1223). Gerald proposes a pseudo-genealogical explanation for the notorious and violent power struggles between Henry II and his sons: they descended from the devil. The possibility of demonic descent had been discussed since the time of Augustine.78 In the twelfth century, stories of ‘otherworldly’, fairy or demonic ancestors were fairly common.79 According to Gerald, one of the ancestors of the Angevin dynasty was a certain countess of Anjou, of great beauty, but uncertain origin. Curiously, she only attended mass briefly and infrequently, and always left the 74 Aelred,

Genealogia, p. 44; Genealogy, trans. Freeland, p. 104. Liber Eliensis, ed. E. O. Blake, Camden Society 3rd ser. 92 (London, 1962), pp. 128–9. 76 William of Malmesbury, GRA, I:268–9. 77 Fenton, Gender and Conquest, p. 127. 78 Dyan Elliot, Fallen Bodies, Pollution, Sexuality and Demonology in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia, PA, 1990), p. 52. 79 Such stories achieve even greater popularity in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century accounts, with the legends of Melusina, the Swan Knight, or the disrobing of Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. See Roberts, ‘Melusina’, pp. 282–3; Nicholas L. Paul, To Follow in Their Footsteps: The Crusades and Family Memory in the High Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 2012), pp. 87–8; Nicolas Kiessling, The Incubus in English Literature: Provenance and Progeny (Pullman, WA, 1977); Neil Cartlidge, ‘Sons of Devils’, in Heroes and Anti-Heroes in Medieval Romance, ed. Neil Cartlidge (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 219–35; Daniel Power, ‘The Stripping of a Queen: Eleanor of Aquitaine in Thirteenth-Century Norman Tradition’, in The World of Eleanor of Aquitaine: Literature and Society in Southern France Between the Eleventh and Thirteenth Century, ed. Marcus Bull and Catherine Léglu (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 115–36. 75

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church after the reading of the gospel. When her suspecting husband one day attempted to prevent his wife from leaving church during mass, she grabbed two of her sons and flew out of a high window, never to be seen again.80 Other sons remained, however, and one of them became the ancestor of the kings of England. Indeed, Gerald claims that Richard I (d. 1199) knew the story well and referred to the episode frequently: Istud autem Rex Ricardus sæpe referre solebat, dicens non esse mirandum, si de genere tali et filii parentes et sese ad invicem fratres infestare non essent; de diabolo namque eos omnes venisse et ad diabolum didicebat ituros esse. Cum igitur ex omni parte radix fuerit tam vitiosa, qualiter hinc propago vel fructosa pervenire posset vel virtuosa? (Moreover, King Richard was often accustomed to refer to this event; saying that it was no matter of wonder, if coming from such a race, sons should not cease to harass their parents, and brothers to quarrel amongst each other; for he knew that they all had come of the devil, and to the devil they would go. When, therefore, the root was in every way so corrupt, how was it possible that the branches from such as stock could be prosperous or virtuous?)81

Unlike Ælfthryth, however, the demon countess of Anjou was no historical antitype, whose foolishness or misfortunes could be avoided. She did not warn the present of anything but her own progeny, and these narratives offer explanations of the present rather than the past. Cursed with demonic descent, the Angevins could not avoid their fate: the contemporary infighting, impiety and calamities of Henry II and his children. Rather, Gerald seems to suggest, the Angevins should themselves be avoided. Gerald of Wales is likely to have modelled this story on several anecdotes from De Nugis Curialium (Courtiers’ Trifles) written in the 1180s by Walter Map, Gerald’s older friend and colleague at the court of Henry II.82 But unlike Gerald, Walter drew no conclusions on the origin of such otherworldly women, and none of them is associated with Henry’s family. It is likely that Gerald’s demonization of the Angevins was his own invention, the petulant response to disappointment with his royal patrons. At the time of writing in the 1190s, Gerald of Wales was a disgruntled courtier, who had long nourished an unrealistic expectation of return for his literary exertions and the ostentatious panegyrics he had offered to Henry II and his family.83 Gerald’s ambition was a bishopric, but after being passed over for 80

Gerald of Wales, De Principis Instructione, ed. George F. Warner, in Giraldi Cambrensis opera, 8 vols (London, 1861–91), VIII:301–2. 81 Gerald of Wales, De Principis Instructione, p. 301; trans. Joseph Stevenson, in The Church Historians of England, 5 vols (London, 1853–8), V:224. 82 Walter Map, De Nugis Curialium: Courtiers’ Trifles, ed./trans. M. R. James, rev. C. N. L. Brooke and R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford, 1983), pp. 344–51. 83 Robert Bartlett, Gerald of Wales: A Voice of the Middle Ages (Stroud, 2006), p. 54.

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promotion repeatedly, praise gradually turned to criticism. De Principis Instructione should also be seen in the context of rebellion against King John (1199–1216) in the early thirteenth century. Robert Bartlett argues that De Principis Instructione and Gerald’s later writings were composed to create ‘an image of damned and violent rulers whose replacement by the serene Capetians of France would be a blessing for England’.84 Part of this was the use of a diabolical female ancestor to repudiate the dynasty and explain the wars, ruthlessness and brutality that, in Gerald’s view, the Angevin kings inflicted upon their subjects. From the beginning of their introduction into English royal genealogies of the dynastically turbulent twelfth century, female generations were used in a variety of ways. First of all, women as mothers and ancestors were used to connect powerful men and women to the dynasties and individuals of the past. Doing so increased their prestige and strengthened their claims for political legitimacy. A royal candidate such as Henry FitzEmpress, whose father was a mere count, needed female ancestors to claim the throne of England. Similarly, William the Conqueror needed Emma of Normandy to become the kinsman of Edward the Confessor. In genealogical histories, female generations to a great extent contributed to ‘play[ing] down the discontinuity in the historical record’.85 They were bridges to a past of perceived stability from which symbolic capital could be imported to the present. This helps explain why Edward the Confessor, who fathered no children, was so frequently emphasized in the genealogical histories of Turgot, Aelred of Rievaulx and others. With Edward’s canonization in 1161, his cult was reinvigorated. Henry II’s awareness of his descent from Queen Margaret, Edward’s great-niece, induced him to commission a Life of Edward from Aelred of Rievaulx. The result was an optimistic celebration of cultural reconciliation between the English and the Normans, personified by King Henry II himself.86 But women were not solely acknowledged in genealogies to act as connectors between men. Virtuous queens, warriors and saints all increased the prestige of their descendants or relatives through their exemplary lives and great achievements. Despite this, historians such as Aelred of Rievaulx could be notoriously curt in their praise of women: in Aelred’s case, even as his alma mater, the Benedictine priory of Durham, recognized Queen Margaret of Scotland as a saint long before the translation of her relics in 1180.87 The Norman conquerors arrived in England in 1066 partly on a genealogical pretext: the distant connection between William the Conqueror and the recently deceased King Edward the Confessor through Queen Emma. With the marriage of Henry I and Matilda II, and the eventual succession of their descendants in the 84

Robert Bartlett, ‘Gerald of Wales (c.1146–1220x23)’, ODNB. Narratives of a New Order, p. 72. 86 Thomas, The English and the Normans, pp. 56–7; Huntington, ‘St Margaret’, pp. 157–8; Keene, Saint Margaret, pp. 106–7. 87 Keene, Saint Margaret, p. 114. 85 Freeman,

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twelfth century, the Anglo-Norman and Angevin kings of England slowly appropriated and changed the predominantly male-focused Anglo-Saxon genealogical tradition. The increased significance of female generations is among the most noticeable changes.

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13 French Women in Early Norman England: The Case of Hawise of Bacqueville STEPHANIE MOOERS CHRISTELOW*

Ego Haduidis filia Nicolai de Baschelvilla, uxor Hugonis de Varhan filii Gripponis, do laude, consilio et consensu sponsi mei, manerium Waddune ecclesie Sancte Marie Villarensis monasterii pro salute anime mee et sponsi mei, amicorumque meorum, annuente magno rege Willelmo, coram baronibus suis, videlicet Odone Baiocensi episcope, et comite Rogerio de Montegomerico, Walterio Giffardo, Willemo de Warenna, et Gaurfrido Martello fratre supradicti Hugonis, et Gisleberto Chalvello, et Roberto de Novilla alisque cumpluribus.1 (I Hawise, daughter of Nicholas of Bacqueville, wife of Hugh of Wareham son of Grip, on the advice and with the consent of my husband, give honourably the manor of Waddon to the church of Saint Mary (Notre Dame) of Montivilliers, for the sake of my soul and that of my husband and of my friends, with the assent of the great king William, before his barons, namely Odo bishop of Bayeux, Roger of Montgomery, Walter Giffard, William of Warenne, and Geoffrey Martel, brother of the above-named Hugh, and Gilbert Chavell and Robert of Neauville, with many others.) *

I am grateful to Elisabeth van Houts, Ann Williams and David Roffe for their thoughtful comments on earlier drafts of this chapter. 1 Gallia Christiana in provincias ecclesiasticas distributa…, ed. D. Samarthanus et al., 16 vols (Paris, 1715–1865), XI:329–30, and Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: The Acta of William I (1066– 1087), ed. David Bates (Oxford, 1998), no. 211. The fact that one of the assenters to the grant was Hawise’s brother-in-law, Geoffrey Martel, suggests a family interest in Waddon as well as in Montivilliers. A reading of the Gallia Christiana volume, which contains documents pertaining to the churches within the ecclesiastical province of Rouen, and a collective analysis of the text has informed several comments and conclusions later in this chapter. Specific locations in the text will not, therefore, be cited on these occasions, but the volume itself will be referenced where relevant.

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G

rants such as this by an aristocratic woman living in the mid- to late eleventh century help us to perceive elements of women’s lives from an unaccustomed angle. Hawise of Bacqueville (fl. 1086) was a Norman immigrant to England, and with her Norman husband, a member of a new land-holding class. Her experiences may illuminate those of other Norman women, who, unlike English women, have been peripheral to academic studies. Research on women in early Norman England has concentrated on the widows, sisters and daughters of the Old English land-holding class and the mixed marriages that many entered into. Among the most influential studies have been the essays by Pauline Stafford, whose pointed analyses of Domesday Book and the effect of the Norman Conquest on women have provoked considerable discussion.2 The issues of survival in the face of a massive societal trauma are fascinating, but so too are the ways in which such women adapted and exerted influence in their communities and counties. After the deaths and exiles of their husbands and sons, and the appropriation of family lands, aristocratic women found their choices curtailed.3 It is difficult to detect their activities as political and economic figures. That such women were culture-brokers, transmitting to their children collective memories, stories and language has been recognized by Elisabeth van Houts and Cecily Clarke.4 As independent holders of estates, they maintained their cultural importance in households, religious houses and towns. Despite the joint catastrophes of invasion and conquest, they continued to reside among friends and neighbours who reinforced Old English culture and social norms. The mixed fortunes of these women and the details of their survival post-Conquest are significant not only with regard to the historical study of women and gender, but also for wider anthropological and historical ideas of cultural change. Some English women married Norman men and conferred their families’ estates upon new legal holders, with the number of recorded mixed marriages increasing over time. Van Houts identifies nine English wives of continental men for the period between 1067 and 1086, and thirty-four native women married to non-native men from 1087 to c. 1110.5 Their daughters intermarried with other Anglo-Norman 2

Pauline Stafford, ‘Women in Domesday’, in Reading Medieval Studies 15: Medieval Women in Southern England (Reading, 1989), pp. 75–94; Pauline Stafford, ‘Women and the Norman Conquest’, TRHS, 6th ser., 4 (1994), 221–49. 3 Henrietta Leyser, Medieval Women: Social History of Women in England 450–1500 (London, 2002), p. 72: ‘exile, marriage or withdrawal behind convent walls, these were the choices facing women of the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy’. 4 Elisabeth van Houts, Memory and Gender in Medieval Europe, 900–1200 (Basingstoke, 1999); van Houts, Medieval Memories: Men, Women and the Past, 700–1300 (New York, 2013); Cecily Clark, ‘Women’s Names in Post-Conquest England: Observations and Speculations’, Speculum 53 (1978), 222–51. 5 Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Intermarriage in Eleventh-Century England’, in Normandy and its Neighbours, 900–1250, ed. David Crouch and Kathleen Thompson (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 237–70.

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families, gradually adopting the styles of French courts and increasing their families’ status through marriage and patronage.6 Their religious contributions as donors, abbesses and nuns are elucidated in the work of Sally Thompson, who studied the challenges faced by women in nunneries founded in England after 1066.7 Women’s roles in transmitting land and political authority to eager Normans have been explored as well, especially following the publication of Eleanor Searle’s pivotal study of 1981.8 Searle’s argument, that aristocratic women after the Conquest were crucial to legalizing ownership of estates, was also concerned with the degree of independence enjoyed by aristocratic women from seigneurial control of marriage. Marriage and inheritance reflected, Searle argued, practical concerns which might benefit women, enabling some to retain their independence. Stafford similarly regarded the eleventh century as one in which family strategies contributed to a flexible distribution of land, including that belonging to heiresses.9 And Judith Green asserted that ‘there were no hard and fast rules relating to female succession during the century following the Conquest’.10 It was during the twelfth century, rather than the eleventh, that rules of inheritance were regularly applied, and inheriting women were used to advance the interests of royal favourites as sources of available land to grant as patronage diminished.11 It is always risky to make generalizations about the condition of women, both before and after the Conquest, and to assess their place in the transfer of land. It is nearly impossible to assess typicality, but we can perceive plausible situations and outcomes. Scant references in Domesday Book, charters and narratives create challenges in identifying wives of Norman immigrants, whatever their ethnicity. This, in turn, brings their roles in the exchange of land and the possession of estates by new holders into question. Hugh Thomas maintains that one cannot confirm that legitimizing possession and succession through marriage to heiresses was a common family strategy, and argues, in reference to the eleventh century, that ‘no lands in 6

Susan Johns, Noblewomen, Aristocracy and Power in the Twelfth-Century Anglo-Norman Realm (Manchester, 2003). For the mid-to-late twelfth-century roles of women as religious patrons and as shapers of local politics, see Hanna I. Kilpi, ‘Lesser Aristocratic Women in Twelfth-Century Charters: A Lincolnshire Case Study’, Medieval Prosopography 31 (2016), 67–96. 7 Sally Thompson, Women Religious: The Founding of English Nunneries after the Norman Conquest (Oxford, 1991). 8 Eleanor Searle, ‘Women and the Legitimisation of Succession at the Norman Conquest’, ANS 3 (1981), 159–71 and 226–9; Pauline Stafford, Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power: England from the Ninth to the Early Twelfth Century (Aldershot, 2006). 9 Stafford, ‘Women in Domesday’, p. 86. 10 Judith A. Green, ‘Aristocratic Women in Early Twelfth-Century England’, in Anglo-Norman Political Culture and the Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. C. Warren Hollister (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 59–82 (p. 61). 11 See also RaGena C. DeAragon, ‘In Pursuit of Aristocratic Women: A Key to Success in Norman England’, Albion 14 (1982), 258–67; J. C. Holt, ‘Feudal Society and the Family in Early Medieval England, IV: The Heiress and the Alien’, TRHS, 5th ser., 35 (1985), 1–28.

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surviving legal disputes were claimed by right of marriage to a woman from a dispossessed family’.12 Narrowing the field of women to elite, but non-royal women, is problematic as well. Many aristocratic women married into royalty and, in so doing, blended culture and class distinctions. On the other hand, while it might be supposed that the lives of aristocratic women mirrored those of royalty, they could be remarkably different.13 Royal women functioned at the centres of political power and enjoyed the culture and companionship of other royal women, often in urban settings.14 They lived privileged, luxurious lives often denied to women in rural settings or those located far from places where meetings of the royal court took place. Issues concerning the landed influence of women underlie much of the research discussed in this chapter, which focuses on French-born women who were among the earliest colonists to occupy, inherit, manage and bequeath English lands.15 Rather than taking a comparative approach to these issues, the life of an immensely powerful but little-known woman during the first two decades of Norman rule is here scrutinized. This is part of a larger project, which seeks to understand the power of Norman women in general – and Hawise of Bacqueville in particular – through the reconstruction of gendered networks. Like other Norman women, Hawise of Bacqueville was an expatriate without prior cultural ties to England, and who most likely functioned without nuanced language skills and a comprehension of Old English standards of behaviour. She may have found herself in a strange and hostile environment. Unlike the English women who were intimidated into unpleasant marriages or liaisons, however, French women may have avoided the kinds of abuse associated with a violent

12

Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation, and Identity, 1066–c.1220 (Oxford, 2003), p. 150. 13 Pauline Stafford, ‘The Portrayal of Royal Women in England, Mid-Tenth to Mid-Twelfth Centuries’, in Medieval Queenship, ed. John Carmi Parsons (New York, 1993), pp. 143–67. 14 Stafford, Emma and Edith; Lois L. Huneycutt, Matilda of Scotland: A Study in Medieval Queenship (Woodbridge, 2003); Judith A. Green, ‘Duchesses of Normandy in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries’, in Normandy and its Neighbours, pp. 43–59. 15 But note that not all immigrant women were French. See The Warenne (Hyde) Chronicle, ed. and trans. Elisabeth van Houts and Rosalind Love (Oxford, 2013), pp. 89–102, whose appendix contains a study of Gundrada de Warenne, a Flemish woman who married a Norman. See also Judith Green, ‘Women and Inheritance in Norman England: The Case of Geva Ridel’, Prosopon Newsletter (August 2001), 1–9. Important work on women in Europe includes: Theodore Evergates, Aristocratic Women in Medieval France (Philadelphia, PA, 1999); Kimberley LoPrete, ‘Women, Gender and Lordship in France, c. 1050–1250’, History Compass 5/6 (2007), 1921–41; and LoPrete, Adela of Blois: Countess and Lord (c.1067–1137) (Dublin, 2007). See also Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Countess Gunnor of Normandy (c. 950–1031)’, Collegium Medievale 12 (1999), 7–24.

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conquest.16 Their experiences and influences must have been remarkably different from those of English aristocratic women. Table 13.1  Women tenants-in-chief of the king in 1086.1718 French or probable French women

English women

Countess Judith

Leofeva

Adeliza, wife of Hugh of Grandmesnil

Edith (Warwickshire)

Azelina, wife of Ralph Taillebois

Eddeva

Wife of Boselin of Dives

Wulfeva, wife of Finn

Emma, wife of Hervey de Hellean

Edith (Norfolk)

Hawise, wife of Hugh fitz Grip

Christina18

Isolde Ida countess of Boulogne Wife of Gerwy of Loges Wife of Ralph the Chaplain Rohaise, wife of Richard fitzGilbert Matilda, daughter of Ralph Taillebois Wife of Roger of Ivry Adelaide, countess of Aumale

It is clear that Norman women were present in the social landscape of post-Conquest Britain, although most are unnamed in extant documents. Ann Williams remarked that ‘the greatest lords who had been magnates in Normandy before ever they came to England, chose their wives from France’.19 Among the twenty 16

Christina of Markyate (1096/8–1155) provides a poignant example of the kinds of pressure women, particularly English women, might face from high-ranking Norman aristocrats. Although she managed to escape the unwanted sexual attention of Ranulf Flambard, William Rufus’s chancellor, others may not have been so lucky. The Life of Christina of Markyate: A Twelfth Century Recluse, ed. and trans. C. H. Talbot (Oxford, 1959), pp. 40–4. See also Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Women and Fear in 1066’, in 1066 in Perspective, ed. David Bates (Leeds, 2018), pp. 176–86. 17 Women listed among ‘King’s Thegns’, in DB i, 84a–d, who were nuns and widows are not included. 18 Christina was Edgar Ætheling’s sister and a nun of Romsey Abbey. She was a tenant-in-chief in Oxford and Warwickshire. See Ann Williams, ‘The Speaking Cross, the Persecuted Princess and the Murdered Earl: The Early History of Romsey Abbey’, Anglo-Saxon 1 (2007), 221–38, Appendix. 19 Ann Williams, The English and the Norman Conquest (Woodbridge, 1995), p. 200.

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laywomen who are found as tenants-in-chief in 1086, fourteen are known to have continental origins or were likely to be French, and six were English (see Table 13.1). The small number of English women reflects the continued but minimal landed authority enjoyed by native women, as discussed by Pauline Stafford.20 French women who were tenants-in-chief held land in their own right and nearly all were widows, such as Judith of Lens, who was a tenant-in-chief of the king in eleven Domesday counties; her mother, Adelaide countess of Aumale, the king’s half-sister, held land directly of the king in East Anglia. They sometimes remarried: Adelaide, of great value on the marriage market, was married three times.21 Some appear to have exerted control over their dowries and their inheritances from either parents or husbands.22 Many had been the wives of sheriffs or other officials who had possessed royal lands.23 People like Hawise of Bacqueville, whose preoccupations were regional rather than national, and who represent a minority of women in English society after the Conquest, rarely appear in accounts of the transfer of landed power and political office. Information pertaining to Hawise is scant. She figures in the grant of land to the Norman abbey of Montivilliers quoted above, in the pancarte listing approximately fifty gifts made to the abbey, and in Domesday Book and Exon Domesday as both tenant-in-chief and an under-tenant. Her Norman origins are discussed in a short essay by Thomas Bond, published in 1893.24 Her father, Nicholas of Bacqueville, is mentioned in Hawise’s grant to Montivilliers; in the Gesta Normannorum Ducum as the husband of one of Duchess Gunnor’s nieces; in a pre-Conquest grant calendared in the Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie, which names Nicholas in a secondary position to the king; and by G. H. White in his study of the sisters and nieces of Gunnor.25 Nicholas seems to have obtained land in England, much of which Hawise would inherit, but is absent from Domesday accounts, and was probably dead by 1086 when Hawise was holding land in her own right.26 Nicholas seems to have had at least one son, who is missing from 20

Stafford, ‘Women in Domesday’, p. 91. Not included in this chart are deceased women whose lands are recorded as being held in chief from the king in 1086: Countess Aefeva in Leicestershire (DB i, 231d); and Countess Godiva, the widow of Earl Leofric, who died in or before 1086 in Leicestershire and Warwick (DB i, 231d, 239c). 21 Kathleen Thompson, ‘Being the Ducal Sister: The Role of Adelaide of Aumale’, in Normandy and its Neighbours, pp. 61–76. 22 DB i, 218-1-b. 23 Stafford, ‘Women in Domesday’, pp. 80–1. 24 Thomas Bond, ‘On the Barony of the Wife of Hugh Fitz Grip’, Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Antiquarian Field Club 14 (1893), 114–16. 25 GND, II:274–5; Marie Fauroux, Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie de 911 à 1066 (Caen, 1961); G. H. White, ‘The Sisters and Nieces of Gunnor, Duchess of Normandy’, The Genealogist 37 (1920–21), 57–65, 128–32. 26 Nicholas Karn, ‘Secular Power and its Rewards in Dorset in the Late Eleventh and Early Twelfth Centuries’, Historical Research 82 (2009), 2–16 (p. 6).

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English records and who probably retained his father’s Norman interests in the Pays-de-Caux.27 Roger of Bacqueville, another Norman immigrant, may have been a relative.28 By examining Hawise’s social relations, her landed assets and her resources, we can uncover precious details about the nature of her power – its limitations, its possibilities and its expression, in a social network that extended from the south of England to north-eastern Normandy. Rethinking elements of her bequest to Montivilliers and its landed and cultural contexts helps us to understand the mentality of expatriate Norman women after the conquest. This grant is key to understanding Hawise of Bacqueville’s significance. It was made sometime between 1066 and 1076, granting Waddon, Dorset, to the abbey of Montivilliers, located near the Seine estuary.29 In 1086, Waddon was Montivilliers’ only English property. It was a manor with land for at least seven ploughs, and was held both by Montivilliers and by the thegn Brictwin.30 The estate was assessed at £12 (£10 for the abbey and £2 for Brictwin) and was mainly agricultural land. Hawise’s holding may have been among her most valuable – none of her other properties exceeded it in value in 1086.31 The text of the grant is a remarkable catalogue of elements of Hawise of Bacqueville’s identity, illuminating the roles of aristocratic Norman women in England in the decade or so after the Conquest. In 1086, when Domesday Book was compiled, Hawise was a widow, but when she had offered her property to the nunnery at least ten years earlier, she was still the daughter of a prominent Norman from the Pays de Caux region, and the wife of a Pays de Caux native, Hugh fitz Grip, sheriff of Dorset.32 Hugh may have benefitted from Hawise’s holdings upon their marriage or after her inheritance, but he did not acquire them. Hugh’s other lands, which had been granted to him by Queen Matilda, reverted to the crown on his death.33 Hawise’s experiences suggest that unexpected dynamics were at play in marriage practices involving Norman women, and that the influence these women could 27

Walter of St-Martin (GND, II:274–5). DB i, 168b and DB 7. Dorset, ed. Caroline and Frank Thorn (Chichester, 1983), n. 45, 1–2, but the relationship between Nicholas, Roger and Ralph is uncertain. That no Roger of Bacqueville is mentioned in the pre-Conquest ducal charters may indicate that he was a relatively young beneficiary of the Conquest. 29 The mention of Nicholas suggests that Waddon was probably her dowry. DB i, 79a attributes the donation of Waddon to Hugh fitz Grip, and Waddon may originally have been his, and become part of Hawise’s dos, or marriage portion, given to her by Hugh. Concerning a husband’s control over marriage gifts, see Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, pp. 61–6. 30 DB i, 79a and 84c. 31 Hawise’s holdings at Wey were assessed at £10 and the estate at Chaldon, held of Hawise by Hugh (possibly of Boisherbert (DB 7. Dorset, n. 55, 46)) was assessed at £8 (DB i, 83c and 83d). 32 For Hugh fitz Grip, see Karn, ‘Secular Power’, p. 9. 33 DB i, 75c–d. 28

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exert relied on several factors. Relevant to these questions of inheritance and influence are Hawise’s origins and her links to the ducal house; her parentage and marriage; her role as a Dorset land-holder; and her enduring attachment to her home in the Pays de Caux, as reflected in her entry gift to Montivilliers. Each of these aspects will be examined here in turn.

Fig. 13.1 Family ties I. The Norman ducal house: the children of Richard I and Gunnor (abbreviated) Among the elite who ruled England’s landscape in 1086 were Hawise’s cousins – those related to her great-aunts, Gunnor and Gunnor’s sisters. Gunnor married Duke Richard I in or after 980 when Richard made provision for Gunnor’s support in anticipation of her widowhood (see Fig. 13.1).34 The couple had at least six children during their prolific marriage, all of whom were provided for successfully. But it was Gunnor’s sisters and their daughters whose relations created a far-reaching gendered network which flourished in both Normandy and England (see Fig. 13.2). The daughters of Gunnor’s sisters made advantageous marriages, including one niece who married Nicholas of Bacqueville and became Hawise’s mother. Hawise was thus the second cousin once removed of William the Conqueror, the greatgrandson of Gunnor and Duke Richard I. Important Anglo-Normans such as Roger of Beaumont, William of Warenne, Walter II Giffard, Roger of Montgomery and William fitzOsbern, besides being King William’s relatives and close advisors, were also Hawise’s cousins.

34 Fauroux,

Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie, no. 9 (p. 21).

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Fig. 13.2 Family ties II. Gunnor’s siblings with known relationships: a plausible reconstruction35 With his connections to the ducal house, Nicholas of Bacqueville may have had French resources of which we are unaware. A ducal confirmation of a gift made between 1042 and 1066 to the nunnery of St-Amand, Rouen, places Nicholas’s name second after that of Duke William and before a series of witnesses, possibly suggesting Nicholas’s role as a deputy or viscount.36 If the majority of Hawise’s lands were inherited from him or were her dowry (or maritagium), then Nicholas was a generously rewarded ally of King William.37 He may have known his Norman neighbour, the ambitious Hugh fitz Grip, and Hugh’s father, Grip, lord of Bacqueville, and he may have proposed an alliance between the two families. It seems clear that both Nicholas and Hugh received lands, and in Hugh’s case preferment, through the standing afforded by their wives. 35 GND, II:268–74; White, ‘The Sisters and Nieces of Gunnor’, who however argues that the unnamed sisters are rather nieces (p. 58). See Elisabeth van Houts, ‘Robert of Torigni as Genealogist’, in Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. Christopher Harper-Bill, Christopher J. Holdsworth and Janet L. Nelson (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 215–33, for a discussion of ambiguity in the Gesta Normannorum Ducum. See also K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, ‘Aspects of Torigni’s Genealogies Revisited’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 37 (1993), 21–7, who pieces together incongruous information provided by Robert of Torigni and Orderic Vitalis with charter evidence, to suggest that William of Warenne and Roger of Montgomery were grandsons of nieces and thus of a younger generation than Hawise. Nonetheless, their years of activity suggest that William, Roger and Hawise were close in age and probably of the same generation. A second son of Wevia and Osbern may have been William of Arques. Other of Gunnor’s nieces married Richard, vicomte of Rouen, and Osmund of Centreville, vicomte of Vernon. 36 Fauroux, Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie, no. 187 (pp. 369–70). Michel de Boutard, Histoire de la Normandie (Toulouse, 1970), p. 134, describes local government by viscounts who performed fiscal, judicial and military functions, but provides no named examples. 37 Of Hawise’s forty-eight properties, seven were on manors which once belonged to Hugh fitz Grip at Cheselbourne, Farnham, Tatton, Tarrant, Winterborne, Ringstead and Orchard (DB i, 83b–84a). It is impossible to know whether Hugh was the original post-Conquest holder or if he acquired these properties from a previous official or by right of his wife.

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Hugh’s associations are as hazy as those of his father-in-law (see Fig. 13.3) and the sources for his pre-Conquest life offer contradictory information. Two sons of Grip – Hugh’s brothers, Ralph and Walter – made gifts to Montivilliers between c. 1050 and 1066.38 It is not known when Hugh was appointed sheriff or how he acquired his eight properties, although they seem to have been a gift from Queen Matilda. In any case, it is possible that Hugh may have found Hawise appealing, and initiated negotiations for marriage.

Fig. 13.3  Family ties III. Hugh fitz Grip and Hawise of Bacqueville Nicholas of Bacqueville, Hugh fitz Grip and Hawise of Bacqueville seem to have exerted no political presence in post-Conquest England. None of them appears as a witness to any surviving English royal acta, although Hugh was addressed in at least two royal writs pertaining to Dorset.39 However, Hugh was an intimidating and aggressive seeker of income whose activities are legendary: Domesday Book contains numerous references to his depredations, such as his ‘plundering’ of the vill of Alfpuddle, which in 1086 belonged to St Peter’s of Cerne.40 Hugh fitz Grip’s base of operations was at Wareham, which lies near the confluence of the Rivers Frome and Piddle in east Dorset. Wareham had been an important late Saxon defensive and administrative site, with two mints. At the time of the Conquest, it was a religious centre with at least six churches.41 The town, along with Dorchester and Shaftesbury, were under Hugh’s administrative jurisdiction as sheriff, but in each case, his authority was undercut by parties who owned houses in Wareham in 1086: the abbeys of St Wandrille and Horton; the bishop of Salisbury; a tenant of the count of Mortain; Earl Hugh; and Robert, son of Gerold. Since Hugh was known as ‘Hugh of Wareham’,42 it is likely that he, and possibly Hawise, were resident in the town. 38 K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, ‘Domesday Book and the Malets: Patrimony and the Private Histories of Public Lives’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 41 (1997), 13–56 (p. 16). 39 Regesta, nos 2 and 3, pertaining to Abbotsbury Abbey. 40 DB i, 77d. 41 Peter Stanier, Dorset’s Archaeology: Archaeology in the Landscape (Tiverton, 2004), pp. 113–15, 127–8. 42 As in Hawise’s grant to Montivilliers, quoted above (p. 242).

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Hawise may have possessed a house in nearby Kingston, where there was an Anglo-Saxon lodge which was famous as the site of Edward the Martyr’s murder, and where construction of Wareham Castle (Corfe) may have been underway.43 Dorset’s main urban centres – Dorchester, Shaftesbury, Wareham and Bridport – were marred by derelict, destroyed and neglected houses ‘from the time of Hugh the Sheriff’, enjoying mere vestiges of their pre-Conquest prosperity, and likely lacking in amenities.44 Corfe, with its access to the royal forest at Purbeck, may have served as host to King William, as might the keep at Wareham if it was here that the king assented to Hawise’s grant. In either case, Hawise would have entertained and fed sizable numbers of dignitaries and courtiers. After Hugh’s death, she may have retreated to her rural estates at Martinstown (Winterborne St Martin), Buckland Ripers or Wey – all located along the South Winterborne River – or to her properties located along the River Wey, or to those south of the River Frome, which were lush regions of pastures, fields and riverine landscapes (see Fig. 13.4 for a map of lands in Dorset).45 Dorset’s main land-holders, apart from the king, were: Roger, bishop of Salisbury; Robert, count of Mortain, William’s half-brother and Hawise’s relative by marriage; and Eulalia, abbess of Shaftesbury. Hawise is recorded in Domesday Book as a land-holder of low rank, nearly last among Dorset’s tenants-in-chief, although the cumulative value of her manors, portions of manors, and bits and pieces of land was high.46 Her annual taxable income of £111 derived partly from arable land and partly from the wool of over 4,000 sheep and the meat of approximately 300 pigs.47 One of Hawise’s Wey properties had increased in value from £7 to £10 since the Conquest.48 43 Fortifications are indicated at two separate but neighbouring locations: Saxon Wareham and Kingston, where Corfe Castle was constructed. Although Corfe’s great hall was not built until about 1100, there was a keep on the high ground overlooking a broad valley prior to this (Stanier, Dorset’s Archaeology, pp. 123–5). The remains of a motte and bailey castle at Corfe still stand. 44 DB i, 75a. 45 Strung along the Stour, the Frome, the two Winterbornes and the Wey were numerous settlements containing the place names Tarrant, Winterborne and Wey, which have only tentatively been identified. Two of the Weys likely to have been Hawise’s properties (DB i, 83c) are indicated on the map (Fig. 13.4). It is not certain whether Weymouth was one of these, since its location is south of those identified as ‘Waia’ in A History of the County of Dorset: Volume 3, ed. R. B. Pugh (Oxford, 1968), map between pp. 60 and 61. Given its location and Hawise’s other holdings, Weymouth, which possessed a port in 1086, may have been a residence. See James Crump, Medieval Weymouth, Growth and Decline (Oxford and Shrewsbury, 2015), pp. 3–8. 46 Stafford, ‘Women in Domesday’, p. 80, suggests that the last positions among tenants-in-chief were occupied by widows of sheriffs whose lands had been royal lands. 47 Nearly 4,100 sheep, of which 1,630 were on her demesne land, and approximately 350 pigs, primarily on her tenanted estates. For a breakdown of Dorset landowners and their landed status, see Ann Williams, ‘Introduction to the Dorset Domesday’, in History of the County of Dorset, ed. Pugh, pp. 13–14. 48 DB i, 83c.

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Fig. 13.4 Map of the lands in Dorset. Domesday locations and topography estimated from present locations. The countryside was given over to agriculture, laced with ancient footpaths and fragments of Roman roads, a ritual landscape studded with tumuli. A highway from Exeter connected to the Fosse Way, before continuing north-east to Dorchester and on to Salisbury and to London. Maiden Castle, the magnificent Iron Age earthwork, was a silent presence over Martinstown, where the main road meandered through a narrow valley. Hawise managed estates along both the South Winterborne River, which travels from the western uplands south-east to Portsmouth and south of the River Frome, and the East Winterborne River, which meets the River Stour and empties into Christchurch harbour on the Channel. The Winterbornes flowed below ground except in the winter, but they watered the agricultural land on either side. Supplied with large numbers of peasant families, Hawise’s estates provided her with grain, wool, fish and meat, as well as peasant labour. A carpenter may also have worked for Hawise.49 She leased land to two men-at-arms who held land individually and jointly along with Robert, Hugh’s nephew.50 Her steward, Ralph of Montpinçon, may have been responsible for the management of her estates, and her associate Robert the corn dealer for trade at market.51 49

DB i, 84a and DB 7. Dorset, n. 55, 48, indicated in the Exon Domesday abbreviated as carpentari, may have been an occupational surname. 50 DB i, 84a. He may be the same as Robert puer who held Hurpstone from Hawise. 51 DB i, 83d and DB 7. Dorset, n. 55, 36.

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Dorset landlords included twenty-one churches, canons, clergy, Frenchmen, thegns and king’s servants, as well as thirty-two lay tenants-in-chief. Each held conglomerations of properties which reflected their landlords’ dominance of specific regions. Hawise’s authority extended throughout southern Dorset, but her influence here was shared with Robert, count of Mortain, whose considerable Dorset wealth was valued at £181.52 Hawise and the count of Mortain controlled properties along the River Frome, and as the river approached Wareham in the east, the two land-holders possessed neighbouring estates. Robert monopolized holdings in the south while Hawise held many of the estates in the south-east, and both controlled lands along the East Winterborne River. The lush farmland with fields, pasture for sheep, and mills, as well as the rivers themselves with their sources of reeds and waterfowl, provided income for both Hawise and Robert. The estates of Hawise’s men spread along Dorset’s coast, clustering south of Wareham near Kingston and near Poole harbour. Most of Hawise’s continental tenants were members of the lower elite, modestly wealthy, known only by their personal names. A few tenants were well-to-do with properties scattered over southern England. William of Moutiers’ family came from Calvados, William d’Aumery’s from Maine-et-Loire, and Hugh of Le Bois-Herbert’s quite possibly came from Fauville-en-Caux.53 They may have been participants in the Conquest or descendants of the first wave of colonists. The widow’s tenurial associations provide an example of a network formed by neighbourhood and local economic interests (see Fig. 13.5 for Hawise’s social network).54 Cooperative water management, particularly of the Frome, was important to the wealth and prestige of both the count of Mortain and Hawise of Bacqueville, but the subtle differences in their regional status may have created tension in the region. However, Robert was an absentee landlord with overriding responsibilities in Cornwall who may have rarely visited Dorset. Neither Robert nor Hawise individually commanded the workforce necessary for flood control, irrigation and a successful fishing industry. This would have been managed by their men and their own dependents, who would have formed their own sets of connections. Hawise’s personal stamp is not apparent in the activities reflected in her assets, although her wealth would have given her significant economic power. Her political weight, however, is far more difficult to judge. She was tenant-in-chief of none of

52

History of the County of Dorset, ed. Pugh, p. 13. The amounts given may reflect beneficial hidation rather than real value or annual income. For Robert’s extraordinary influence in early Norman England, see Brian Golding, ‘Robert Count of Mortain’, ANS 13 (1991), 119–44. 53 DB 7. Dorset, n. 11, 2 and n. 55, 19; K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, Domesday People: A Prosopography of Persons Occurring in English Documents, 1066–1166. 1, Domesday Book (Woodbridge, 1999), p. 261. 54 The diagram contains only those connections within Dorset. Hawise also held three hides of land of Glastonbury at Damerham, Wiltshire (DB i, 66c).

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the sites where hundred courts met, as far as we can tell.55 Outdoor assemblies may have occurred at places on major routes, such as Martinstown or Weymouth, or at landmarks such as Maiden Castle, but we can only speculate on whether they formed landscapes of governance, and whether Hawise figured at local meetings.56 It is more likely that she attended the courts of the people and religious houses from whom she held land – the bishop of Salisbury, Glastonbury Abbey, Cerne Abbey, Abbotsbury Abbey, Shaftesbury Abbey, and the thegn Swein57 – and so would have met and conversed with their tenants. Hawise may have formed friendships with Normans such as Humphrey of Carteret (a tenant of the bishop of Salisbury whose origins lay in Valognes, Manche), or William of Braose (possibly from Briouze, Orne), or their wives.58 Closer to home, she would have forged relationships with her own French tenants and their spouses, who may also have been French. We cannot know which manors provided the residences for such women, but those situated close to Hawise’s demesne estates may have encountered her on her travels to Dorchester or Weymouth. Hawise appears to have been as unscrupulous as her husband, continuing to hold lands contested by Abbotsbury Abbey ‘by force’, as well as land belonging to Cerne and Cranborne.59 Hawise’s relationships with her neighbours may have been unpleasant, which would have been challenging without the support of close relatives. Roger of Beaumont, Hawise’s cousin, had land near Wareham in Dorset in 1086,60 but his whereabouts are difficult to place: all extant charters of known provenance in which he appears as a witness were issued in France.61 It is likely that he spent little time in England and that his activities were centred on his important Norman estates at Beaumont and Pont-Audemer.62 Hawise may have been isolated 55

About half of Dorset’s meeting sites for hundred courts echo the names to the hundred. One of these may be associated with Hawise. Bere Regis may have witnessed meetings of the Bere and Barrow hundred sessions, but it was held by her tenant, William of Moutiers. Moreover, it was an unimpressive and unprofitable estate, and thus unlikely to serve as a court (DB i, 83c). 56 Jack Baker and Stuart Brooks, ‘Identifying Outdoor Assembly Sites in Early Medieval England’, Journal of Field Archaeology 40 (2015), 3–21. 57 Hawise held land jointly with Aiulf the sheriff from Shaftesbury Abbey at Farnham (DB i, 78d). Swein inherited land in Dorset and possibly Wiltshire from his father, a pre-Conquest land-holder. For Swein and other Danish land-holders in Dorset, see Ann Williams, ‘A Place in the Country: Orc of Abbotsbury and Tole of Tolpuddle, Dorset’, in The Danes in Wessex: The Scandinavian Impact on Southern England, c.800–c.1100, ed. Ryan Lavell and Simon Roffey (Oxford, 2016), pp. 158–71. 58 Keats-Rohan, Domesday People, pp. 273, 471. 59 DB i, 78c, 83c; DB i, 83d, 84a. 60 DB i, 80b. Roger also held land in Gloucestershire (DB i, 168a). 61 Regesta, nos 26–7, 29–30, 45–7, 49, 53–4, 59, 140–1, 147, 149, 150, 162, 166, 175, 179a, 197–8, 203, 212, 215, 217–18, 229, 235, 244, 256, 258, 262, 264, 280–2 and 284. 62 David Crouch, The Beaumont Twins: The Roots and Branches of Power in the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 3–28 provides some eleventh-century background to the activities of the twelfth-century Beaumonts.

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Fig. 13.5  Hawise’s social network

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in her English landscape and, while he was alive, her husband may have served as a lifeline to her Norman past and connections. Hawise of Bacqueville’s affiliations extended beyond England’s south coast to eastern Normandy, where the prestigious abbey of Montivilliers attracted both the donations and daughters of wealthy Pays de Caux lords (see Fig. 13.6 for a map of the Pays de Caux). By 1076, Montivilliers was already a town with suburbs, vineyards and mercantile interests in Harfleur.63 Hawise’s grant of Waddon is listed in the abbey’s pancarte among those made by Montivilliers’ abbesses, Duke Robert’s aunt Beatrice and her successor Elizabeth, at their entry into the abbey.64 The pancarte also records a nun (Wasca, daughter of Rainier), wives, widows and donors of daughters with land. Of the grants, which varied in size and value, as many as seventeen were entry gifts of real and moveable property in the Pays de Caux to accompany women entering the religious life. Many of the women cannot be identified, but some, such as Adela, countess of Flanders, Queen Matilda’s mother, were members of the upper aristocracy. It seems clear that Hawise’s gift was intended to provide income to Montivilliers at the time of the grant as well as upon her retirement.65 It is not known whether Hawise did indeed retire to Montivilliers, or whether she remained in residence on her Dorset estates, or if she entered another nunnery in widowhood or old age. Changing her mind might have obliged Montivilliers to return the gift, and Waddon seems to have remained in the abbey’s possession until at least the thirteenth century, when it was one of the early endowments of Netley Abbey, founded as a Cistercian house in 1239.66 It is unlikely that Hawise intended to enter Montivilliers while she was still married since, as Leonie Hicks suggested, ‘the desire on the part of one half of a married couple to enter the religious life placed a considerable burden on the other half ’.67 In the case of Adele, wife of Gerald Boctoy, a gift to Montivilliers was land proven to be her own. The grant coincided with her entry into the religious life, with her husband’s assent.68 The nunnery of Shaftesbury, in Dorset, where nuns came from both English and French families, provided a possibility for retirement and an alternative to remarriage,69 but it is fair to say that relations between Hawise and Shaftesbury’s abbess, 63

Regesta, no. 212. Ibid., no. 210. 65 Montivilliers’ history is summarized in Leonie V. Hicks, Religious Life in Normandy, 1050–1300: Space, Gender and Social Pressure (Woodbridge, 2007), Appendix B: Nunneries, p. 198. 66 DB 7. Dorset, n. 23, 1; ‘Houses of Cistercian Monks: Abbey of Netley’, in A History of the County of Hampshire: Volume 2, ed. H. Arthur Doubleday and William Page (London, 1903), pp. 146–9. Rather than Hawise’s gift, Netley may have acquired the two hides at Waddon held by Brictwin in 1086. 67 Hicks, Religious Life in Normandy, p. 131. 68 Regesta, no. 212. 69 Emma Cownie, Religious Patronage in Anglo-Norman England, 1066–1135 (Woodbridge, 1998), pp. 129–47; Kathleen Cooke, ‘Donors and Daughters: Shaftesbury Abbey’s Benefactors, Endow64

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Fig. 13.6 Map of the Pays de Caux. Locations, where possible to identify, estimated from present-day topography. Eulalia, were not cordial in 1086.70 Hawise’s options in Normandy were limited as well: Montivilliers and St Amand, Rouen were the only religious houses for women in the diocese of Rouen.71 In the Norman dioceses of Bayeux, Evreux, Lisieux and Coutances, there were only one or two houses for women until the Cistercians founded nunneries in the twelfth century. Avranches had no nunneries. Widows did, on occasion, enter male monasteries as spiritual mothers of sons and nephews, and if Hawise had a son, this path remains a possibility.72 However, she does not appear as a donor to any Norman religious house other than Montivilliers, and her only gift was to this abbey. In the twelfth century, a rich woman like Hawise would either have remarried or fined before the Exchequer Court to avoid the prospect, but Hawise, alive in the eleventh century, seems to have remained single after Hugh’s death. The fact that Hawise held land in 1086 as a widow suggests either that she was childless or that she had an underage son.73 If the latter, it is likely that he was her only child, but ments and Nuns, c.1086–1130’, ANS 12 (1990), 29–45. 70 David Knowles, C. N. L. Brooke and Vera C. M. London, The Heads of Religious Houses, England and Wales, I, 940–1216 (Cambridge, 1972), p. 219. Forty-two of the abbess’s houses in Shaftesbury had been destroyed ‘from the time of Hugh the sheriff’ (DB i, 75a). 71 Gallia Christiana, vol. XI, throughout. 72 Hicks, Religious Life in Normandy, pp. 136–41. 73 Green, ‘Aristocratic Women’, pp. 62, 68.

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that he was unsuitable for marriage or had died young.74 Hawise may only have been fourteen years old at the earliest likely date for her gift to Montivilliers and, if so, she would have been thirty-four in 1086. She could have been much older than this, however, since she belonged to the generation of Robert the Magnificent, rather than that of the Conqueror (although, as a daughter of a very young niece of Gunnor, she may have been the Conqueror’s contemporary). At least one modern historian assumes that Hawise remarried, observing that ‘at a time when marriages were bought and sold, the overlord being entitled to the purchase money, it cannot be supposed that this wealthy heiress would be long permitted to enjoy the independence of widowhood’;75 but she may also have been of an advanced age, which discouraged remarriage. Questions regarding whether Hawise remarried and the degree to which her resources might have enriched a new husband are complicated by ambiguous sources. Posing these questions, however, helps to elucidate some of the roles of French women in early Norman England, suggesting complexity in the processes of land acquisition by up-and-coming Norman men. It appears to have been Thomas Bond who first proposed Alfred of Lincoln as Hawise’s second husband, perhaps because Alfred’s family is recorded as possessing many of her properties, some as early as the twelfth century, and because Alfred later replaced Aiulf as the sheriff of Dorset.76 Bond assumed that Alfred was the Lincolnshire magnate who held over sixty properties of the king in 1086.77 Alfred of Lincoln has also been identified variously as the younger son of the Lincolnshire tenant-in-chief and as Alfred, son of Turold.78 References to Alfred of Wareham and Alfred nepos or son of Turold or, possibly, of Hugh fitz Grip obscure his certain identification. Alfred of Lincoln’s function has been variously interpreted as well: as Alfred of Wareham, he was a sheriff, probably active after Aiulf the sheriff was promoted to chamberlain, but

74

Karn, ‘Secular Power’, p. 7. Bond, ‘Barony of the Wife of Hugh fitz Grip’, p. 116. 76 Ibid., pp. 116–17. 77 DB i, 357d–358c. 78 John Walker, ‘Lincoln family (per. c.1100–c.1280)’, ODNB. Alfred of Lincoln senior’s landed wealth is catalogued in DB i, 357d–358c. Richard Sharpe and Nicholas Karn, ‘Alfred of Lincoln’, The Charters of William II and Henry I Project (October 2014), https://actswilliam2henry1.files. wordpress.com/2013/04/h1-alfred-of-lincoln-2014-1.pdf [accessed May 2019], who distinguish between the Lincolnshire land-holders and the Dorset officials and suggest that Alfred of Lincoln nepos Turoldi was serving the king as early as 1091. Turold, the father of Lucy, wife of Ivo of Taillebois, also had propertied interests in Lincolnshire. See Judith A. Green, The Aristocracy of Norman England (Cambridge, 2002), p. 91, who speculates that Alfred was Turold’s relative. Sharpe and Karn, suggest that Alfred nepos Turold was Lucy’s cousin. Keats-Rohan distinguishes between Alfred I of Lincoln who was the Lincolnshire magnate of the barony of Thoresway (died c. 1129), and Alfred I of Lincoln in Dorset. who was the castellan of Wareham. See K. S. B. Keats-Rohan, Domesday Descendants: A Prosopography of Persons Occurring in English Documents, 1066–1166 (Woodbridge, 2002), pp. 549–50. 75

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Alfred is also considered to be a justiciar of Henry I. Alfred of Lincoln’s son, Robert of Lincoln, was excused a murdrum fine in Winfrith Hundred, where Hawise’s tenants held two estates a generation earlier, and in Newton hundred, where there were no lands held by Hawise or her men in 1086.79 Alfred of Lincoln received a danegeld exemption of £6 and fined 60 silver marks to have the manor of Pulham, Dorset, which belonged to a king’s almsman and to William of Mohun in 1086.80 The fact that he was still alive forty years after 1086 suggests that he was considerably younger than Hawise. By the mid-thirteenth century, Alfred of Lincoln’s family was in possession of fifteen of Hawise’s forty-eight 1086 holdings.81 Other lands were obtained by Aiulf the sheriff (who was also alive in 1130), William of Moutiers, Robert fitzPaine, who held Winterborne St Martin’s, and William of Gouiz.82 It is conceivable that no connection between Hawise of Bacqueville and Alfred of Lincoln existed beyond the circumstance that both Hugh and Alfred were known as sheriffs of Wareham. It seems likely that the passage of Hawise’s estates did not begin until after her death or retirement to a nunnery, and that their dispersal occurred gradually, in a haphazard fashion driven by enterprising land seekers, seemingly without the agency of marriage. So pervasive is the theory of the legitimization of succession of estates through marriage that we have come to expect it even in cases for which there is little evidence. The distribution of Hugh fitz Grip’s office and Hawise’s lands are cases in point. Perhaps we might revisit another of Eleanor Searle’s observations – that inheritance policies were flexible, and that the disposal of land was a practical concern. Hawise’s experience would fit this model. Acquiring land from her father, either as dowry or bequest, and from her husband as dower lands and inheritance; bestowing a prized possession on a favourite religious house; developing a reputation for hard-dealing in the administration and occupation of a county; holding land for as many as four years after her husband had died and possibly returning to the region of her birth – all these aspects of her life reflect departures from persistent scholarly conjecture. So too does the division of Hawise’s estates. If one of our Alfreds of Lincoln did indeed gain Dorset properties through marriage to Hawise or a daughter, they formed only a small portion of the composite of estates his family would own. 79

The Great Roll of the Pipe for the Thirty-First Year of the Reign of King Henry I: Michaelmas 1130 (Pipe Roll 1), ed. and trans. Judith A. Green, Pipe Roll Society 95 (London, 2012), p. 12. 80 PR 31 Henry I, p. 13 and DB i, 79a, 81d. 81 From the Book of Fees, ed. C. G. Crump, 3 vols (London, 1920–31), beginning with the sergeanties of 1198 and containing information through 1250, compiled in 1302: Winterborne Esse, Winterborne Rocheford, Winterborne Whitechurch, Winterborne Quarel (DB 7. Dorset, n. 55, 1), Frome (ibid., 55, 2), Buckland (ibid., 55, 4), Broadway (ibid., 55, 5), Upway (ibid., 55, 6), Stafford (ibid., 55, 8), Morden (ibid., 55, 10), Tarrant Rawston (ibid., 55, 25), Langton Herring (ibid., 55, 31), Warmwell (ibid., 55, 35), Swanage (ibid., 55, 42) and Orchard (ibid., 55, 47). 82 PR 31 Henry I, p. 11; and DB 7. Dorset, n. 55, passim.

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Hawise’s life hints at underlying reasons for women’s influence in late eleventh-century England – parental support and marital good fortune – factors recognized as significant by many historians of medieval women. But Hawise’s experiences also suggest that her indomitable personality, her economic success, and her cultural and kin ties were important aspects of her regional and international clout. These are likely to be important factors for the authority of other Norman women as well. Hawise’s peers in early Norman England were wealthy, aristocratic widows with mainly local, economic influence. They acquired their lands through many means and retained control of them. Their political sway and their use in transmitting landed power, however, seems limited. Instructive parallels might be drawn between Hawise and two of the fourteen women we have encountered as Norman tenants-in-chief of the king: Azelina, widow of Ralph Taillebois, a sheriff, and Ralph’s married daughter, Matilda. Azelina, a widow by 1086, controlled lands in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire and Cambridgeshire, with the bulk of her property in Bedfordshire. Two of her twelve Bedfordshire estates – those at Eyeworth and Hatley – are listed as her marriage portions.83 Ralph’s daughter, Matilda Tallebois, the wife of Hugh of Beauchamp, a sheriff of Buckinghamshire or Bedfordshire, appears to have inherited a Hertfordshire estate from her father at the same time as holding land from her husband.84 Both Azelina and Matilda were wives of sheriffs, although only Azelina was a widow, and both held land in their own right, although perhaps precariously, derived from a variety of sources.85 Although little is known about them, it is likely that their experiences resembled those of Hawise as either unmarried, likely widowed women, or powerful wives who retained lands independently not only during their marriages but after their husbands’ deaths. Whereas the legitimization of land through marriage to heiresses may have become normative in the twelfth century, Hawise’s story suggests that the roles of French women during the eleventh century were likely to have been less controlled, and far more varied.

83

DB i, 218a. DB i, 142d. 85 Hugh of Beauchamp contested Azelina’s land in Henlow, Bedfordshire (DB i, 218a). 84

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14 English Contact with the European Mainland Throughout the Eleventh Century* TIMOTHY BOLTON1

W

hile it may seem a peculiar place to start, the separation of the British Isles from the European mainland by water at the end of the last glacial period of the Ice Age, some 8,500 years ago, is perhaps the fundamental event which has governed relationships between the inhabitants of those islands and those of the European mainland ever since. The North Sea acted then, as now, as a natural barrier to direct and immediate contact, but one which with a little effort and some maritime technology could be quickly and easily traversed. Thus, varying amounts of contact were kept up and the inhabitants of the British Isles could opt into European affairs across this permeable barrier when they wished to, or remain relatively insular. The problem for the medieval historian is that the evidence of many of the points of contact across this natural barrier is typically sparse and brief, often poorly recorded and preserved, and of a form which rarely lends itself to thorough study. The student seeking to know something of this must be content with meagre fare, albeit usually fascinating, and more often than not leading to less than definitive conclusions. One crucial distinction that must be made here is that of a distinction of distance, that is between England’s close-range contacts with her immediate neighbours: Normandy, northern France, Flanders and northern Germany, but also under the Anglo-Danish kings Denmark and the coastline to its east, and its more distant contacts, such as Rome or the imperial court. England from its vantage point on the north-western edge of the landmass of Europe, mundanely interacted with its closest neighbours as well as sent its inhabitants on more special missions to those *

I should like here to acknowledge the valuable contribution of my friend Kari Maund in numerous discussions of aspects of this chapter, and to thank the editors for their patience in its submission. 1

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nearby countries. More distant contacts where traceable often involve individual travel and pilgrimage, as well as missions sent by secular or ecclesiastical elites. Such forms of distant contact involve far fewer individuals, but can provide the most startling revelations; and in the least contacts with cultural hubs such as Rome or the imperial court may indicate interaction with the core of the leadership of mainland Europe. It should be noted that some regions such as the northernmost parts of the Empire, such as Lotharingia and the Upper Rhine, seem to partly sit in both categories, as neighbours of England involved in local trade as well as points of conduit to imperial Germany and beyond. They have been dealt with here according to the form of their contact with England. Finally, in a small number of cases the evidence for these types of contact come from the same sources, as travel far afield into Europe from England almost always had to involve travel through neighbouring countries. On first glance the evidence for points of contact between England and her European neighbours both near and far may seem overwhelmingly numerous. Let us look at close-range contact first. Trade is of great importance for close-range contact, predominantly in fish, meat, cattle and ‘most precious wool’ as Henry of Huntingdon claims.1 Such activity leaves only scattered traces in the records of the eleventh century, but the barest details of what can be known were sketched out recently by the late Peter Sawyer.2 He noted the prominence of the links between England and the northern coast of Germany and the Low Countries, through urban sites such as Tiel (south-east of Utrecht), with regular visits by English merchants there recorded by the Miracula Sanctae Waldburgae Tielensia, a source written c. 1022.3 Normandy had its part to play, and one of Æthelred’s lawcodes, dating to the last years of the tenth century or the opening of the eleventh, records the presence of merchants from Rouen in London, trading in wine and fish.4 We have every reason to believe that such trade endured through the late Anglo-Saxon period and continued through and beyond the eleventh century, with only minor disruptions due to invasions and warfare. A number of Edgar’s laws sought to regulate the price of wool perhaps in response to international market forces, and the De Miraculis Sanctae Mariae Laudunensis gives the first explicit reference to the export of this commodity from England when canons of Laon travelled there with Flemish merchants in 1113 for its purchase, passing through the port of Dover and using warehouses there for storage.5 In addition, while it is incapable of proof, this constant to-ing and fro-ing of commercial boats probably also enabled the physical

1

Henry of Huntingdon, HA, pp. 5–6. P. H. Sawyer, The Wealth of Anglo-Saxon England: Based on the Ford Lectures Delivered in the University of Oxford in Hilary Term 1993 (Oxford, 2013). 3 See Sawyer, Wealth of Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 99–100, and references there. 4 IV Æthelred, 2.5–2.6, Gesetze, 1:232. 5 Sawyer, Wealth of Anglo-Saxon England, p. 105, and references there. 2

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travel of other visitors to and from Europe, both individual travellers or pilgrims and more official envoys. The Church was also of enormous importance in this context. Veronica Ortenberg has comprehensively surveyed much of the evidence for ecclesiastical contact in the tenth and eleventh centuries, allowing us to touch on just individual aspects of relevance here.6 Cultural exchanges of religious objects, predominantly books, can be traced as moving between England and Normandy, northern France and the northernmost fringes of the Empire in Lotharingia and the Upper Rhineland.7 However, such contact is dwarfed by the influence over England that Flanders had in this period. As Philip Grierson has laid out, the ecclesiastical links between England and Flanders in the decades before the opening of the eleventh century are impressive, and include the movement of an entire monastic community from Saint-Bertin in Flanders to St Peter’s, Bath, with the acquiescence of King Edmund I, most probably to escape the reform movement of St Gerard of Brogne sometime after 944;8 the prolonged mission of Adelulf, abbot of Saint Bertin to England;9 the exile of Dunstan in Flanders (and notably to St Peter’s, Ghent) in the mid-tenth century and (i) apparent contacts this brought him there, perhaps resulting in a royal grant of land to St Peter’s, Ghent (S 728, dated 964), (ii) contact in the form of written letters passing between him and an abbot of the same house as well as (iii) a belief among the rulers of Flanders that Dunstan would represent their interests in England;10 and finally the arrival of the very reform movement in England that the exiles of Saint-Bertin had sought to avoid.11 On top of this, the same correspondence collection in which some of the Dunstan material survives contains a letter from an unnamed English cleric directly to Count Arnulf II of Flanders regarding a stolen evangeliary, as well as noting in passing the names of a handful of monks who seem to have travelled frequently between England and Flanders and carried such correspondence.12 More recent studies have foregrounded correspondence between the abbots of Saint-Bertin and Saint-Vaast with Dunstan’s 6

Veronica Ortenberg, The English Church and the Continent in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries. Cultural, Spiritual and Artistic Exchanges (Oxford, 1992). 7 Ibid., pp. 240–4 and 61–79. 8 EHD 1, no. 26. Philip Grierson, ‘The Relations Between England and Flanders before the Norman Conquest’, TRHS, 4th ser., 23 (1941), 71–112 (pp. 89–90, and references there). 9 Grierson, ‘Relations’, p. 90, and references there. 10 Ibid., pp. 91–2, and references there. On the questioned authenticity of Electronic Sawyer, S 728, see J. Dhondt, ‘La donation d’Elftrude à Saint-Pierre de Gand’, Académie royale de Belgique Bulletin de la Commission royale d’Histoire, 105 (1940), 117–64 (pp. 122–9 and 143–7); S. D. Keynes, ‘The Æthelings in Normandy’, ANS 13 (1991), 173–205 (p. 180), and Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, pp. 25–6. On the letters between the abbots of this house and Dunstan, see also S. Vanderputten, ‘Canterbury and Flanders in the Late Tenth Century’, ASE 35 (2006), 219–44. 11 Grierson, ‘Relations’, p. 90, and references there. 12 See Grierson, ‘Relations’, pp. 93–4, and references there.

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successors in the archiepiscopal see, Æthelgar and Sigeric, as well as casting light on occasional English ecclesiastics who held office in Flanders and Lotharingia in the same decades.13 Michael Hare adds to this, records of English pilgrims at the shrines of SS Liutwin and Adalbert in Mettlach, gleaned from miracula collections of either the late tenth or eleventh century.14 As Grierson notes, this level of discourse is hard to find in the evidence for the first part of the eleventh century, and under the pressures of Æthelred’s last years of reign and the establishment of Cnut’s Anglo-Danish rule ‘possibly it was diminished’.15 However, a scrap of evidence overlooked by him suggests it was not entirely done away with, and we can be certain that continental ecclesiastics, most probably from Flanders, remained in England in these years, perhaps closely associated with the archbishop of Canterbury. A charter from St Mary’s, Reculver, datable to the period of Æthelnoth’s archiepiscopacy of Canterbury (1020–38), survives in a manuscript of the eleventh century (but most recently suggested by Susan Kelly to be ‘perhaps even twelfth century’), that of Red Book no. 23 of Canterbury, Dean and Chapter archives (Ant. R.17).16 It includes at the head of its witness-list the names of four monks of the community, each with a continental Germanic or French name (‘Givehardus’ [OG Givehard], who appears without an office in the witness-list but is addressed as ‘decanus’ in the main text; ‘Fresnotus monachus’ [probably OG and OHG Fresnot]; ‘Tancradus monachus’ [Norman French or OG Tancred]; and ‘Milo monachus’ [probably OF Milon]). Furthermore, the charter ends with a notarial subscription, an apparent continental feature, naming its scribe as one ‘Haimericus presbyter iubente domino Æthelnoðo archiepiscopo’, opening the possibility that Archbishop Æthelnoth had a non-English chaplain-scribe, perhaps from this community.17 However, as this is the sole charter from the house 13

Vanderputten, ‘Canterbury and Flanders’, and M. Hare, ‘Abbot Leofsige of Mettlach: An English Monk in Flanders and Upper Lotharingia in the Late Tenth Century’, ASE 33 (2004), 109–44. 14 Hare, ‘Abbot Leofsige of Mettlach’, pp. 143–4. Note the second account, of a blind priest named ‘Volmarus’ (perhaps Wulfmær), claims that he went to Rome first where he was informed by divine revelation that he should travel instead to Mettlach. 15 Grierson, ‘Relations’, p. 95. 16 S 1390: repr. in W. B. Sanders, Facsimiles of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts Photozincographed by Command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, Ordnance Survey, 3 vols (Southampton, 1878–84), vol. I, no. 22; text publ. and trans. in John Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford, 2005), pp. 361 and 513–14. See S. E. Kelly, ‘Reculver Minster and its Early Charters’, in Myth, Rulership, Church and Charters: Essays in Honour of Nicholas Brooks, ed. J. Barrow and A. Wareham (London, 2008), pp. 66–82, at 82, for some discussion. 17 On this type of notarial subscriptions in early Anglo-Saxon charters, see W. Levison, England and the Continent in the Eighth Century (Oxford, 1946), pp. 227–8. They are rare in Anglo-Saxon charters, but can be found in a small seventh- and eighth-century group by a single scribe, two of which are associated with a continental signatory: S 239 (Abingdon, dated 687, part fabrication based on genuine elements), S 243 (Malmesbury, dated 701, same scribe as previous here), and the private document S 1164 (Shaftesbury, datable to 670x676); three eleventh-century documents

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from late Anglo-Saxon England, we must conclude with Kelly that further facts about their origin and presence ‘are likely to remain a mystery’.18 There are also a few small shreds of evidence for non-commercial English travellers who were not pilgrims among the neighbouring nations of England in the period. Notable here is the statement of the Vita Ædwardi Regis of the time spent by Earl Harold Godwineson in France (probably c. 1058–9) while on a pilgrimage to Rome.19 This source is explicit in stating that his long sojourn in France was to allow him to study the policy and position of the various magnates whose actions could affect the welfare of his own country. To this we should add the occasional English figure, such as Bishop Leofric of Exeter (d. 1072), who appear to have been educated on the Continent before returning to England. In Leofric’s case this rests on a comment of William of Malmesbury that he was ‘brought up and educated among Lotharingians’, and the origin and content of the volumes in his book collection, much of which survives.20 When we turn to look at distant points of contact the evidence of trade dwindles sharply, and is replaced by the various forms of ecclesiastical and diplomatic contact. The English Church kept in contact with Rome, notably during the late Anglo-Saxon period, and archbishops of Canterbury are recorded as going to Rome to receive their pallium in 990 (Sigeric), 1022 (Æthelnoth) and 1051 (Robert of Jumièges), and those of York in 1053 (Cynesige) and 1061 (Ealdred).21 Indeed, the associated with continental Europeans resident in England: S 1043 (Westminster, dated 1066, probably spurious but with accurate witness-list, the subscription by a Swiðgar for ‘Reinbald’, on whom see S. Keynes, ‘Giso, Bishop of Wells (1061–88)’, ANS 19 (1997), 203–72 (p. 209), and Keynes, ‘Regenbald the Chancellor (sic)’, ANS 10 (1988), 185–222, S 1034 (Bath, dated 1061, drawn up by the Lotharingian Giso, on whom see Keynes, ‘Giso’) and S 1042 (Wells, dated 1065, also with notarial clause of Giso); and two isolated examples which may have copied their witness-lists from other now-lost documents: S 917 (Burton, dated 1007, perhaps a draft only, and note S. D. Keynes, The Diplomas of King Æthelred ‘the Unready’ 978–1016: A Study in Their Use as Historical Evidence (Cambridge, 1980), pp. 109–11, 115–16, n. 110, on complexities of this witness), and S 1041 (Westminster, dated 1065, spurious but probably with genuine witness-list copied from another document). 18 Kelly, ‘Reculver Minster’, p. 82. 19 Vita Ædwardi, ch. 5, p. 33; P. Grierson, ‘A Visit of Earl Harold to Flanders in 1056’, EHR 51 (1936), 90–7. 20 William of Malmesbury, GP, 1:314–15: ‘apud Lotharingos altus et doctus’. Most comprehensive on this remains E. Corradini, ‘Leofric of Exeter and His Lotharingian Connections: A Bishop’s Books, c. 1050–72’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Leicester, 2008), online at www.lra.le.ac.uk/handle/2381/7639 [accessed April 2019]. See also J. Hill, ‘Leofric of Exeter and the Practical Politics of Book Collecting’, in Imagining the Book, ed. S. Kelly and J. J. Thompson (Turnhout, 2005), pp. 77–98, and Keynes, ‘Giso’, p. 209. 21 For the Canterbury records, see ASC, MS F, s.a. 989 [990]; MSS DE, s.a. 1022; MS C, s.a. 1051; and for York: MS C, s.a. 1053; MS D, s.a. 1061. On this practice, see Francesca Tinti, ‘The Archiepiscopal Pallium in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in England and Rome in the Early Middle Ages: Pilgrimage, Art, and Politics, ed. Francesca Tinti (Turnhout, 2014), pp. 307–42.

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only archbishop of Canterbury who did not go, and is expressly said to have not performed this, was Stigand, whom the correctly elected Pope Leo IX had refused to consecrate.22 Stigand was sent his pallium instead by the anti-pope Benedict X. Lesser English clergy were also drawn there, with Abbot Ælfstan of St Augustine’s, Canterbury, travelling to Rome in an apparent pilgrimage in 1022, where he met the emperor.23 Bishop Herman of Ramsbury and Abbot Ælfwine of Ramsey were sent to Pope Leo IX’s Easter Synod in Vercelli in 1050;24 and other English churchmen attended ecclesiastical meetings elsewhere in Europe, with Abbot Ælfwine of Ramsey attending the Synod of Rheims in 1049 alongside Bishop Duduc of Wells and Abbot Wulfric of St Augustine’s, Canterbury.25 Visits of papal legates to England in 1061 and 1070 demonstrate that this contact was not one-sided.26 What is perhaps most startling here is the evidence of direct contact in the form of letters between members of the English elites and Rome, of which the most prominent was from the papal curia to one of the Ælfrics who served as ealdorman, lambasting him for his injuries to the church of Glastonbury, a matter presumably brought to the pope’s attention by Glastonbury itself.27 Similarly, Ortenberg cites two further examples of papal involvement in English local affairs: a case to resolve a matrimonial dispute in the diocese of Chichester, and another involving a claim to land made by St Mary’s, Wilton.28 The largest body of evidence for Englishmen in Rome is that for pilgrims. These are securely represented for the eleventh century by two extant Anglo-Saxon wills, those of Ælfric Modercope, which dates to the early 1040s and records the disbursal of his goods before he ‘went over the sea’, and that of Ulf and Maselin from immediately after the Norman Conquest, and recording the same before their voyage to Jerusalem (doubtless through Europe).29 To these we should add passing references to elite pilgrims such Sweyn Godwineson, who is claimed by the Vita Ædwardi Regis as making a barefoot pilgrimage from Bruges to Jerusalem (thus through Europe) in 1051 to atone for his outlawry, as well as the somewhat circuitous pilgrimage of his younger brother Harold to Rome c. 1058–9 noted above.30 It is some decades off from the century we are discussing here, but the fact that the statutes of an 22 Ortenberg,

English Church and the Continent, p. 150, and references there. Ibid., p. 151, and references there. 24 ASC, MS D, s.a.1050. 25 ASC, MS E, s.a.1046 [1049]. 26 Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, pp. 151–2, and references there. 27 W. Stubbs, Memorials of St. Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury (London, 1874), pp. 396–7; trans. in EHD 1, no. 231. 28 See Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, p. 152, referring to Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford, 1978), pp. 150 and 137–8. 29 S 1490 (Bury St Edmunds, 1042x1043), and David A. E. Pelteret, Catalogue of English Post-Conquest Vernacular Documents (Woodbridge, 1990), no. 68; ed. D. Whitelock, Anglo-Saxon Wills (Cambridge, 1930), nos 28 and 29. 30 Vita Ædwardi, ch. 5, p. 33. 23

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Exeter guild of the first half of the tenth century suggest that pilgrimage of its members to Rome was a fairly common occurrence, might suggest the level of traffic here.31 The same impression is given by studies of the Schola Saxonum (later Schola Anglorum) in Rome, founded in the eighth century at the gates of St Peter’s as a place for English pilgrims and other visitors to stay.32 This site was supported by successive popes and may have become something like an Anglo-Saxon quarter in Rome. A Bull of Pope Leo IX in 1053 more or less repeats the text of another from 854, recording the existence of the schola then as a pilgrim community with its own cemetery organized around the church of St Maria. Since at least the reign of King Alfred a tax, known as ‘Peter’s pence’ or romscot, appears to have been levied at relatively regular intervals in England as a payment to the pope to support this community, and its collection in the eleventh century is witnessed by Cnut’s letter to the English in 1027.33 Diplomatic travels are hard to spot in the sources, but are probably discernible in Bishop Ealdred of Worcester’s travel to the imperial court at Cologne on the king’s behalf in 1054.34 In addition, another diplomatic mission probably stands behind the claims of the fourteenth-century chronicler William Thorne of St Augustine’s, Canterbury, who partly compiled his work on that abbey from its early and now lost records, that Abbot Æthelsige (held office there from c. 1061–87, with a period in exile in Denmark from 1070/1–80/1), travelled to Rome in 1063 on English business, and spent time there on an unspecified mission.35 This abbot is recorded in twelfth-century materials as engaged on apparent diplomatic activity in Denmark for William the Conqueror, and so we might take this late record at face value.36 Finally, there are sporadic references to individual Englishmen in far-flung parts of Europe. The statement of the twelfth-century cartulary of Sainte Foi in Conques, Aquitaine, that an Englishman named Alboynus (Ælfwine), who was born in London and was the son of a king ‘Heroldus’, is highly suggestive that a son of Harold Harefoot made his way, presumably after his father’s death in 1040, 31

Councils and Synods, 1:59–60. I owe this reference to Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, p. 151. 32 See, e.g., D. J. Birch, Pilgrimage to Rome in the Middle Ages: Continuity and Change (Woodbridge, 2000); for the Schola Saxonum, see Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, pp. 132–6. 33 Gesetze, 1:276–77, in ch. 16 of the letter, where it is called ‘qui Anglice ciricsceatt’. 34 ASC, MSS CD, s.a. 1054. This is augmented by John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:574–76, who adds that the embassy aimed to retrieve Edward, son of Edmund Ironside, from exile in Hungary. 35 Edited in R. Twysden, Historiae Anglicanae Scriptores X… (London, 1652), col. 1785. On the interruption in his office as an exile in Denmark, see Timothy Bolton, ‘English Political Refugees at the Court of Sveinn Ástríðarson, King of Denmark (1042–76)’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 15 (2005), 17–36. Æthelsige is associated with three separate miracle stories in post-Conquest tradition: see Laura Ashe, The Oxford English Literary History, Volume 1: 1000–1350. Conquest and Transformation (Oxford, 2017), pp. 70–85. 36 On this episode, see Bolton, ‘English Political Refugees’, pp. 25–7.

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to southern France.37 In late eleventh-century Poitiers we find records of English masons working on a church there, one of whom was named Gauthier (perhaps Waldere) ‘Coorland’.38 Finally, we should mention here the scribe of the second half of the tenth and early eleventh century who copied texts with occasional English letter-forms in the monastery of Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire in central France to the east of Órleans, and who signs the margin of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 7696, fol. 146v with the distinctively Anglo-Saxon name Leofnoð.39 This perhaps also denotes ecclesiastical contact as Fleury and the region around SaintBenoit-sur-Loire was a focal point for English interest in France.40 What we can see is that Englishmen interacted with Europe in the eleventh century, and played their part at all levels of society. As expected, such contacts vary in frequency according to the relative distance of the place involved from England, with the highest number of Englishmen involved in neighbouring countries. That said, the English seem, in the main, to have kept up their obligations to Rome and the imperial court, and individuals can be detected far away from the English Channel engaged in a number of activities. However, the nature of the scattered and often fragmentary evidence means that few conclusions can be drawn beyond these facts stated above, and accounts in this vein begin to read like mere catalogues of points of contact. The majority of this type of evidence does not reveal much in the way of shifts and patterns in behaviour. An alternative viewpoint, that might yield more interesting results, could be to follow the focus of the written sources themselves, predominantly from the top of society downwards, charting the relevant parts of the narrative and actions of the rulers of England as they affected close-range and distant contacts with Europe. The eleventh century is uniquely well placed for this, as it saw considerable political upheaval and two conquests, and all of its rulers apart from one were foreign invaders or an heir raised in exile on the Continent. It is an attempt to do this that follows here. Again, let us look at close range contact first. At the opening of the eleventh century, England saw an apparent upsurge in contact with its coastal neighbours on the Continent, albeit driven on by the unstable relationship with Normandy. In 1002, King Æthelred took as his second wife Emma, the sister of Duke Richard II of Normandy, most probably to strengthen his uneasy alliance with Normandy in the face of the renewed Viking attacks. If the late witness of William of Jumièges can be believed, Æthelred may have had need to reassure the duke, having just

37

W. H. Stevenson, ‘An Alleged Son of King Harold Harefoot’, EHR 28 (1913), 112–17, and Timothy Bolton, Cnut the Great (New Haven, CT, 2017), pp. 199–200. 38 Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, pp. 9 and 239, and references there. 39 J. Vezin, ‘Leofnoth, un scribe anglais à Saint-Benoit-sur-Loire’, Codices manuscripti 4 (1977), 109–20. 40 See Ortenberg, English Church and the Continent, pp. 237–8.

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ordered an English raid on apparent Viking sites in the Cotentin peninsula.41 More certainly, the alliance between England and Normandy was far from secure, and there are indications that Svein Forkbeard, king of Denmark, made a peace treaty with Richard II before launching his invasion of England in 1013.42 As Pauline Stafford notes, while Anglo-Saxon princesses had crossed the Channel to the Continent in the tenth century, when Æthelred married Emma no English king had married a non-English woman in a century and a half.43 It was the fall of Æthelred from power in England and then his death that placed Anglo-Saxon England’s first foreign invader on the throne. Æthelred’s last years of rule saw near constant raiding by Vikings, ending only in early 1013 on the arrival of the fleet under the command of Svein Forkbeard. This fleet was unlike any other that had preceded it, in that it was intent on invasion and conquest, rather than raiding.44 The English appear to have been exhausted and quickly capitulated to Svein’s seizure of power, while Æthelred withdrew with his wife and children to London, and thence to a fleet in the Thames, from where he sent his family to safety in Normandy, eventually joining them after Christmas 1013.45 It should be noted that this invasion with its ensuing events had profound effects on England’s interaction with Europe, and that the non-English elites subsequently placed atop some of the political structures of the country were from a neighbouring region, but one up until then only on the fringes of mainland continental Europe: Denmark had only recently been Christianized, had no coherent and comprehensive Church infrastructure or monasticism, and had only sporadic and limited contact with the Empire or its ecclesiastical agents in Hamburg-Bremen and perhaps Cologne.46 However, such changes seem to have had little impact on England’s contact with its geographic neighbours, beyond a possible temporary halt of trade during warfare. Events continued to move quickly, and Svein died suddenly on 3 February 1014, leaving his son, Cnut, to flee to Denmark while the English sent to Normandy for Æthelred’s return. Peace returned with him, but again it did not last long, and in 1015, Cnut launched another invasion.47 Within a year, warfare, the death of Æthelred and probable unpopularity of his heir Edmund Ironside, as well as the willingness of a number of English nobles to act as turncoats, had turned the tide 41

GND, 2:10–14; I owe this reference to S. Keynes’ introduction to the 1998 reprint of Encomium, p. [xvi]. 42 GND, 2:16–18. 43 Stafford, Emma and Edith, p. 209, as well as pp. 209–24. 44 Niels Lund, ‘The Danish Perspective’, in The Battle of Maldon, AD 991, ed. D. Scragg (Oxford, 1991), pp. 114–42 (p. 133), and Bolton, Cnut the Great, pp. 56–8. 45 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1013. 46 Cnut the Great, pp. 17, 28–52, and references there. For the origins of monasticism in Scandinavia, see T. Nyberg, ‘Early Monasticism in Scandinavia’, in Scandinavia and Europe 800–1350: Contact, Conflict, and Coexistence, ed. J. Adams and K. Holman (Turnhout, 2004), pp. 197–208. 47 See Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden, 2009), pp. 40–1, and Cnut the Great, pp. 78–9.

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in Cnut’s direction.48 Cnut and Edmund agreed a division of the country between them, but then Edmund died in November 1016 in unclear and perhaps suspicious circumstances. This, as well as Cnut’s marriage of Æthelred’s widow, Emma, placed the whole of England under his sway, as well as reassuring Normandy. The effects of this on England were minimal at first. Cnut quickly paid off and dismissed the majority of the Danish fleet in 1018, but retained in England a number of Danish overlords who were introduced to English society at all levels of social authority. Keynes has charted the roles of some of the Scandinavians implanted as earls at the height of the English political machine, and I have examined others inserted into key roles in the royal court and apparently unstable regions of England where a watchful eye, loyal to the new king, was needed.49 Two main urban sites, London and Winchester, show a marked spike in Scandinavian archaeological deposits, suggesting the presence of a resident Danish elite there, and the skaldic verse composed for Cnut as well as Scandinavian runic inscriptions in those cities indicate that for some time in the 1020s and 1030s the ruling elites of those sites were bilingual to some degree.50 We can genuinely speak of an Anglo-Danish England from the 1020s through to the 1040s, with an AngloDanish faction remaining in a position of power in England for at least two further decades. These Scandinavians had positions of power, and were highly visible in some urban centres and the royal court, but they were not numerous, and one suspects that they were quickly assimilated into English culture once settled among the local populace, especially in the Danelaw. Cnut died suddenly on 12 November 1035, and after the rapid reigns of Cnut’s two sons, each dying in quick succession in 1040 and 1042, the English kingship swung back to the line of Æthelred, through the return of his son, Edward ‘the Confessor’. Edward had been sent away to his mother’s native Normandy in 1013–14 and for the second and final time in 1016, when he was between eleven and fourteen years old. He did not return until 1041, having spent nearly three decades away. Exile in Normandy, and perhaps also Flanders, allowed him frequent access to English visitors and merchants, but his formative years were spent on the Continent and thus the kin- and friend-relationships he could call on in a crisis were made there, not in England. It comes as no surprise, then, when we note that he took to England with him nobles such as Robert Champart, abbot of Jumièges, and Ralf, the son of his half-sister, Godgifu (herself until 1035 the countess of Mantes, and later countess of Boulogne) and Drogo, count of the Vexin (although Ralf may have been welcomed later), as well as giving land in England to Bretons.51 48

See Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 22–41, and Cnut the Great, pp. 82–8. S. D. Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 43–88 (pp. 54–61), and Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 15–22, 51–5 and 65–8. 50 See Matthew Townend, ‘Contextualising the Knútsdrápur: Skaldic Praise poetry at the Court of Cnut’, ASE 30 (2001), 145–79. 51 Frank Barlow, Edward the Confessor (London, 1970), pp. 41 and 50, and references there. 49

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In English politics he found a landscape dominated by Cnut’s great men, the houses of Godwine of Wessex and Leofric of Mercia, and again it is far from startling that when he needed to rise above the mire of the intrigue and scheming between those parties, he turned to Normandy.52 On 29 October 1050, Archbishop Eadsige of Canterbury died, and the Canterbury monks proposed one of their own number, named Æthelric, who was related to Godwine.53 Instead Edward promoted Robert of Jumièges, previously bishop of London.54 From this vantage point the new archbishop was free to attack Godwine, and he accused him of having usurped lands belonging to the archiepiscopal estate and the monasteries. As the quarrel sharpened he involved Edward, apparently telling him that just as Godwine had murdered Edward’s brother during the reign of Cnut’s son Harold Harefoot, so now he intended to murder Edward himself.55 Robert appears to have been a difficult and abrasive character, and subsequently even refused to consecrate Edward’s appointment of Spearhafoc, abbot of Abingdon and the king’s goldsmith, to the see of London, accusing him of simony.56 Edward seems to have stayed away from Robert’s installation ceremony, but the two were reunited by early 1051, when Edward sent his archbishop to the young William of Normandy to inform him that the English nobles would accept him as their lord after Edward’s death.57 In the same year Eustace of Boulogne, Edward’s brother-in-law, came to England, and as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles relate, with varying versions placing events in either the outward or return voyages, Eustace’s party required refreshments at Dover, and because of incidents on the outward journey or because Godwine had ordered them to not be admitted, they put on their mailshirts outside the town and tried to intimidate the inhabitants.58 John of Worcester adds to this account, stating that in their inept attempts to force compliance a citizen was killed and violence erupted with another citizen killing one of Eustace’s men, and Eustace and his party slaughtering and trampling with their horses a number of the inhabitants, including women and children.59 John of Worcester records the death-toll of the town as over twenty people. They were finally routed by the townspeople, and fled with seven of their party dead. Eustace reported the matter to the king (with MS E of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles noting he ‘told in part [only] how they had fared’), who was clearly outraged by the affront to his brother-in-law and in an act which 52

On Godwine and Leofric, see Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, pp. 70–5; Stephen Baxter, The Earls of Mercia: Lordship and Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2007). 53 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, pp. 78–9. 54 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1050 (D under [1051]; E under [1048]), record Robert’s election as Edward’s act. 55 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, pp. 105–6. 56 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1048 [1051]. 57 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, p. 107. 58 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, p. 110, following ASC, MS D, s.a. 1052 [1051], and MS E, s.a. 1048 [1051]. 59 John of Worcester, Chronicle, s.a. 1051 (2:558).

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can only have provoked more ire, demanded that Godwine punish the town.60 Instead, Godwine demanded the surrender of Eustace and perhaps some of the French castellans based in Herefordshire, and events began which led to the flight from England of Godwine’s family and the outlawry of his eldest son, Sweyn. He would not return until late in the next year, when the nature of his reinstatement at the head of an army caused Robert, among others, to flee the country.61 Perhaps as part of this search for allies among the elites of neighbouring countries, Edward seems to have embraced the trickle of Lotharingian or Lotharingian-educated clerics who navigated towards high ecclesiastical roles in the English royal court, many then accepting English bishoprics.62 The first certainly of this group was Duduc, who served as royal priest to Cnut, appearing initially in a charter of 1033 before taking the bishopric of Wells, which he held until his death in 1061.63 He was followed by one Herman, who served Harthacnut before Edward, and was appointed to the bishopric of Ramsbury and then Sherbourne in 1045; an Englishman probably educated in Lotharingia named Leofric, who took the bishopric of Devon and Cornwall in 1046; Regenbald who is presumed from his name to have been of Germanic origin, and who continued in office until 1086; Walter, who became the bishop of Hereford in 1060, and remained so until his death in 1079; Giso, appointed bishop of Wells in 1061, and who died in 1088; Robert ‘of Lorraine’ who succeeded Walter as bishop of Hereford in 1079, and who died in 1095;64 followed by two other Lotharingians who may have served as royal priests but did not receive bishoprics. However, Keynes has rightly raised the question here of how much can be made of this apparent phenomenon, in that no ongoing direct links have been established between these men and Germany, and much less the imperial court, and we cannot even know if they saw themselves as a distinctive group or acted in consort together.65 Grierson raises an important point in his discussion of Flanders in this period, by noting that these affiliations of Edward with Normandy, and perhaps Lotharingia, may have forced Edward’s English opponents, the Godwinesons and any remnant of the earlier Anglo-Danish elites, into alliances with Flanders. It is clear that Flanders was already favoured as a refuge for these factions during the short reign of Harold Harefoot, when he drove his stepmother Emma into exile there in Bruges.66 However, with Edward the Confessor enthroned in England, Flanders hosted the exiled Gunnhild, Cnut’s niece, in 1045 (briefly, before she went on

60 61

62 63

64 65

66

ASC, MS E, s.a. 1048 [1051]: ‘cydde be dæle hu hi gefaran hæfdon’. ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1052; MS F, s.a. 1051. On these, see Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 205–13, and ‘Regenbald the Chancellor’. Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 207–8, and references there. For all these. see Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 208–10, and references there; also Keynes, ‘Regenbald’. Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 211–13. Grierson, ‘England and Flanders’, pp. 96–7, and references there.

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to Denmark);67 Cnut’s official, Osgod Clapa, and his wife, the year after;68 and Sweyn Godwineson overwintered there in 1046–7 as the first step of his banishment, returning to Bruges in 1049–50 and in 1051 to the Flemish court along with his brother Tostig when they were outlawed again.69 At the same time, Judith, the daughter of Count Baldwin IV of Flanders, was married to Tostig Godwineson, and the Flemish count was even so bold as to give refuge to Vikings who raided Kent, Essex and the Isle of Wight in 1048.70 Thus far, all Edward’s interactions with Europe as king of England were with his immediate neighbours, and in fact there is not much evidence for contacts further afield; where these can be found they suggest sporadic occasional contact rather than seeking out these European authorities. It is possible that when in exile he had visited the French royal court.71 The Vita Ædwardi Regis notes that both Henry I, king of France, and Henry III, the German emperor, sent embassies to Edward’s coronation.72 As noted above, Abbot Ælfwine of Ramsey attended the Synod of Rheims in 1049 alongside Bishop Duduc of Wells and Abbot Wulfric of St Augustine’s, Canterbury; Bishop Ealdred of Worcester went on the king’s behalf to the imperial court at Cologne in 1054, and Bishop Herman of Ramsbury and Abbot Ælfwine of Ramsey were sent to Pope Leo IX’s Easter Synod in Vercelli in 1050. Moreover, when he did become involved in imperial matters it was due to his strategic position adjacent to the emperor’s enemies, and he may have been dragged into this conflict either by obligations to the imperial court or by the mutual benefit of curtailing the power of Flanders.73 In 1047–9 the emperor requested that England and Denmark give naval assistance against Baldwin V of Flanders and the so-called Lotharingian rebellion against imperial overlordship.74 Baldwin had formed an alliance with his brother-in-law the French king, who in turn could demand support from Normandy, thus controlling a large and continuous section of continental Europe’s northern coastline. The support of Edward allowed the emperor to nullify or at least reduce this threat, and in response to the imperial request Edward summoned a large fleet at Sandwich and imposed a naval blockade.75 In this he was involved in grander European politics, but primarily 67

Ibid., pp. 97–8, and references there. Ibid., pp. 98–9, and references there. For this figure, see also Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 20–1, 62–4, 310 and 315. 69 Grierson, ‘England and Flanders’, pp. 98–100. 70 Ibid., p. 98, and references there. 71 See Barlow, Edward the Confessor, p. 41, and references to legal sources for this there. 72 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, p. 98, following the Vita Ædwardi, ch. 2, p. 16. 73 In fact, the situation was very confused. The two factions comprised (1) the imperial group with England and Denmark as support along the northern coastline, and (2) Baldwin V of Flanders and his brother-in-law the king of France, who in turn could draw on his vassal, William of Normandy (later ‘the Conqueror’). 74 Grierson, ‘England and Flanders’, pp. 98–9. 75 ASC, MS C, s.a. 1049, and Barlow, Edward the Confessor, pp. 98–9. 68

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on home turf, and he had also a great deal to gain from the reduction of Flemish power. His rule may have seen a consolidation of links with England’s immediate coastal neighbours, and he himself may have enjoyed cordial terms with the distant powers of Europe, but that was the limit of contact. The death of Edward on 4 or 5 January 1066 set in motion some of the most well-known events of English history, which ultimately sat a second foreign invader on the throne, William of Normandy. The ensuing events became the subject of numerous later Norman writers, and produced a multitude of varying accounts, in turn spawning a wealth of modern historical debate.76 In the briefest thumbnail sketch, we must note that the enthronement of Harold Godwinesson drew out William of Normandy into open invasion, and the attacks of the Norwegians in the north of England first exhausted Harold’s armies and significantly added to William’s success at Hastings some days later.77 For our focus here on England’s close contacts with its European neighbours, this had profound effects. William’s coronation in Westminster Abbey on 25 December 1066 doubtless brought England into closer contact with its immediate neighbours, even if such contact was unwelcome on occasions. The composition of his invading forces included Normans as well as those from Aquitaine, Brittany, the regions to the east of Normandy, and to a lesser extent, Maine, and in the decades following the conquest these men replaced much of the secular and ecclesiastical authorities across the English landscape, ensuring that even if the number of Normans in England was relatively small many Englishmen had contact, either directly or indirectly, with the invaders.78 We might pause at this juncture to consider the differences in the two conquests of eleventh-century England, as the effects of their settlement of foreigners in England had such varying results. At face value we should note that the Norman Conquest and settlement of elites there lasted longer than the twenty-six years allotted to Anglo-Danish rule, but there were also other factors at play. There are clear differences between Cnut’s and William’s approaches to conquest, in part set by the differing conditions of the country they seized. Cnut is thought of as having a brutal and bloody beginning to his reign, with the purges of figures such as Uhtred of Bamburgh in 1016, and Eadric Streona and Northman, son of Ealdorman Leofwine, in 1017, but what is often overlooked is that these purges affected regions outside of Wessex, the province Cnut took to his own rule.79 Cnut may have been trying to rule as a Scandinavian king, taking the choicest region for himself and farming out responsibility of other regions to his mightiest followers,

76

See most recently, e.g., 1066 in Perspective, ed. David Bates (Leeds, 2018). much fuller treatment of this period, see David Bates, William the Conqueror (New Haven, CT, 2016), chs 5–6, pp. 164–256. 78 On this, see Ann Williams, The English and the Norman Conquest (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 7–23. On the composition of William’s followers, see Bates, William the Conqueror, p. 225. 79 The point about the brutal beginning to Cnut’s reign is made for example by Williams, The English and the Norman Conquest, p. 7. 77 For

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and leaving these areas relatively autonomous unless they rebelled against his rule; or he may have been following the model of his West Saxon forebears in their focus on Wessex. Either way, his rule saw a completely different policy within Wessex, where he consistently emphasized conciliation, seemingly acting out the role of benevolent ruler for the English elites.80 He raised a vast tax and attempted to deal with the living royal heirs, but his first lawcodes were reassuringly conciliatory and his interaction with the Church there was anything but harsh. Even when Æthelweard, the ealdorman of the Western Provinces of Wessex, raised revolt against him there, he acted as a diplomat, exiling the ealdorman, appointing a probable relative of his as archbishop of Canterbury, and perhaps taking part in a ceremony of laying gifts on the tomb of Æthelred’s son and heir in Glastonbury. In Wessex, the principal area under his control, Cnut ruled with the consent of the people as much as by the sword. William was quite different. His rule began with a series of royal processions, which may have been intended to be conciliatory, but also allowed English nobles the opportunity to offer homage and purchase back their lands at exorbitant figures.81 Much was not returned, but was retained by the king or handed out to his continental followers, and William’s lesser followers seem to have exploited their positions of power in the localities to build up property empires at the expense of the English. A great geld followed in 1068, alarm spread among the English, and resistance was met at Exeter with the besieging of the city, and ultimately the revolt of 1068–70 and William’s subsequent devastation of the north of England. Within a few years, vast swathes of the English elites, both secular and ecclesiastical, had been replaced by Normans, and thus the presence in England of lords whose families and roots were on the other side of the Channel was more notable and ensured to be enduring. Moreover, the England that William seized was also different to that of 1016. Most importantly, it was not by any means exhausted from decades of raiding. The 1050s had seen some conflict threatened between the Godwine family and Edward, but no real damage had been done, and overall England had enjoyed half a century of peace and prosperity. William’s English subjects rebelled in a way that Cnut’s did not, from the entrenched remnants of the Godwine family who took substantial effort to root out, to Mærle-Sveinn, Edwin and Morcar of Northumbria, Earl Waltheof and Hereward ‘the Wake’.82 That is not to say that William’s experience as a conqueror was easier than Cnut’s. Cnut faced some rivals for power, and one or two of these may have resulted in failed coups d’etat, but these were dealt with swiftly, and were quite unlike the rival invasion from another European state that William faced immediately after

80

On this and what follows here, see Bolton, Cnut the Great, pp. 92–128. On this and what follows here, see Williams, The English and the Norman Conquest, pp. 7–23. 82 Ibid., pp. 24–44. 81

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he seized power.83 Svein Estrithsson, Cnut’s nephew and heir in Denmark, could lay dynastic claim to the throne of England, and may have had to be bought off by Edward the Confessor in the early years of the latter’s reign.84 Three Danish invasions were launched in the decades that followed 1066.85 The first was in 1069, led initially by Svein’s brother Esbiorn, three of Svein’s sons, an otherwise unknown Jarl Thorkil, and Bishop Kristian of Århus, and joined in 1070 by Svein himself.86 The second was in 1075, under the command of two of Svein’s sons, and was clearly intended to support the so-called ‘revolt of the three earls’ against William’s authority. The third was in 1083, and was commanded by King Knut the Holy, who was one of the royal sons who led the expedition of 1075. Events conspired to ensure that the fleet disbursed before it sailed to England, but the threat was enough to panic William into returning from his own campaign in Maine, armed with continental mercenaries, and laying waste to large areas of the eastern coastline to slow the invaders’ progress.87 Returning to our main theme, we must now step back to the beginning of the eleventh century, or even a decade before that, and turn our attention to distant points of contact between the English elites and sites such as Rome and the imperial court. Just before the opening of the eleventh century, Æthelred had his measure of contact with Rome in the form of direct papal involvement in his difficult relationship with neighbouring Normandy. This was primarily a local dispute, but the survival of a papal letter of 991 addressing Æthelred and Duke Richard II of Normandy, ordering their setting aside of earlier differences, shows us that at some level this peace settlement involved the papacy.88 The pope states there that he had sent his legate Bishop Leo of Trevi to the English king. Æthelred in response appears to have called a witangemot to consider the pope’s demands, and then sent an embassy headed by the bishop of Sherbourne to the Norman court, where they concluded peace with oaths. As we have seen above, this peace would not last despite the pope’s entreaties that it should, and the relationship between England and Normandy under the pressure of Viking invasion remained fractious at times. We might suspect from this state of affairs that this papal intervention was brief or short-lived.

83

On the threats to Cnut’s rule, see Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, pp. 67–70 and 54–7; Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 45–6 and 65–8; and Cnut the Great, pp. 120 and 123–7. 84 Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 312–13. 85 See L. M. Larson, ‘The Efforts of the Danish Kings to Recover the English Crown after the Death of Harthacnut’, publ. as an appendix to the Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1910 (1911); Bolton, Empire of Cnut, pp. 312–15, and ‘English Political Refugees’, pp. 28–30. 86 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1068; MS E, s.a. 1070. 87 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1085. 88 Stubbs, Memorials of St. Dunstan, pp. 397–8; trans. in EHD 1, no. 230. On this, see also L. Roach, Æthelred the Unready (New Haven, CT, 2016), pp. 117 and 187.

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The crucial breakthrough in distant European relations seems to have come from Cnut himself, in his response to being invited to attend and take part in the imperial coronation of Conrad II on Easter Day (26 March) 1027. In this Wipo, Conrad’s biographer, notes that Cnut was especially honoured in the ceremony as one of two rulers to act as witness to the imperial benediction by the pope, before leading the new emperor to his chamber.89 Cnut’s subsequent letter to the English makes clear that while there he had negotiated with the emperor, the pope and King Rudolph of Burgundy over security of English and Danish pilgrims and merchants, and exploitation of them by barriers and unjust tolls on the roads on the way there.90 Moreover, the journey to and from Rome by Cnut and his court included a series of public acts of piety and gift-giving to churches, probably intended to show Cnut to the elites and populace of those regions as a model Christian ruler, and attempt to ‘raise his profile’ in modern jargon. The Encomium Emmae states that on Cnut’s visit to Saint-Omer he prayed reverently there, eyes fixed on the ground and pouring with rivers of tears, before pressing kisses on the pavement and beating his own breast that the heavenly mercy might not be displeased with him.91 We might place this in the discussion of close contact above, were it not for the fact that this same piety appears to have been repeated at the shrine of St Heribert in Deutz, on the opposite bank of the Rhine to Cologne. There Lantbert of Liège records in his Miracula Heriberti in the account of a cripple of Trier who was healed at the shrine, that Cnut, king of the English, was present at this amazing spectacle, and sent the saint prodigious and honourable royal gifts on his return home.92 This piety seems to have continued in Rome itself, with Cnut’s letter of 1027 recording his prayer for his sins and the safety of his kingdoms and peoples as a reason for his travelling to Rome, as well as his visit to ‘every sacred place which I could learn of within the city of Rome and outside it, and in person to worship and adorn there according to my desire’.93 However, I have recently suggested that this visit to Rome needs to be set within the context of another set of international relations that Cnut appears to have initiated, and which, if correct, indicate that Cnut had his eyes firmly fixed on the grand politics of continental Europe from the mid-1020s onwards.94 In the late 1020s, the 89 Wipo,

Gesta Chuonradi, ch. 16, ed. H. Bresslau, Wiponis Opera. Die Werke Wipos, MGH SS rer. Germ. 59, 3rd edn (Hanover, 1915, repr. 1977), pp. 36–7. 90 Gesetze, 1:276–7. 91 Encomium, II.20–1, p. 36. 92 Miracula sancti Heriberti auctore Lantberto Tuitiensi, ch. 16, ed. O. Holder-Egger, MGH SS 15 (Hanover, 1888), cols 1245–60 (col. 1253). 93 Gesetze, 1:276, ch. 3: ‘omne sanctuarium, quod intra urbem Romam aut extra addiscere potui, expetere et secundum desiderium meum presentialiter venerari et adore’; trans. in EHD 1, no. 49. 94 I presented this idea in the University of Aberdeen in 2016, wrote this lecture for the Oxford conference, and then included it as a substantial part of ch. 5 in my Cnut the Great (there pp. 158–71).

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local writer Adémar of Chabannes noted in an aside on England in his account of the Council of Limoges, that the king of this people recently sent Duke William V of Aquitaine a codex written in golden letters, adding that he had seen it himself among other volumes from this people.95 Elsewhere he names Cnut as among a small group (of otherwise local) rulers with whom Duke William repeatedly exchanged gifts.96 The claim that these gift exchanges took place every year is probably an exaggeration, but the note of the giving of illuminated manuscript codices falls closely within Cnut’s known political donations, and is probably correct.97 There is probably also a link here to Bishop Fulberht of Chartres’ implied acknowledgement of a substantial donation sent by Cnut to him.98 Fulberht was a close associate and amicus of Duke William, acting as the intellectual advisor and guide to his court. Both gifts were most probably sent in the mid-1020s. Duke William held office from the late tenth century until his death in 1030, and Fulbert’s undated letter was most probably composed between 8 September 1020, when the cathedral of Chartres burnt down, and 10 April 1028, when Fulberht died.99 In what context should we try to understand this distant point of contact? Cnut is not recorded visiting Aquitaine in south-western France, and cannot feasibly have made a detour there on either his route to Rome or back to Denmark again. Additionally, it is hard to believe that Cnut made large numbers of similar gifts to important figures among great swathes of the French nobility without leaving further traces in our records. Thus we are left to try to make sense of this isolated lavishing of wealth on a distant foreign noble. I can detect only one point at which Cnut and Duke William were brought into each other’s political spheres of influence, in that Duke William’s son was briefly in the mid-1020s a plausible alternative imperial candidate to Conrad, and Cnut had good reasons for not wanting to see the latter on the imperial throne. After the death of Emperor Henry II on 4 September 1024, Conrad’s election was anything but certain. An assembly was finally convened on 4 September 1024 at Kamba to hear the claims of two Conrads, the man who would later be emperor and a younger relative and namesake. It was not a simple choice: neither had a straightforward succession to the throne, and the nobles were bitterly divided in their support, with Archbishop Pilgrim of Cologne and Duke Frederick of Lotharingia leaving the assembly in anger, without bidding farewell and without participating in the 95

Adémar of Chabannes, Sermones Tres dubii, PL 141:111–12 and 115–24 (at 122). Adémar of Chabannes, Chronicon aquitanicum et francicum, ed. J. Chavanon (Paris, 1897), p. 163. 97 T. A. Heslop, ‘The Production of de luxe Manuscripts and the Patronage of King Cnut and Queen Emma’, ASE 19 (1990), 151–95; and David Pratt, ‘Kings and Books in Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 43 (2014), 297–377 (pp. 355–71). 98 Fulbert of Chartres, The Letters and Poems of Fulbert of Chartres, ed. and trans. F. Behrends (Oxford, 1976), no. 37 (pp. 66–9); trans. in EHD 1, no. 233. See also M. H. Gelting, ‘Un évêque danois élève de Fulbert de Chartres?’, in Fulbert de Chartres: Précurseur de l’Europe médiévale, ed. M. Rouche (Paris, 2008), pp. 63–75. 99 Gelting, ‘Un évêque’, pp. 64–6. 96

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election. Conrad II was crowned king on 8 September 1024, and proceeded through the realm negotiating with sets of local elites for their support as he went.100 Thus, it was not until the winter of late 1025 and early 1026 that he was secure enough to set off for Italy. In this crucial time period in which Conrad II saw off his contender and built his support base within the Germanic parts of his realm, surviving correspondence reveals that Ulric Manfred II of Turin, with the support of a group of Lombard magnates, sent an embassy firstly to King Robert of France and then to Duke William, offering them the kingship of Italy, which implicitly brought with it a claim to the imperial crown.101 Robert declined on behalf of himself and his son, but Duke William was more receptive, setting out for Italy to make good this claim, and withdrawing only when Conrad’s growing support in Italy convinced him that the Turin faction had lost the power to confer the title. For me at least, it is hard to avoid the impression that Cnut’s gifts to Duke William were politically motivated, and in fact Cnut was making opulent gifts to a potential imperial candidate at a point when Conrad’s election was less than secure. Cnut had much to lose from an aggressive neighbour of his Danish border such as Conrad II becoming emperor, and successive Emperors had been locked into a pattern of squabbling with occasional warfare with Cnut’s mother’s family, the ruling Piast dynasty of Poland, since the mid-tenth century.102 Thanks to a thought-provoking study by Michael Hare, we know that Cnut took his association with the Poles seriously, taking a baptismal name common among their line, and receiving Slavic visitors in his English court as well as marrying one of his sisters to an unidentified Wyrtgeorn (the name garbled by Anglo-Norman reporting), who must also have been a Slav.103 This is partly a close contact matter, in that Cnut may have preferred a distant south-western French candidate due to his lack of proximity to England and Denmark. However, the concerns of Cnut’s Polish family must also have been at the forefront of his mind, and the main difference here between Cnut and his predecessors on the English throne, is that no other ruled a part of continental Europe as well as England. This foothold on the European mainland forced Cnut to keep one eye on events there in a way unlike any previous king of England. Even if one doubts that Cnut’s interaction with Aquitaine was motivated in the way I have suggested, it is clear from the subsequent marriage of his daughter Gunnhild to Conrad II’s son, Henry (later Emperor Henry IV), that he was now operating at the highest level of European politics. The marriage was not part of

100 H. Wolfram, Conrad II: Emperor of Three Kingdoms, trans. D. A. Kaiser (University Park, PA, 2006), pp. 56–67. 101 Some of the correspondence is in Letters and Poems of Fulbert of Chartres, ed. and trans. Behrends, nos. 104 and 111–13 (pp. 188 and 196–203). See also Bolton, Cnut the Great, p. 166, n. 32. 102 See Cnut the Great, pp. 167–8, and references there for details. 103 M. Hare, ‘Cnut and Lotharingia’, pp. 263–8, and Cnut the Great, pp. 8, 32, 168–9.

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the negotiations of Easter 1027; indeed a delegation was sent to Constantinople in the same year to see if a Byzantine princess might make a suitable match for Henry.104 The marriage between Henry and Gunnhild was announced on 18 May 1035 at Bamberg as part of a pact of friendship between their fathers, and the couple wed at Nijmegen in 1036, some months after Cnut’s death and two years before the bride’s death of pestilence while in Italy.105 Postulating ‘what ifs’ is not popular among historians, but it is a sobering thought to think that if Gunnhild had lived longer one of Cnut’s children might have sat on an imperial throne. As noted above, after Cnut’s death in 1035, we see little comparable from Edward the Confessor. However, the accession of William the Conqueror once again put European politics back at the centre of the concerns of the king and his English court. For international relations William cuts a paradoxical figure. Despite the fact that he ‘was not the most travelled of men’ in David Bates’ words, rarely leaving Normandy and southern England, reliable sources note the international character of his court. William of Poitiers states that before 1066 the bishops and counts of Francia, Burgundy and even more distant provinces frequented William’s court, and similarly William of Malmesbury records that he welcomed foreigners to his court and was particularly generous towards them.106 In addition, William was more than conscious of the European powers far beyond his borders, and set many of his actions within the approval of a carefully maintained European-wide network. By 1066, when William sent an embassy to Rome to secure papal support for the invasion of England, he already appears to have had substantial and carefully maintained links to Rome. He was addressed warmly by all three popes he lived under, and lauded by Pope Gregory VII (1073–85) as a ‘jewel of princes’.107 In addition, the levels of papal approval sought when deposing Archbishop Malger in 1054 or transferring Bishop John from Avranches to Rouen in 1067–8 smack of respectful reverence for the papacy.108 His contact with the papacy during the conflict between Pope Gregory VII and Henry IV appears to have been frequent, and one letter notes that the papacy believed that William had been approached by agents of the emperor.109 His gift-giving, unlike Cnut’s more limited and targeted efforts, was widespread and built up over time, constructing a network across France and with occasional contact in Rome. Records survive of his contributing a bell tower for Chartres Cathedral, a tower for the abbey of Saint-Denis and a dormitory for Marmoutier, 104 See

my Cnut the Great, pp. 170–1, where I credit both the works of M. K. Lawson and H. Wolfram for drawing this to my attention. 105 Ibid. Additionally, on Gunnhild being kept informed in the imperial court of events in England after her father’s death, see Keynes’ introduction to the reprinted Encomium Emmae, p. [xxxii]. 106 Gesta Guillelmi, p. 96, and William of Malmesbury, GRA, 1:506. 107 See David Bates, ‘William the Conqueror and His Wider Western European World’, HSJ 15 (2006), 73–87 (pp. 78–9). 108 See David Bates, Normandy before 1066 (New York, 1987), p. 199. 109 See Bates, ‘William the Conqueror’, pp. 77–9, and references there.

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where Matilda, his wife, also paid for the construction of a large refectory.110 Gifts of valuable objects from William or Matilda are recorded for Cluny, Marmoutier, Saint-Corneille of Compiègne, Saint-Florent of Saumur, and la Chaise-Dieu in the Auvergne; and Matilda made substantial gifts to Rome where Simon of Amiens, Valois and the Vexin was buried, as well as paying for the construction of his tomb. Finally, William paid for part of the expenses for Bishop Hugh of Langres’ pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1076. Almost all of these gifts postdate the conquest of England. His international contacts do not stop there. William of Poitiers claims other embassies were sent to the imperial court and Denmark immediately before the invasion, and probably soon after 1066, Abbot Æthelsige of Canterbury was sent to King Svein Estrithsson of Denmark with gifts.111 Orderic Vitalis states that one of William’s daughters was intended for a marriage to a king of Spain named Amfursius in his account, but died en route.112 Bruno of Merseburg identified William, in 1082, as one of several princes from whom Emperor Henry IV had sought support, and Lampert of Hersfeld claims that instead William gave his support to one of Henry’s opponents, Archbishop Anno of Cologne.113 Part of the difference in the nature of Cnut’s and William’s distant European contacts is tied up with the differing developmental stages of the Church in Denmark and Normandy during their reigns. Cnut’s Denmark was officially Christianized in the mid-tenth century, but was slow to adopt ecclesiastical infrastructure in areas beyond the heartland of royal control, and by the beginning of his reign seems to have had only missionary bishops not located to a single site or see, and occasional and sporadic church foundations.114 The matter of the advancement of the Church was complicated by the overtones of political control which it brought, and the early period saw the dominance of the missionaries of Hamburg-Bremen, among whom were native Danes trained in Germany and sent back, while the later period saw the expulsion of these figures under Cnut and his father, and the establishment of so-called ‘English’ bishops in new sees. There were no monasteries. In Cnut’s lifetime the Danish Church did not develop an apparent head other than the king, and thus had no direct or formal links with the papacy and wider Christian Europe. Conversely, William, at the time of his invasion, ruled a region with a fully fledged church with substantial monastic foundations. In Normandy the bishoprics were comprehensive and increasingly well organized from the late tenth century onwards, with continuous lines of bishops, new cathedrals in construc-

110 These

and what follows here listed by Bates, ‘William the Conqueror’, pp. 74–5. Gesta Guillelmi, p. 104. See also my ‘English Political Refugees’, pp. 25–7, on this Æthelsige and his mission. 112 Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 94–7, and Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, 3:114–15. 113 See Bates, ‘William the Conqueror’, p. 77, and references there. 114 For this and what follows here, see Bolton, Empire of Cnut, p. 176–87, and references there. 111

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tion, and the beginnings of chapters and wide-reaching diocesan administration.115 Moreover, the monasteries experienced a considerable boom under William and his immediate predecessors, with only six abbeys in 1026 and yet thirty-three by 1070.116 Thus, William’s church remained a constant conduit of European contact, while Cnut had to rely on existing channels of contact from his English Church. To draw this chapter to a conclusion, we can see that England and its immediate European neighbours enjoyed trade links and other forms of contact throughout the eleventh century with perhaps only minor disruptions in times of warfare or invasion. In addition, England’s contacts with distant European centres suggest that it was in near-constant contact with those, albeit only occasionally and from the north-western fringe of Europe. However, as noted above these conclusions are limited in their scope, whereas a focus on the historical narrative and actions of the rulers of England that affected close-range and distant contacts with Europe reveals some crucial developments within this overall impression. The state of affairs outlined immediately above holds true for the reign of Æthelred in the earliest decades of the eleventh century, as well as for his son Edward the Confessor in the midpoint of the century. Matters were quite different with England’s two foreign invaders in the same century: Cnut in the second, third and fourth decade of the century, and William from 1066 until his death in 1087. These rulers had footholds in continental Europe that no earlier English king had had, and those forced them to involve European secular and ecclesiastical elites in their own plans, with an energy and vigour unseen among other English kings in the eleventh century. Their conquests were quite distinct from one another, due in the greater part to the different nature of the English they conquered and challenges they faced, but both set England on the course to much fuller integration in European affairs.

115 Bates, 116 Ibid.,

Normandy before 1066, pp. 189–228. pp. 218–25.

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15 The View from Wales: Anglo-Welsh Relations in the Time of England’s Conquests REBECCA THOMAS

A

picture of Anglo-Welsh relations in the eleventh century must be pieced together from scattered and fragmentary evidence, including references to conflict and co-operation in various chronicles (whether English, Welsh or Irish) and the patterns of land-holding along the border revealed in Domesday Book and charters. This picture is consequently something of a patchwork, but nevertheless offers a tantalizing glimpse of complex and fluctuating interactions. For the period after the Norman Conquest of England, there have been numerous studies of interaction in the Welsh march, with focus especially on relations between native Welsh rulers and Marcher lords.1 The activities of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn (d. 1063) have dominated discussion of the decades prior to 1066, partly because of the impression this Welsh king made on English sources, including multiple appearances in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles.2 Indeed, prior to the beginning of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s rule over Gwynedd in 1039, Kari Maund has suggested that ‘Wales was not a major English concern in this period’, and nor were the Welsh particularly interested in England, focusing instead on internal conflict.3 1

R. R. Davies, The Age of Conquest: Wales 1063–1415 (Oxford, 1987); M. Lieberman, The March of Wales 1067–1300: A Borderland of Medieval Britain (Cardiff, 2008); J. G. Edwards, ‘The Normans and the Welsh March’, Proceedings of the British Academy 42 (1956), 155–77; D. Walker, ‘The Norman Settlement in Wales’, ANS 1 (1978), 131–43; C. P. Lewis, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan and the Normans’, in Gruffudd ap Cynan. A Collaborative Biography, ed. K. L. Maund (Woodbridge, 1996), pp. 61–77. 2 K. L. Maund, Ireland, Wales and England in the Eleventh Century (Woodbridge, 1991), pp. 127–40; M. Davies, ‘Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, King of Wales’, Welsh History Review 21 (2002), 207–48; B. Hudson, ‘The Destruction of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’, Welsh History Review 15 (1990), 330–50. 3 Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, p. 123.

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This understanding of Anglo-Welsh relations is not unproblematic. Whilst clearly an important figure, the unprecedented nature of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s career ought not be exaggerated, and neither can a clear distinction between internal and external affairs in eleventh-century Wales be maintained.4 An overriding focus on the process of conquest has also resulted in the examination of Welsh relations with the Anglo-Normans primarily in terms of conflict. Placing Anglo-Welsh relations in a broader context has proved a more productive approach, as scholars have recognized that interaction across the Irish Sea region played a formative role in Welsh politics during this period, and that relations with England cannot be divorced from this wider setting. Indeed, Colmán Etchingham has made the case for expanding the borders of this theatre of interaction to cover the Scottish Isles and even Scandinavia itself, designating the whole area an ‘insular Viking zone’, of which north Wales was a key part.5 Etchingham has productively reinterpreted certain eleventh-century events in this broader context, such as the assistance given by Gruffudd ap Llywelyn and Magnús son of king Haraldr Harðráði of Norway to Earl Ælfgar of Mercia on his expulsion from England in 1058, and the killing of Hugh of Shrewsbury by Magnús Berfœttr on Anglesey in 1098.6 Relations with England can thus be better understood as only one element of connections between Wales and the wider world, and an aspect that cannot be divorced from these other relations. The reinterpretation of such instances of interaction can be linked to a broader shift in scholarship away from viewing the Scandinavian impact on Wales purely in terms of raiding.7 This movement takes account of archaeological evidence of trade and settlement, but also rests on the reinterpretation of references to contact in the Welsh and Irish annals.8 Kari Maund, for example, argued that the reference in the Annals of Tigernach to the killing in Wales in 1036 of Gofraid, son of the Dublin king Sigtryggr Silkiskegg, by the son of Glún Iairn, was evidence for raiding in Wales. However, Sean Duffy suggests that this incident can be connected to the expulsion of Sigtryggr from Dublin in the previous year. Whilst the annals do not 4

For scholarship challenging aspects of Maund’s view of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, see D. Walker, ‘A Note on Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’, Welsh History Review 1 (1960), 83–94; S. Duffy, ‘Ostmen, Irish and Welsh in the Eleventh Century’, Peritia 9 (1996), 378–96 (pp. 385–6). 5 C. Etchingham, ‘North Wales, Ireland and the Isles: The Insular Viking Zone’, Peritia 15 (2001), 145–87. 6 Etchingham, ‘North Wales’, pp. 148–56. 7 For scholarship focused on raids, see J. E. Lloyd, A History of Wales, 3rd edn, 2 vols (London, 1939), 1:320–52; Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, pp. 156–82. For an overview of this shift in historiography, see Etchingham, ‘North Wales’, pp. 146–8. 8 Etchingham, ‘North Wales’, pp. 147–8 and 156–62. On the archaeological evidence, see M. Redknap, ‘Viking-Age Settlement in Wales and the Evidence from Llanbedrgoch’, in Land, Sea and Home, ed. J. Hines et al. (Leeds, 2004), pp. 139–75; N. Edwards, ‘Viking-Influenced Sculpture in North Wales, its Ornament and Context’, Church Archaeology 3 (1999), 5–16; D. Griffiths, ‘Maen Achwyfan and the Context of Viking Settlement in North-East Wales’, Archaeologia Cambrensis 155 (2006), 143–62.

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tell us to where Sigtryggr fled, Duffy sees Wales as a plausible option, pointing to the claim of the twelfth-century Vita Griffini that his son, Amlaíb, had built a castle in north Wales as further evidence of this dynasty’s links with Wales.9 Duffy also highlights the danger of interpreting references to the Irish (Yscotyeid/Gwydyl/ Scotti) in the vernacular and Latin Welsh annals purely as references to the Hiberno-Scandinavians, citing the example of a certain Rhain Scotus named in the Welsh annals as fighting against Llywelyn ap Seisyll, king of Gwynedd, in Aber Gwili in 1022. Arguing that the epithet Scotus ought to be taken seriously, he identifies this Rhain as the Raen named in the Irish annals as a contender for the kingship of Mide after the death of Máel Schenaill mac Domnaill, also in 1022. Consequently, Duffy argues that an oversimplification of the label Scotus in the Welsh annals has allowed a significant Irish political intervention in south Wales to be overlooked.10 The impact of this broader perspective on our understanding of Anglo-Welsh relations is illustrated by Clare Downham, who links the battle between Rhain the Irishman and Llywelyn ap Seisyll in 1022 with an attack on Dyfed and Mynyw by a certain Eliaf, recorded as occurring in the same year in the vernacular chronicle Brut y Tywysogyon.11 Eliaf is presumably Eilífr Thorgilsson, an earl with authority over Gloucestershire and who witnessed Cnut’s charters from 1018–24.12 His importance to the Welsh is evidenced by a reference in the annals to his flight from England after Cnut’s death in 1035. Downham suggests that these two episodes might be linked. If Rhain was an Irishman, or at least had Irish support, the battle at Aber Gwili could be interpreted as an attempt by an Irish party to gain a foothold in Wales, countering the influence of the dynasty of Ívarr who had a track record of involving themselves in Welsh affairs. Eilífr’s attack, then, may have been prompted by Cnut’s suspicion of this development.13 Downham links this intervention to other instances where Cnut appears to have joined forces with the dynasty of Ívarr to protect his interests in Wales.14 Whilst this interpretation of the events of 1022 is not uncontroversial – not all scholars agree on the identification of Rhain as the Irish Raen – the combination of approaching Wales as a key part of a wider Irish sea region or ‘insular Viking zone’ and moving beyond associating Hiberno-Scandinavian activity in Wales purely with raiding, clearly allows for a more nuanced understanding of eleventh-century Welsh politics and consequently Anglo-Welsh relations. However, whilst it is indisputably productive to view the Welsh as acting in this wider arena, scholars have 9

Duffy, ‘Ostmen’, pp. 381–2. The Vita Griffini is discussed further below. Duffy, ‘Ostmen’, pp. 382–5. Cf. D. Thornton, ‘Who was Rhain the Irishman?’, Studia Celtica 34 (2000), 131–48; Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, p. 160. For an overview, see T. M. Charles-Edwards, Wales and the Britons 350–1064 (Oxford, 2013), p. 556. 11 The compilation of Brut y Tywysogyon is discussed further below. 12 S. Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in Rumble, Reign of Cnut, pp. 43–88 (pp. 58–60). 13 C. Downham, ‘England and the Irish-Sea Zone in the Eleventh Century’, ANS 26 (2003), 55–73 (pp. 63–4). 14 Downham, ‘England and the Irish-Sea Zone’, p. 64. 10

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generally viewed Wales as being on the receiving end of contact with the wider world. In other words, focus has remained on how the Irish, Hiberno-Scandinavians, and English involved themselves in Welsh politics. Yet Duffy’s scrutiny of the names used of the Irish and Hiberno-Scandinavians in the Welsh annals suggests an alternative avenue of investigation.15 An examination of the Welsh texts themselves can reveal not only the relations that existed between the Welsh and English, but also the attitude of Welsh writers towards those relations.16 The following discussion will focus on two key lines of enquiry, treating Welsh writers as actively involved in a process of constructing Anglo-Welsh relations, and shedding light on their perception and presentation of that interaction. I will firstly consider the treatment of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s dealings with the English in the decades prior to the Norman Conquest of England. Gruffudd’s contact with Ælfgar of Mercia and the various sons of Godwine are catalogued in some detail in the different versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, but the Welsh annals are curiously silent on this interaction. I will explore this comparative neglect and its implications for how these texts constructed eleventh-century Anglo-Welsh relations more broadly. The second line of enquiry turns to the decades after 1066, as I examine the depiction of relations between Gwynedd and the Anglo-Normans in the Vita Griffini, the twelfth-century biography of the Welsh king Gruffudd ap Cynan (d. 1137). Investigation of this text will illuminate attitudes towards the Anglo-Normans in the closing decades of the eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth century, showing how Welsh writers reacted to the changing political landscape of England. In both cases it will become clear that the depiction of England, and its relations with Wales, is very firmly driven by the specific agendas of Welsh writers.

Gruffudd ap Llywelyn and the Mercians We know far more about Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s relations with the English than those of any other eleventh-century Welsh king. This is due in large part to his frequent appearance in English sources, especially the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. As the references to Gruffudd are not consistent across the versions of the AngloSaxon Chronicles, with the C, D, and E versions all recording different events and diverging in their presentation of the same events, a comprehensive investigation of his presentation in these texts would be useful.17 Here, I intend to bring the different 15

Duffy, ‘Ostmen’, p. 382. The value of such an approach has been demonstrated by recent work on the presentation of Anglo-Welsh relations in the border regions in English sources: L. Brady, Writing the Welsh Borderlands in Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester, 2017). 17 For an examination of the differences between the different versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles in this period more broadly, see Stephen Baxter, ‘MS C of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the Politics of Mid-Eleventh-Century England’, EHR 122 (2007), 1189–227. Lindy Brady 16

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accounts into dialogue with the Welsh annals. These include the Latin ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles, more commonly known as the B- and C-text of Annales Cambriae.18 Prior to 1202/3 these chronicles share a common source, a chronicle compiled, and subsequently continued, at St David’s no later than 954, when the exemplar of the ‘Harleian’ Chronicle (the A-text of Annales Cambriae), which is also based on this chronicle, was created.19 The entries considered here are all therefore drawn from the period when the ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles were both based on this St David’s chronicle. The vernacular material is referred to as Brut y Tywysogyon and includes three closely related chronicles (Brut y Tywysogyon Peniarth MS. 20 version;20 Brut y Tywysogyon Red Book of Hergest version,21 and Brenhinedd y Saesson),22 generally believed to be independent translations of a lost Latin original, itself related to the source underlying the ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles.23 has examined the depiction of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles as part of a broader discussion of the presentation of the Welsh borderlands as a distinct region in the eleventh century: Writing the Welsh Borderlands, pp. 115–22. However, an investigation of how Gruffudd’s treatment differs across the different versions of the Chronicles has not yet been attempted. 18 The ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles for the years 1035–93 are printed in parallel columns in J. E. Lloyd, ‘The Text of MSS. B and C of “Annales Cambriae” for the period 1035–93, in Parallel Columns’, Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion (1899–1900), 165–9. 19 K. Hughes, ‘The Welsh Latin Chronicles: Annales Cambriae and Related Texts’, in Celtic Britain in the Early Middle Ages: Studies in Scottish and Welsh Sources, ed. D. Dumville (Woodbridge, 1980), pp. 67–85 (pp. 67–74). Although the three chronicles are based on the same text for the years prior to 1202/3, later sections of the ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles derive from different sources, and consequently the names ‘Harleian’, ‘Cottonian’, and ‘Breviate’ are adopted here (rather than the more conventional A-, B-, and C-text of Annales Cambriae) as these are clearly separate chronicles in the later period. For further discussion of this nomenclature see B. Guy, ‘Historical Scholars and Dishonest Charlatans: Studying the Chronicles of Medieval Wales’, in The Chronicles of Medieval Wales and the March, ed. B. Guy, G. Henley, O. W. Jones and R. Thomas (Turnhout, forthcoming). 20 Brut y Tywysogyon Peniarth MS. 20, ed. T. Jones, History and Law Series 6 (Cardiff, 1941); Brut y Tywysogyon or the Chronicle of Princes Peniarth MS. 20 Version, trans. T. Jones, History and Law Series 11 (Cardiff, 1952) (henceforth ByT (Pen. 20)). 21 Brut y Tywysogyon or the Chronicle of Princes Red Book of Hergest Version, ed. and trans. T. Jones, History and Law Series 16 (Cardiff, 1955) (henceforth ByT (RB)). 22 Brenhinedd y Saesson or the Kings of the Saxons: BM Cotton MS. Cleopatra B v and the Black Book of Basingwerk, NLW MS. 7006, ed. and trans. T. Jones, History and Law Series 25 (Cardiff, 1971) (henceforth ByS). Whilst reliant on the same material as the Peniarth MS. 20 and Red Book of Hergest versions, Brenhinedd y Saesson combines this with material from English sources. 23 J. E. Lloyd, ‘The Welsh Chronicles’, Proceedings of the British Academy 14 (1928), 369–91 (pp. 375–82). There have been challenges to this view of three independent translations of a lost Latin original: Brenhinoedd y Saeson, ‘The Kings of the English’, A.D. 682–954: Texts P, R, S in Parallel, ed. D. N. Dumville, Basic Texts for Medieval British History 1 (Aberdeen, 2005), p. vi; D. Stephenson, ‘The “Resurgence” of Powys in the Late Eleventh and Early Twelfth Centuries’, ANS 30 (2007), 182–95 (p. 183); J. Harrison, ‘Cistercian Chronicling in the British Isles’, in The Chronicle of Melrose Abbey: a Stratigraphic Edition. I: Introduction and Facsimile, ed. D.

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The Brutiau provide a fuller account than the surviving Latin chronicles, and there is some debate over whether this is due to additions made by the thirteenth-century compilers of the Welsh Brutiau and the Latin chronicle from which they were translated.24 Brut y Tywysogyon will be used here to refer to all three Welsh versions and the underlying Latin chronicle, and their compilation will be discussed further below when comparing their evidence with the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. The first relevant notice occurs in the C-text of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles which records a Welsh attack in 1039, resulting in the death of Edwin, brother of Earl Leofric of Mercia.25 Gruffudd, who became king of Gwynedd in this year, is not mentioned here, but scholars have associated him with this attack because of a reference in the Welsh annals to his victory at Rhyd y Groes in the same year.26 The C-text then refers to a joint expedition by Swein Godwineson and Gruffudd in Wales (into Wealan) in its entry for 1046, but does not locate this campaign in any greater detail.27 Whilst the D-text recounts Gruffudd the Welsh king (wæliscan cynges) causing destruction around the Usk in 1050 and ravaging in Herefordshire in 1052, scholars have generally identified this antagonist as Gruffudd ap Rhydderch, king in south Wales.28 Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s next certain appearance in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles is in relation to his alliance with Ælfgar of Mercia. MSS CDE all recount (at different length and in varying form) the exile of Ælfgar in 1055 and his seeking of assistance in Ireland and from Gruffudd, culminating in a battle at Hereford.29 Both the C and D versions then record Bishop Leofgar of Hereford’s unsuccessful campaign against Gruffudd in 1056, and Gruffudd’s consequent harrying of the English which is only halted by the intervention of Broun and J. Harrison (Woodbridge, 2007), pp. 13–28 (p. 27). For an overview of the debate, see Guy, ‘Historical Scholars’; O. W. Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion: The History of the Princes and Twelfth-Century Cambro-Latin Historical Writing’, HSJ 26 (2014), 209–27 (pp. 210–11). 24 Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion’, pp. 211–12. 25 ASC, MS C, s.a. 1039. 26 ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 166; ByT (RB), s.a. 1039, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 22–3; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1039, ed. Jones, p. 17; trans. Jones, p. 13. For discussion of the location of the battle, see J. E. Lloyd, ‘Wales and the Coming of the Normans’, Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion, Session 1898–9 (1900), 122–79 (pp. 129–31); Charles-Edwards, Wales and Britons, p. 562. It is worth noting, however, that the Welsh annals do not specify that the battle at Rhyd y Groes was against the English, and consequently the association with the record of Edwin’s death in MS C of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles is not certain. 27 ASC, MS C, s.a. 1046. 28 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1050 and 1052. For a discussion of the territory ruled by the family of Gruffudd ap Rhydderch, see Charles-Edwards, Wales and the Britons, pp. 557–8. The identification of this Gruffudd as Gruffudd ap Rhydderch rests partly on the location of the attacks and on the reference in ASC, MS D, s.a. 1053 to the English killing Rhys, the brother of the Welsh king, who has been identified as Rhys ap Rhydderch, brother of Gruffudd ap Rhydderch. For further discussion, see Walker, ‘A Note on Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’; Charles-Edwards, Wales and the Britons, pp. 563–4. Cf. Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, pp. 132–3. 29 ASC, MSS CDE, s.a. 1055.

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Leofric and Harold Godwineson, resulting in the Welsh king’s submission to King Edward.30 The promise of loyalty to Edward appears short-lived as, according to MS D, Gruffudd provided further assistance to Ælfgar when he was banished again in 1058, this time alongside a Norwegian fleet.31 Gruffudd appears in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles for a final time in an extensive account of his death in MS D (with a shorter version in MS E) for the year 1063, noting that he was killed by his own people as a result of his conflict with Harold, who received his head.32 Gruffudd’s interaction with the English clearly involved both co-operation and conflict. The brevity of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ account makes it difficult to deduce the context of the alliance with Swein in 1046. Maund’s suggestion that this expedition ought to be identified with Gruffudd’s attack on Ystrad Tywi, recorded by the Welsh annals as occurring in 1047, remains unconvincing, but her assessment of the alliance as a one-off arrangement of convenience is persuasive.33 The alliance with Ælfgar of Mercia appears to have been a more substantial and sustained arrangement. Whatever the origins of the alliance, it is clear that, by the mid-1050s, as Thomas Charles-Edwards notes, Gruffudd’s ‘fortunes were tied to those of Ælfgar’.34 That Gruffudd had placed himself firmly in this orbit is demonstrated by his marriage to Ealdgyth, the daughter of Ælfgar.35 This was an alliance that, if the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles are to be believed, Harold Godwineson was determined to crush, perhaps reflecting the threat it posed to his own power. After Gruffudd’s death, the dismantling of the close relationship between Gwynedd and Mercia was completed with Harold’s marriage to his widow, Ælfgar’s daughter.36 It is striking that no mention is made of alliance with the English, whether Swein or Ælfgar, in the Welsh annals. As noted above, an association between Gruffudd’s campaign with Swein in Wales in 1046 and the reference in the Welsh annals to the ravaging of Ystrad Tywi and Dyfed in 1047 is unlikely. The only other reference to relations between Gruffudd ap Llywelyn and England prior to the 1050s might be the battle at Rhyd y Groes in 1039, if this is to be connected with the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ record of the death of Edwin, brother of Earl Leofric of Mercia, in the same year. Otherwise, entries concerning Gruffudd for the 30

ASC, MSS CD, s.a. 1056. ASC, MS D, s.a. 1058. 32 ASC, MSS DE, s.a. 1063. 33 Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, pp. 128–9; K. L. Maund, ‘The Welsh Alliances of Earl Ælfgar of Mercia’, ANS 11 (1988), 181–90 (pp. 183–4). Thomas Charles-Edwards’s assessment of the chronology of Brut y Tywysogyon illustrates that a confusion between the events of 1046 and 1047 is unlikely: see Wales and the Britons, pp. 579–80. He suggests (p. 563) that considering Swein’s position as earl of Gloucester, this may have been a joint attack on south-east Wales. 34 Charles-Edwards, Wales and the Britons, p. 565. For discussion of the origins of the alliance, see Maund, ‘Welsh Alliances’, p. 185. 35 Orderic, Ecclesiastical History, 2:138, 216. 36 Stephen Baxter, The Earls of Mercia: Lordship and Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2007), p. 87; Maund, ‘Welsh Alliances’, p. 188. 31

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first decade of his rule record conflict with other Welsh rulers, first with Hywel ab Edwin and then Gruffudd ap Rhydderch, as well as a reference to his capture by genedloed Dulyn/gentilibus dulín (‘the pagans of Dublin’) in 1042.37 As the Welsh annals do not appear to mention the attack of Gruffudd and Swein in any other guise, the significance of Swein’s absence from the chronicles is unclear. In the case of Gruffudd’s alliance with Ælfgar, however, the annals do appear to record some of the same events as certain versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. Both the ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles refer to Gruffudd ap Llywelyn killing Gruffudd ap Rhydderch and subsequently laying waste to Hereford.38 A more detailed account is provided in Brut y Tywysogyon which recounts how Gruffudd brought a host against the English at Hereford. The English, under the leadership of Reinwlf, were defeated and slaughtered by the Welsh as they tried to flee, and Gruffudd destroyed the fortress and burned the town.39 The chronology of the Brut places this incident in 1056, but Thomas Charles-Edwards suggests that this is a result of the conflation of two events; namely the battle against Ralph near Hereford in 1055, and the battle of 1056 which resulted in the death of Leofgar, bishop of Hereford. Whilst the Brut is purely concerned with the battle against Ralph, Charles-Edwards argues that the source used probably also referred to the battle of 1056, resulting in the confusion over the date.40 That the Welsh annals are here referring to the battle of 1055, also recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, has significant implications for our understanding of the presentation of AngloWelsh relations, as Ælfgar is not mentioned. Whilst the accounts of the different versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles centre on the exile of Ælfgar and how this led to the attack on Hereford, he goes unmentioned in the Welsh texts. This silence is further accentuated by the record in the Welsh annals of the events of 1058. Whilst MS D of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles refers to the second exile of Ælfgar and his return through the help of Gruffudd and a Norwegian fleet, the Welsh annals do not mention Ælfgar, but refer instead to Magnús Haraldsson leading an expedition into England with the support of Gruffudd.41 Here, then, not only is 37

ByT (RB), s.a. 1039, 1041, 1042, 1044, 1045 and 1047, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 22–5; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1039, 1041, 1042, 1044, 1045 and 1047, ed. Jones, pp. 17–18; trans. Jones, pp. 13–14; ByS, s.a. 1039, 1041, 1042, 1044, 1045 and 1047, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 58–67; ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, pp. 166 and 168; ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, pp. 167 and 169. 38 ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, pp. 168 and 170; ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 171. 39 ByT (RB), s.a. 1056, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 24–5; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1056, ed. Jones, pp. 18–19; trans. Jones, p. 14; ByS, s.a. 1056, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 70–1. 40 Charles-Edwards, Wales and the Britons, p. 580. 41 ByT (RB), s.a. 1058, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 26–7; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1058, ed. Jones, p. 19; trans. Jones, p. 14; ByS, s.a. 1058, ed./trans. Jones, pp. 70–1; ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 170; ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p, 171. For discussion of the historical context of this expedition, see Etchingham, ‘North Wales’, pp. 152–5.

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the involvement of Ælfgar passed over in silence, but the Welsh annals treat the Norwegian component with greater specificity. Finally, although most versions of the Welsh annals recount Gruffudd’s death as resulting from the treachery of his own men, no mention is made of Harold’s involvement.42 The English role in events has disappeared, and it seems likely that this is a deliberate choice. This proposition is lent support by the annals’ apparent construction of a very specific image of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, within which there is no scope for co-operation with the English. The framing of Gruffudd’s career in the annals is significant in this regard. On the beginning of his reign in 1039, the Brut records that ‘he, from his beginning to the end, pursued the Saxons and the other Gentiles and slaughtered and destroyed them, and defeated them in a great number of battles’.43 References to Gruffudd’s interaction with the English in the annals all accord with this statement, with the attack on the Saxons at Hereford in 1056 and the ravaging of England with Magnús in 1058. In line with this, in the notice of his death in 1063 Gruffudd is described as ‘pen a tharyan ac amdiffynwr y Brytanyeit’ (‘head and shield and defender of the Britons’).44 The specific identification of Magnús as son of Harold vrenhin Germania (‘king of Germania’) might be significant in this context; the annals make it clear that he is not one of the ‘gentiles’ whom the annal for 1039 tells us Gruffudd pursued throughout his reign.45 It is also notable that Gruffudd is here described as ‘vrenhin y Brytanyeit’ (‘king of the Britons’) – the only occasion on which he is called vrenhin in the Brutiau – clearly underlining his status as equivalent, if not superior, to Magnús.46 It consequently seems likely that the silence over Gruffudd’s relations with Ælfgar is deliberate: co-operation with a Mercian earl would not suit the depiction of Gruffudd as an enemy of the English, and a king who forged alliances with others of the same status. This is further supported by the lack of reference to Harold. If Harold did play a role in Gruffudd’s death it is unsurprising that 42

ByT (RB), s.a. 1063, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 26–7; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1063, ed. Jones, p. 19; trans. Jones, p. 15; ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 170. Neither Brenhinedd y Saesson nor the ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle identify the cause Gruffudd’s death: ByS, s.a. 1063, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 72–3; ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 171. 43 ByT (RB), s.a. 1039, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 22–3: ‘a hwnw o’e dechreu hyt y diwed a ymlidyawd y Saesson a’r Kenedloed ereill ac a’e lladawd ac a’e diuaawd ac o luosogrwyd o ymladeu a’e goruu.’ See also ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1039, ed. Jones, p. 17; trans. Jones, p. 13. The version in Brenhinedd y Saesson does not include this notice: ByS, s.a. 1039, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 58–9. 44 ByT (RB), s.a. 1063, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 26–7. See also ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1063, ed. Jones, p. 19; trans. Jones, p. 15; ByS, s.a. 1063, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 72–3. 45 ByT (RB), s.a. 1058, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 26–7; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1058, ed. Jones, p. 19; trans. Jones, p. 14. He is referred to as brenhin Denmarc in Brenhinedd y Saesson: ByS, s.a. 1058, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 70–1. 46 Cf. ByS, s.a. 1058, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 70–1, where Gruffudd is described as ‘tywyssauc Kymre’ (‘leader of Wales’).

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the Welsh annals do not mention it. Gruffudd was, after all, the Welsh king who harried the English; reporting that his death was facilitated by Harold Godwineson would do nothing for this reputation. Thus far I have focused primarily on the evidence of the three vernacular chronicles known as Brut y Tywysogyon. As noted above, the Brut is much more detailed than the ‘Breviate’ and ‘Cottonian’ Chronicles, and scholars have suggested that the thirteenth-century compiler of the Latin chronicle upon which the vernacular chronicles are based expanded and elaborated significantly upon source material shared with these surviving Latin texts.47 Consequently there is ambiguity over the origins of this depiction of Gruffudd ap Llywelyn. However, scholars have recently moved towards viewing the Brut as remaining relatively true to its sources, with Owain Wyn Jones arguing that ‘the importance of a late thirteenth-century compiler in influencing the Brut should be minimized’.48 Jones points to the nomenclature of the Brut to illustrate how, in this respect, it seems that the compiler did not adapt their material. Huw Pryce has argued that in the second half of the twelfth century Welsh writers moved away from the use of Britannia and Britones to refer to Wales and the Welsh, instead using a form of Wallia and Walenses (and less commonly Cambria and Cambrenses).49 Crucially, this shift in terminology is reflected in the Brut. In other words, the thirteenth-century compiler did not adapt their sources for the period before the second half of the twelfth century to reflect this new ‘Welsh’ terminology.50 Agreeing with David Stephenson that the section of the Brut covering the years 1100–27 is a near-contemporary account compiled at Llanbadarn Fawr, Jones suggests that certain earlier annals were also rewritten in this milieu. The favourable treatment of Llywelyn ap Seisyll (d. 1023), for example, who is referred to as king of Britain/the Britons in the account of his struggle with Rhain ‘the Irishman’ in 1022, could be linked to this context. Jones notes that such a positive depiction would be unlikely to have arisen in the thirteenth century, when the popularity of his son, Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, had diminished, but would not have been out of place at Llanbadarn Fawr in the early twelfth century, considering its close links to the dynasty of Powys descended from Bleddyn ap Cynfyn, whose mother, Angharad ferch Maredudd, had been married to Llywelyn ap Seisyll.51 As Gruffudd himself is revered and referred to as ‘vrenhin y Brytanyeit’, it is certainly possible that these entries were also re-written in Llanbadarn Fawr in the late eleventh or early 47

Lloyd, ‘Welsh Chronicles’, p. 382; ByT (Pen. 20), trans. Jones, pp. xxxix–xlv. For an overview, see Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion’, pp. 211–12. 48 Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion’, p. 212. See also Stephenson, ‘“Resurgence of Powys”’, pp. 183–9; D. Stephenson, ‘Welsh Chroniclers’ Accounts of the Mid-Twelfth Century’, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 56 (2008), 45–57. 49 H. Pryce, ‘British or Welsh? National Identity in Twelfth-Century Wales’, EHR 126 (2001), 775–801. 50 Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion’, p. 212; Stephenson, ‘Welsh Chroniclers’ Accounts’, p. 54. 51 Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogion’, p. 214.

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twelfth centuries. Either way, where the Brut provides greater detail on Gruffudd ap Llywelyn’s activities, this is unlikely to be a product of the thirteenth century. It is significant that the framing of Gruffudd’s career in the Brut can also be seen, albeit in less radical form, in the ‘Breviate’ Chronicle. The ‘Breviate’ Chronicle’s notice for the beginning of Gruffudd’s reign is shorter than that found in the Brut, but it expresses the same sentiment, stating that ‘dum regnauit anglos et gentiles persecutus est’ (‘while he reigned he persecuted the English and the gentiles’).52 The ‘Breviate’ Chronicle also refers to Gruffudd’s alliance with ‘Magnus filius Haraldi’, describing Gruffudd as rex Britonum in this instance.53 Thus, although the account of the Brut is more detailed and elaborate, Gruffudd is nevertheless depicted in a similar way in the ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, as an enemy of the English and the gentiles and an ally of, and superior to, Magnús. This provides possible evidence that, whether or not these entries were rewritten in Llanbadarn, the view of Anglo-Welsh relations given in the Brut was in part inherited from the source it shared with the ‘Breviate’ Chronicle. It is striking that the Welsh annals and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles present such very different accounts of eleventh-century Anglo-Welsh relations. Whilst the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles provide a complex picture of conflict and co-operation – the specific details that each version gives presumably dictated in large part by their differing access to information, as well as their different sympathies – the Welsh annals construct a far more straightforward narrative of conflict. Much more work is required on the compilation of Brut y Tywysogyon before we can provide a certain historical context for this depiction. However, this process of constructing AngloWelsh relations can also be productively observed in the Vita Griffini, a text which has a clearer context and agenda. An examination of how this text presents Welsh interaction with England after 1066 will further illuminate the preoccupations of Welsh writers as they looked across the border in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

The Vita Griffini and the Normans The Vita Griffini is the only surviving medieval biography of a Welsh ruler. The Latin biography, translated into Welsh as Historia Gruffud vab Kenan in the thirteenth century, tracks the efforts of Gruffudd ap Cynan (d. 1137) to wrest control of Gwynedd from another Welsh ruler, Trahaearn ap Caradog (d. 1081) and, after defeating Trahaearn, to defend his kingdom against the Normans. Gruffudd’s royal ancestry is emphasized from the outset as the biographer records his descent from Rhodri Mawr, and also notes that his mother, Ragnell (ON Ragnhildr), was the daughter of Avloed (ON Óláfr) who ruled Dublin, a fifth part of Ireland and the 52 53

‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 166. ‘Breviate’ Chronicle, ed. Lloyd, ‘Text of MSS. B and C’, p. 170.

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Isle of Man, and through whom Gruffudd, who himself grew up in Dublin, is connected to the Norwegian king Haraldr Hárfagri.54 The biographer highlights at every juncture the support given to Gruffudd by the Irish, Hiberno-Scandinavians, and other peoples and kings. Whilst not uncontroversial, the dating of the Vita Griffini rests on firmer ground than that of the Welsh annals. A reference in the Welsh Historia Gruffud vab Kenan to the descendants of Haraldr Hárfagri as holding the city of Porthlarg (Waterford) hyt hediw (‘to this day’) has prompted scholars to adopt a terminus ad quem of 1170 for the biography’s composition, at which point control of the Hiberno-Scandinavian town fell to Richard FitzGilbert (‘Strongbow’).55 It seems likely, then, that the Vita Griffini was composed during the reign of Gruffudd’s son, Owain Gwynedd (d. 1170). Identifying the place of composition has prompted greater speculation. The thirteenth-century Welsh Historia Gruffud vab Kenan is more consistently focused on Gwynedd than the Latin Vita Griffini. The Welsh translator names, for example, the inhabitants of Gwynedd as supporting Gruffudd in the battle of Mynydd Carn in 1081, whereas the Latin Vita simply refers to the Irish and the Danes.56 This has raised questions over whether the Latin Vita was composed outside Gwynedd, with Paul Russell suggesting St David’s as a possibility. Key to this argument is Huw Pryce’s identification, discussed above, of a shift in the terminology used in twelfth-century Cambro-Latin works, as Welsh writers increasingly used some form of the terms Wallia and Walenses (as opposed to Britannia and Britones) to describe Wales and the Welsh.57 Crucially, Pryce also highlights the occasional use of Cambria and Cambri, but stresses that these terms do not appear as frequently in surviving sources, with usage mostly being confined to texts associated with St David’s.58 The Vita Griffini’s use of Cambria and Cambri could thus indicate a 54

Vita Griffini, ed. and trans. P. Russell, Vita Griffini filii Conani: the Medieval Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan (Cardiff, 2005), §§3–4, pp. 52–5 (hereafter VG). For identification of Óláfr and discussion of this genealogy, see D. E. Thornton, ‘The Genealogy of Gruffudd ap Cynan’, in Gruffudd ap Cynan. A Collaborative Biography, pp. 79–108 (pp. 87–93). 55 Historia Gruffud vab Kenan, ed. D. S. Evans (Cardiff, 1977), p. 3 (hereafter HGK); for discussion, see p. ccxliv. The equivalent clause does not appear in the Latin Vita Griffini. However, this section of the text is damaged and the gap in the manuscript suggests that the dating clause would have originally been present. See VG §5, pp. 56–7; discussion on pp. 46 and 131. Kari Maund dates the text to the reign of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth (d. 1240), arguing that Llywelyn’s position as a grandson (rather than son) of a former king of Gwynedd was very similar to that of his great-grandfather, Gruffudd ap Cynan, and whose case for legitimacy would have thus benefited from the composition of the biography: ‘“Gruffudd, grandson of Iago”: Historia Gruffud vab Kenan and the Construction of Legitimacy’, in Gruffudd ap Cynan. A Collaborative Biography, pp. 109–16 (pp. 115–16); Maund, Ireland, Wales and England, pp. 172–4. Cf. Sean Duffy’s review of Gruffudd ap Cynan. A Collaborative Biography in Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 38 (1999), 102–3. 56 HGK, pp. 14–15. Cf. VG §18, pp. 68–9. 57 Pryce, ‘British or Welsh?’, pp. 780–4. 58 Ibid., p. 779.

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connection with St David’s.59 For Russell, the Vita’s description of St David’s as sede archiepiscopali raised the possibility that the biography was composed to encourage – or to gratefully acknowledge – Venedotian support for the claim of St David’s to metropolitan status.60 However, the use of Cambrian terminology does not necessarily locate the biographer at St David’s. Cambria, deriving from Welsh Cymry (‘Wales’), is first used by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his De gestis Britonum (composed c. 1138), who stated that Wales was so named after a certain Camber, the son of the Brutus who first settled the island of Britain. Geoffrey’s Cambrian terminology did not enjoy the same success as Wallia/Walenses, in part, Pryce suggests, because the latter was in use earlier, from 1119 at the latest.61 However, it may be that the Vita Griffini’s terminology is influenced by De gestis Britonum, a text with which there is other evidence that the biographer was familiar. David Thornton has pointed to the Vita Griffini’s use of names taken from De gestis Britonum in its construction of Gruffudd’s Welsh ancestry.62 More recently, Emily Winkler has argued that the Vita Griffini’s narrative strategies were influenced by De gestis Britonum. As Geoffrey delayed the Britons’ losing control of Britain to the Anglo-Saxons well beyond the latter’s settlement in the fifth century, so too the biographer implied that Gruffudd’s Scandinavian ancestors enjoyed a limitless hegemony over Ireland, by blurring the chronological boundaries of the beginning and end of this domination.63 Geoffrey of Monmouth’s influence can be detected elsewhere in the Vita Griffini. De gestis Britonum is notable for its cyclical nature, with the fortunes of the Britons rising and falling and the reoccurrence of similar events throughout the narrative.64 Crucially, in many instances lack of unity proves to be the undoing of the Britons, their triumph halted by treachery or civil strife.65 There are structural and thematic similarities with the Vita Griffini here, as the biographer illustrates the number of times that Gruffudd comes close to achieving his goal, rule over the kingdom of Gwynedd, only to be thwarted by betrayal. The Irish, Danes and Welsh are all singled out at various points in the narrative as traitors, wrecking Gruffudd’s cause as he is on the verge of victory.66 Considering the likely extent of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s influence on the Vita Griffini then, it is possible that it is in this context we should understand the use of Cambrian terminology. 59

VG, p. 45. VG, p. 46. 61 Pryce, ‘British or Welsh?’, p. 797. 62 Thornton, ‘Genealogy of Gruffudd ap Cynan’, pp. 82–7. 63 E. Winkler, ‘The Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan, British Kingdoms and the Scandinavian Past’, Welsh History Review 28 (2017), 425–56 (p. 439). 64 R. W. Hanning, The Vision of History in Early Britain: From Gildas to Geoffrey of Monmouth (London, 1986), pp. 139–41. 65 R. William Leckie, Jr, The Passage of Dominion: Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Periodization of Insular History in the Twelfth Century (London, 1981), pp. 57–64. 66 VG §§ 14, 15, 18, 19, 26 and 29, pp. 64–5, 66–7, 70–3, 80–1 and 82–5. 60

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Whilst the Welsh Historia Gruffud vab Kenan is more tightly focused on Gwynedd, this should not, as Winkler notes, detract from the ‘northern perspective’ of the Latin biographer.67 References to the kingdom of Gwynedd are infrequent in the first half of the Vita, but the biographer does refer to specific northern cantrefi. On his arrival in Gwynedd in 1075, for example, Gruffudd sends messengers to Anglesey, Arfon, and Lleyn.68 Similarly, after the defeat of the king of Powys, Cynwrig ap Rhiwallon, Gruffudd is encouraged by his men to recover Anglesey, Arfon, Lleyn and the land on the border with England before later making a circuit of the whole of Gwynedd.69 Gwynedd itself is mentioned more frequently in the second part of the Vita Griffini, which is focused on conflict between Gruffudd and the Normans, often as the target of Norman incursion.70 Certain references to Gruffudd’s kingdom may be deliberately ambiguous, perhaps seeking to imply that his authority stretched beyond Gwynedd. Such may be the case in the account of Henry I’s campaign in Gwynedd, which is described as an attack on Gruffudd’s kingdom (principatus) and his subjects (subditos).71 This complex treatment of kingdoms and peoples means that the scarcity of references to Gwynedd in the Latin Vita (as opposed to the Welsh Historia) does not provide straightforward evidence that the biography was not composed in north Wales. It remains the most likely scenario that the Vita was composed in Gwynedd during the reign of Owain Gwynedd (d. 1170), perhaps as a means of legitimizing his own rule. The treatment of Gwynedd in the Vita Griffini is particularly interesting, as the arena of Gruffudd’s activities is depicted as encompassing far more than simply the kingdom he was seeking to win and defend. He crosses the Irish sea on multiple occasions and looks beyond north Wales for support for his cause. The Irish and Danes are said to provide frequent assistance, and the Normans are allies before they become enemies. Crucially, the biographer’s attitude towards these peoples is not consistently favourable – the Danes betray Gruffudd, for example – but they play a key role in Gruffudd’s campaigns.72 Whilst scholars have attempted to unpick the political context of these relations, little attention has been paid to the biographer’s own construction of interaction between the Welsh and the wider

67

Winkler, ‘Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan’, p. 430. VG §10, pp. 60–1. 69 VG §12, pp. 62–3. For a discussion of the support for Gruffudd in various cantrefi, see D. Moore, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan and the Medieval Welsh Polity’, in Gruffudd ap Cynan. A Collaborative Biography, pp. 1–59 (pp. 12–14). 70 Gruffudd attacks the Normans at Rhuddlan in §13, but the first Norman attack on Gwynedd is related in §16, with the narrative becoming more focused on relations between Gruffudd and the Normans after his victory at the battle of Mynydd Carn in §18. For references to Gwynedd in this section, see VG §§16, 23, 25 and 31, pp. 66–7, 76–7, 78–9, 84–5. 71 VG §32, pp. 86–7. 72 VG §§26–7, pp. 80–1. 68

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world in the Vita Griffini.73 The following discussion will examine two instances of such interaction: the killing of Hugh of Shrewsbury on Anglesey in 1098 by Magnús Berfœttr of Norway, and Henry I’s attempted invasion of north Wales in 1114. Whilst focusing primarily on how the biographer depicts relations between Gruffudd and the Anglo-Normans, the investigation will also consider how these relations are situated in the wider context of interaction with other peoples. The context for the intervention of Magnús in 1098 is a campaign by the AngloNorman earls to recover territory in north Wales, following their loss of control of the region with the revolt of 1094.74 The Vita’s account of the events begins: Hugo comes Cestriae (de quo supra) malorum omnium architectus, ut anteactis temporibus Antiochus, classem onustam parat, ut quem caeperat intimum doloris sensum ex praesidiorum suorum trucidatione, dirutis funditus castellis et equitibus mala morte multatis, iam saltem in Cambros vlcisceretur. (The above mentioned Hugh, earl of Chester, architect of all misfortunes, like Antiochus of old, since he held a deep sense of grievance at the murder of his own garrisons, with his castles totally destroyed and cavalry slaughtered, prepared a heavily laden fleet and now would be avenging himself at once upon the Welsh.)75

The biographer goes on to note that Hugh d’Avranches of Chester (d. 1101) was joined by Hugh de Montgomery of Shrewsbury (d. 1098) who also sought vengeance upon Gruffudd. Significantly, the victims of this attack are labelled Cambri in the extract, and elsewhere in the account the biographer refers to the followers of the earls as Franci. The conflict is thus depicted as falling along ethnic lines, with the Cambri fighting for survival against an onslaught of Franci. This tends to be how the biographer frames conflict between Gruffudd and the Anglo-Normans, with a greater number of references to the Cambri in this section than elsewhere in the Vita Griffini. It is not always the case that there is a clear division between the Welsh on one side and the Anglo-Normans on the other; indeed, in this instance the biographer refers to Welshmen who were in league with the earls.76 Nevertheless, conflict with the Anglo-Normans is generally depicted as conflict between the Cambri and Franci. 73

Etchingham, ‘North Wales, Ireland and the Isles’, pp. 148–50; Lewis, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan and the Normans’; David Wyatt, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan and the Hiberno-Norse World’, Welsh History Review 19 (1999), 595–617; Moore, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan’, pp. 18–42. The biographer’s depiction of the relationship between Gruffudd and the Norman kings has been examined by Winkler, ‘Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan’. 74 ByT (RB), s.a. 1094, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 34–5; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1094, ed. Jones, p. 26; trans. Jones, p. 19. Cf. VG §23, pp. 74–7. For discussion of Gruffudd’s role in the events of 1094, see H. Pryce, ‘Gruffudd ap Cynan (1054/5–1137)’, ODNB. 75 VG §26, pp. 78–9. 76 VG §27, pp. 80–1.

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Magnús’s intervention occurs when Gruffudd, betrayed by his Hiberno-Scandinavian fleet, is forced to flee from Anglesey and all seems lost. Magnús’s appearance represents a change in fortune for the Welsh as he kills Hugh of Shrewsbury with an arrow to the eye, forcing the Anglo-Normans, this time, to flee. The arrival of the Norwegian fleet is depicted as divine providence by the biographer, who presents Magnús’s actions as prompted by sadness and anger on hearing of the slaughter caused by the Anglo-Normans.77 Magnús’s killing of Hugh of Shrewsbury is supported by other evidence.78 However, the Vita Griffini’s depiction of his actions as an outraged reaction to the destruction of north Wales by the earls is indicative of the biographer’s broader preoccupation with the royal support given to Gruffudd, the recognition of his legitimacy by other kings, and the illegitimacy of the actions of his enemies. Elsewhere in the Vita Griffini Gruffudd petitions for and receives the support of other kings. His initial expedition to Gwynedd is supported by an Irish king Murchadh (probably Muirchertach Ó Brián, d. 1119) and after escaping from captivity in Chester he gains the assistance of Godfrey, king of insulae Daniae (probably Godred Crovan, king of Man and the Isles, d. 1095).79 The importance of the support of such kings for Gruffudd’s legitimacy is illustrated by the biographer’s statement towards the end of the Vita: Post tantos exantlatos labores, Griffinus per annos complures divitiis affluens, tranquilla placidaque pace gaudens regnabat, regumque vicinorum familiaritate cum summa concordia est usus, scilicet Henrici Regis Angliae, Murchathi Regis Hyberniae, regumque qui insulis Daniae praeerant fuitque precelebre eius nomen, non solum in regnis adiacentibus, verum etiam in remotissimis terris. (After enduring such great labours, Gruffudd ruled for many years, affluent with wealth and rejoicing in a calm and unbroken peace, and was on the friendliest terms and greatest concord with neighbouring kings, namely Henry, king of England, Murchadh, king of Ireland, and the kings who ruled the islands of Denmark, and his name was famous not only in the adjacent kingdoms but even in the furthest lands.)80

By noting the good relations Gruffudd enjoyed with neighbouring kings, the biographer not only implies that these rulers recognized his position as king of Gwynedd, thus further stressing his legitimacy, but also depicts Gruffudd as their equal. Parity with Henry I may be a particular concern of the biographer. Emily 77

VG §28, pp. 82–3. Ecclesiastical History, 5:222–5. 79 VG §§9 and 23, pp. 58–9 and 74–5. See discussion of Godfrey on p. 152. See also Evans, Historia Gruffud vab Kenan, p. 84, n. 21. For discussion of Godred Crovan and his identification as the Gofraid Méránach/Gofraid mac mic Arailt of the Irish annals, see S. Duffy, ‘Irishmen and Islemen in the Kingdoms of Dublin and Man, 1052–1171’, Ériu 43 (1992), 93–133 (pp. 106–8). 80 VG §33, pp. 86–7. 78 Orderic,

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Winkler has argued that by outlining the Scandinavian origins of the Norman kings, the biographer not only illustrates their connection to Gruffudd through a shared ancestor, but also presents the Norman conquest of England ‘as little more than a Danish victory in Britain’. Such a presentation grants Gruffudd parity with his royal Anglo-Norman contemporaries, implying that he is the equal of the kings of England.81 Interesting in this context is the biographer’s reference in the same passage to the ‘reguli minores’ (‘minor kings’) who would often frequent Gruffudd’s court in search of assistance and counsel when they were troubled by foreigners (alieni).82 The tables have truly turned: Gruffudd himself is not a minor king, but rather a ruler that can be mentioned in the same breath as Henry I, and he is the one now providing assistance to those in need. It is telling that the biographer had previously referred to the Welsh rulers who held Gwynedd before him as a ‘foreign people’ (‘gens extraneus’).83 Here the reversal of Gruffudd’s fortunes is complete. This focus on Gruffudd’s interaction with other kings has significant implications for understanding the biographer’s depiction of relations between the Welsh and the Anglo-Normans. The above discussion illustrated the presentation of the campaign of the Anglo-Norman earls in Gwynedd as the Franci wreaking destruction upon north Wales and its inhabitants, the Cambri. The biographer presents Henry I’s campaign of 1114 in similar terms: At rursum Henricus Rex transacto temporis perbrevi spacio, exercitum praeclarum ductans venit, castraque in eodem loco (quo prius) posuit in ipsis scilicet montibus ut iam tandem Griffini principatum funditus eradicaret subditosque eius in ore (ut dicam) gladii perderet, mactaret, et funditus perimeret. (But after a short period of time, Henry returned with a fine army, and placed his camp in the same place as before, namely in the very mountains themselves, so that he might at last root out the realm of Gruffudd and destroy his subjects at sword-point, as it were: slaughter them, and completely wipe them out.)84

Anglo-Norman invasions, whether led by kings or earls, are thus depicted as attempts to destroy Gwynedd. However, Emily Winkler has noted that although conflict with the Anglo-Normans is presented as a ‘disaster’, in contrast with the biographer’s treatment of native Welsh rulers who oppose Gruffudd, no AngloNorman is individually singled out as an illegitimate usurper, perhaps due to shared 81

Winkler, ‘Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan’, pp. 445–6. VG §33, pp. 88–9. 83 VG §9, pp. 58–9. 84 VG §31, pp. 86–7. Cf. ByT (RB), s.a. 1114, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 78–83; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1114, ed. Jones, pp. 60–2; trans. Jones, pp. 37–8; ByS, s.a. 1114, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 120–3. See discussion of a similar presentation of Henry I as ‘deceitful, tyrannical and genocidal’ in the section of Brut y Tywysogyon covering the period 1100–1127 in Jones, ‘Brut y Tywysogyon’, pp. 219–22. 82

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ancestry of Gruffudd and the Normans, and their relations at the time of writing.85 Thus whilst the biographer relates the crimes of Trahearan ap Caradog at great length, the account of conflict with the Anglo-Normans focuses on the actions of the Franci collectively. However, the biographer’s treatment of the Anglo-Normans is in fact of greater complexity. The biographer very firmly assigns responsibility for the invasion of 1098 to the two Anglo-Norman earls: Hugh of Chester, who is described as ‘malorum omnium architectus’ (‘the architect of all misfortune’) and Hugh of Shrewsbury.86 It is interesting in this context that, whilst not shying away from the destruction inflicted upon the Welsh by Henry I’s campaign, the biographer nevertheless does not lay the blame for the expedition at the king’s door. Thus, the account begins with a reference to the anger of an earl (comes) towards Gruffudd: At comes moleste tulit, quia se invito possessiones haereditaris vel perquiserit vel evicerit, immo rex Angliae eius hoc facinus admiratur. (But the earl was angry that Gruffudd against his will had seized or conquered his own hereditary territories; moreover, the king of England was surprised at this deed of his.)87

This comes is the earl of Chester, who, in 1114, would have been Richard, the son of the former earl Hugh.88 The biographer may point to Henry I’s surprise at Gruffudd’s actions, but nevertheless leads with the earl’s anger as prompting the campaign. Nor is this the only instance where the earl is blamed, as the biographer concludes this section with a general invocation to God over the trials suffered by Gruffudd: O Deus bone, quoties Griffinum subvertere conati sunt comites, ac non potuerunt. Quoties tentarunt Powisiae incolae, at non potuerunt. Quoties aggressi sunt fallacis Trahaerni fautores, at non potuerunt. (Kind God, how many times the earls tried to overturn Gruffudd, and could not! How many times the inhabitants of Powys made an attempt upon him, and could not! How many times the accomplices of the traitor Trahaearn attacked him, and could not!)89

As the remainder of the text focuses on the peace and prosperity subsequently enjoyed in Gwynedd, this invocation not only brings the account of Henry I’s campaign to an end, but also functions as the closing moment of all efforts to

85

Winkler, ‘Latin Life of Gruffudd ap Cynan’, p. 446. VG §26, pp. 78–9. 87 VG §32, pp. 86–7. 88 VG, pp. 163–4. The evidence of the Brut makes it clear that it is the earl of Chester (not Shrewsbury) who is intended here: ByT (RB), s.a. 1114, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 78–9; ByT (Pen. 20), s.a. 1114, ed. Jones, p. 58; trans. Jones, pp. 36–7; ByS, s.a. 1114, ed. and trans. Jones, pp. 120–1. 89 VG §32, pp. 86–7. 86

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overcome Gruffudd. The biographer looks back at the struggles endured by the Welsh king, including his attempts to wrest control of Gwynedd from Trahearn ap Caradog and his Powysian allies, and recasts this conflict as a story of repeated triumph, rather than one of constant travails and setbacks. It is surely significant that the biographer identifies the comites (‘earls’) as Gruffudd’s main AngloNorman antagonists. Whilst the earls appear frequently as opponents to Gruffudd in the second half of the Vita, it is telling that, at the end of a section describing Henry I’s campaign in Gwynedd, the biographer decides to linger on the efforts of the earls to overturn Gruffudd. It seems, then, that the biographer presents the earls of Chester and Shrewsbury as the source of conflict between Gruffudd and the Anglo-Normans. In the above extract the campaign might be led by Henry I, but the earl of Chester is the architect. Whilst the alleged shared ancestry between Gruffudd and the Anglo-Norman kings might be a contributing factor, this treatment of the earls could also be linked to the strategies used by the biographer in the construction of Gruffudd’s legitimacy, discussed above. According to the Vita Griffini, Gruffudd was a popular figure amongst other kings, the beneficiary of extensive support during his attempts to gain control of Gwynedd and enjoying amicable relations thereafter. The identification of the earls of Chester and Shrewsbury as the source of conflict between Gruffudd and the Anglo-Normans feeds into this presentation, as the biographer implies that the contest to Gruffudd’s authority did not come directly from a legitimate king. Henry I may have attacked Gwynedd, but the biographer represents this invasion as part of a broader pattern of conflict between Gruffudd and the earls, whose treacherous actions are presented as illegitimate. Relations between the Welsh and the Anglo-Normans in the Vita Griffini are constructed in a way that serves the agenda of legitimizing Gruffudd ap Cynan’s rule of Gwynedd. Conflict with the Anglo-Normans was clearly a central part of Gruffudd’s reign, and a significant portion of the Vita Griffini focuses on these struggles. However, the conflict is carefully crafted to suit the biographer’s broader purpose. In the end, what matters about Gruffudd’s interaction with Henry I is that he gains the support of the Anglo-Norman king. The recognition of Gruffudd’s status by kings such as Henry I is a key plank in the Vita Griffini’s case for his legitimacy.

Conclusions The recording of Anglo-Welsh relations in both the Vita Griffini and the Welsh annals is a process of construction. In the case of the Welsh annals this is clearly illustrated by the lack of attention paid to Welsh co-operation with the English; whilst recording Gruffudd ap Llywleyn’s attack on Hereford and his alliance with Magnús of Norway, Ælfgar’s role in these incidents is passed over in silence. In

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outlining relations between the Welsh and the Anglo-Normans in the Vita Griffini the biographer singles out the Anglo-Norman earls of Chester and Shrewsbury as responsible for conflict between the Cambri and Franci, whilst emphasizing the amicable and respectful relations that existed between Gruffudd ap Cynan and Henry I. Welsh writers were clearly not producing disinterested records of interaction, and in the case of the Vita Griffini it is possible to identify the preoccupations driving the biographer’s construction of relations between the Welsh and the Anglo-Normans. The case for Gruffudd’s legitimacy as king of Gwynedd is central to the Vita Griffini, and arguably the reason for its composition. The recognition of Gruffudd’s status by other kings serves to support this case, and thus the biographer emphasizes their actions in supporting Gruffudd and their amicable attitude towards the Welsh ruler. Given our uncertainty regarding their composition and development, it is more difficult to understand why Anglo-Welsh relations are crafted in a specific way in the Welsh annals. However, Brut y Tywysogyon’s careful labelling of Magnús, with whom Gruffudd ap Llywelyn allies himself, as son of the king of Germania, suggests a concern with the status of Gruffudd and the legitimacy of the alliance. It is unlikely to be a coincidence that this is the only instance where Gruffudd himself is named king of the Britons. Whilst the exact circumstances of the compilation of this section of the Brut is unclear, comparison with the ‘Breviate’ Chronicle indicates that this perception was present, at least to a degree, in the Latin chronicle upon which these texts drew. The Welsh evidence has much to say about Anglo-Welsh relations in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Indeed, where there is silence, this does not betray lack of interest, but is rather an active choice, and is revealing of attitudes towards interaction with England. Furthermore, Welsh writers did not construct these relations in isolation. For the Vita Griffini, the support of Henry I is important, but this support is placed alongside that of Muirchertach Ó Brián. What emerges in these texts is the complexity with which Welsh writers perceived their connections with the outside world, and their treatment of relations with England as only one aspect of this interaction.

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16 England and the Papacy between Two Conquests: The Shadow of ‘Reform’ 1

BENJAMIN SAVILL

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hichever saints King Harold prayed to on the day he was alive and dead, we may imagine that Pope Calixtus I (217–22) was among them. A figure of scandal in his own time for his permissive attitudes to Roman clerical marriage, within a few hundred years of his death he had become happily misremembered as a classic-type pre-Constantinian martyr. By the late eleventh century, his cult had become – rather ironically – one of many given new impetus in north-western Europe under the rigorous, newly energized ‘reform papacy’ that had come increasingly to dominate continental church politics.2 The pope’s feast fell on 14 October, and it was with his name that the scribe of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles’ MS D

1 ‘Reform’ and ‘reform papacy’ are used throughout in inverted commas due to their problematic value associations and the limited evidence for their contemporary use: Julia Barrow, ‘Ideas and Applications of Reform’, in The Cambridge History of Christianity: Early Medieval Christianities, c.600–c.1100, ed. Thomas F. X. Noble and Julia M. H. Smith (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 345–62. However, I emphatically do not seek to underplay the importance of the social and religious transformations underway in this period: see Conrad Leyser, ‘Church Reform – Full of Sound and Fury, Signifying Nothing?’, Early Medieval Europe 24 (2016), 478–99. 2 For an overview, Sönke Lorenz, ‘Papst Calixt I. (212–222): Translationen und Verbreitung seines Reliquienkultes bis ins 12. Jahrhundert’, in Ex ipsis rerum documentis. Beiträge zur Mediävistik. Festschrift für Harald Zimmermann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Klaus Herbers, Hans-Henning Kortüm and Carlo Servatius (Sigmaringen, 1991), pp. 213–32. Forgotten by the early middle ages, the details of Calixtus’ controversial pontificate were only recovered in the nineteenth century with the discovery of his rival Hippolytus’ denunciations of his policies: Hippolytus, Philosophumena or the Refutation of All Heresies, trans. F. Legge, 2 vols (London, 1921), 2:130–2. See Kristina Sessa, The Formation of Papal Authority in Late Antique Italy: Roman Bishops and the Domestic Sphere (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 88–90.

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chose to commemorate Hastings.3 Whatever the implications of invoking a papal saint at that time, his contemporary association with the events of 1066 came, fittingly, at the head of an increasing interest across the manuscripts of the AngloSaxon Chronicles in the topic of popes and the papacy, culminating in the decades leading up to the Norman Conquest.4 If that culmination has been overlooked or little investigated, the problem may lie in historiographical dividing lines. While 1066 remains to some degree the sacred threshold in approaches to eleventh-century English history, much continental historiography finds its point of orientation pushed back a few decades, for better or worse, towards a different kind of transformation: the first steps of the papal-led ‘reform’ movement beginning around 1046. In histories of the German Reich and Rome it has formed part of the master narrative;5 for France, it tends to be the point around which ‘mutationist’ historiography comes to an end;6 for Iberia, so too has it correlated with classical schemata of reconquista and la apertura a Europa.7 Yet 1046 fits a little uneasily into traditional English frameworks. Accordingly, England’s own engagement with the extraordinarily energetic phase of papal activity that preceded the Conquest by two decades tends to find itself neglected, or is seen only in the shadow of the better-known – if considerably different – programmes of Lanfrancian renewal pursued under the post-Conquest regime. This chapter serves as a preliminary attempt to reposition that earlier period back into the spotlight, on its own terms; to consider its place within its wider, continental environment; 3

ASC, MS D, s.a. 1066. Between the MSS there are references to popes or papal activity in the entries for the years 1022, 1026, 1027, 1040, 1049, 1050, 1051, 1054, 1055, 1057, 1058, 1059, 1061 and 1066; by comparison, between the reigns of Alfred and Cnut there are relevant entries only for the years 927, 983, 990 and 997. For tenth-century monetary gifts, see Rory Naismith, ‘Peter’s Pence and Before: Numismatic Links Between Anglo-Saxon England and Rome’, in England and Rome in the Early Middle Ages: Pilgrimage, Art and Politics, ed. Francesca Tinti, Studies in the Early Middle Ages 40 (Turnhout, 2014), pp. 217–53, and Rory Naismith and Francesca Tinti, The Forum Hoard of Anglo-Saxon Coins. Il ripostiglio dell’Atrium Vestae nel Foro Romano, Bollettino di Numismatica 55–6 (Rome, 2016). 5 On Germany (with reference to the dominance of 1066 in England): Stuart Airlie, ‘A View from Afar: English Perspectives on Religion and Politics in the Investiture Conflict’, in Religion und Politik im Mittelalter. Deutschland und England im Vergleich, ed. Ludger Körntgen and Dominik Wassenhoven, Prinz-Albert-Studien 29 (Berlin, 2013), pp. 71–88 (pp. 71–3); David Bates, ‘1066: Does the Date Still Matter?’, Historical Research 78 (2005), 443–64 (p. 461); see also Timothy Reuter, ‘Contextualising Canossa: Excommunication, Penance, Surrender, Reconciliation’, in Medieval Polities and Modern Mentalities, ed. Janet L. Nelson (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 147–66 (pp. 147–8). On traditional views of Rome and the place of 1046 in its ‘papal grand narrative’, see Chris Wickham, Medieval Rome: Stability and Crisis of a City, 900–1150 (Oxford, 2015), pp. 13–15. 6 Kathleen G. Cushing, Reform and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century (Manchester, 2005), p. 36. 7 Peter Linehan, History and the Historians of Medieval Spain (Oxford, 1993), pp. 172–203. 4

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and, moreover, to get a sense of what limits there are to treating this with the same kind of attention it has received in continental historiographies. The social- and cultural-historically informed ‘bottom up’ views of ‘reform’ that have transformed our understanding elsewhere may remain impossible to reconstruct for mid-eleventh-century England. Yet, by focusing on the necessarily interpersonal relations through which the pre-Conquest kingdom engaged with the early ‘reform’ papacy, and the contexts through which this was maintained, we may come closer to understanding how there was a genuine intensification and realignment in Anglo–papal relations during this critical moment in the Roman church’s history. This relationship developed in a way specific to England’s inter-conquest years and seems to have owed much to the apparent development there of an interest in the imperial world, and the ecclesiastical aristocracy’s connections to it. It is necessary here to emphasize that the chapter’s focus is solely the self-consciously papal element of the mid-eleventh-century ‘reform’ movement – that is, not the issue of eleventh-century ‘reform’ in itself, which is an overarching phenomenon of enormous significance, yet one so wide in scope that it must await a full treatment in a much-needed future monograph.8 The traditional approach to the links between this Europe-wide transformation and England, a predominantly post-1066 perspective, has been especially dangerous in engendering two, interrelated distortions. The first and more obvious is teleological: privileging as the gold standard whatever elements existed of papal-related or -initiated ‘reform’ in the post-Conquest, Lanfrancian restructuring of the church. From this perspective, late Anglo-Saxon England’s engagement with the papacy fails to meet these later ideals, or at best it is seen as a rather weak precursor to the ‘real’ encounters with continental norms that would come in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. At its worst, this approach not only judges the period between the 1040s and 1060s by the criteria of modern historians of AngloNorman England, but even veers towards those of the Anglo-Norman regime itself, which sought especially after 1070 to justify its actions by painting an image of a corrupt and profligate late Anglo-Saxon church, operating with blatant disregard (or perhaps bumpkin-like ignorance) towards the winds of change then sweeping the rest of Latin Europe.9 8

On the importance of the papacy in eleventh-century ‘reform’, see Cushing, Reform (see esp. pp. 160–1). 9 See esp. treatment of Archbishop Stigand after 1070, including the entirely spurious claim he had been condemned and excommunicated by five successive popes: H. E. J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, and Archbishop (Oxford, 2003), pp. 81–2. For a classic interpretation of the conquest of 1066 as the definitive turning-point in Anglo–papal relations see Z. N. Brooke, The English Church and the Papacy from the Conquest to the Reign of John (Cambridge, 1931), pp. 47–8. The view that the pre-Conquest papacy had run out of patience with the Anglo-Saxon church, and therefore sanctioned the events of 1066, has little grounding in the strictly contemporary evidence: Catherine Morton, ‘Pope Alexander II and the Norman Conquest’, Latomus 34 (1975), 362–82.

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The second distortion revolves around our sense of what ‘papal reform’ even means. The later phase of this movement – the so-called ‘Gregorian Reform’ gathering momentum towards the end of the century with the pontificate of Gregory VII (1073–85), the ‘Investiture Conflict’ with the Empire, and the various tensions and compromises concerning Church–state relations across the following decades – was in many respects markedly distinct in both theory and practice from the kind of ‘papal reform’ undertaken in the movement’s opening years. Through much (if certainly not all) of this, so-called ‘Church–state’ co-operation remained key, and in terms of its personnel and, often, locations of activity, the movement remained substantially ‘imperial’ in character.10 At least one school, albeit no longer the most dominant, has stressed the vitality of this period of the papal ‘reform’ in its own right:11 we must not ascribe any kind of inevitability to the turns it would take in later decades. These years were not consciously ‘pre-Gregorian’, and from the view of the 1040s, 1050s and 1060s, we do not have to ‘go to Canossa’. Nevertheless, by viewing engagement with ‘papal reform’ in England as a predominantly post-Conquest phenomenon, we again run a risk of seeing the later, more violent stages of this ‘reform’ as the ‘papal reform’ in toto, thus further disregarding the import of earlier events in their own right. The themes of ‘investiture’ and royal episcopal appointment were not played out in Anglo–papal relations at this time – and from a wider, pre-1070s European perspective, this does not look unusual.12 These were later eleventh-century issues. Our task is to ask mid-eleventh-century questions, viewing this period in its own right, not as moving towards the 1070s. There remain, however, major obstacles to addressing this phase of the ‘reform’ in England that do not apply to more recent work on contemporary mainland Europe. Central to the wider reinvigoration of this topic in the past two or three decades of scholarship has been a move away from top-down, Rome-outwards institutional approaches, focusing instead on the plurality of reforms at the ‘periphery’: not least from the perspective of social and cultural, rather than classically ‘political’ history.13 In the much-quoted words of John Howe, ‘before there was a center, there

10 See generally Uta-Renate Blumenthal, The Investiture Controversy (Philadelphia, PA, 1988), pp. 49–58, 72–98. I use ‘imperial’ broadly, with reference to persons and places; rejecting the concept of any Reichskirche ‘system’, see Timothy Reuter, ‘The “Imperial Church System” of the Ottonian and Salian Rulers: A Reconsideration’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 33 (1982), 347–74, repr. in Medieval Polities, pp. 325–54. 11 Identified in Wickham, Medieval Rome, p. 14, as ‘the Protestant version’, best exemplified by Gerd Tellenbach, The Church in Western Europe from the Tenth to the Early Twelfth Century, trans. Timothy Reuter (Cambridge, 1993). 12 Maureen C. Miller, ‘The Crisis in the Investiture Crisis Narrative’, History Compass 7 (2009), 1570–80 (pp. 1570–2); the seminal work is Rudolf Schieffer, Die Entstehung des päpstlichen Investiturverbotes für den deutschen König, MGH Schriften 28 (Stuttgart, 1981). 13 Airlie, ‘View from Afar’, pp. 73ff; see also Leidulf Melve, ‘Ecclesiastical Reform in Historiographical Context’, History Compass 13 (2015), 213–21.

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was reform’.14 These approaches have not written the papacy out of this history, but have rather seen it as playing a part – and often only a reactive one – within a considerably bigger picture. Nevertheless, the best scholars working in this tradition – Howe, Robert Moore, Megan McLaughlin, Maureen Miller, Kathleen Cushing – while indeed anglophone, have nevertheless tended to leave England itself outside the frame, at least until after 1066. A key problem, as always, lies in the dearth of source material this side of the Channel. This makes posing the kinds of questions the ‘new’ scholarship asks particularly difficult, perhaps impossible. Howe himself, in his pioneering article of 1988 resituating the wealthy lay nobility of eleventh-century mainland Europe at the heart of the ‘papal reform’, dismisses developments in late Anglo-Saxon England in a single sentence. There, the flourish of lordly ‘independent foundations’ that he identifies as crucial elements in the machinery of continental ‘reform’ would have to wait ‘until a generation after the Norman Conquest’.15 More recent work on the fabulous wealth of the new political class of late Anglo-Saxon England and the place of religious benefaction and foundation within its repertoire of conspicuous consumption now needs setting beside these remarks. It is not impossible that the new growth of ‘proprietary’ churches within thegnly residences and the pious lay foundations of communities of canons, as described by Robin Fleming, did not look so different from the continental world explored by Howe.16 The problem is that our sources, where they survive at all, tell us almost nothing about the motives behind such foundations, nor what went on within them. And besides, what might these clerics and canons have made of papal initiatives? In the immediately preceding generation, Ælfric of Eynsham (d. c. 1010) complained on multiple occasions that the married clergy of AngloSaxon England ‘speak often of Saint Peter’ when challenged about their incontinence, on the grounds that the princeps apostolorum was traditionally understood as having a wife.17 We have here a tantalising glimpse of the Petrine cult developing

14

‘…albeit popular, local, messy, frequently disorganised, and put to a variety of uses by different factions and groups’: John Howe, Church Reform and Social Change in Eleventh-Century Italy (Philadelphia, PA, 1997), p. 160; cf. Cushing, Reform, pp. 91ff. 15 John Howe, ‘The Nobility’s Reform of the Medieval Church’, AHR 93 (1993), 317–39 (p. 323). 16 Robin Fleming, ‘The New Wealth, the New Rich and the New Political Style in Late AngloSaxon England’, ANS 23 (2000), 1–22 (esp. pp. 11–12); Ann Williams, ‘Thegnly Piety and Ecclesiastical Patronage in the Late Old English Kingdom’, ANS 24 (2001), 1–24. 17 ‘Hi cweþaþ eac oft be Petre, hwi hi ne moton habban wif, swa swa Petrus se apostol hæfde’: Ælfric, Old English Preface to the Translation of Genesis, in Ælfric’s Prefaces, ed. Jonathon Wilcox, Durham Medieval Texts 9 (Durham, 1994), p. 117. Near identical sentiments are expressed in his pastoral letters for Bishop Wulfsige and Archbishop Wulfstan: Die Hirtenbriefe Ælfrics in altenglischer und lateinischer Fassung, ed. and trans. Bernhard Fehr, Bibliothek der angelsächsichen Prosa 9 (Hamburg, 1914), pp. 5, 46. See his digression on Peter’s daughter Petronilla in his sermon for the feast of cathedra sancti Petri: Ælfric, Lives of the Saints, ed. and trans. Walter W. Skeat, 2 vols, EETS o.s. 76, 82, 94, 114 (London, 1881–1900), 1:232–5. See further Catherine Cubitt, ‘Images of

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among parts of the English clergy as an anti-‘reform’ symbol. Yet we can only guess how this collided with the emergence of Peter’s see as the Latin church’s foremost crusader against clerical marriage in the following decades. No works by writers with Ælfric’s polemical style or agenda survive from those years. Another good example is crowds. Since the breakthrough work of Moore in the 1980s, due attention has been paid to the urban populus or plebs in shaping mid-eleventh-century ‘reform’ and papal responses to it, most famously in the case of the Patarini of Milan or Vallombrosians of Florence.18 Yet – with the possible exception of a very generous reading of an incident of 1052 recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, wherein Robert of Jumièges met with a violent tumult as he fled out of London’s east gate, leaving behind (literally? figuratively? both?) his archiepiscopal pallium19 – our Anglo-Saxon evidence simply does not reveal the same kind of non-elite (let alone crowd) activity that allows us to make these same kinds of emphatically social-historical analyses. Nor might there necessarily have been comparable activity to reveal. While England certainly saw urban growth in this period, this hardly ranked in the same league as Italy, nor indeed those commercially active regions of Lotharingia that would prove key zones of activity for the ‘papal reform’ movement at this time.20 Our source material from later Anglo-Saxon England, and perhaps also the wider conditions it reflects, sadly makes studying this topic from a social-cultural perspective extremely difficult, necessitating a more traditional, ‘institutional’ approach.21 One way by which we might do so that still moves our focus away from the ‘centre’, however, is by thinking about the charter evidence – namely, papal privileges and the dynamics involved in acquiring them. We can broadly define these as documents, usually letters, from popes to named individuals or institutions, granting or guaranteeing various kinds of special rights. In the inter-Conquest period, these most typically involved the confirmation of pre-existing property St Peter: The Clergy and the Religious Life in Anglo-Saxon England’, in The Christian Tradition in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Paul Cavill (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 41–54 (pp. 48–9). 18 R. I. Moore, ‘Family, Community and Cult on the Eve of the Gregorian Reform’, TRHS 30 (1980), 46–69. 19 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1052. 20 Grenville Astill, ‘General Survey 600–1300’, in The Cambridge Urban History of Britain, I. 600–1540, ed. D. M. Palliser (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 27–50 (pp. 38–42); David Hinton, ‘The Large Towns 600–1300’, in ibid., pp. 217–44 (pp. 230–5). 21 Away from the crowd, a similar argument might be made for the absence of surviving post-Carolingian and early reform-era canon law manuscripts in England. None of these is known from pre-Lanfrancian England (including the famous Pseudo-Isidore collection), but nor do experts of this field suspect they were there to begin with: Horst Fuhrmann, ‘The Pseudo-Isidorian Forgeries’, trans. Timothy Reuter, in Detlev Jasper and Horst Fuhrmann, Papal Letters in the Early Middle Ages (Washington, DC, 2001), pp. 135–79 (pp. 183–4), and Michael D. Elliot, ‘Canon Law Collections in England ca 600–1066: The Manuscript Evidence’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2013), pp. 279–80.

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arrangements under the aegis of Saint Peter.22 Crucial for our present analysis was the convention that these were almost exclusively granted on request – that is, in person, in the presence of the pope, by either a named petitioner or, in some lesser cases, an emissary. Accordingly, where they survive, they present us with substantive evidence for contemporary papal authority, not as it was imagined or theorized at the Roman ‘centre’, but as it was perceived, recognized and performed by those at the so-called ‘periphery’. The time and resources involved in acquiring these charters would have been considerable for those coming from beyond the sphere of Rome’s immediate regional authority. An endeavour of such scale had to be perceived as extremely worthwhile in order to be undertaken at all. We should, therefore, understand the acquisition and preservation of privileges as important testimony to a belief in the efficacy of papal power at various points across contemporary Latin Europe. More importantly, the privileges indicate a degree of confidence in these areas that a wider, more localized audience would recognize and deem valid such acta. Without such recognition, they were effectively worthless. The number of privileges acquired across mainland Europe had gradually increased since the 960s, and in the decades following the accession of Pope Leo IX (1049–54) this began to escalate dramatically.23 Nowhere was that increase more relatively sudden than in England. Among the two hundred and eighty authentic (or at least probably/ partially authentic) papal privileges that survive from the years between Leo’s accession and the death of Pope Alexander II (1061–73), we know of at least twelve acquired for English beneficiaries.24 While comparatively across Europe this puts 22

See the definition and overview of Leo Santifaller, ‘Die Verwendung des Liber Diurnus in den Privilegien der Päpste von den Anfangen bis zum Ende des 11. Jahrhunderts’, in Liber Diurnus: Studien und Forschungen, ed. H. Zimmermann, Päpste und Papsttum 10 (Stuttgart, 1976), pp. 14–158 (pp. 22–33). 23 As a rough guide, Santifaller’s (thorough but ultimately outdated and incomplete) register lists 13 surviving texts of individual, apparently authentic, privileges from the years 795–855, 77 from 855–900, 67 from 900–55, 133 from 955–99, and 146 from 999–1049: Santifaller, ‘Verwendung’, pp. 91–121. Further below I give a figure of 280 from the period 1049–73. See also Cushing, Reform, pp. 23–4, 59–60. 24 Leo IX for Crediton-Exeter (1049x1050), in Councils and Synods, 1:524–55, no. 70 (JL 4208); Victor II for Chertsey (1055x1057), in Papsturkunden in England, ed. Walther Holtzmann, 3 vols, Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Philologisch-Historische Klasse NF 25.1; 3F 3.14, 3.33 (Berlin, 1930–52) (hereafter PUU in England), 1:221, no. 4, also Councils and Synods, 1:543–5, no. 74 (JL not listed); Victor II for Ely (1055x1057), Councils and Synods, 1:544–5, no. 75 (JL 4350); Nicholas II for Wells (1061), PUU in England, 2:131–2, no. 2, also Councils and Synods, 1:548–50, no. 77 (JL 4457); Nicholas II for Dorchester (1061), Councils and Synods, 1:550–2, no. 78 (JL 4461); Nicholas II for York (1061), The Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops, ed. James Raine, 3 vols, Rolls Series 71 (London, 1879–94), 3:5–7, no. 2 (JL 4463); Alexander II for York (1071), ibid., 3:9–10, no. 3 (JL 4693; new edition in H. E. J. Cowdrey, ‘Archbishop Thomas I of York and the pallium’, HSJ 11 (2003), 31–41 (pp. 33–4)); Alexander II for Bury St Edmunds, PL 146:1363 (printed with errors), new edition in Benjamin Savill, ‘Prelude to Forgery: Baldwin of Bury Meets Pope Alexander II’, EHR 152 (2017), 795–822. There are also

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England in a quantitively weak position – just ahead of only Iberia and Flanders25 – in terms of the relative proportion of wider documentary survivals from England in this period the figure is impressive.26 More significant still is that this follows over half a century in which we have no trace of similar acquisitions by English prelates. Together, the years between Leo’s election and Alexander’s death constitute perhaps the single most intensive period of visible Anglo–papal interaction since the ‘Age of Bede’. Finally, as far as privileges are concerned, this phase of acquisitions is an isolated one. Copies of only two further privileges are preserved in English archives from the immediately post-Conquest years, both from October 1071: none survive thereafter until the twelfth century.27 Privileges from this period allow us to think about the interpersonal, face-toface aspects of papal authority as it was sought. While papal documentary evidence expands enormously from this period, it is important that we do not imagine its administrative apparatus at this point as anything close to what would emerge in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, not only in the scale and efficiency of the papal ‘chancery’ or writing office, but in what ‘bureaucracy’ and ‘documentary culture’ in fact meant in contemporary practice. Where we see hundreds of acquisitions of guarantees of papal authority preserved across Europe from this time, it is necessary that we remember that these are not the traces of a faceless administrative machine, but each the products of highly personal, and possibly highly ritualized interactions. narrative references to plausibly authentic lost documents (deperdita): Leo IX and Alexander II for Ramsey (1049 and 1062x1065), Chronicon abbatiae Rameseiensis a saec. X. usque ad an. circiter 1200, ed. W. Dunn Macray, Rolls Series 83 (London, 1886), pp. 171, 176 (JL *4178, JL not listed), and the same popes for Canterbury (1049 or 1050, and 1061x1067–70): Goscelin, De translatione sancti Augustini, Acta Sanctorum, Maii VI (Antwerp, 1688), p. 432 (JL not listed). It should be noted that almost none of these documents is totally free from questions about its authenticity or textual integrity. For full discussion, see Benjamin Savill, ‘Papal Privileges in Early Medieval England, c.680–1073’ (unpublished D.Phil. thesis, University of Oxford, 2017). 25 Approximate figures based on survivals of full texts of privileges: Italy 150, Germany 58 (including 25 in Lotharingia and nine in Burgundy), France 55, England (not including deperdita) eight, Catalonia four, Aragon three, Flanders one, Dalmatia one. These are only rough geographical divisions to provide a simple overview. I of course recognize the anachronism of using modern political units as analytical tools for this period, and the tendency for privileged monasteries to be situated in liminal zones only adds to the indefinite quality of this sketch. For examples of similar divisions helpfully used elsewhere in the analysis of early papal privileges, see Hans-Henning Kortüm, Zur päpstlichen Urkundensprache im frühen Mittelalter. Die päpstlichen Privilegien 896–1046, Beiträge zur Geschichte und Quellenkunde des Mittelalters 17 (Sigmaringen, 1995), and Jochen Johrendt, Papsttum und Landeskirchen im Spiegel der päpstlichen Urkunden (896–1046), MGH Studien und Texte 33 (Hanover, 2004). 26 Electronic Sawyer lists just under two hundred ‘native’ documents (mostly solemn diplomas, writs and wills; the figure does not include papal documents) dated or datable to the years 1049–66, the authenticity of a substantial number of which are unacceptable or at least doubtful. 27 Alexander II for York and for Bury, 1071 (JL 4692, 4693): see above, note 24; Savill, ‘Prelude to Forgery’.

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The little we know of the dynamics of early medieval papal government and the wider European context of assembly politics may point towards the conveyances of such documents taking place in public, quasi-synodal occasions.28 We might understand these as highly sacralized, performative events within which the final grant of a privilege was only one aspect of a wider expression of the ideal of papal power and its recognition.29 Typically this took place in Rome, in the presence of Saint Peter himself.30 Yet the opening decades of the ‘reform’ movement were the first in which an occasionally itinerant papacy translated these performances into the so-called ‘periphery’, chiefly through the ‘imperial’ world of northern Italy, Lotharingia and central Germany.31 In many cases these events were expressly conciliar occasions.32 In thinking about their dynamics, it may be profitable to approach them in the same terms as the ritualized assembly politics of the itinerant kingships of the time, now well documented in both English and continental scholarship.33 These

28

As opposed to the situation in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, which would see the development of a consistorium to hear pleas, ‘a mixture between court-as-entourage and law court’, seen by Wickham, Medieval Rome, pp. 402–6, as part of a wider shift from ‘Carolingian’-style ‘assembly-based justice’ at the Lateran to a tribunal system centred around the pope – as elsewhere, ‘a world in which the person of the ruler was the key element’; see further I. S. Robinson, The Papacy 1073–1198: Continuity and Innovation (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 99–120. 29 See the contemporary description of Archbishop Dunstan of York’s audience with Pope John XII (September 960), wherein he took up his privilege as ‘ordered’ from the pope’s ‘own hands’ with a ‘blessing’, before receiving his pallium from the altar of St Peter: Councils and Synods, 1:90. We are not told what was done with the privilege before it reached the pope’s hands. Had it sat on the altar? For altar rituals with documents, see M. T. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307, 3rd edn (Oxford, 2013), p. 158. 30 Where such information is provided, the great majority of papal privileges from the pre-‘reform’ millennium state that they were issued in Rome. There are only occasional exceptions, such as those issued at Ravenna, Easter 967, during a major imperial synod there: Papsturkunden 896–1046, ed. Harald Zimmermann, 3 vols, Denkschriften. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse 174, 177, 198 (Vienna, 1984–89) (hereafter PUU), 1:341–55, nos 175–80 (JL 3713–18). By comparison, of the 280 privileges discussed above from the pontificates of Leo to Alexander II, only 55 per cent of those whose dating clauses survive intact are said to have been issued in Rome. 31 Among the privileges with surviving dating clauses from the period 1049–73, 63 state that they have been issued in locations in ‘Italy’ outside Rome (including 18 in Florence and 14 in Lucca), 11 in ‘Germany’, and five in ‘France’ (all Rheims). See further Jochen Johrendt, ‘Die Reisen der frühen Reformpäpste. Ihre Ursachen und Funktionen’, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte 96 (2001), 57–94. 32 Thus, in Die Konzilien Deutschlands und Reichsitaliens 1023–1059, ed. Detlev Jasper, MGH Conc. 8 (Hanover, 2010), items 27 (Reims, 1049), 28 (Mainz, 1049), 31 (Vercelli, 1050), 35 (Rome, 1053), 36 (Rome, 1054) and 39 (Rome, 1057) provide explicit evidence of privileges granted at ecclesiastical councils in the stricter sense. 33 Timothy Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics in Western Europe from the Eighth Century to the Twelfth’, in The Medieval World, ed. Peter Linehan and Janet L. Nelson (London, 2001), pp. 432–50, repr.

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might have entailed major liturgical events,34 which tied, through the face-to-face association of prelates from different regions, the promulgation and recognition of emerging ‘reform’ concerns with the dispensation of the privileges that were being sought. Manuscripts D and E of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles and Ramsey’s later Liber benefactorum attest to the attendance of Bishop Duduc of Wells and the abbots of St Augustine’s, Canterbury and Ramsey at Leo IX’s Council of Rheims in 1049.35 Although the D chronicler would lament that ‘it is difficult to know what bishops came to it’,36 an evocative near-contemporary account by Anselm of SaintRemi provides us with not only a substantial roll call of attendance but a description of the sequence of events, its rituals, and even the use of physical space.37 Its climatic moment involved all attendees joining the pope in affirming numerous sentences of excommunication on those involved in various transgressions scorned by the regime: arms-bearing clerics, lay ministers at altars, sodomites, simonists, the incestuous and the usurious. Only then were documents of privilege (including, quite possibly, those for English houses) confirmed and granted – and with that the council was blessed and dissolved.38 Rheims was undoubtedly an especially spectacular event. Yet for every individually mundane instance of a papal document acquired across Europe in this still essentially pre-bureaucratic period, comparable circumstances may have nevertheless served as the lived environment in which these charters were received and more widely understood. These were joint affirmations and pronouncements of both papal authority and the newly emerging ideals of ‘reform’. They were performed before not only the pope himself and his clergy but a wider, trans-regional fraternity of prelates, collectively identifying through such rituals as co-participants in this new world.

in Medieval Polities, pp. 193–216; for England, Levi Roach, Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England, 871–978: Assemblies and the State in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2013). 34 Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, p. 201; with reference to Die Konzilsordines des Früh- und Hochmittelalters, ed. Herbert Schneider (Hanover, 1996). 35 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1050; ASC, MS E, s.a. 1046b; Chronicon abbatiae Rameseiensis, pp. 169–71, which also claims they prepared an English translation of the council’s acta for safekeeping in King Edward’s ‘treasure chest’ (gazophilacium). 36 ‘Hit is earfoð to witane þara biscopa þe þærto comon’, ASC, MS D, s.a. 1050. 37 Anselmus Monachus s. Remigii Remensis, Historia dedicationis ecclesiae s. Remigii, PL 142:1411–42; MGH Conc. 8, pp. 230–41. 38 PL 142:1437; MGH Conc. 8, pp. 239–41. As the abbey’s historian-in-residence, Anselm only mentions the issuing of the privilege(s) for Saint-Remi (JL 4177, 4181). As well as the deperdita for England (see above, note 24), we have surviving texts of privileges also granted at the same council to Poussay (JL 4175), Notre-Dame in Breuteuil (JL 4181), and St Pierre-aux-Monts, Châlons (JL 4184). It is possible, if not provable, that Leo IX’s letter-cum-privilege moving the see of Crediton to Exeter (JL 4208; see above, note 24) was also acquired on this occasion: Frank Barlow, The English Church, 1000–1066: A History of the Late Anglo-Saxon Church, 2nd edn (London, 1979), p. 213.

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Considering, therefore, the eminently interpersonal way in which papal authority was recognized and implemented during the ‘reform’ period, it is striking that a significant number of the individual Anglo-Saxon churchmen involved in the papal councils and privilege conveyances of this time belonged to a perceptibly narrow and distinct group of ecclesiastics. They may well have had pre-existing connections with papal circles, or at least links to those worlds in which these circles operated. Few of these were natively ‘English’ in the strictest sense, and most were tied in some way to the ‘German’, or rather ‘imperial’ world.39 Thus, Bishop Duduc of Wells, who headed the English delegation at Rheims in 1049, had probably come to England some years earlier as a royal chaplain of Cnut, hailing from Lotharingia or perhaps ‘Old’ Saxony.40 Bishop Leofric of Exeter, who around 1050 obtained, via an emissary, a privilege from Pope Leo IX granting permission to move his see away from the uillula of Crediton, had previously been educated in Lotharingia, and through his liturgies, litanies, calendars and obits left a distinctly ‘Lotharingian’ stamp upon Exeter’s library.41 Lambert, that emissary, himself had a German name and has been linked to Liège in an important recent survey by Andreas Bihrer.42 Bishop Hermann of Ramsbury, later Sherborne, whose name appears among the subscriptions to the acta of the Roman Easter synod of 1050, likewise came (according to John of Worcester) from Lotharingia, and apparently interceded there on behalf of Canterbury for the special privileges of its archbishop and abbot.43 Bishops Giso of Wells and Walter of Hereford, leading prelates on the English ‘embassy’ to Rome of 1061 whom Pope Nicholas II personally consecrated, similarly both originated from the Lotharingian region (the former from Sint-Truiden, also near Liège).44 Finally, Abbot Baldwin of Bury St Edmunds – who may

39

The following develops a line of argument previously made in Savill, ‘Prelude to Forgery’, and is indebted in great part to S. D. Keynes, ‘Giso, Bishop of Wells (1061–88)’, ANS 19 (1997), 203–71 (pp. 205–13). 40 Lotharingia: John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:586–87. Saxony: Andreas Bihrer, Begegnungen zwischen dem ostfränkisch-deutschen Reich und England (850–1100), Mittelalter-Forschungen 39 (Ostfildern, 2012), pp. 182–3. 41 JL 4208 (see above, note 24); William of Malmesbury, GP, 1:314–15; Bihrer, Begegnungen, pp. 186–90. 42 The Leofric Missal, ed. Nicholas Orchard, 2 vols, Henry Bradshaw Society 113–14 (London, 2002), 2:4; also Councils and Synods, 1:527; Bihrer, Begegnungen, p. 188. 43 MGH Conc. 8, p. 289, as ‘Herrimannus Corbinensis episcopus’; John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:542–3; William of Malmesbury, GP, 1:286–7, suggests a Flemish background for Hermann, but Lotharingia is preferred by Bihrer, Begegnungen, p. 186. For the intercession, see Goscelin, De translatione, p. 432: Goscelin, writing around half a century later, claimed this intercession came before (‘antea’) the Rheims synod of October 1049, but his chronology may be slightly confused. 44 JL 4457, 4461 (see above, note 24); ASC, MS D, s.a. 1061; Vita Ædwardi: The Life of King Edward Who Rests at Westminster, ed. and trans. Frank Barlow, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1992), pp. 52–7; William of Malmesbury, Vita Wulfstani, in Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom and R. M. Thomson (Oxford, 2002), pp. 40–3; John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:586–9; Keynes, ‘Giso’. A

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well have been present at the same Easter synod of 1061 and was certainly one of the leading figures of the post-Conquest delegation to Rome of 1071 – had himself enjoyed a previous career as prior of the imperially favoured monastery of Lièpvre/ Leberau in Alsace.45 Together these prelates form what has long been recognized, thanks to the work of Simon Keynes, as the ‘Lotharingian connection’ (or even ‘conspiracy’) of the late Anglo-Saxon church.46 What requires emphasis in this particular instance, however, is not only how disproportionately this connection dominated the links between England and the ‘reform papacy’ of this early period, but moreover the degree to which those involved at the highest levels of the ‘reform’ movement in Rome themselves came from a similar background during this early phase.47 Hailing from Lotharingia, Pope Leo IX enjoyed through the earlier years of his pontificate a dual identity as Bishop Bruno of Toul (1026–52).48 Toul itself has been linked to Leofric’s education.49 If this was the case, the timing is right to locate the future bishop of Exeter at the cathedral school in the same years as the future Pope Leo held sway as its episcopal master. Leo is well-known for having brought a number of Lotharingian figures into the inner papal circle at this time, among them Friedrich of Liége, the future Pope Stephen IX (1057–8) and Humbert of Moyenmoutier (Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida, d. 1061). Humbert was the key contemporary theorist on simony and apparent authenticator of Bishop Giso of Wells’ papal privilege confirming his and his ‘canonical successors’’ rights to their properties.50 A Lotharingian background has also been ascribed to Gerhard of Florence, the future Pope Nicholas II (1058–61), grantee of said privilege and personal consecrator of Giso and Walter.51 Similarly, it was during the Roman region’s lordship under Friedrich’s brother and Gerhard’s patron, Duke Gottfried of Lorraine (d. 1069), that Giso, Walter and perhaps Baldwin undertook their embassies.52 Moreover, the papal ‘reform’ councils attended by bishops from England in this period may well have reflected issues not so much close to the ideals of the ‘universal church’, but collaborative article on the ‘embassy’ of 1061 has been promised by Simon Keynes, Rory Naismith and Francesca Tinti. 45 Savill, ‘Prelude to Forgery’. 46 Keynes, ‘Giso’, p. 211. 47 Cf. Barlow, English Church 1000–1066, pp. 289–308. 48 Léon IX et son temps, ed. Georges Bischoff and Benoît-Michel Tock, Atelier de recherches sur les textes médiévaux 8 (Turnhout, 2006). 49 Frank Barlow, ‘Leofric (d. 1072)’, ODNB. 50 Michel Parisse, ‘L’entourage de Léon IX’, in Léon IX, ed. Bischoff and Tock, pp. 435–56 (pp. 437–40). I use ‘apparent’ with regard to Giso’s privilege because there are a number of problems with the authenticating features of its surviving single-sheet ‘original’ (Wells, DC/CF/3/2): see below, Appendix. 51 Dieter Hägermann, ‘Nikolaus II’, Theologische Realenzyklopeädie, 36 vols (Berlin and New York, 1976–2007), 24:540. 52 Cushing, Reform, pp. 72–3.

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rather those of the Lotharingian/north-westerly world from which both the English delegates and papal leadership traced their origins. Thus, Hermann’s appearance at Leo IX’s Roman Synod of 1050 may have borne some relation to the fact that the chief aim of this council was to secure the canonization of Gerhard of Toul (d. 994), a giant of fin de siècle Lotharingian ecclesiastical politics.53 Likewise, the debate over Berengar of Tours’ doctrines of transubstantiation held at that same council, while in retrospect appearing a key moment in the development of the wider Latin church’s Eucharistic theology, may at the time have had more to do with the fact that it was specifically at the school of Liège and among its alumni (several of whom were now among the Leonine entourage) that Berengar’s activity had become a burning issue.54 It was against this background that Hermann – alongside many other ecclesiastics of similar geographical origins – participated in and self-identified with many of the themes of the early ‘papal reform’ movement. Two further key bishops – or rather, archbishops – in these Anglo–papal interactions lay slightly outside this nexus. Most obvious is Robert of Jumièges (archbishop of Canterbury 1051–2, archbishop in exile until 1055?). In denying Spearhafoc the bishopric of London, apparently on Leo IX’s orders, Robert is the only ecclesiastic we see explicitly implementing papally sanctioned ‘reform’ policy in England in this period.55 Yet Robert’s elevation to the English episcopate around the same time as Leofric and Hermann has been plausibly linked to the three clerics having a shared history in Edward the Confessor’s entourage before his return from exile.56 It is easy to imagine Robert as part of their milieu and sharing much of their orientation. Then there is the case of his northern counterpart, the serial pluralist Ealdred of York (bishop of Worcester 1046–61, of Hereford 1056–60; caretaker of Ramsbury 1056–8; archbishop of York 1060–9), who among his many travels headed the English delegations to Rome of both 1050 and 1061, receiving in the course of the latter a complex privilege from Nicholas II revoking his archiepiscopal status (on the grounds of his translation from see to see) and then reinstating it (on grounds of pity – he had just been robbed).57 He is unique among those with close links 53

MGH Conc. 8, pp. 286–9; on Gerhard and his legacy see John Nightingale, ‘Bishop Gerard of Toul (963–94) and Attitudes to Episcopal Office’, in Warriors and Churchmen in the High Middle Ages, ed. Timothy Reuter (London, 1992), pp. 41–62. 54 MGH Conc. 8, pp. 277–9; I owe this point about the importance of Liège and its alumni for Roman interests in Berengar to Stefan de Jong of Emmanuel College, Cambridge. 55 ASC, MS E, s.a. 1048. On both the Spearhafoc incident and Robert’s continued status as ‘archbishop’ after his 1052 banishment, see Tom Licence, ‘Robert of Jumièges, Archbishop in Exile (1052–5)’, ASE 42 (2013), 311–29. 56 Bihrer, Begegnungen, pp. 183–6. 57 ASC, MS C, s.a. 1049; ASC, MS D, s.a. 1051; ASC, MS E, s.a. 1047; Lawson, ‘Ealdred (d. 1069)’, ODNB, suggests that Ealdred (with Hermann) was ‘probably’ in Rome to attend the Easter Synod there – in fact this is confirmed by a Roman witness list (see above, note 43). For the embassy of 1061 (with Walter and Giso, inter alia), see above, note 44. The privilege is JL 4461 (see above, note 24) – its authenticity is not certain (it is diplomatically relatively unusual,

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to the papacy in his Englishness: yet contextually crucial here were his links to the ‘German’/‘imperial’ court, most clear in his lengthy stay at Cologne in 1054, where he was received by Emperor Henry III.58 Alongside the predominant influence at this juncture of ecclesiastics from Lotharingia – which was, of course, a duchy of the Reich by this point, if at times a somewhat rebellious one59 – it is through this Germano-imperial lens that we must understand papal movements (and AngloSaxon engagement with them) in this period. Again, we must resist the temptation to look forward to the papal–imperial conflicts of the Gregorian age as in some way inevitable, or the development of quasi-independent, pro-papal monasteries in what would become France as somehow the ‘classic’ expression of responses to papal ‘reform’ as it would develop. To both insiders and outsiders across the better part of the earlier decades of the movement, this may well have looked like an expressly imperial-supported, imperial-led and imperial-focused project. From the view of those at the top, at least, this was an explicit renovation of Carolingian and Ottonian ideals – not yet, at least not obviously, heading towards any kind of abstract ideal of universal church ‘liberty’. During Ealdred’s imperial embassy of 1054, news would have arrived of the death of Pope Leo IX, himself Henry III’s kinsman, prompting his replacement by one of the emperor’s key officials, Gebhard of Eichstätt, as Pope Victor II.60 These dynamics would have lain at the heart of ‘papal reform’ as it was then understood by those who controlled it. It is no coincidence that Ealdred, as Edward the Confessor’s key imperial emissary, remained one of his chief links to the world of the papal ‘reformers’ as well. In fact, the imperial paradigm stands out as central to comprehending English receptivity to the forces of papal ‘reform’ in the immediately pre-Conquest period. It is across the same decades as the above-mentioned resurgence of interest in papal activity in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles that we find a new and unprecedented concern with imperial activity emerging also.61 Of course, on some level this association in Anglo-Saxon political thought goes back at least to the days of Offa and Charlemagne (perhaps even those of Æthelbert and Edwin) and seems to have received a particular boost during the Edgarian and Ottonian decades.62 Yet the it lacks an authenticating clause, it only survives in much later copies), but the corroboration of the events it describes in a number of contemporary sources may be in its favour. 58 John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:574–7; ASC, MS C, s.a. 1054; ASC, MS D, s.a. 1054. For further discussion of Ealdred’s links to the imperial court at this time, see Emily Ward’s chapter in this volume, pp. 331–52. 59 Simon MacLean, ‘Shadow Kingdom: Lotharingia and the Frankish World, c. 850–c. 1050’, History Compass 11 (2013), 443–57. 60 John of Worcester, Chronicle, 2:574–5, gives the terminus post quem for Ealdred’s embassy as the feast of St Kenelm (17 July), when he appointed Godric to the abbacy of Winchcombe; Gebhard was nominated pope in November. 61 See above, note 4. 62 Written evidence for Anglo–papal relations picks up again from the 960s, the same period in which the Ottonian incorporation of Rome into the Reich saw a boost in heavily publicized

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degree to which imperial activity was seen to correspond with papal activity in the eyes of the Anglo-Saxon chroniclers in the decades leading up to the Conquest is significant, not least as it is in these years – and not, I think, before – that the ‘idea’ of the Western Empire per se really came to fruition in England. It is necessary to be clear on this: as far as I am aware, there is no reference to the western Frankish or ‘German’ emperors as such in our English sources until the eleventh century, whence they begin to be referred to as either imperator in Latin sources or cæsar in Old English. Before this, they are seen by the Anglo-Saxons as merely kings – if, no doubt, extremely powerful ones.63 In the same way as individual popes often appear papal–imperial activity. Complementary to the long-recognized coincidence between the return of the abbot of Bath from an imperial embassy in 973 and the ‘imperial’-style coronation of Edgar in that same city later in the year, there is a neat coincidence between Edgar dispatching Archbishop Oswald of York to Rome in 971–2, apparently to collect his pallium (Byrhtferth of Ramsey, The Lives of St Oswald and St Ecgwine, ed. and trans. Michael Lapidge (Oxford, 2009), pp. 102–5) – perhaps the first such journey of its kind for a York archbishop – and a sudden burst of imperially sanctioned, in-person papal pallium grants for newly founded archbishoprics, situated (like York) at imperially strategic border regions: Capua (966), Magdeburg (967/8), Benevento (969) and later Salerno (983). See Wolfgang Huschner, ‘Benevent, Magdeburg, Salerno. Das Papsttum und die neuen Erzbistümer in ottonischer Zeit’, in Das Papsttum und das vielgestaltige Italien. Hundert Jahre Italia Pontificia, ed. Klaus Herbers and Jochen Johrendt, Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen NF 5 (Berlin, 2009), pp. 87–108. Note also that papal documents of this era would have tied the concepts of pope and emperor explicitly together, as from 962–1024 they were systematically dated and authenticated in the name of the emperor: Thomas Frenz, Papsturkunden des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit, 2nd edn, Historische Grundwissenschaften in Einzeldarstellungen 2 (Stuttgart, 2000), p. 16. 63 For debate about the use of the title ‘emperor’ by later Anglo-Saxon kings, see E. E. Stengel, ‘Imperator und Imperium bei den Angelsachsen: eine wort- und begriffgeschichtliche Untersuchung’, in E. E. Stengel, Abhandlungen und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Kaisergedankens im Mittelalter (Cologne and Graz, 1965), pp. 287–342; George Molyneaux, ‘Why Were Some Tenth-Century English Kings Presented as Rulers of Britain?’, TRHS, 6th ser., 21 (2011), 59–91 (pp. 62–3), and Molyneaux, The Formation of the English Kingdom in the Tenth Century (Oxford, 2015), pp. 206–9. English writers’ recognition of the emperors’ own ‘imperial’ status has received less attention. ASC, MS C, s.a. 982 (but an eleventh-century scribe) is the earliest instance, referring to Otto II as Odda Romana casere; Byrhtferth of Ramsey, writing c. 1000, uses the word imperator in a near-certain reference to Otto I (Byrhtferth, Lives, pp. 102–3). Imperator is also used for Conrad II by the Latin translator of Cnut’s proclamation of 1027 (Gesetze, 1:276) and in the ASC’s Latin addition noting Henry III’s death (ASC, MS E, s.a. 1056); Conrad II is referred to as casere in ASC, MSS CD, s.a. 1056, while Henry III is called casere in ASC, MS C, s.a. 1049, and MS D, s.a. 1050, 1054, 1057, 1067. Henry III also appears as imperator Heinricus in the Vita Ædwardi, pp. 16–17. Æthelwulf ’s supposed diploma of 857 for Saint-Denis refers to Louis (II) as imperator, but this is almost certainly a Saint-Denis forgery of the late eleventh century: Cartularium Saxonicum, ed. Walter de Gray Birch, 3 vols (London, 1885–93), 2:97–8 (S 318). An early ninth-century charter in favour of Archbishop Wulfred of Canterbury makes reference to ‘nec uerbis domne papæ nec cæsaris’ (Charters of Christ Church Canterbury, ed. N. P. Brooks and S. E. Kelly, 2 vols (Oxford, 2013), 1:592; S 1436); this has occasionally been read as referring to the

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depersonalized in such sources as simply papa, so too does Henry III sometimes appear as simply se cæsar, without qualification.64 What is striking is how far the rising prominence of both papal and imperial references seem to go hand-in-hand in the Anglo-Saxon imagination of the earlier to mid-eleventh century, at times explicitly, and even when the connections made between the two do not reflect actual events. Thus, one English account of the Council of Rheims of 1049 is keen to emphasize that the emperor was there, alongside the pope – yet this was not, in fact, the case.65 Anglo–papal relations in the years of ‘reform’ – from the perspective of Anglo-Saxon writers, and through the connections and backgrounds of the individuals through which they were realized – took place almost entirely through the context of the ‘German’ and wider imperial world. In this respect, perhaps the best approach for thinking about the sudden emergence and intensification of Anglo–papal relations in the decades leading up to the Conquest is not by going backwards from 1066, but, rather, forwards from 1016 – or perhaps more definitively from 1027, the year of Cnut’s journey to meet both pope and emperor together upon the latter’s coronation in Rome.66 Classically viewed as a pilgrimage and a conscious imitation of ancient Anglo-Saxon kings – which indeed it was, in part – it has now become increasingly clear that Cnut’s actions also belonged within a far more continental, imperial framework.67 Of course, considering Cnut’s position as a ruler of ‘imperial’ dimensions who shared a border with the German Reich, this is exactly what we might expect. At the core of Cnut’s famous letter of that year lies the dual presence of both emperor and pope, and if we look to wider records of the event, we see the degree to which both imperial and papal ceremonial had become intertwined as the eleventh century progressed. Immediately following Emperor Conrad’s coronation in St Peter’s church, a number of papal letters and privileges were issued under joint papal–imperial auspices, before a major ecclesiastical synod was assembled under their dual presidency in

then-emperor Louis the Pious, but I suggest is more likely to be a generic, perhaps formulaic, expression of worldly power. Elsewhere cæsar in Latin charters refers only to temporal authority in the abstract sense of Matthew 22.21: thus Charters of Burton Abbey, ed. P. H. Sawyer (Oxford, 1979), p. 10 (S 479, S 484 (authenticity of the latter disputed)); Charters of Selsey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 6, ed. S. E. Kelly (Oxford, 1998), p. 81 (S 616; spurious in its current form but probably modelled on an authentic original). 64 Conrad II is confused with the deceased Henry III in two MSS obit notices: ASC, MS CD, s.a. 1056. 65 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1050. 66 Gesetze, 1:276–77. 67 Elaine M. Treharne, ‘The Performance of Piety: Cnut, Rome and England’, in England and Rome, ed. Tinti, pp. 343–64, which further suggests (p. 351) that Cnut may have made his journey via Lotharingia, having probably set off from Denmark rather than England; Timothy Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century, The Northern World 40 (Leiden, 2008), pp. 294–307.

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the then-named Constantinian basilica of the Lateran.68 Whether or not Cnut and his clerical entourage were present for this latter stage of events, the limited source material does not allow us to say. Yet in the following decades, we might suppose that this image of papal-imperial alignment would have remained the most prominent in English understandings of papal responses to ‘reform’; and it was chiefly through the new generation of Germano-imperial clerics, introduced in the reigns of Cnut and then Edward, that it was most clearly engaged. Though a sufficiently thorough cultural, social, or even material-economic framework through which to understand late Anglo-Saxon engagement with the papal ‘reform’ movement may lie beyond recovery, such an ‘imperial’ and ‘interpersonal’ perspective does, I believe, bring us significantly closer to approaching how the movement might have been understood by many English contemporaries: a way which was unique to these decades between the two conquests.

Appendix: Some Notes on the Single-Sheet Manuscript of Pope Nicholas II’s Privilege for Bishop Giso of Wells, 25 April 1061 (JL 4457) A single-sheet privilege confirming the properties and rights of Bishop Giso of Wells in the name of Pope Nicholas II survives today in the archives of Wells Cathedral, the prize documentary artefact of Anglo–papal relations in these inter-Conquest years.69 The document is well-known, yet a key point has been overlooked in the literature: that this is not an original Roman ‘chancery’ production in its current form, and that certain interesting problems arise concerning its strict authenticity. Continental scholarship has affirmed the privilege’s status as a copy (usually considered contemporary) for over a century.70 Yet some of the more recent and more 68

MGH Conc. 8, pp. 85–95; PUU, 2:1083–91, nos 570–76 (JL 4079–83α); Constitutiones et acta publica imperatorum et regum inde ab a. .DCCCCXI. usque a. MCXCVII, ed. Ludwig Weiland, MGH Const. 1 (Hanover, 1893), pp. 82–4. 69 Wells, DC/CF/3/2 (formerly Cathedral Charters, no. 2); see above, note 24. I wish to give special thanks to the archivist and staff of Wells Cathedral for their help and good humour. Where ‘surviving originals’ of Pope Nicholas II are cited, I have consulted the outstanding photographic and facsimile collections of the Göttingen Academy of Sciences – again, many thanks are due to the Academy for their generous assistance. A list of known originals of Nicholas II is provided in Leo Santifaller, Saggio di un Elenco dei funzionari, impiegati e scrittori della Cancellaria Pontificia dall’inizio all’anno 1099, 2 vols, Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo e Archivio Muratoriano 56 (Rome, 1940), 2:792, now updated in Joachim Dahlhaus, ‘Rota oder Unterschrift. Zur Unterfertigung päpstlicher Urkunden durch ihre Aussteller in der zweiten Hälfte des 11. Jahrhunderts’, in Papsturkunden des frühen und hohen Mittelalters. Äußere Merkmale – Konservierung – Restuarierung, ed. Irmgard Fees, Andreas Hedwig and Francesco Roberg (Leipzig, 2011), pp. 249–304 (pp. 292–4). 70 P. Kehr, ‘Scrinium und Palatium. Zur Geschichte des päpstlichen Kanzleiwesens im 11. Jahrhundert’, Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung. Ergänzungs-Band

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Fig. 16.1 Wells Cathedral Library, DC/CF 3/2 Papal Charter (by permission of The Chapter of Wells Cathedral: photographer Michael Blandford)

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widely available English-language literature has stated that it survives as an ‘original’.71 Moreover, on a visit to Wells in December 2016, I found this to be the opinion still held by the cathedral archivists. What follows, therefore, seeks to make clear the status of the single-sheet as a probable Wells, not Roman, production by discussing the external characteristics betraying its irregularity in more detail than has previously been attempted. This treatment will also draw the reader’s attention to some problems with the document, and offer some possible explanations. (i) Irregular script. The main body (contextus) of the document employs throughout an impressive ‘diplomatic minuscule’ otherwise unknown in England but familiar to continental royal/imperial diplomas since the mid-ninth century. Since the late 1040s, this hand had been adapted as the ‘papal minuscule’ of the ‘reform’ pontiffs.72 Nevertheless, the script shows considerably more flourish than the relatively restrained and regular forms adopted by scribes within the contemporary papal entourage. It cannot be associated with either of the two Florentine notaries identified by Paul Kehr as responsible for the surviving originals written in ‘papal minuscule’ during Nicholas II’s pontificate (‘Nicholas II A’ and ‘Nicholas II B’).73 Walther Holtzmann held that certain Schriftelemente hinted at ‘the Lotharingian origins of the scribe’, remarking in turn upon Giso’s own Lotharingian background.74 Recently, Georges Declercq has observed that specific elements of the script – the ‘trellis’ added to the top of certain letters, and the §-like extension to ‘g’ (g paragraphe) – reflect those found in the diplomatic hands of the dioceses of Liège and Rheims from the mid-eleventh century onwards; meanwhile, certain ‘archaic’ characteristics (open ‘a’, the ‘re’ ligature) suggest a date no later than the second half of the eleventh century.75 Considering that Giso hailed from the monastery of Sint-Truiden in the diocese of Liége, it seems highly plausible that he, or a member of his familia, had responsibility for drawing up the copy that now survives. Others have suggested that Giso functioned in some capacity as a royal scribe in England

6 (1901), pp. 70–112 (p. 91 n. 4) (‘Nachzeichnung’); PUU in England, 2:131 (‘gleichzeitige Kopie’ (following Kehr)); Santifaller, Saggio, 1:394 (‘cop. contemp.’ (following Holtzmann)); also – perhaps less explicitly – Councils and Synods, 1:548 (‘contemporary version’ (following Holtzmann)). 71 EHD 2, p. 643; S. D. Keynes, ‘Regenbald the Chancellor (sic)’, ANS 10 (1987), 185–222 (p. 203 n. 105); Keynes, ‘Giso’, p. 255; Charters of Bath and Wells, Anglo-Saxon Charters 13, ed. S. E. Kelly (Oxford, 2007), p. 168; Stephen Baxter, ‘The Death of Burgheard Son of Ælfgar and its Context’, in Frankland: The Franks and the World of the Early Middle Ages, ed. Paul Fouracre and David Ganz (Manchester, 2008), pp. 266–84 (p. 279). 72 Bernhard Bischoff, Latin Palaeography: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, trans. Dáibhí Ó Cróinín and David Ganz (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 126–7. 73 Kehr, ‘Scrinium’, pp. 89–93. 74 PUU in England, 2:131. 75 Georges Declercq, personal communication; Jacques Stiennon, L’écriture diplomatique dans le diocèse de Liège du XIe au milieu du XIIIe siècle. Reflet d’une civilisation (Paris, 1960), pp. 53–162.

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on both sides of the Conquest.76 We should not doubt his personal expertise in the art of documentary production. (ii) Missing bulla. The most glaring absence from the document is that of the characteristic lead seal (bulla) attached to all original, fully authenticated papal privileges of this period.77 Where early, original privileges survive, missing bullae are not necessarily rare: by either accident or intention, they might easily come loose. But there is no evidence that the Wells single-sheet ever had any seal attached. (iii) Unusual dating clause. This is subtler. All authenticated privileges of this era include, in their very final section, a notarial dating clause, typically given not by the scribe of the document but by the leading figure of the papal writing-office at the time (here, Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida: ‘Datum Romę VII kal. MAI, anno ab incarnatione domini Iesu M. LXI. per manus Humberti sanctae aecclesiae Siluę Candidę episcopi et apostolicę sedis bybliothecarii, anno IIIo pontificatus domni PAPE NICHOLAI secundi, indictione XIIII.’). In these cases, per manus was almost always meant literally, and normally it is Humbert’s own autograph that closes surviving authentic originals from Nicholas’ pontificate.78 Yet it is clear from comparison with those originals that Humbert’s hand does not appear on the Wells document. Moreover, unlike the main body of the text, the Wells dating clause never crosses the fold lines of the parchment. This suggests a clearly defined two-stage process in production (the document has been written, folded-up, and later unfolded and completed), something we do not find in any contemporary originals, where the dating clause always traverses straight through the folds. What this actually means is unclear: all we can say is that it does not correspond with the little evidence we have of standard contemporary papal ‘chancery’ practice. (iv) Incomplete rota. Particular problems are raised by the incomplete state of the authenticating symbol known as the rota. Another innovation of the 1040s, this symbol – essentially a large cross in a circle accompanied by a written motif, located at the bottom left of papal documents – was unique to papal diplomatic and appears to have functioned as kind of signum crucis subscription.79 Throughout the experimental period of the ‘reform’ papacy, this motif changed with each pope. Under Nicholas II, its central wording around the four quadrants read XPS / VINCIT / PETRUS / PAULUS.80 Yet XPS / VINCIT is missing from the Wells rota. The implications of this may be significant. In a recent study, Joachim Dahlhaus has argued that Nicholas II systematically provided the words XPS / VINCIT himself to this 76

Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 227–48; George Garnett, The Norman Conquest: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2009), pp. 50–3. 77 Julius von Pflugk-Harttung, Die Bullen der Päpste bis zum Ende des zwölften Jahrhunderts (Gotha, 1901), pp. 50–2, 189; Frenz, Papsturkunden, pp. 54–6. 78 Kehr, ‘Scrinium’, pp. 91–2. 79 Joachim Dahlhaus, ‘Aufkommen und Bedeutung der Rota in der Papsturkunde’, in Graphische Symbole im mittelalterlichen Urkunden. Beiträge zue diplomatischen Semiotik, ed. Peter Rück, Historische Hilfswissenschaften 3 (Sigmaringen, 1996), pp. 407–23; Dahlhaus, ‘Rota’, pp. 249–304. 80 Frenz, Papsturkunden, p. 22; Dahlhaus, ‘Rota’, pp. 260–3.

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part of the privileges issued in his name: in surviving originals, the hand matches that found in diplomas associated with Nicholas as Bishop Gerhard of Florence. Thus, the addition of these two words appears to have functioned as a final authenticating act by the pope himself, perhaps comparable to the Vollziehungsstriche (or more rarely, Legimus subscriptions) seemingly added autographically by the sovereign to Carolingian royal diplomas.81 It therefore seems clear that Nicholas had not personally given approval to the surviving Wells single-sheet. If the Wells document is a copy, this in itself is not surprising. More intriguing, however, is whether the exemplar from which this Wells scribe presumably made his copy also lacked this crucial, final authenticating mark. Why was so critical a feature not included? Thus, we can say that the single-sheet privilege preserved at Wells was not subject to the standard papal authenticating procedures of notarial dating by the head of the ‘chancery’; nor the attachment of a bulla; nor the completion of the rota by the pope. Meanwhile the script suggests a hand from some point in the second half of the eleventh century of Lotharingian (possibly Liégeois) origin or training: this was probably Giso or a member of his familia, plausibly but not necessarily working at Wells itself. Nevertheless, the precise circumstances of its production are not self-evident. In particular, the incomplete status of the rota raises awkward questions. Three main possibilities present themselves: (a) (Deliberately?) incomplete copy of an authenticated papal original. There is nothing suspicious about the main text of the document, which closely follows (at points, almost word for word) a privilege granted by Nicholas to Bishop John of Penne at the Roman Easter synod of 1059.82 It is almost certain that the original draftsman had at hand a template or formulary of some kind, one already in use at the papal chancery. Nor do the overall layout and aesthetic style of the singlesheet differ much from contemporary norms: the scribe either had an authentic, original document of Pope Nicholas II in front of him, or was intimately familiar with contemporary papal diplomatic. Meanwhile, although the scribe cannot be directly linked to the contemporary papal notariate, Paul Kehr supposed that he was copying the work of the Florentine notary responsible for a number of surviving 81

Dahlhaus, ‘Rota’, pp. 260–3, 287. Cf. Mark Mersiowsky, Die Urkunde in der Karolingerzeit. Originale, Urkundenpraxis und politische Kommunikation, 2 vols, MGH Schriften 60 (Wiesbaden, 2015), 2:690–702; Geoffrey Koziol, The Politics of Memory and Identity in Carolingian Royal Diplomas: The West Frankish Kingdom (840–987), Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 19 (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 111–12. 82 PL 143:1311–12 (JL 4402). A similar formulation appears again in Nicholas’s privilege for Bishop Wulfwig of Dorchester-on-Thames, from 3 May 1061 (see above, note 24), although Wulfwig’s text differs in taking its opening arenga from the early papal formulary collection now known as the Liber Diurnus (formula V89): Liber diurnus Romanorum pontificum, ed. Hans Foerster (Bern, 1958), p. 169. The main distinction between the 1059 and 1061 texts is that, whereas John of Penne’s privilege threatens its transgressors with a fine of ten pounds of gold (to be shared between Penne and the Lateran), the English privileges have only spiritual sanctions.

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originals, ‘Nicholas II A’.83 Julia Crick has now suggested that some features of the Wells script (irregularities in the size of some letters, the fact that several ascenders and descenders appear to have been added after the main text) could betray it as an imitative hand;84 however, considering the strength of Lotharingian traditions within the papal entourage, we should not necessarily imagine the Wells scribe to have had a radically different training in this kind of ‘diplomatic minuscule’ from that of ‘Nicholas II A’ or his colleagues. We know, besides, from independent corroborative sources that Giso was in Rome for Easter 1061,85 and we have no good reason to think it improbable that he might have sought and received a privilege from Nicholas. Even the dating of the document is suggestive: 25 April was a major feast day in Rome.86 It seems quite possible that this could have provided the solemn context for the issuing of a grand privilege such as Giso’s. Overall, it seems plausible that an original, authenticated document was granted on that day; that Giso or his familia at some point drew up a single-sheet facsimile of it; and that for entirely innocuous reasons its authenticating features were added irregularly (i.e. the later addition of the dating clause) or incompletely (the rota). Possibly this resulted from oversight. Yet it could have well been intentional: in particular, the omission of Pope Nicholas’ authenticating contribution to the rota of the Wells facsimile may have reflected an attempt to signify the single-sheet’s non-original status. (b) Copy of an unauthenticated papal original. A more intriguing possibility is that the Wells document survives as a faithful copy of a privilege which was drawn up in the papal scriptorium, yet never finally authenticated: that is to say, it did not copy Nicholas’ crucial, final contribution to the rota because this was never, in fact, provided on the original. If so, we know of at least one precedent for this kind of behaviour almost a century earlier. Jonathan Jarrett has argued compellingly that a group of original papal privileges of 971 for Archbishop Ató of Osona – diplomatically and palaeographically unmistakeably Roman productions, yet missing their crucial authenticating features – may have in fact been rejected by Pope John XIII at a final stage, before being nevertheless brought back to Catalonia (where they remain today), in the hope that they would find acceptance among local audiences anyway.87 Perhaps Giso’s petition was similarly rejected or obstructed at the decisive final stage, but the unauthenticated document was then brought back to England and copied out regardless. (c) Unauthenticated original or draft: a beneficiary production. A third, albeit far less likely, possibility is that the document preserved in Wells, while not a papal ‘chancery’ production, might nevertheless be an unauthenticated ‘original’ or draft 83

Kehr, ‘Scrinium’, p. 91 n. 4. Julia Crick, personal communication. 85 Above, note 44. 86 The Letania maior of St Mark’s Day: Wickham, Medieval Rome, pp. 324–6. 87 Jonathan Jarrett, ‘Archbishop Ató of Osona: False Metropolitans on the Marca Hispanica’, Archiv für Diplomatik 56 (2010), 1–42: PUU, 1:406–10, 413–14, nos 206–7, 210 (JL 3746–47, 3750). 84

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of a papal privilege, yet one produced by the beneficiary. If so, this would be highly unusual, but not impossible within the wider context of continental diplomatic. The influence of petitioners (Empfängereinfluss) over the textual content, if not necessarily final production, of papal privileges across at least the ninth to eleventh centuries is now well-established.88 Rolf Große has taken this further, arguing that some surviving ‘original’ single-sheet privileges may have been almost entirely produced by West Frankish scribes, with only the opening intitulatio and closing dating clause then added by papal officials.89 One aesthetically distinctive singlesheet of Nicholas II for Saint-Denis, purportedly issued shortly before Giso’s (18 April 1061) and similarly lacking in certain key authenticating features, has had its authenticity defended on similar grounds by the same editor, although this interpretation has been treated sceptically.90 More recent scholarship on contemporary imperial diplomatic has similarly stressed the extent to which beneficiaries could be responsible for the production of sovereign diplomas across the tenth- and eleventh-century Reich. Major bishops and archbishops in highly literate regions such as Italy and Lotharingia may have personally assumed the role of beneficiary-scribes, presenting ready-made sovereign diplomas to the imperial court, where they then received only their final authenticating features.91 Certainly, beneficiary production of royal diplomas was not unknown in later Anglo-Saxon England, although the degree to which this occurred remains controversial.92 Together, what little we know of contemporary practice at least allows for the possibility that the single-sheet that survives in Wells was produced in advance by Giso or a member of his entourage, and then – for whatever reason – never fully authenticated by the necessary authorities in Rome. Of course, the single-sheet’s textual similarity to John of Penne’s privilege of 1059 makes this hypothesis considerably unlikely: the scribe could not 88

Theodor Schieffer, ‘Adnotationes zur Germania Pontificia und zur Echtheitskritik überhaupt. Erster Teil’, Archiv für Diplomatik 32 (1985), 503–45; Kortüm, Zur päpstlichen Urkundensprache; Jochen Johrendt, ‘Der Empfängereinfluß auf die Gestaltung der Arenga und Sanctio in den päpstlichen Privilegien (896–1046)’, Archiv für Diplomatik 50 (2004), 1–11. 89 Rolf Große, ‘Die beiden ältesten Papsturkunden für das Domkapitel von Paris (JL 3949 und 3951)’, in L’acte pontifical et sa critique, ed. Rolf Große, Studien und Dokumente zur Gallia Pontificia 5 (Bonn, 2007), pp. 15–29 (pp. 18–19). 90 Paris, Archives nationales, L 221 n. 1; Papsturkunden in Frankreich, Neue Folge 9. Diözese Paris II. Abtei Saint-Denis, ed. Rolf Große, Abhandlungen der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen. Philologisch-Historische Klasse 225 (Göttingen, 1998), pp. 113–16, no. 17 (JL 4456). For scepticism, see Dahlhaus, ‘Rota’, p. 294. 91 Wolfgang Huschner, Transalpine Kommunikation im Mittelalter. Diplomatische, kulterelle und politische Wechselwirkungen zwischen Italien und dem nordalpinen Reich (9.–11. Jahrhundert), 3 vols, MGH Schriften 52 (Hanover, 2003), 1:18–214, esp. pp. 198–9. 92 For an overview, see S. D. Keynes, ‘Chancery, Royal’, in The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. Michael Lapidge, John Blair, Simon Keynes and Donald Scragg, 2nd edn (Oxford, 2014), pp. 97–8. See (if genuine) S 1042, a privilege of Edward the Confessor for Wells, apparently drawn up by Giso himself: Bath and Wells, ed. Kelly, pp. 238–47; Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 232–8, 260–3.

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have composed it from scratch and would have had to have worked from a template or formulary of some kind. Nevertheless, such circumstances may not have been completely impossible. This discussion has sought to provide neither a comprehensive nor definitive analysis: the explanation behind the Wells single-sheet may lie in a more nuanced position between these three hypotheses, or perhaps elsewhere entirely. The aim has been to demonstrate how and why we cannot treat Wells DC/CF/3/2 as a simple and straightforward ‘original’. The circumstances of its production and preservation may have been considerably more complex than appears at face value. For these reasons we may think of it as all the more interesting a document.93 If Anglo-Saxonists may not, after all, continue to claim that they have any strictly original and authenticated papal ‘chancery’ productions at their disposal in the pre-Conquest archives, they can now point to at least one highly trained Lotharingian scribe at work in eleventh-century Somerset, meticulously replicating the aesthetics and aura of ‘reform’-era papal authority – and doing so with enough flair to keep us convinced otherwise for almost one thousand years.

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A further problem is raised by this being our only copy of the document. Unlike most other charters gathered by Giso to guarantee his properties (the ‘Giso File’: Keynes, ‘Giso’, pp. 254–60; Bath and Wells, ed. Kelly, pp. 224–51), Nicholas’ privilege was never entered into Wells’ surviving cartularies: see Calendar of the Manuscripts of the Dean and Chapter of Wells, 2 vols, Historical Manuscripts Commission 12 (London, 1907–14), and Bath and Wells, ed. Kelly, pp. 172–4.

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17 Child Kings and the Norman Conquest: Representations of Association and Succession EMILY JOAN WARD*

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hildhood and royal succession were close acquaintances in the kingdoms of north-western Europe in the mid-eleventh century. At the exact moment when William, duke of the Normans, supplemented his name with the title of king of the English in 1066, both the German and French kings were young men, barely out of boyhood. Henry IV (1050–1106) had succeeded to the German throne as a five-year-old boy following the death of his father, Emperor Henry III, in October 1056.1 Likewise, a few years later, in August 1060, the eight-year-old Philip I (1052– 1108) had followed his father, Henry I, as king of the French. These European contexts provide a valuable lens through which to view the Conquest. Succession to a familial inheritance as a child was something with which William, too, was acquainted. He had become duke in 1035 at the age of seven or eight when his father, Robert I, died on his return from a pilgrimage.2 Moreover, Edgar Ætheling (d. c. 1125), one of the contenders for the English kingship in 1066, was still a child at this date. It is impossible to be certain of Edgar’s precise age, but approximations *

This chapter is based on research undertaken for my doctoral thesis, ‘Child Kingship in England, Scotland, France, and Germany, c.1050–c.1250’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2018). I would like to thank the AHRC for funding this research and Emmanuel College and the Institute of Historical Research for providing additional financial support. Thanks, also, to Liesbeth van Houts, Tom Licence and Laura Ashe for their helpful comments in the preparation of this chapter. 1 Unless otherwise stated, the dates provided indicate the births and deaths of secular individuals as opposed to their regnal, ducal or comital years. For ecclesiastical figures, the years of their incumbency are preferred. 2 For a summary of William’s ducal succession and early years as ruler: David Bates, William the Conqueror (New Haven, CT, 2016), pp. 16–90 and ‘The Conqueror’s Adolescence’, ANS 25 (2002), 1–18.

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of his youth rest on Orderic Vitalis’s elusive claim that the ætheling was ‘of the same age as’ (coaevus) William’s son, Robert Curthose.3 Earlier estimates placed Robert’s birth between 1049 and the end of 1053. More recently, David Bates has shown the probable dating for William and Matilda’s marriage to be at the latter end of this date range, likely in 1052, pushing the birth of their eldest son after the date of the wedding and firmly into 1053/4.4 Consequently, Robert was between eleven and thirteen when his father invaded England. Edgar could have been a few years older or younger and still feasibly be described as Robert’s contemporary, but since we can be certain Edgar was born before 1057, he must have been at least nine or ten years old at the Conquest. Adhering to contemporary legal and cultural definitions which place the end of male childhood, pueritia, at a boy’s fifteenth birthday, it is unlikely that Edgar was any older than this in 1066.5 Edgar’s youth is not always exclusively blamed for his failure to secure a hold on the English throne, but his age has continued to be viewed as a decisive factor in preventing his succession for the last fifty years of modern scholarship, if not longer.6 Whilst child rulership was, undeniably, often a cause for concern, it was by no means unusual in eleventh-century Europe, and these modern arguments merit a reconsideration in light of contemporary continental comparisons. Debates concerning the succession question in 1066 have centred on a series of related questions affecting the kingdom of the English.7 To provide one example, historians have analysed the practice of deathbed bequests, distinguishing different 3 Orderic, Historia Ecclesiastica, 5:270–2; Stephen Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor and the Succession Question’, in Edward the Confessor: The Man and the Legend, ed. Richard Mortimer (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 77–118 (p. 98, n. 104). 4 Bates, William the Conqueror, pp. 104–5, 128. By contrast, see Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 32–3, whose editors suggest an earlier date for the marriage. 5 See below, pp. 346–7, for the legal, social and cultural significance of a boy’s fifteenth year. 6 ‘Edward’s great-nephew, Edgar, still very young… Against him, however, were his extreme youth, his foreign birth, and perhaps his character’: The Carmen de Hastingae Proelio of Guy Bishop of Amiens, ed. Catherine Morton and Hope Muntz (Oxford, 1972), p. 55; ‘He cannot have been more than twelve years old in 1066, which is probably why he was not considered as a possible successor to his great-uncle’: Ann Williams, ‘Some Notes and Considerations on Problems Connected with the English Royal Succession, 860–1066’, ANS 1 (1979), 144–67, 225–33 (p. 164); ‘There may have been a party which wished to make him king in January 1066, following the death of Edward the Confessor, but it is generally thought that his youth was decisive in denying him the throne then’: Nicholas Hooper, ‘Edgar the Ætheling: Anglo-Saxon Prince, Rebel and Crusader’, ASE 14 (1985), 197–214 (p. 202); ‘the claims of Edgar the Atheling have been passed over, presumably because of age and because he lacked what we now have to call a “proven track record”’: Geoffrey W. S. Barrow, ‘Companions of the Atheling’, ANS 25 (2003), 35–45 (p. 35). 7 For the historiography of the succession question in 1066, see Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor’, pp. 78–81; Tom Licence, ‘Edward the Confessor and the Succession Question: A Fresh Look at the Sources’, ANS 39 (2017), 113–27 (and I would like to thank him for providing me with a copy of this paper in advance of its publication). Williams, ‘Some Notes and Considerations’, pp. 156–7, briefly considers the European context in relation to English royal succession.

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conceptions of post obitum and uerba nouissima bequests in Anglo-Saxon England and Normandy; a distinction with significance in justifying William’s claim to the throne over that of Harold Godwineson.8 Whilst previous studies have enhanced our understanding of comparative English and Norman practices and experiences, valuable insights into practices of association and succession have been neglected by focusing on an Anglo-Norman framework alone. Elisabeth van Houts demonstrated the importance of considering accounts by contemporary or near-contemporary European chroniclers when clarifying how eleventh- and twelfth-century writers chose to represent William’s actions in the English kingdom in 1066.9 There is more to be gained from studying the European chronicles, and from extending the analysis of English royal succession to include comparisons across kingdoms. The issue of child succession is not foremost in the discussion of the Conquest, but nonetheless, considering the questions, risks and negotiations involved in the former across contemporary Europe can help to shed light on the latter. Henry IV and Philip I lived through comparable early life experiences as royal children, with their fathers incorporating them from a young age into the wider political community and beginning to associate them with the kingship. Incumbent kings regularly associated young children as their heirs in the early and central Middle Ages, although the exact arrangements varied over time and place. Andrew W. Lewis noted that the Capetian dynasty had no set ‘system’ of anticipatory association but instead ‘only a number of instances in which various arrangements of coseigniory had been used in differing circumstances to achieve differing, though related, ends’.10 The same is true across other European kingdoms. Factors such as the king’s age and health, the length of his wait for a male heir, and the number of wives he had taken before a boy was born could all affect the provisions he made for his sons, if he had them. Already by the second half of the eleventh century, in both France and the Empire, the king’s associative actions tended to centre on his eldest living son. Kings considered, to a greater or lesser extent, the current political situation within their kingdom and possible stability or instability in future but, as Lewis demonstrated for the Capetians, their reliance on actions of association was not solely due to the weakness of hereditary succession.11 More recently, Geoffrey Koziol has shown other 8

John S. Beckerman, ‘Succession in Normandy, 1087, and in England, 1066: The Role of Testamentary Custom’, Speculum 47 (1972), 258–60; Williams, ‘Some Notes and Considerations’, pp. 165–6. 9 Elisabeth M. C. van Houts, ‘The Norman Conquest Through European Eyes’, EHR 110 (1995), 832–53. For a wider European framework, see Sten Körner, The Battle of Hastings, England and Europe, 1035–1066 (Lund, 1964); David Bates, ‘William the Conqueror and His Wider Western European World’, HSJ 15 (2006), 73–87; George Garnett, Conquered England: Kingship, Succession, and Tenure, 1066–1166 (Oxford, 2007), esp. pp. 1–9. 10 Andrew W. Lewis, ‘Anticipatory Association of the Heir in Early Capetian France’, AHR 83 (1978), 906–27 (p. 924). 11 Andrew W. Lewis, Royal Succession in Capetian France: Studies on Familial Order and the State (Cambridge, MA, 1981).

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ways of understanding a king’s decision to associate his child with the throne, through the context of the ruler’s personal experiences, memories and emotions.12 For Henry, son of Emperor Henry III, association with his father’s throne began at a very young age when the princes of the kingdom, compelled by the father, swore an oath to the infant. Henry was only six weeks old, and according to Lampert of Hersfeld still unbaptized, when, at Goslar on Christmas Day 1050, the emperor made many of the magnates promise their fidelity and subjection (fides subiectioque) to his son on oath (ius iurandum).13 A second oath ostensibly took place in Trebur just over two years later, although Herman of Reichenau alone records this.14 Regardless of whether the German princes promised one oath or two, their assurance of fidelity to the child, in itself, was not sufficient to satisfy Henry III, who took the further step of having his three-year-old son crowned at Aachen on 17 July 1054. In France, the first public ceremony of Philip I’s association was his coronation on 23 May 1059, at the age of seven and likewise during his father’s lifetime. No evidence survives to suggest that Philip had received an oath from the French princes prior to this event.15 Instead, as a memorandum drawn up a few years after the event records, the coronation proceedings comprised Philip’s election as king by Archbishop Gervais of Reims (1055–67), with the assent (annuere) of Philip’s father, the clergy, and the lords, and with the agreement (consentire) of the knights and the people.16 Monastic chroniclers gendered association with the throne as male in the mid-eleventh century and, because of this, emphasis was placed on paternal–filial rather than maternal–filial connections. Whilst mothers are noticeably absent from chronicle discussions of their sons receiving magnate oaths or coronation, documentary evidence reveals a more nuanced picture. Empress Agnes of Poitou (c. 1024–77) and Queen Anne of Kiev (c. 1024–75), mothers respectively of Henry IV and Philip I, had important roles to play alongside their children at the boys’ early introduction to the diplomatic practice of kingship. From October 1051, less than a year after Henry’s birth, his name begins 12

Geoffrey Koziol, ‘A Father, His Son, Memory, and Hope: The Joint Diploma of Lothar and Louis V (Pentecost Monday, 979) and the Limits of Performativity’, in Geschichtswissenschaft und “Performative Turn”: Ritual, Inszenierung und Performanz vom Mittelalter bis zur Newzeit, ed. Jürgen Martschukat and Steffen Patzold (Cologne, 2003), pp. 83–103. 13 Lampert of Hersfeld, Annalen, in Lamperti opera, ed. O. Holder-Egger, MGH SS rer. Germ. 38 (Hanover, 1894), pp. 3–304 (p. 63), trans. I. S. Robinson, The Annals of Lampert of Hersfeld (Manchester, 2015); ‘Imperator Natalem Domini in Saxonia apud Goslare egit, et multos ex principibus filio suo iureiurando fidem subiectionemque promittere fecit’: Herman of Reichenau, Chronicon, ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH SS 5 (Hanover, 1843), pp. 74–133 (p. 129), trans. Robinson, Eleventh-Century Germany: The Swabian Chronicles (Manchester, 2008). 14 Herman of Reichenau, Chronicon, p. 133. 15 See Lewis, Royal Succession, p. 56, for a later example where the French king, Louis VI (1108–37), called an assembly of magnates to swear an oath to crown his oldest son Philip. 16 Ordines coronationis Franciae: Texts and Ordines for the Coronation of Frankish and French Kings and Queens in the Middle Ages, ed. R. A. Jackson, 2 vols (Philadelphia, PA, 1995), 1:230.

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to appear alongside Agnes’s in his father’s acts, either as the means of intervening and interceding with the emperor or in clauses requesting prayers for the souls of the extended royal family.17 Agnes appears in imperial documents from time to time without her son, especially prior to his coronation in July 1054, but Henry is only represented as the means of approaching his father’s presence in conjunction with his mother.18 Between Henry’s coronation and anointing in November 1054 and Emperor Henry III’s death in October 1056, the young Henry is documented as assenting to and intervening in royal decisions with far greater regularity, but still always with his mother in attendance alongside him. The boy is now addressed with his new title of king, ‘carissimus noster filius rex Heinricus’ (‘our dear son King Henry’), rather than only as the emperor’s son or offspring (filius or proles).19 Jonathan Lyon’s study of noble youths in twelfth-century Germany demonstrated how important the routine inclusion of sons in their fathers’ transactional charters could be for introducing them to regional political networks at the centre of familial power and authority.20 Similar inclusion in acts and diplomacy was just as important, if not more so, for royal children in the eleventh century, and queen mothers are consistently at the centre of these networks with their sons. In France, Henry I’s acts represent Anne of Kiev alongside her eldest son Philip in a comparable fashion, sometimes accompanied by Philip’s younger brothers, Robert and Hugh. Anne and Philip appear together in pro salute clauses and as witnesses to the king’s transactions.21 On the day of Philip’s coronation, King Henry confirmed donations made by his predecessors to the monastery of Tournus for the salvation of his soul, the soul of his wife and the soul of his son, who is entitled ‘filiusque noster Philippus Rex’.22 The queen and her eldest son are occasionally called upon to support and corroborate Henry’s decisions jointly, as in an act issued at Paris in 1060.23 Unsurprisingly, in both Germany and France, associative coronation marked a perceptible

17

Heinrici III diplomata: Die Urkunden Heinrichs III, ed. H. Bresslau and P. Kehr, MGH DD reg. et imp. Germ. 5 (Berlin, 1931), nos 276, 277, 285, 286, 322, 323. 18 Kurt-Ulrich Jäschke, ‘From Famous Empresses to Unspectacular Queens: The Romano-German Empire to Margaret of Brabant, Countess of Luxemburg and Queen of the Romans (d. 1311)’, in Queens and Queenship in Medieval Europe, ed. Anne J. Duggan (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 75–108 (p. 93). 19 The first document addressing Henry IV as king is Heinrici III diplomata, no. 328. See also I. S. Robinson, Henry IV of Germany, 1056–1106 (Cambridge, 1999), p. 23. 20 Jonathan R. Lyon, ‘Fathers and Sons: Preparing Noble Youths to be Lords in Twelfth-Century Germany’, JMH 34 (2008), 291–310 (p. 298). 21 ‘Diplomata Heinrici’, in Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France [henceforth RHGF], ed. Dom Bouquet et al., 24 vols (Paris, 1737–1904), 11:600, 604; Catalogue des actes d’Henri Ier, roi de France, 1031–1060, ed. Frédéric Soehnée (Paris, 1907), especially pp. 98–129. 22 RHGF, 11:600: ‘and our son King Philip’. Acts issued after May 1059 similarly address Philip as rex: Maximilien Quantin, Cartulaire général de l’Yonne: recueil de documents authentiques pour servir à l’histoire des pays qui forment ce département, 2 vols (Auxerre, 1854–60), 2:12. 23 RHGF, 11:606. See also, Catalogue, ed. Soehnée, no. 125 (pp. 127–9).

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change in status for the eldest son. Although Henry IV and Philip I were still minors, well under the age of male maturity, their names are increasingly found alongside their fathers in royal confirmations and grants. The boys, along with their mothers, were the co-operative means of intervening with the reigning king, and of confirming and supporting his actions. These arrangements prefigure the image of joint maternal–filial rule which existed after the deaths of both Emperor Henry III and King Henry I, about which more will be said below. Unlike chronicle sources, which attribute the initiation and direction of a child’s association with the throne entirely to paternal responsibility, documentary sources offer valuable evidence of a wider, collaborative, familial context for the king, queen and child heir. Edgar Ætheling’s early life experience is harder to reconstruct than that of his continental contemporaries. His grandfather, Edmund Ironside, had been king of England for seven months before his death in November 1016, but Edgar himself was probably born in Hungary whilst his father, Edward Ætheling (d. 1057), was in exile from the English kingdom. Edward returned to England in 1057 at the request of King Edward the Confessor (1003x5–66). If, initially, the family did not accompany Edward from Hungary, they had certainly arrived in England within a year or two, when Edgar can have been no older than seven.24 By contrast to Henry and Philip, therefore, Edgar had not been born in the kingdom to which he had a claim, nor had his father ever been king there. Edward Ætheling’s death in April 1057, shortly after arriving in England, left Edgar fatherless in a new kingdom and reliant on the generosity of the English king, his great-uncle, and queen, Edith (d. 1075).25 Where Henry IV and Philip I had been embedded in magnate networks throughout infancy, Edgar had not yet begun to build such associations. The little we know of Agatha/Agafia, Edgar’s mother and possibly the daughter of Iaroslav I of Kiev (c. 978–1054) and Ingegerd of Sweden (c. 1001–50),26 does not suggest that Agatha played any role at the English court after arriving in the kingdom; in fact, 24

V. J. King, ‘Ealdred, Archbishop of York: The Worcester Years’, ANS 18 (1996), 123–37 (p. 130), for the possibility that Ealdred arranged the return of Edward Ætheling’s family when he travelled to Jerusalem via Hungary in 1058. 25 ASC, MSS DE, s.a. 1057, trans. Michael Swanton, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles (London, 1996), pp. 187–8. See also Frank Barlow, Edward the Confessor (London, 1970), pp. 217–18. 26 Adam of Bremen, Gesta, p. 114, for Edward Ætheling’s exile in Kievan Rus’. The Leges Edwardi Confessoris, c. 1130, similarly mentions Edward’s time in Rus’ but adds to this that he took a wife whilst he was there, before leaving for Hungary: ‘Leges Edwardi Confessoris’,  in Gesetze, 1:664; ‘Leges Edwardi Confessoris, version 2 (39-chapter text)’ (henceforth ECf2), ed. Bruce O’Brien, www.earlyenglishlaws.ac.uk/laws/texts/ecf2/view/#edition/commentary [accessed 10 March 2019]. It is very hard, if not impossible, to trace Agatha’s heritage with any certainty. There are conflicting contemporary source traditions and several possibilities have been suggested for Agatha’s natal origins. Catherine Keene sets out the various historiographical traditions in Saint Margaret, Queen of the Scots: A Life in Perspective (New York, 2013), pp. 13–18. For the possibility that Agatha was Iaroslav’s daughter, see especially Christian Raffensperger, Reimagining Europe: Kievan Rus’ in the Medieval World (Cambridge, MA, 2012), pp. 104–7, and Ties of Kinship: Gene-

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we know nothing of her whereabouts in the realm until 1068. Despite this, there is enough evidence to suggest that Edward the Confessor incorporated Edgar into the royal household and actively recognized the boy as his heir. The anonymous author of the Vita Ædwardi Regis, writing c. 1065–7, mentions Queen Edith’s care of royal children immediately after discussing her provision for King Edward: ‘why should we pass over in silence how zealously she reared, educated, adorned and showered with motherly love those children who were said to be from the family of the king himself?’27 Frank Barlow claimed that the Anonymous was here probably referring to Edith’s care of her brothers, who were described elsewhere in the text as ‘boys of royal stock’.28 Although the Anonymous does claim Earl Godwine’s sons are ‘de pignore regali’ and ‘pueri, regum de stirpe’ (which I would translate as ‘from royal kin’ and ‘boys from the lineage of kings’), these other references never explicitly link the brothers’ royal descent to King Edward himself.29 Edith’s involvement in raising ‘children who were said to be from the family of the king himself ’ (‘pueros, qui ex ipsius regis genere dicebantur’) is more likely, therefore, to refer to Edgar Ætheling, Edward’s great-nephew, and may also include his two sisters, Margaret and Christina, since the plural pueri can refer to children of both sexes. As in the German and French cases discussed above, turning to surviving documentary evidence supplements this picture of a child’s upbringing within the royal household. In an entry in the Liber Vitae of the New Minster at Winchester, which Tom Licence has recently dated to c. 1063–6, Edgar’s name appears directly after those of King Edward and Queen Edith, and he is addressed with the title clito, the Latin equivalent of ætheling, meaning ‘throne-worthy’.30 In Anglo-Saxon England, there could be multiple æthelings at any one time.31 Yet this does not seem to have been the case in the 1060s and, after his father’s death in 1057, Edgar

alogy and Dynastic Marriage in Kyivan Rus’ (Cambridge, MA, 2016), pp. 36–8, 327–30, as well as works cited therein. 27 ‘Quid eciam tacite transibimus, quanto studio pueros, qui ex ipsius regis genere dicebantur, enutrierit, docuerit, ornauerit et omnem maternum affectum in eis effuderit?’: Vita Ædwardi, pp. 24–5 (italics reflect where I have emended Barlow’s translation). For the work’s dating, see Tom Licence, ‘The Date and Authorship of the Vita Ædwardi regis’, ASE 44 (2015), 259–85; Elizabeth M. Tyler, England in Europe: English Royal Women and Literary Patronage, c.1000–c.1150, Toronto Anglo-Saxon Series 23 (Toronto, 2017), pp. 143–4. 28 Vita Ædwardi, ed. Barlow, p. lxvi. 29 Vita Ædwardi, pp. 60, 84. Through their mother, Gytha, Godwine’s children were related to the Danish kings (p. xxiii). 30 The Liber Vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey, Winchester: British Library Stowe 944, Together with Leaves from British Library Cotton Vespasian A.VIII and British Library Cotton Titus D.XXVII, ed. Simon Keynes (Copenhagen, 1996), p. 97, Plate IX (London, BL, Stowe 944, fol. 29r); Licence, ‘A Fresh Look at the Sources’, pp. 122–3. 31 D. N. Dumville, ‘The Ætheling: A Study in Anglo-Saxon Constitutional History’, ASE 8 (1979), 1–33, who does not mention Edgar’s appearance as clito in the Liber Vitae despite citing the text in relation to Æthelweard, the younger son of King Alfred (p. 10, n. 2).

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is the only individual to whom the title is applied before the Conquest.32 Since Edgar was the sole living descendant of an English king through the male line, this is hardly a startling revelation. However, there are suggestions in early eleventh-century lawcodes that the legal status of an ætheling was changing in the first half of the century, increasingly placing him second to the king.33 If so, a meaning of ‘designated heir’ may have been more implicit in the title by the mid-eleventh century, especially when there was only one ‘throne-worthy’ candidate available. Furthermore, Edgar’s appearance in the Liber Vitae alongside Edward and Edith intimates a similar context of king, queen and child heir as is seen in the contemporary continental examples of Henry IV and Philip I. The entry of the names together in this way hints at an intimate ‘familial affair’ or even ‘family function’, as Licence has shown.34 Edward the Confessor, having spent most of his own youth in Normandy, would have been familiar with continental practices of association.35 He may well have witnessed first-hand the ducal successions of both Robert I in 1027 and his son, William, as a child in 1035. Edward would also have heard news of the associative coronation of Henry I of France in 1027, then his succession as king in 1032. Despite Edgar’s Liber Vitae appearance, Stephen Baxter claims that it is hard to resist the conclusion that Edgar was ‘marginalised’ for the last few years of Edward’s reign, since the ætheling’s subscription does not feature in any royal diplomas between 1057 and 1066.36 We should be wary of interpreting the silence of the documentary sources as Edward’s deliberate side-lining of Edgar; æthelings did not consistently subscribe, as Baxter himself points out. Edward first appears shortly after his birth in the diplomas of his father, Æthelred II (d. 1016), but the boy’s subscriptions are sporadic during the initial decade of his life, and his younger brother, Alfred, appears even less often.37 Moreover, although subscriptions by the sons of reigning kings were relatively frequent occurrences, David Dumville has warned about arguing from the silence of charter witness-lists, especially in the context of grandsons and great-grandsons (and to this list we could perhaps add grand-nephews), for whom there was ‘scant diplomatic precedent’.38 A king’s intentions for the succession were patent when a child had been crowned and consecrated at royal request, and already bore the title of rex during his father’s lifetime. Thanks, in part, to their fathers’ associative actions, Henry IV succeeded Henry III as the ruler of the Empire in 1056 and Philip I obtained the kingdom of the Franks in 1060, both ascending to their thrones with relative ease. European 32

For Edgar as either aþeling or cild, or both: ASC, MSS DE, s.a. 1066, 1067, 1068, 1069, 1074. Dumville, ‘The Ætheling’, p. 32. 34 Licence, ‘A Fresh Look at the Sources’, p. 122. 35 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, pp. 39–42, for the little we can trace of Edward’s movements in France. 36 Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor’, pp. 101–3. 37 Barlow, Edward the Confessor, pp. 29–30. 38 Dumville, ‘The Ætheling’, pp. 12–13. And see Licence, ‘A Fresh Look at the Sources’, p. 120, for a more detailed critique of Baxter’s dismissal of Edgar. 33

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chroniclers present these accessions as uncomplicated and unchallenged. Writers from southern Germany, in Augsburg, Weissenburg and Bamberg, employ the verb succedere to describe Henry IV’s straightforward succession to his father’s throne.39 Flemish annals consistently describe the successions of both child kings using the same verb, emphasizing that the boys who succeeded were the sons of the previous kings.40 Linking a child’s succession with their father’s death accentuates the direct dynastic transfer of kingship in the French and German kingdoms. Whilst there is no immediate reason why these matters are relevant to the Conquest, in fact comparisons can be revealing. The monk Hariulf, writing from the abbey of St Riquier before 1088, reports an interesting story of the events of 1066: But after King Edward had died, a certain Earl Harold grasped the kingdom for himself against divine will (contra fas), and against the sacramental oath (contra fidem sacramenti) which he had sworn to the aforesaid king, pledging that he would concede the kingdom to the king’s great-nephew (pronepos), named Edgar, without any impediment.41

According to Hariulf, then, Edward had chosen to follow continental practices by securing an oath to a young boy who, although not his son, was from within his own lineage. At Edward’s death in January 1066, the dynastic and legitimate right to succession, as dictated by the predecessor, belonged not to Harold (nor indeed to Duke William later in the year), but to Edgar Ætheling. Ferdinand Lot, the editor of Hariulf ’s Chronicle, dismissed this story outright, claiming the author concocted ‘an imaginary oath’.42 Yet Hariulf ’s story deserves to be taken more seriously, as both van Houts and Licence have suggested.43 The abbey of St Riquier, through its abbot, Gervinus (1044–74), had close ties with both King Edward and Queen Edith. Hariulf notes the abbot’s close friendship with the English king and, although Gervinus’s relationship with Edith was fractious at first, since he snubbed the queen by refusing to accept her kiss of greeting, she later came round to his way 39

Annales Augustani, ed. G. H. Pertz, MGH SS 3 (Hanover, 1839), pp. 123–36 (p. 127); Annales Weissenburgenses, in Lamperti opera, ed. Holder-Egger, pp. 9–57 (p. 51); Frutolf of Michelsberg, ‘Chronicon’, in Frutolf und Ekkehards Chroniken und die anonyme Kaiserchronik, ed. and trans. Franz-Josef Schmale and Irene Schmale-Ott (Darmstadt, 1972), pp. 48–121 (p. 72); Vita Heinrici IV imperatoris, ed. W. Eberhard, MGH SS rer. Germ. 58 (Hanover, 1899), p. 13. 40 ‘Annales Blandinienses’, in Les annales de Saint-Pierre de Gand et de Saint Amand: Annales Blandinienses, Annales Elmarenses, Annales Formoselenses, Annales Elnonenses, ed. Philip Grierson (Brussels, 1937), pp. 1–73 (pp. 26–7). ‘Annales Formoselenses’, in ibid., pp. 116–31 (p. 127). 41 ‘Postquam autem mortuus est rex Ethguardus, Herioldus quidam comes regnum sibi accepit contra fas, et contra fidem sacramenti quod praedicto regi iuraverat, spondens quod pronepoti ipsius regis, nomine Elfgaro, regnum cederet absque ullo impedimento’: Hariulf, Chronique de l’abbaye de Saint-Riquier, ed. Ferdinand Lot (Paris, 1894), p. 241. Lot accepted ‘Elfgar’ as a scribal error for ‘Edgar’. 42 ‘un serment imaginaire’, Chronique, ed. Lot, p. 241, n. 3. 43 Van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, pp. 845–6; Licence, ‘Date and Authorship’, p. 263, n. 15; Licence, ‘A Fresh Look at the Sources’, pp. 123–4.

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of thinking, showered him with gifts and criticized her English clergy for accepting greetings from women in this way.44 It is also possible that Hariulf ’s report of the events of 1066 was a more contemporary account than has, to date, been recognized. Book IV of the Chronicle, in which Harold’s oath concerning Edgar appears, has usually been dated to 1088, but, at the end of the book, Hariulf claims to have been completing an earlier work begun by the monk Saxowal in honour of Saint Riquier. Saxowal accompanied Abbot Gervinus on his trip to England in 1068, where he may have heard stories of Harold’s behaviour which he then incorporated into his text. Hariulf could well have copied the account concerning Edgar straight from Saxowal’s earlier work, although, of course, there is also a possibility that Hariulf edited the original version of the tale, or even heard it elsewhere and then added it to the Chronicle as he was writing.45 In any case, the St Riquier monk reports a story of the English succession in which Edgar’s age had not prevented Edward from associating the boy with the throne, and this association took the form of securing an oath from the leading magnate to concede (cedere) the kingdom to the child. This version of events may well have been circulating in England in the initial year or two after the Conquest. Hariulf ’s account of the events of 1066 continues, claiming that Harold’s theft of the throne from Edgar then allowed William to become king of the English later in the year through divine intervention.46 William’s claim may have been a divinely sanctioned one, but the Norman duke was not Edward’s first choice as successor to the English kingship, and neither did William’s ascent to the throne fit a ‘typical’ royal succession in the eyes of this European writer. Hariulf was one of the few continental authors to refer both to the Norman ducal succession and to William’s accession to the English throne. The author’s contrasting record of these two events is informative. Only four chapters before stressing William’s reliance on divine intervention alone to secure England, Hariulf depicts the leadership of the Normans transferring neatly between members of one kin: from count Richard II to his sons, first Richard III, then Robert I, then on to Robert’s son William.47 Hariulf represents William’s ducal succession – which we should remember occurred when he was only seven or eight years old – as paternally dictated, dynastic and legitimate. In this, it resembles many of the narratives of Henry IV and Philip I’s royal 44 Hariulf,

Chronique, ed. Lot, pp. 237–8; Barlow, Edward the Confessor, p. 190; Tyler, England in Europe, pp. 240, 254. 45 Hariulf, Chronique, ed. Lot, pp. 283, 242. 46 ‘At cum regni potestate et fascibus iniuste uteretur, expulso Ethguardi pronepote Elfgaro, summus et super omnia potens Deus, in cuius iussu constant regna terrarum et qui donat ei cui vult, signo mirabili e caelo ostenso, destinavit Guillelmum ducem Northmannorum Anglorum regem fieri et quia veraciter Dei nutu idipsum Guillelmus appetebat, rei prosperitate probatum est’: Hariulf, Chronique, ed. Lot, p. 241. 47 ‘Verum Richardo marchione qui hoc nobis bonum contulerat obeunte, filio eius Richardo ducatum, quem pauco tempore tenuit, Roberto fratri relinquente, atque post hunc Robertum Guillelmo exurgente’: Hariulf, Chronique, ed. Lot, p. 223.

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successions and, of course, Hariulf ’s own representation of Edgar’s claim to the English throne. Since the community of St Riquier relied on William to confirm the English lands they had been granted during Edward’s reign, Hariulf had a vested interest in presenting the new king’s accession as having been wrought through God’s blessing.48 Even so, the monk’s version of events, especially the implication that Edgar had been Edward’s choice as heir, would surely not have sat well with the early Norman attempts to legitimize William’s claim, as we shall see. Other European chroniclers state the illegitimate nature of William’s actions in 1066 even more plainly, primarily because he gained the crown as the spoils of invasion and conquest, but perhaps also because his actions diverged wholly from recent continental examples of uncomplicated, straightforward and dynastic royal successions. This comes across most unmistakeably in the contemporary Flemish annals.49 According to a scribe writing the Annales Blandinienses very shortly after the events, William, count of the Normans, invaded the kingdom of the English, killing Harold, the rex Anglorum.50 All of the Flemish presentations of William’s actions use the verb invadere to describe his arrival in the English kingdom, basing his claim to the throne purely on the right of conquest rather than the sanction of deathbed designation, or on any dynastic basis.51 The Flemish portrayal of these events conflicts dramatically with the same annalists’ representations of Henry IV and Philip I’s successions in 1056 and 1060, recorded only a few annals earlier than that for 1066. Flemish writers did not view young age as a break in conventional legitimate succession, but they saw William’s violent invasion as unquestionably unorthodox. German chroniclers similarly stress the violence and warfare which the Norman duke brought upon the English kingdom. William acquired (acquirere) the kingdom ‘through a great strength of arms’, according to the Annals of Ottobeuren, written c. 1113.52 Frutolf of Michelsberg describes England as a land which William ‘grievously harried and then conquered’ before he became king.53 Although the figure of Harold only makes rare appearances in the European chronicles, Otto 48 See Hariulf, Chronique, ed. Lot, pp. 243–5, for William’s charter of 1068 confirming the abbey’s English lands. Helen M. Cam, ‘The English Lands of the Abbey of St. Riquier’, EHR 31 (1916), 443–7. 49 For a more extensive discussion of the context and content of the Flemish sources, see van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, pp. 843–5. 50 ‘Et Willelmus Nortmannorum comes invasit regnum Anglorum, interfecto in bello rege Anglorum Haroldo, et in die natalis Domini in regem unguitur in Londonia’: ‘Annales Blandinienses’, ed. Grierson, p. 28. 51 ‘Annales Formoselenses’, ed. Grierson, p. 127; ‘Annales Elnonenses’, in Les annales de SaintPierre de Gand, ed. Grierson, pp. 132–75 (p. 158). 52 ‘Wilhelmus comes magna bellorum vi Anglorum regnum acquirit’: Annales Ottenburani, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH SS 5 (Hanover, 1843), pp. 1–9 (p. 6). 53 ‘Eodem anno Anglia per Willihelmum Nortmannicum miserabiliter afflicta tandemque subacta ipse rex eius effectus est’: Frutolf of Michelsberg, Chronicon, p. 78; trans. van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, p. 841.

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of Freising’s account stresses that William, comes of the Normans, was responsible for King Harold’s death.54 Some German writers do not even seem to have known that Duke William was to blame for the invasion and subjection of the English kingdom, since they record only the murder of many Anglo-Saxon men, not the outcome of the slaughter.55 The particulars of the political situation in the English kingdom in the 1050s and early 1060s were largely unknown, or of little interest, to chroniclers on mainland Europe, irrespective of whether they were writing from St Riquier, Ghent or Bamberg. Yet, to these same men, the events of 1066 mattered. Overwhelmingly, the way in which European writers chose to represent William’s actions for their audiences, or for posterity, was as the invasion of the English kingdom by a Norman duke who brought violence to its people and removed a crowned king.56 John Beckerman emphasized many years ago that both Harold’s and William’s claims to succeed Edward could be accepted as valid at the time, ideas which Ann Williams refined a few years later.57 To the majority of contemporary and near-contemporary European commentators, however, William’s claim was certainly not valid and, at least in northern France where the events of January 1066 were probably known in greater detail, neither was Harold’s. That communities in France, Flanders and the Empire overwhelmingly perceived William’s actions to have been illegitimate explains, in part, the concerted campaign of Norman writers such as William of Poitiers and William of Jumièges to present the events leading to Duke William’s coronation in terms which would be acceptable on a wider European stage. Modern historians usually suggest the early Norman representations of the Conquest, and that in the Carmen de Hastingae Proelio, were governed by the conscious aim of undermining any claim Harold may have had to the English throne. To this, we could also add these contemporary writers’ desire to counteract Edgar Ætheling’s claim. Whilst chroniclers writing from the German and French kingdoms do not mention oaths sworn to William or visits to the duke from Robert of Jumièges or Earl Harold, these occasions were crucial to the stories told by Norman writers.58 William of Poitiers maintains that Edward designated William as his heir and then required magnates to confirm his pledge to the duke 54

Otto of Freising, Chonica sive historia de duabus civitatibus, ed. A. Hofmeister, MGH SS rer. Germ. 45, 2nd edn (Hanover, 1912), p. 304. 55 Annales Altahenses maiores, ed. Edmund L. B. von Oefele, MGH SS rer. Germ. 4 (Hanover, 1891), p. 72; trans. in van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, p. 841. See also Annales Augustani, ed. Pertz, p. 128. 56 See Bates, ‘Wider Western European World’, p. 87, for the idea that monastic observers across Europe saw the Conquest as a serious threat to the authority of kingship. 57 Beckerman, ‘Succession in Normandy’, pp. 258–60. Williams, ‘Some Notes and Considerations’, pp. 165–7, dismisses the idea that the promise of the throne was viewed as a post obitum bequest in England but concedes that the verbal statement may have had the force of a bequest in Normandy. 58 Gesta Guillelmi, p. 20, for Robert’s visit to William; ibid., p. 68, for Harold’s oath to William. See also GND, 2:158–60.

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with oaths, but it is well known that this was a projection of Norman practice onto an English situation.59 George Garnett noted the remarkable similarity between William’s supposed designation and Norman ducal designation assemblies, which had no precedent in Anglo-Saxon England.60 William’s designation as king did have a precedent beyond the borders of the Norman duchy, however. The circumstances William of Poitiers describes are comparable to those discussed above, in which the emperor organized magnate oaths to his young son, Henry IV. Consequently, William of Poitiers’s claim should be viewed as a projection of wider European associative practice which would have been recognizable across at least the French and German kingdoms. It is therefore significant that when Norman writers wanted to bolster William’s claim to the English throne, it was to a woman and mother that they turned: Emma of Normandy. This choice is especially intriguing considering that, as we have seen, royal women were semi-anonymous in near-contemporary French and German accounts of their sons’ associations. According to William of Poitiers, Duke William’s blood tie to the English throne came through his relationship to King Edward’s mother: And if anyone asks the reason for this blood claim, it is well-known that he was related to King Edward by close ties of blood, being the son of Duke Robert, whose aunt, Emma, the sister of Richard II and daughter of Richard I, was Edward’s mother.61

Other writers refer to William’s relationship to Edward, or to the duke’s ‘hereditary right’ to the kingship of the English, but William of Poitiers is the only writer to specify that Duke William’s dynastic claim to the kingdom came through his greataunt Emma.62 If Edgar’s claim to the English throne was still a cause of anxiety in the immediate aftermath of the Conquest, as seems increasingly likely, the use of Emma as the vessel for William’s claim is directly relevant. Edgar’s blood right was asserted as Edward the Confessor’s grand-nephew, pronepos; William of Poitier’s assertion of Duke William’s blood right displays his connection to Edward similarly through three degrees of kinship. It is an interesting paradox that, whilst Norman writers were attempting to project William’s progression to the English throne as legitimate on a European stage, monastic writers across Germany and France, with only a few exceptions, 59

Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 68, 70, 120; Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor’, pp. 88–9, for the inconsistencies in William of Poitiers’ account of the oaths. 60 George Garnett, ‘Coronation and Propaganda: Some Implications of the Norman Claim to the Throne of England in 1066: The Alexander Prize Essay’, TRHS 36 (1986), 91–116 (p. 97), and Conquered England, pp. 4, 185–6. See also Baxter, ‘Edward the Confessor’, p. 89. 61 ‘Et si ratio sanguinis poscitur, pernotum est quam proxima consanguinitate regem Edwardum attigerit filius ducis Rodberti, cuius amita Ricardi secundi soror, filia primi, Emma, genitrix fuit Edwardi’: Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 150–1. 62 The Carmen de Hastingae proelio of Guy Bishop of Amiens, ed. and trans. Frank Barlow (Oxford, 1999), pp. 4, 14, 18, for William’s claim to the throne in hereditary terms.

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presented the events of 1066 as bereft from any associative context. It was not until more than forty years after the Conquest that a continental, but non-Norman, author professed that Edward the Confessor, before his death, had associated the duke with the English crown. In his Modernorum regum Francorum actus of c. 1114, Hugh of Fleury claims that because Edward, king of the English, had not had a son, he adopted William and relinquished the kingdom to him (‘Siquidem rex Anglorum Eduardus, cum non haberet filium, adoptaverat prefatum Willelmum, et suum ei reliquerat regnum’).63 Hugh’s assertion that Edward’s choice of William as his heir took the form of an official adoption demonstrates that these were the circumstances of association most familiar, and most acceptable, to the monastic writer, in which a father passes his kingdom on to his son. Hugh offered his history of France to the conqueror’s granddaughter, Matilda (1102–67), who in 1114 was only twelve years old and living in the German kingdom as the wife of Emperor Henry V (1086–1125), eldest son of Henry IV. It is likely that Hugh fashioned his representation of Matilda’s grandfather’s succession to meet with familial approval, but perhaps Hugh also had a German audience in mind. Nonetheless, even when writing for William’s granddaughter, Hugh did not claim that the duke had received a more public recognition as Edward’s heir. Once again, placing this account into a cross-European framework is instructive. Hugh’s juxtaposition of a description of Philip I’s coronation at Reims in 1059 only a few lines before discussing William’s ascent to the English throne particularly exposes the lack of any larger public ceremony of association attached to William’s claim to the kingship. Prior to Philip’s succession, the Archbishop Gervais had consecrated the boy as king in the presence of archbishops, bishops, abbots and papal legates.64 William is simply said to have had Edward’s adoption. The lack of specificity regarding the circumstances involved is telling of Hugh’s uncertainty around these events. Unlike early Norman accounts of William’s succession, or indeed Hariulf ’s account of Edgar’s claim, Hugh did not assert that leading magnates had ever confirmed with oaths Edward’s choice of William as heir. By the 1130s, several decades after William’s death in 1087 and likely shortly after Edgar Ætheling’s death, we can see the merging of Hariulf and Hugh of Fleury’s accounts (or at least the stories underpinning them) in the second version of the Leges Edwardi Confessoris. The anonymous author first claims: Edgarum, filium eius, secum retinuit et nutriuit pro filio. Et quia heredem putabat eum facere, nominauit adeling, quod nos dicimus domicellum; sed nos de pluribus, quia filios baronum uocamus domicellos, Angli autem nullum preter filios regum.

63

Hugh of Fleury, Hugonis liber qui modernorum regum Francorum continet actus, ed. G. Waitz, MGH SS 9 (Hanover, 1851), pp. 374–95 (p. 389); Gesta Guillelmi, p. 114, for a similar AngloNorman account. And see van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, p. 846. 64 Hugh of Fleury, Modernorum regum, pp. 389–90.

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(He [Edward the Confessor] kept with him and raised his [Edward Ætheling’s] son Edgar as if he were his own son. And since he thought to make him his heir, he named him adeling, as we would say ‘little lord’; however, we use it for more people, since we call the sons of barons little lords. The English, however, call no one this except the sons of kings.)65

Thus far, this version of events not only agrees with Hariulf, but goes even further in stating Edgar’s inclusion in Edward’s household pro filio, rather than merely as the king’s pronepos. At least from a later twelfth-century perspective, then, the king’s decision to title Edgar ætheling/adeling was an explicit expression of the boy’s designation as heres. The author goes on to say: Rex autem Edwardus, quia cognouit nequiciam gentis sue et maxime filiorum Godwini, scilicet Haroldi, Tosti, Guiti, Lefwini, comperit quod non posset esse stabile uel firmum de Adgaro, et adoptauit Willelmum ducem Normannorum, filium Rodberti auunculi sui, qui postea, auxiliante Deo conquisiuit rectum suum bello contra supradictum Haroldum. (Moreover, because King Edward recognized the wickedness of his people, especially of the sons of Godwine, namely Harold, Tostig, Gyrth, and Leofwine, he knew that nothing concerning Edgar would be able to be stable or firm, and he adopted William, duke of the Normans, son of his uncle Robert, who afterward, with God’s help, procured his right by battle against the aforementioned Harold.)66

The second half of the 1066 story in the Leges Edwardi Confessoris therefore amalgamates the claim that Edward adopted William with the intertwined presence of divine blessing and military might. The notion that Edgar’s claim could not be stable or firm, or perhaps that the kingdom would not be if he was king, does not appear in either the earlier continental sources or the Norman accounts.67 And even in this later report of events, Edgar’s young age is not mentioned, in an apt warning that modern historians cannot assume that it was his youth alone which elicited concerns regarding political stability. The author of the Leges evidently believed the root cause of any possible instability should instead be traced back to some of the English magnates, especially Earl Godwine’s sons. Age was not a barrier to association with the throne nor, ultimately, to succession, but it could still be an obstacle to governing a kingdom. Initially, the boy kings Henry IV and Philip I surmounted the difficulty presented by their young age with the backing of their mothers, Agnes of Poitou and Anne of Kiev, who stepped into the role of guardian. At Henry III’s deathbed in 1056, the emperor entrusted

65

Gesetze, 1:665; ECf2, ed. O’Brien, ch. 35.1, for translation and commentary. Gesetze, 1:666; ECf2, ed. O’Brien, ch. 35.2 (my emendation in italics). 67 The subject of the phrase is uncertain, as Bruce O’Brien highlights in his commentary on the Leges: ECf2, ed. O’Brien, ch. 35.2. 66

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Henry IV to Agnes’s protection, and the boy ‘began to reign with his mother’.68 Lampert of Hersfeld notes that the affairs of the realm were under Agnes’s protection or guardianship (tutare).69 The empress’s choice of counsellors, especially her reliance on the intimate advice of Bishop Henry of Augsburg to the exclusion of all others, displeased some of the magnates.70 In the ‘Kaiserswerth coup’ of 1062, German princes led by Anno, archbishop of Cologne (1056–75), kidnapped the boy king from the royal palace and transferred ‘the administration of the kingdom’ into their own hands.71 Although Agnes returned to court to provide advice and counsel a few years later, Henry was no longer under her protection.72 Instead, the boy and his kingdom came under the guardianship (in tutela) of Archbishop Anno, who was later aided by Archbishop Adalbert of Hamburg-Bremen (1043–72).73 Meanwhile, in France, a royal act issued in 1061 acknowledges that when King Henry I was dying, Philip received the kingdom ‘as one with my mother’.74 I have argued elsewhere for Anne of Kiev’s prominent involvement in governing the French kingdom in the initial years of her son’s minority.75 Her guardianship role only lasted until her remarriage to Ralph IV (d. 1074), count of Crépy and Valois, which probably took place in 1062, the same year as Agnes’s forcible removal from power. From then on, as in Germany, a magnate, not the king’s mother, administered the affairs of the kingdom. Philip’s uncle-by-marriage, Count Baldwin V of Flanders (d. 1067), begins to appear in royal acts alongside the boy king from 1063, and Baldwin defines his own position as Philip’s procurator et baiulus when the king confirmed the count’s endowment to a church in Lille in 1066.76 Magnate guardianship lasted until Henry and Philip reached an appropriate age of maturity, roughly associated 68

‘Heinricus quartus…cum matre cepit regnare’: Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicon, ed. I. S. Robinson, MGH SS rer. Germ. N. S. 14 (Hanover, 2003), pp. 161–381 (p. 182). See also Frutolf of Michelsberg, Chronicon, p. 72. 69 ‘Summa tamen rerum et omnium quibus facto opus erat administratio penes imperatricem remansit, quae tanta arte periclitantis rei publicae statum tutata est’: Lampert of Hersfeld, Annalen, p. 69. 70 Lampert of Hersfeld, Annalen, p. 79; Berthold of Reichenau, Chronicon, p. 185. 71 ‘ut a matre puerum distraherent et regni administrationem in se transferrent’: Lampert of Hersfeld, Annalen, p. 80. 72 See Briefsammlungen der Zeit Heinrichs IV, ed. Carl Erdmann and Norbert Fickermann, MGH Briefe d. dt. Kaiserzeit 5 (Weimar, 1950), no. 23, p. 218, for Agnes’s return to court. 73 Heinrici IV diplomata: Die Urkunden Heinrichs IV, ed. Dietrich von Gladiss and Alfred Gawlik, MGH DD reg. et imp. Germ. 6, 3 vols (1941–78), vol. I, no. 161 (p. 210). For Adalbert’s role: Edgar N. Johnson, ‘Adalbert of Hamburg–Bremen: A Politician of the Eleventh Century’, Speculum 9 (1934), 147–79; Robinson, Henry IV, pp. 45–6, 51–3. 74 ‘Domno vero Henrico rege obeunte, dum ego Philippus, filius eius, admodum parvulus, regnum unacum matre suscepissem’: Recueil des actes de Philippe Ier, roi de France, 1059–1108, ed. M. Prou (Paris, 1908), no. 13 (p. 40). 75 Emily Joan Ward, ‘Anne of Kiev (c. 1024–c.1075) and a Reassessment of Maternal Power in the Minority Kingship of Philip I of France’, Historical Research 89 (2016), 435–53. 76 Recueil, ed. Prou, no. 25 (p. 71).

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with the fifteenth year of their lives. A boy’s fifteenth year was commonly seen to be the end of masculine childhood, as well as later marking the canonical age at which male adolescents could give their consent to marriage, indicating their entrance into marital, and thus sexual, maturity. Henry received his entry into knighthood, a marker of aristocratic male maturity, at the age of fourteen when he was girded with his sword at Worms over Easter 1065.77 Less evidence is available to date Philip’s knighting, which may have taken place when he was a similar age, but the king’s fifteenth year nevertheless seems to have held some significance as the moment he began to take back the reins of power from his uncle. In the second half of 1066, about the same time as the Norman Conquest, Philip confirmed two royal judgements in favour of the abbey of St Médard in Soissons. In one, the king speaks of the period when he was ‘under Baldwin’s guardianship (sub tutore) … in the days of my childhood’ as a past event; the other states that a grievance was brought to the king after he had withdrawn from Baldwin’s mundiburdium.78 Both these terms had legal connotations: tutor in the sense of an individual acting on behalf of a minor unable to manage his own affairs, and mundiburdium as a Germanic legal term which emphasizes paternal authority over dependents. This has relevance to the competing claims for the kingship in 1066. The contemporaneous examples of Henry IV and Philip I demonstrate that if Edgar had not yet reached his fifteenth year in 1066, which seems almost certain, he would have needed a guardian to overcome the difficulties of his age. A reconsideration of events at Edward the Confessor’s deathbed, as recorded in the Vita Ædwardi, is pertinent here, taking into consideration the guardianship of royal children and the kingdom. The Anonymous claims that King Edward, after addressing some dying words to his wife, turned to Harold: Porrectaque manu ad predictum nutricium suum fratrem Haroldum, ‘Hanc’, inquit, ‘cum omni regno tutandam tibi commendo, ut pro domina et sorore ut est fideli serues et honores obsequio, ut, quoad uixerit, a me adepto non priuetur honore debito’. (And stretching forth his hand to his governor [?], her brother, Harold, he said, ‘I commend this woman and all the kingdom to your protection. Serve and honour her with faithful obedience as your lady and sister, which she is, and do not despoil her, as long as she lives, of any due honour got from me.’)79 77

Annales Weissenburgenses, ed. Holder-Egger, p. 53. For the role of knighting as a rite of passage to adulthood in the eleventh century, see Max Lieberman, ‘A New Approach to the Knighting Ritual’, Speculum 90 (2015), 391–423 (pp. 401, 412–13, 423); Emily Joan Ward, ‘Child Kingship and Notions of (Im)maturity in North-Western Europe, 1050–1262’, ANS 40 (2018), 197–211 (esp. pp. 207–8). 78 ‘Dum sub tutore degerem Balduino…in diebus puerice mee’: Recueil, ed. Prou, no. 27 (p. 80); ibid., no. 28 (p. 85). 79 Vita Ædwardi, pp. 122–3 (my italics, for emphasis).

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In describing Harold as nutricius, the author repeats a title used earlier in the work to describe the ‘brother earls’ Harold and Tostig. Barlow translated nutricius first as protector, then as governor.80 Yet these two examples from the Vita are the only instances the DMLBS provides in which nutricius carries the sense of ‘protector’. More commonly, the word has explicit connections to the education and raising of young princes, and means an advisor, tutor, or guardian. It is possible the Anonymous merely intended the title nutricius to be a (not so) subtle disparagement of Edward, implying that he was unable to rule without the Godwine family. Another suggestion can be posed in light of Elizabeth Tyler’s clear demonstration, firstly, that the Vita Ædwardi can no longer be seen simply as a Godwinist account of Edward’s reign and, secondly, that the Anonymous was writing for diverse audiences with sophisticated knowledge both of court politics and of Latin.81 Did the Anonymous’s description of Harold as nutricius in fact imply the earl’s role in Edgar Ætheling’s education, and an expectation that, after Edward’s death, Harold would be the kingdom’s guardian with a boy king on the throne? The speech the Anonymous attributes to Edward is certainly suggestive in this respect. Using the verb tutare, the author claims Edward commended the kingdom, and Queen Edith, to Harold’s guardianship. Continental writers frequently described the arrangements for the boy kings Henry IV and Philip I, and their kingdoms, in similar language using derivatives of tutare, as I have already shown. Van Houts suggested that, if Harold did indeed swear an oath to Edgar as Hariulf of St Riquier reports, this should be dated to the early 1060s.82 An alternative reading of the deathbed passage from the Vita allows a different possibility to be suggested: that Edward, as he lay dying, made Harold swear an oath to his great-nephew, or at least reconfirm an earlier oath, that he would protect the kingdom for the child. Even more significantly, Book One of the Vita Ædwardi ends with a description of Henry I of France entrusting Count Baldwin V of Flanders with the care of the royal children and guardianship of the French kingdom: ‘When Henry died he left to him [Baldwin] his children of tender age to bring up (filios suos ei nutriendos reliquit), and put in his charge (in eius tutela commisit), until they should grow to manhood, the kingdom of the Franks.’83 Both in the circumstances being described and in the use of the terms nutrire and tutela, the ending to Book One parallels (and deliberately foreshadows?) the scene at Edward’s deathbed which concludes Book Two. If the Anonymous is here suggestively comparing, and contrasting, the case of Baldwin alongside the unnamed Philip in France with Harold alongside the unnamed Edgar in England, the picture he paints is, as usual, complex to interpret and open to multiple readings. Baldwin’s guardianship is said to have conflicted 80

Vita Ædwardi, p. 64. England in Europe, passim, but especially chapters 4 and 5. 82 Van Houts, ‘Through European Eyes’, p. 846. 83 ‘Obiens autem tenerioris etatule filios suos ei nutriendos reliquit, regnumque Francorum, dum illi in uiros adolescerent, in eius tutela commisit’: Vita Ædwardi, pp. 82–3. 81 Tyler,

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with the affairs of his own principality, and the care of the royal children had to be paid for from his own pocket.84 This could have been intended as a timely warning for Harold. In Edward’s deathbed speech, the king entrusts his queen, rather than the royal children, to Harold with the kingdom. It is conceivable, then, that Edith, too, had a role to play in Edgar’s guardianship. The Anonymous also adds that Edward, from his deathbed, entrusted Harold equally, pariter, with a second task: Commendo pariter etiam eos qui natiuam terram suam reliquerunt causa amoris mei, michique hactenus fideliter sunt obsecuti, ut, suscepta ab eis, si ita uolunt, fidelitate, eos tuearis et retineas, aut tua defensione conductos, cum omnibus que sub me adquisierunt, cum salute ad propria trans[fr] etari facias. (Likewise I also commend those who have left their native land because of [their] love for me, and have up till now served me faithfully. Take fealty from them, if they should so wish, and protect and retain them, or send them with your safe conduct safely across the sea to their own homes with all that they have acquired in my service.)85

This passage is utterly ambiguous if read with Edgar Ætheling in mind. Edgar and his family had crossed the sea to come to England to serve King Edward’s purposes. Were they now also to swear fealty to Harold? Or was Harold to accept fealty from others on Edgar’s behalf? Was the Anonymous even providing the earl with a get-out clause, implying that Edgar’s fate was in Harold’s hands, and that he could decide whether to retain the boy in England or send him back to the land of his birth?86 The author leaves all these questions unanswered, and likely deliberately so. Ultimately, to quote Hariulf, Harold ‘unjustly made use of the power and symbols of authority of the kingdom’ and, rejecting Edgar, was crowned king in Westminster Abbey on 6 January 1066, the day of Edward’s funeral.87 Age alone did not constitute an obstruction to succession, and assertions that Edgar Ætheling did not gain the kingship in 1066 simply because of his youth do not stand up to scrutiny. Inevitably, then, we must assume that Edgar’s age was less at fault for the failure of the ætheling’s claim than magnate commitment: and here that commitment would have needed to go further than the support required by an adult claimant to the throne. Edgar clearly did not have such support in January 1066 against Earl Harold, but there is evidence that it was more forthcoming later 84

Vita Ædwardi, p. 82. Vita Ædwardi, pp. 122–5, with translation slightly emended. 86 Licence, ‘A Fresh Look at the Sources’, p. 124, n. 50, who rightly points out that we have no knowledge of Edgar’s whereabouts until late 1066, and there is at least a possibility that Harold expelled the boy after the coronation in January. 87 ‘At cum regni potestate et fascibus injuste uteretur, expulso Ethguardi pronepote Elfgaro’: Hariulf, Chronique, ed. Lot, p. 241. See Björn Weiler, ‘The rex renitens and the Medieval Ideal of Kingship, ca. 900–ca. 1250’, Viator 31 (2000), 1–42 (p. 15), for opinions regarding the undue haste of Harold’s coronation. 85

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that year. After Harold’s death at the Battle of Hastings on 14 October, the city of London closed its gates and held out against William, turning to support Edgar Ætheling ‘as was his natural right’, according to the ‘D’ version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. Ealdred, archbishop of York (1060–9), recognized Edgar as king, as did the earls Eadwine and Morcar and the citizens of London.88 If Edgar’s supporters were at all aware that, in October 1066, a fifteen-year-old boy was on the throne of the German kingdom and a fourteen-year-old boy was king of the French, it would not have seemed so far-fetched that a child between the ages of nine and fifteen could now succeed to the English throne. William of Poitiers’ statement that the people in London raised Edgar, ‘a boy in years, of the noble stock of King Edward’, as king should not be read as a criticism, especially considering the praise the same author steeps on Duke William’s deeds as duke at a comparably young age.89 William of Poitiers’ comment bears a close resemblance to many chronicle representations of the successions of child kings such as Henry IV and Philip I, as well as emphasizing Edgar’s sound dynastic claim to the English throne regardless of his age. Many decades later, Orderic Vitalis (d. c. 1142) attributes to Guitmond, a monk of the abbey of La-Croix-Saint-Leufroi, a speech in which he tells King William that ‘Edgar Atheling and several others of the royal line are, according to the laws of the Hebrews and other peoples, nearer heirs to the English crown’.90 The London citizens may have been unaware of the parallels between Edgar and the adolescent kings on the continent, but the magnates who turned to Edgar after Harold’s death cannot have been so ignorant. Archbishop Ealdred first visited the Empire in the second half of 1054, when he was bishop of Worcester (1042–62), spending almost a year with Emperor Henry III and Hermann, archbishop of Cologne (d. 1056), before returning to England in 1055.91 Michael Lapidge has drawn attention to Ealdred’s involvement in conveying liturgical practices from Cologne back to England, but Cologne’s influence on Ealdred may have extended beyond liturgy.92 It is highly likely that Ealdred met the child heir to the German throne, Henry IV, who travelled with the imperial court and was present along88

ASC, MS D, s.a. 1066; trans. Swanton, Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, p. 199. ‘Regem statuerant Edgarum Athelinum, ex Edwardi regis nobilitate annis puerum’: Gesta Guillelmi, p. 146. Chibnall’s translation, ‘of the noble stock of King Edward, but a boy in years’ (my italics), adds a derogatory element which is not necessarily present in the original Latin text (p. 147). 90 ‘Edgarus Adelinus aliique plures ex linea regalis prosapiae orti secundum leges Haebreorum aliarumque gentium propinquiores sunt haeredes diadematis Anglici’: Orderic, Ecclesiastical History, 2:276–7. 91 ASC, MS D, s.a. 1054; Hooper, ‘Edgar the Ætheling’, p. 201; Körner, The Battle of Hastings, pp. 200–205; ‘Ealdred 37 Ealdred Archbishop of York (d. 1069)’, in PASE. 92 Michael Lapidge, ‘Ealdred of York and MS. Cotton Vitellius E. XII’, in Anglo-Latin Literature, 900–1066, ed. Michael Lapidge (London, 1993), pp. 453–67 (p. 454); The Historians of the Church of York and its Archbishops, ed. James Raine, 3 vols, Rolls Series 71 (London, 1879–94), 2:344–54 (p. 345). 89

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side his father and mother in several diplomas during the year Ealdred was in the kingdom. Henry IV’s coronation had taken place shortly before Ealdred’s arrival, and the English bishop would no doubt have heard about the ceremony from his host in Cologne, even perhaps from the emperor himself.93 By Ealdred’s visit to Hungary in 1058, the emperor had died, and Henry IV was now ruling as king with Agnes acting as guardian. In September that year, Agnes escorted her sevenyear-old son to the Empire’s eastern border to seal a peace with the Hungarians and formalize the betrothal between Henry’s underage sister, Judith, and Solomon (1053–87), the underage son of King Andreas I of Hungary.94 Judith returned to Hungary with her betrothed. Strong kinship and political ties linked the Empire and Hungary throughout Henry IV’s minority. When Andreas died in 1060, Solomon and his mother, Anastasia – another daughter of Iaroslav of Kiev and Ingegerd of Sweden, and sister of Anne of Kiev – fled to Henry’s court. The young king’s first military campaign was to Hungary in 1063 to support Solomon’s claim to the throne. Archbishop Ealdred, therefore, was not only aware of boy rulers and child claimants to the thrones of other kingdoms, he had almost certainly met some of them himself. When Ealdred turned to support Edgar Ætheling in London, he would have been familiar with the problems entailed in a child’s succession, whilst also confident that these problems were not insurmountable with the right people around the boy king. Contemporary European cases demonstrated that age was no barrier to succession, as did earlier Anglo-Saxon examples.95 Edgar had the strongest legitimate claim to the English kingship, the support of magnates, an archbishop to crown him, and a logistically crucial location under the control of his supporters. The guardianship question may have arisen again in October 1066. The author of the Carmen, in describing Edgar as only ‘the image of a king’ (statua regis) during the London siege, implies that a guardian would still have been necessary for Edgar in late 1066, as had been the case earlier in the year at Edward’s deathbed.96 Maybe Ealdred, inspired by the recent Cologne precedent of Hermann’s successor, Archbishop Anno, governing the Empire for Henry IV, aspired to occupy a similar political role alongside Edgar. Perhaps the magnates in London discussed possible guardianship arrangements and could not agree on a viable candidate for the position. One further suggestion is worth considering. Recent European examples had shown that a child king’s initial succession and rule was usually mediated by his mother. If Edgar’s mother, Agatha, was indeed a daughter of Iaroslav the Wise, one of her sisters, Anne of Kiev, had already undertaken the guardianship of her young

93

King, ‘Ealdred, Archbishop of York’, pp. 127–8. Annales Altahenses maiores, ed. von Oefele, pp. 54–5; Claudia Zey, ‘Frauen und Töchter der salischen Herrscher. Zum Wandel salischer Heiratspolitik in der Krise’, in Die Salier, das Reich und der Niederrhein, ed. Tilman Struve (Cologne, 2008), pp. 47–98 (p. 69). 95 Hooper, ‘Edgar the Ætheling’, p. 202 n. 30, who mentions the tenth-century examples of Eadwig, Edward the Martyr, Æthelred, and Edgar king of the Mercians. 96 Carmen, ed. Barlow, pp. 38–9. 94

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son and the French kingdom, whilst a second sister, Anastasia, had sought protection for her boy at the German court, encouraging another child king and his guardians to support her son’s claim. We are entirely uninformed of any location or itinerary for Agatha throughout 1066. After the Conquest, she left the English court in 1068 with her children, ending up at the court of Malcolm III, king of Scots.97 Agatha’s absence from contemporary chronicle sources is unsurprising. Yet if she was present in London with Edgar when the English magnates raised him as king, was she also considered a possible guardian for her son? If Agatha was not in the city, did her absence ultimately make it impossible for Edgar to succeed, or make the claim too hard to pursue? These are questions that, unfortunately, we cannot answer, but placing Edgar’s case in comparison with contemporary experiences in France and Germany suggests that we may have a missing woman playing a hidden but pivotal role in the circumstances which led to William’s coronation. There are two things of which we can be more confident. Firstly, that European chroniclers would have been far more favourable to the succession of the boy Edgar in 1066 than they were to the invader William. And, secondly, that unlike William’s conquest and accession to the English throne, which generated a propaganda campaign aimed at retrospectively publicizing the validity of his claim, the succession of the child king Edgar would have needed no such immediate demonstration of legitimacy.

97

Ælred of Rievaulx, Genealogia regum Anglorum, PL 195:734–5.

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Index Page numbers in bold refer to illustrations Italicised names/places follow the conventions used elsewhere in the volume Abbotsbury (Dorset), abbey  13, 255 Aber Gwili (Carmarthensire), battle at  289 Abou-el-Haj, Barbara  192 Abrams, Lesley  151 Adalbert, archbishop of HamburgBremen  30 n.41, 346 Adalbert of Egmond, St  268 Adaldag, archbishop of HamburgBremen 30 Adam (biblical)  190, 227, 230, 232, 233 Adam of Bremen  29–30, 38–9, 166, 209 Adela, countess of Blois, daughter of William and Matilda  83, 213, 231 Adela, countess of Flanders  258 Adelaide, countess of Aumale  246, 247, 249 Adelard of Bath  215 Adele, wife of Gerald Boctoy  258 Adeliza of Louvain, queen of England  223 Adeliza, wife of Hugh of Grandmesnil  246 Adelulf, abbot of Saint-Bertin  267 Adémar of Chabannes  282 Ælfgar, bishop of Elmham  162 n.107 Ælfgar, earl of Mercia  14, 288, 290, 292–5, 305 Ælfgifu ‘of Northampton’  37, 78, 189 Ælfgifu, queen of the English, wife of Edmund I  234 Ælfgyue see Emma of Normandy Ælfheah (Elphege), St, archbishop of Canterbury  36, 191, 192, 199 Canterbury Cathedral window  192 cult of  158–62, 163–4 Lanfranc’s opinion of  160–1 martyrdom  27, 33, 35–6, 158, 191 translation  5, 6 n.14, 71, 159–60, 191 See also Osbern Ælfhelm, ealdorman  37

Ælfhun, bishop of London  160 Ælfred, son of Westou  149 Ælfric, archbishop of Canterbury  191 Ælfric Modercope  270 Ælfric of Eynsham  21, 187, 311, 312 Ælfsige, monk  149 Ælfstan, abbot of St Augustine’s  270 Ælfthryth, queen of the English  79 n.66, 237–8, 239 Ælfwig, bishop of London  160 Ælfwine, abbot of Ramsey  58 n.77, 270, 277 Ælfwine, bishop of East Anglia  153 Ælfwine see Alboynus Ælle, king of the South Saxons  18 Aelred of Rievaulx  232–6, 237–8, 240 Genealogia regum Anglorum  232–4, 235 Life of Edward 240 Aeneas  212, 215, 226 Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians  25, 235–6 Æthelgar, archbishop of Canterbury  268 Æthelmær, ealdorman of Devon  38 Æthelnoth, archbishop of Canterbury  6, 158, 164, 191, 268 dedication of Bury  154 visit to Rome  269 Æthelred II, ‘the Unready’, king of the English  5, 18, 21, 22, 29, 63, 67, 187, 200, 268, 274, 286 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle account  77, 80–1 charters  7, 8 n.23, 9, 11, 338 coinage  28, 86–8, 92, 93, 94–5 contact with Europe  272–3 contact with Rome  280 coronation 238 deposition  21, 38

405

INDEX

elites  6, 14 enslavement 170 law  44, 46, 47–8, 49, 61, 266 marriage  33, 185, 208, 229, 234, 249, 272–3 mother  234, 237–8 Normandy exile  58, 273 return from  38, 39, 48, 65, 273 sons  79, 80, 156, 160 tomb  71, 279 Vikings  26, 27, 28, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37–8, 272 See also treaties Æthelric, archbishop-elect of Canterbury 275 Æthelric of Bocking  8, 29 Æthelsige, abbot of St Augustine’s  271, 285 Æthelstan A, scribe  8 Æthelstan, king of the West Saxons  8 n.23, 61, 88, 143 Æthelthryth, St  162, 198 n.43 Æthelweard, ealdorman of Wessex  279 Æthelwold, bishop of Durham  197 Æthelwold, bishop of Winchester  198 Æthelwulf, king of Wessex  233 Agafia see Agatha Agatha (Agafia), wife of Edward the Exile  208, 336, 351–2 Agnes of Poitou, empress, wife of Emperor Henry III  334–6, 351 Aidan, bishop of Lindisfarne  197 Aiulf, sheriff of Dorset  103, 260, 261 Alahis, duke of Brescia  66, 70 Alan of Lille  215 Alan Niger (‘the Black’)  220 Alan Rufus (‘the Red’), count of Brittany  219, 220 Alboynus (Ælfwine)  271 Aldhelm, St  228 Alexander II, pope  73, 177 n.68, 313–14 Alfred, ætheling  160, 185, 338 Alfred of Lincoln  260–1 Alfred of Wareham see Alfred of Lincoln Alfred, son of Turold see Alfred of Lincoln Alfred the Great, king of Wessex, and Anglo-Saxons  24, 47, 55, 144, 147, 234, 235, 271 dynasty of  5, 14, 22, 186, 200 Allen, Martin  96

Álvarez López, Francisco  115 Ambrose 136 Amfursius, king of Spain  285 Amlaíb, son of Sigtryggr  289 Anastasia, daughter of Iaroslav of Kiev  351, 352 Andreas I, king of Hungary  351 Angharad ferch Maredudd  296 Anglesey (Wales), island of  288, 300, 301, 302 Anglian Collection 226 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle  4, 5, 77, 80–1, 227, 235, 275, 312 account of Cnut  44, 46, 79, 81 account of Queen Emma  78, 186 account of William  52, 96 and legitimacy  19 interest in the papacy  308, 320–1 MSS A 79 C  79, 94, 290, 292 D  45–6, 66, 79, 94, 159, 290, 292–3, 294, 307, 316, 350 E  69, 79, 94, 227, 275, 290, 292–3, 316 F 70 record of Vikings  24, 25, 27, 29, 32, 33, 36, 37 record of Welsh events  287, 290, 292–4, 297 Annales Blandinienses 341 Annales Cambriae 291 ‘Breviate’ Chronicle  291, 294, 296, 297, 306 ‘Cottonian’ Chronicle  291, 294, 296 ‘Harleian’ Chronicle  291 Annales, of Lindisfarne and Durham  146 annals 208 Irish  169, 288–9 Flemish  339, 341 Welsh  288–9, 290–1, 292, 293–6, 297–8, 305, 306 Annals of Fontenelle 24 Annals of Ottobeuren 341 Annals of Tigernach 288 Anne (Anna) of Kiev  209, 334, 335, 345, 346, 351 Anno, archbishop of Cologne  285, 346, 351 Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury  160–1, 219

406

INDEX

Anselm of Saint-Remi  316 Antigone 217 Antiochus 301 Anund Jakob, king of the Svea  16 Aquitaine  271, 278, 282, 283 architecture  183, 190, 194–5, 198, 199, 219 Argia, lament of  218 aristocracy  12, 14, 50, 66, 83, 142, 152, 163, 309 armies  144, 158, 159, 237, 276, 278, 303 Great Army  25 of Cnut  45, 94 of William  52 Viking  24–5, 26–9, 31–6, 37–8, 39–40 Arnórr Þórðarson  17 Knútsdrápa 17 Arnulf II, count of Flanders  267 Arnulf III, count of Flanders  66 art 183–205 Byzantine  185, 186 Harrowing of Hell images  188, 189–90, 191 Romano-British 183 ruler portraits  13, 22, 89, 143, 185–9, 201, 205 Articuli decem Willelmi see law Ashdown, battle of  24 Ashe, Laura  21–2, 198, 204 Ashingdon (Essex)  39 n.86, 66, 67–8, 69, 70, 71, 74, 140 Assandun, battle of  3, 39, 63, 66, 67, 154, 156, 162 Ash Priors (Somerset)  113–14 Assandun see Ashingdon assemblies  8, 50, 180, 255, 282–3, 315, 334 n.15, 343 and diplomas  11 and law  44, 46–7, 48, 56, 57 See also witan Asser 227 Life of King Alfred 227 association, royal  331–52 Ástríðr, sister of Cnut  16 Ató, archbishop of Osona  328 Augustine  136, 238 Augustus  41 n.1 Avelina, wife of Thorold  250 Avloed (ON Óláfr), ruler of Dublin, and Isle of Man  297

Azelina, wife of Ralph Taillebois  246, 262 Baldwin IV, count of Flanders  209, 277 Baldwin V, count of Flanders  82, 277, 346–7, 348 Baldwin, abbot of Bury St Edmunds  76, 152, 157, 158, 317, 318 Baldwin, sheriff of Devon  103, 106, 108, 112, 113, 115–16, 117 record of sheep  110–11 Banwell (Somerset)  114, 117 Barlow, Frank  337, 348 Bartlett, Robert  166, 182, 240 Bates, David  74, 83, 142, 284, 332 Bath (Somerset)  269 n.17 Saint Peter’s, monastery  267 Bathealton (Somerset)  107 Battle (East Sussex) abbey  66, 68–70, 72, 140 Battle Chronicle 69 Baudri of Bourgueil  212, 213, 220–1 Baxter, Stephen  5, 103, 104, 338 Bayeux Tapestry  68, 186, 204 Bayley, C. A.  132, 139 Beaduheard 24 Beatrice, abbess of Montivilliers  258 Beaulieu-les-Loches (Brittany), church  66, 68 Beckerman, John  342 Bede  198, 199, 226, 314 De natura rerum 133 Aberystwyth, National Library of Wales, MS Peniarth 540B  133 Historia Ecclesiastica  199, 227 Lives of Cuthbert  143, 203 Bedricesworth see Bury St Edmunds Benedeit 223 Voyage of Saint Brendan  223, 224 Benedict VIII, pope  73 Benedict X, anti-pope  71, 270 Benedict, St  155 rule of  153, 154 Benevento (Campania, Italy)  85 Berengar of Tours  319 Bernard Silvestris  215 Biddle, Martin  20 Bihrer, Andreas  317 Bishop, T. A. M.  136 bishops and Domesday survey  99–119

407

INDEX

Bleddyn ap Cynfyn  296 Boethius  214, 215 Lady Philosophy  214, 215 Boisil, abbot of Melrose  198 Boleslav Chrobry  38 Bolton, Timothy  70, 74, 161 Bond, Thomas  247, 260 bordars see peasants Boselin of Dives, wife of  246 Brevis Relatio  69, 70 Brictwin, thegn  248, 258 n.66 Bristol  95, 167, 169 Harrowing of Hell relief  190, 191 Brittany  66, 278 Brunanburh, campaign of  143 Bruno, bishop of Toul see Leo IX, pope Bruno of Merseburg  285 Brut y Tywysogyon  289, 291, 292, 294, 295, 296, 297, 306 Brenhinedd y Saesson  291 Brut y Tywysogyon Peniarth MS. 20 version 291 Brut y Tywysogyon Red Book of Hergest version 291 Brutus  226, 299 Burgred, king of Mercia  24 Burton (Staffordshire), abbey  162 Bury Psalter  153, 154 Bury St Edmunds (Suffolk), abbey  68, 76, 77, 142 Bedricesworth  148, 152, 153, 155 cult of St Edmund  151–8 customary (London, BL, MS Harley 1005) 155 royal patronage of  68, 76, 78 Byrhtferth of Ramsey  321 n.63 Byrhtnoth, abbot of Ely  238 Caen (Calvados) La Trinité  81 Saint-Étienne 194 Calixtus I, pope  307 Camber, son of Brutus  299 Cambridge (Cambridgeshire)  148 Corpus Christi College MS 44  80 MS 188  187 MS 190  138 MS 286  123–4 mint 90

Cambridge Songs (Carmina Cantabrigiensia)  208, 218 Cameron, Catherine  177 Canterbury (Kent)  27, 35 Christ Church, cathedral  143, 192, 268, 275, 317 manuscripts 191 palaeography  130, 133, 134, 136 rebuilding 194 Red Book no. 23 (Dean and Chapter Archives Ant. R.17)  268 relics  5, 158–62, 163–4, 191 Saint Augustine’s, abbey  69, 270, 271, 316 manuscripts  191, 209 missal  125 n.5 scribes  123–5, 129 Capetians  240, 333 Carham, battle of  144 n.18, 149 Carmina Cantabrigiensia see Cambridge Songs Carolingians  5, 7, 10–11, 57, 86, 133, 174, 181, 209, 320, 327 Cassel, battle of  66–7 cathedrals  194–8, 286 chapters  101, 118 schools 318 Cecilia, daughter of William and Matilda 81 Cenwald, bishop of Worcester  8 Ceolwulf, king of Northumbria  147 Cerne (Dorset) Saint Peter’s, abbey  107, 251, 255 Cham (biblical)  230 Charlemagne, emperor  41, 85, 320 Charles-Edwards, Thomas  293, 294 Charles the Bald, king of the West Franks 25 Charles the Simple, king of the West Franks 10 charters  33, 46 n.19, 85, 117, 155, 166 n.8, 244, 287 Bury St Edmunds  142–3, 152–3 Carolingian  5, 10 foundation  13, 22, 66 Norman  105, 137, 248 n.28 ‘Orthodoxorum’ 9 papal  312–13, 316, 321 n.63, 323–30 royal  5, 7–15, 68, 76, 105, 114, 123, 134, 136, 142, 218

408

INDEX

children  334–6, 338, 351 women  209, 218, 236, 334–6, 351 survival  7–8, 117 vernacular  8, 142, 152, 156–7 witness lists  70 n.23, 83, 255, 268, 289, 338 writs  54, 68–9, 114, 117, 156, 251 Chartres (Eure-et-Loir), cathedral  282, 284 Chazelle, Celia  191 Chester-le-Street (Durham)  13, 147, 199 Chibnall, Marjorie  172, 175 n.57 Anglo-Norman England 172 children  175–6, 177, 219, 230, 243, 275, 332, 347 as slaves  167, 170, 173, 175, 179, 180, 181–2 child kings see rulership royal  333, 335, 337, 347, 348–9 Christensen, Aksel E.  37 Christina of Markyate  246 Christina, sister of Edgar Ætheling  229, 246, 337 church  129, 310 Anglo-Saxon  144, 160, 279, 307–23 attitudes to slavery  173, 174, 181 councils 57 Danish  29–30, 273, 285 English  160, 267–8, 269–70, 307–30 Lotharingian connections  269, 276, 317–19 jurisdiction  54, 59 Norman 285–6 patronage  66–71, 74, 140–3, 154, 157 property  9, 13, 112 Cilicians see Vikings, etymology Clarke, Cecily  243 Cnut (Knut) IV ‘the Holy’, king of Denmark  77, 280 Cnut ‘the Great’, king of Denmark, the English, and the Norwegians  125, 132, 139, 170, 207, 268 and Ælfgifu ‘of Northampton’  37, 78, 189 and Denmark  38, 40, 43, 47, 187, 273, 282, 285 and Queen Emma  13, 68, 71, 74, 78–81, 84, 141, 153, 156, 185–6, 187, 188, 208, 229, 249, 274 See also Emma of Normandy and saints’ cults  140–64

Bury St Edmunds  68, 76, 152–6, 159, 163 St Benet at Holme  155, 163 See also Ælfheah, Cuthbert, Eadnoth and Stigand  70–1 and Wales  289 atonement  66–73, 78 charters  7–9, 12, 153, 155, 289 coinage  85, 86, 87–8, 90, 92, 93–5, 98 Quatrefoil type  90, 94, 95 comparison with William  43–64, 65–84, 85–98, 140–64, 183–205, 278–80, 285–6 conquest, of England  3–22, 23–40, 42, 43–52, 58–9, 63, 65–84, 129, 183– 205, 273–5, 278–80, 286 conquest, of Norway  16, 19, 50–1, 74, 188 coronation  79, 81, 84, 88 death  76, 87, 274, 284, 289 entourage  276, 277, 317 European context  6, 16, 273–4, 278–9, 281–4, 285–6, 322 family  23, 37, 38–9, 40, 76, 77, 78, 155–6, 165, 191, 273, 276, 283 identity and image  3–22, 74, 185–8, 215, 322 laws and law-making  5, 43–52, 53, 55, 57, 58–9, 60–1, 189 letters 72 Letter to the English, c.1020  18, 20, 43, 45–6, 47, 187 Letter to the English, 1027  18, 20, 43, 188, 189, 271, 281, 321 n.63, 322 material culture  184–94 murder fine  60–1 New Minster Liber Vitae  ii, 13, 22, 88, 143 n.13, 185–9, 205 papacy  72, 187, 189, 281–4, 322–3 patronage  12, 66–8, 76, 140–1, 142, 143, 185–6, 281–2, 283 political culture  6, 17 praise poetry  7, 15–21, 74, 274 reputation 74–8 return to Denmark  38, 273 sharing power with Edmund Ironside  39 visit to Edmund’s tomb  71, 72, 156 peacock cloak  71, 72, 156 visit to Rome  16, 72, 188, 281–2, 322–3 Codex Regius  216

409

INDEX

coinage  28, 31 n.45, 40, 85–98, 151 Agnus Dei  87, 88 gold  85, 96 mints  27–8, 86, 88, 92, 93–5, 96, 97, 98, 251 moneyers 86, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96–8 Cologne  271, 277, 281, 320, 350–1 Concord 218 Conquereuil, battle of  66 conquest  41, 130, 272 and Anglo-Welsh relations  287–306 and child kings  331–52 and currency  85–98 and enslavement  165–82 and genealogies  225–41 and law  41–64 and literary history  206–24 and manuscript culture  123–39 and material culture  183–205 and palaeography  128–30 and papal relations  269–72, 280–6, 307–30 and reform  307–30 and saints’ cults  140–64 and succession  331–52 and trauma  4, 184, 204, 205, 243 and women  206–24, 225–41, 242–62 Danish (1013)  4, 20, 25, 28, 37, 63, 65, 273 Danish (1016)  3–22, 23–40, 42, 43–52, 58, 63–4, 65–84, 85, 88, 92, 93–5, 98, 128–9, 139, 140–1, 165, 183–94, 205, 273–4, 278, 286, 322 Norman (1066)  3, 42, 50, 52–64, 65– 84, 85, 89, 93, 95–8, 99, 119, 125–8, 129–33, 136–7, 139, 140–3, 163, 165, 168, 171–2, 175, 178, 181, 183–4, 194–205, 206, 208, 211, 219, 227, 233, 236, 242–62, 278–80, 286, 303, 309, 322, 331–52 Norman, of southern Italy  73 of India  130, 131–2, 139 of Troy  212 Conrad II, king of Germany, emperor  18, 20, 208, 209, 218, 282, 284, 321 n.63 coronation  13, 16, 72, 188, 281, 283, 322 Cordeilla, queen  237 Corfe (Dorset)  252 Cornwall  100, 108, 113, 254

Coronate, battle of  66, 70 Coronate, monastery  66, 68 coronation  38, 65, 73, 88, 238, 278, 342 archbishops 70 associative coronations  334, 335–6, 338, 344, 351 embassies 277 imperial  13, 16, 72, 188, 281, 321 n.62, 322 joint  79–80, 81, 82–4 oaths  48, 49 promissio regis 48 ordo  48, 79, 80 ring 80 Cotrone, battle of  31 cottars see peasants court Exchequer  236, 259 hundred 255 imperial  265–6, 271, 272, 277, 285, 320, 329, 350 royal  158, 209, 232, 234, 239, 244, 252, 274, 276, 283, 284, 352 administration 53 elite culture  9, 12, 14, 15–20, 185–6, 208–9, 217 French 277 women  208, 210, 215, 220, 222, 228, 245 shire  101, 118 Cownie, Emma  142 Crediton (Devon)  109, 317 Crick, Julia  328 crime 61–2 Cunincpert, king of the Lombards  66, 68, 70 Cushing, Kathleen  311 Cuthbert, St  143–51, 162, 163, 195, 197–200, 202–4, 205 Bede’s Lives of  143, 199, 203 Durham Life of (Oxford, University College MS 165)  202–3, 204, 205 translation 203–4 Cynesige, archbishop of York  269 Cynwrig ap Rhiwallon, king of Powys  300 Cyrus, king of Persia  235 Czcirada (Swiętoslawa), wife of Svein Forkbeard 38 Danes  31, 34, 39, 75, 81, 166, 192, 195,

410

INDEX

273, 285 and Wales  298, 299, 300 Cnut 77 Cnut’s followers  18, 19, 20–1, 47, 50, 78 land transfers  14–15, 25 peace with English  44–5 Saint Brice’s Day, massacre  27, 33 violence  151, 158, 159, 191 David I, king of Scots  232, 233, 234 David, king (Old Testament)  235 De Miraculis Sanctae Mariae Laudunensis 266 death  30, 50, 65, 81, 162, 187, 204, 243, 275, 320 avenging  28, 36 deathbed  141, 332, 341, 345, 347–9, 351 mourning  209, 218 news of  320 of bishops  146, 150 of Cnut  76–7 of Edmund  79, 88 n.15, 192 parental  336, 337, 339 pestilence 284 treachery 295 Declercq, George  325 demons  188–9, 190, 192, 225, 226, 238–9 Denmark  16, 29, 31, 34, 38, 40, 47, 165, 209, 265, 271, 273, 277 See also Danes Devon  33, 100, 101, 107, 109, 110–13 diplomas see charters Dolley, Michael  87, 96 Domesday Book (Great Domesday)  99, 102, 251, 287 coinage  87, 95–6 commissioners  57, 99, 102, 104, 106 formula 103 Inquisitio Eliensis  104, 106, 108 landholders 68 law 57 slaves  166, 167 n.13, 168 n.16 sources 104 survey  99–119, 157 women  243, 244, 247, 248, 252 See also Exon Domesday Dorset  100, 107, 113, 249, 251–5, 258, 261 Douglas, David  141–2 Dover  266, 275 Downham, Clare  289 Drogo, count of the Vexin  274

Dudo of Saint Quentin  81, 215 Duduc, bishop of Wells  270, 276, 277, 316, 317 Duffy, Sean  288–9, 290 Dumville, David  338 Dunfermline (Fife), abbey  199, 202 Dunning, moneyer  91 Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury  161, 238, 267, 315 n.29 Durham  93, 144, 145–6, 147, 148, 149, 150–1, 163, 232, 240 cathedral  144–5, 195–200, 202–4 Liber Vitae 4 shrine of St Cuthbert  145, 146, 150, 197, 203–4 ‘Durham’, poem  197–9 Eadbert, bishop of Lindisfarne  197 Eadburg, St, of Southwell  148 Eadburh, St, sister of King Edmund  234 Eadfrith, bishop of Lindisfarne  197 Eadgifu (Aedgiva), wife of Edward the Elder 234 Eadmer  160, 168, 227 Eadnoth, abbot of Ramsey, bishop of Dorchester 161–2 Eadred, abbot of Carlisle  147 Eadric Streona, ealdorman  7 n.20, 14, 39, 278 Eadsige, archbishop of Canterbury  275 Eadwig Basan, scribe  129 Eadwig, king of the English  11–12, 351 n.95 Eadwine (Edwin), brother of Leofric  292, 293 Eadwine (Edwin), earl of Mercia  14, 279 Eadwine, moneyer  91, 350 Ealdgyth, queen of England, consort of Harold II  292 Ealdgyth, wife of Edmund Ironside  234 Ealdhun, bishop of Lindisfarne, and Durham 149–50 Ealdred, archbishop of York, bishop of Worcester  70, 269, 271, 277, 319, 320, 350–1 Ealhswith (Elswida), wife of Alfred the Great 234 Eardulf, bishop of Lindisfarne  147 East Anglia  12, 25, 151–2, 156, 157 Ecgred, bishop of Lindisfarne  147

411

INDEX

Eddeva 246 Edgar Ætheling  200, 219 age in 1066  331–2, 340, 349 at Edward’s court  336–8, 345, 349 at William’s court  229 claim to the throne  194–5, 208, 339–41, 342, 343, 344–5, 347–52 coinage  89 n.17 guardianship  347–9, 351–2 mother  336, 351–2 New Minster Liber Vitae  337, 338 time in Hungary  336 time in Scotland  195, 200 Edgar, king of the English  5, 7, 13, 18, 21, 22, 156, 188, 235, 320, 321 n.62 coinage  28, 86, 88, 93 laws and law-making  45, 46, 47, 49, 266 Edington (Wiltshire), battle of  144 Edith (Norfolk)  246 Edith (Warwickshire)  246 Edith, queen of the English, wife of Edward the Confessor  98, 207, 221, 229, 339–40 and Stigand  71 and Wilton  214, 218–21 burial 72 care of royal children  336, 337, 338, 349 charters 114 Edward’s deathbed  348, 349 learning  214–15, 216 literary patronage  206, 214–18, 222 marriage to Edward  80, 210–11, 212, 216, 337, 338 See also Vita Ædwardi Regis Edith/Matilda (Matilda II), queen of England, wife of Henry I  231, 232, 233, 234–5 and Wilton  219 as regent  236 change of name  228–9 literary patronage  200, 222–3, 228 marriage  220, 222, 227, 240 See also Life of Queen Matilda II Edith Swanneshals  72, 220 Edmund I, king of the English  145, 156, 234, 267 Edmund II ‘Ironside’, king of the English  63, 65, 81, 156, 160, 234, 273–4, 336 and St Cuthbert  144 coinage 88–9

death  39, 46 n.19, 48, 79, 274, 336 defeat at Assandun  140, 154, 156 tomb at Glastonbury  71, 156, 279 Edmund, bishop of Durham  145, 150–1 Edmund, St, king of East Anglia  25, 77, 148, 155, 159, 162, 192 cult  151–8, 163 Life and Miracles of St Edmund King and Martyr (New York, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.736)  192 Edward Ætheling, ‘the Exile’  195, 208, 271 n.34, 336 Edward of Salisbury, sheriff of Wiltshire 103 Edward the Confessor, king of the English  76, 157, 158, 172, 194, 208, 209, 210, 220, 228, 229, 279, 280, 350 and Wales  293 and Westminster  219 bishops  70–1, 275–7, 323 canonization 240 charters  8, 9, 114, 117, 156 coinage  87, 89, 92, 95, 97–8 Pyramids type  90 contact with Europe  274–8, 284, 286 contact with Rome  320 coronation 80 court  54, 218 death  219, 278, 339, 347–9, 351 exile in Normandy  160, 185, 274, 319, 338 Exon Domesday  105, 106 kinship connections  63 law  43, 56, 58 marriage to Edith  206, 207, 210–11, 212, 216 patronage  142, 156, 163 political elite  21, 22 succession plans  5, 7, 73, 204, 336–8, 339, 340, 341, 342–5 tomb 72 See also Vita Ædwardi Regis Edward the Elder, king of Wessex  9 n.29, 25, 49, 156, 234 Edward the Martyr  237–8, 252 Edwin, king of Northumbria  235, 320 Edwin see also Eadwine Egypt 27 Eilífr (Eilaf ) Thorgilsson, earl  35, 36, 289 Eirik, earl  16

412

INDEX

Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of England  217, 238 n.79 Elijah 235 Elisabeth, consort of Harald Hardraada 209 Elizabeth, abbess of Montivilliers  258 Ellis, Henry  99 Elphege see Ælfheah Elswida see Ealhswith Ely  12, 157, 162, 198 Ely memoranda  116 Emma (Ælfgyue) of Normandy, queen of the English  70, 152–3, 215, 221, 276 blood connection to William  208, 240, 343 coronation and consecration  79–80, 81, 84 daughter 208 marriage to Æthelred  33, 38, 71, 208, 249, 272–3 marriage to Cnut  78–81, 82, 84, 185, 186, 208, 249, 274 New Minster Liber Vitae  ii, 13, 22, 88, 143 n.13, 185–6, 187, 188, 205 Norman connections  58, 208, 229 patronage  68, 141, 152, 156, 185 See also Encomium Emmae Reginae Emma of Paris, duchess of the Normans 249 Emma, wife of Hervey de Hellean  246 Empire, the see Germany Encomium Emmae Reginae  4, 13–14, 28, 36, 40, 74, 79, 81, 141, 186, 215, 281 English, Old  29, 54–5, 62–3, 108, 116– 17, 130, 136, 139 charters  8, 114 continuity  126–7, 132 inscription 19 language 18 translation  176 n.62 enslavement 165–82 and warfare  170, 174–82 slave-raiding  165, 170, 174, 179, 182 slave-trading  166, 167–9, 170, 182 slaves  107, 165–7, 168, 169, 170–1, 172, 173–4, 176, 178, 179, 181, 182 Erik the Victorious, king of Sweden  30, 38, 39 n. 83 Ermenfrid of Sion (Eremfrid of Syon)  68– 9, 70, 178

Penitential 178 Essex  29, 166, 171 Esther 234–5 Etchingham, Colmán  288 Eteocles  216, 217 Eulalia, abbess of Shaftesbury  252, 259 Europe  93, 128, 136, 173, 174, 176, 181, 182, 226, 307–9, 311, 313–15, 316, 331, 332, 338–9, 351 and England  6, 16, 73, 141, 206–7, 208–10, 224, 265–86, 309, 310, 333, 340–4, 352 Eustace II, count of Boulogne  275–6 Eustace III, count of Boulogne  220 Eve, recluse  220 excommunication  145, 316 Exe, river  33 Exeter  33, 35, 103, 105, 112, 134, 136, 137, 194, 218, 253, 279, 317, 318 Cathedral Library, MS 3500 see Domesday Book Exeter Book  218 exile  30, 50, 187, 208, 218, 243, 272, 276, 292, 294, 319 in Denmark  271 in Flanders  267, 274, 276 in Hungary  271 n.34, 336 in Normandy  28, 38, 65, 73, 79, 80, 160, 185, 274, 277 Exon Domesday (Exeter, Cathedral Library, MS 3500)  99–119, 247, 253 n.49 Exon Fiefs  100, 101, 102–3, 104, 106, 107, 109, 110 scribal corrections  101, 103, 104, 111–16 scribes  100, 101, 104, 105–6, 107, 108– 9, 110, 111, 113–14, 115–16, 118 sheep  109–11, 117 spelling variations  103, 108–9 Terrae Occupatae  101, 102, 114 famine  34, 170 Fenton, Kirsten  238 Ferrante, J. M.  222 Finn, Rex Welldon  104 Finnian 169 Irish Penitential 169 Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge coins  90–1 Flanders  66, 82, 209, 265, 266, 267–8,

413

INDEX

276–7, 278, 314, 339, 341, 342 Fleming, Robin  311 Florentinus, St  149 Fouracre, Paul  181 France  177, 255, 269, 272, 282, 285, 342, 346, 352 coinage 92 cultural exchange  267 enslavement  168, 175 literary culture  210, 215, 221, 224 reform 308 royal association  333, 334, 335 West Francia  5, 58, 174, 181 women  346, 335 Francia see France Frank, Roberta  17, 18, 74 frankpledge  51, 61 Frederick, duke of Lotharingia  282 Freeman, Elizabeth  235, 236 French  97, 177 language  62, 127, 132 writing  74, 75, 101, 108, 212, 223–4 Friedrich of Liège see Stephen IX, pope Frome, river  252, 253, 254 Frutolf of Michelsberg  341 Fulbert (Fulberht), bishop of Chartres  72, 282 Fulcoius of Beauvais  81 Jehphta poem  82 Fulk Nerra, count of Anjou  66, 68 Fynn-Paul, Jeffrey  173 Gaimar 52–3 Gameson, Richard  130 Garnett, George  343 Gathagan, Laura  82 Gauthier ‘Coorland’, mason  272 Gebhard of Eichstätt see Victor II, pope Gem, Richard  141 genealogies  38, 147, 225–41 of Christ  227 royal  225–7, 228, 229, 231, 232–3, 240 See also women Geoffrey I, count of Brittany  249 Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances  112, 113 Geoffrey Martel fitz Grip  242, 251 Geoffrey of Anjou  232 Geoffrey of Monmouth De gestis Britonum 299 Historia regum Britanniae  228, 237

Gerald of Wales  238–40 De principis instructione  238, 240 Gerard, St, of Brogne  267 Gerbert of Aurillac  213 Gerhard of Florence see Nicholas II, pope Gerhard of Toul  319 Germany (the Empire)  285, 329, 339, 342, 343, 352 English contact  265, 266, 267, 273, 276, 320, 351 literary culture  210 reform  308, 310, 315, 322 royal association  333, 335 silver  28, 93 warfare 31 Gervais, archbishop of Reims  334, 344 Gervinus, abbot of St Riquier  339, 340 Gerwy of Loges, wife of  246 Gesta Normannorum Ducum  69, 231, 247 Gesta Stephani 179 Ghent (Flanders) Saint Peter’s  267 Gilbert, archdeacon of Lisieux  73 Gilbert Chavell  242 Gilbert Crispin, abbot of Westminster  117 Giso, bishop of Wells  103, 116, 118, 276, 318 papal privilege  318, 323–30 record of estates  104, 105–6, 107, 112, 113–14, 117 sheep  109, 110 visit to Rome  317, 318 Glastonbury (Somerset)  71, 72, 108, 156, 255, 270, 279 Gloucester (Gloucestershire)  55, 62, 148 Saint Peter’s  133, 134 Glún Iairn  288 goddesses 226 Godfrey, king see Godred Crovan Godfrey of Reims  75 n.44, 213 Godfrey of Winchester  214 Godgifu 274 Godlamm, moneyer  90 Godred Crovan, king of Man and the Isles 302 gods, pagan  216, 226, 233 Godwine (Godwin), earl  165, 207, 217, 275–6, 337 family  210–12, 216, 219, 275, 276, 279, 290, 345, 348

414

INDEX

Gofraid, son of Sigtryggr  288 gold see coinage Goscelin of Saint Bertin  77–8, 220 Liber Confortatorius 220 Gottfried, duke of Lorraine  318 Great Domesday see Domesday Book Green, Judith  244 Gregory I ‘the Great’, pope  136 Gregory VII, pope  73, 284, 310 Gregory of Tours  136 Grierson, Philip  267, 268, 276 Grímnismál 216 Grimoald 85 Grip, lord of Bacqueville  250, 251 Große, Rolf  329 Gruffudd ap Cynan, king of the Welsh  290, 297–305, 306 Historia Gruffud uab Kenan  297, 298, 300 Vita Griffini  289, 290, 297–306 dating 298 Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, ruler of Gwynedd  287–97, 305, 306 submission to King Edward  293 Gruffudd ap Rhydderch, king in south Wales  292, 294, 295 guardianship  345–9, 351–2 Guðmund 26 Guendolena, queen  237 Guitmond, monk of La-Croix-SaintLeufroi 350 Gundrada de Warenne  245 n.15 Gunnhild (Gunhild), daughter of Cnut  16, 72, 208, 209, 218, 284 Gunnhild, daughter of Earl Godwine  219, 220 Gunnhild, daughter of Harold Godwineson 219 Gunnhild, niece of Cnut  276 Gunnhild, sister of Svein Forkbeard (spurious) 33 Gunni 19 Gunnor, duchess of the Normans  215, 247, 249–50, 260 Guthred  147, 199 Guthrum 49 Guy, bishop of Amiens  68, 71, 75, 82, 178 Carmen de Hastingae Proelio  71, 82, 177, 342, 351 Gyrth Godwineson  345

Gytha, daughter of Harold Godwineson 209 Gytha, mother of Harold Godwineson  71, 207, 209, 337 n.29 Hagger, Mark  59 Hahn, Cynthia  192 Halfdan 25 Hallvarðr Hárekblesi  17 Knútsdrápa  17, 19 Hamburg 285 archbishops of  29 Harald II, king of Denmark  23, 38, 40 Harald Bluetooth, king of Denmark  29– 30, 31, 37, 40 Harald Hardraada (Haraldr Harðráði / Hárfagri), king of Norway  208, 210, 216, 288, 298 Hare, Michael  268, 283 Hariulf of Saint Riquier  339–41, 344, 345, 348, 349 Chronicle 339 Harley Psalter (London, British Library, MS Harley 603)  189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 205 Harold Godwineson (Harold II), king  73, 175 n.57, 208, 209, 216, 219, 278, 307 and Edgar Ætheling  347–50 and Wales  293, 295–6 burial  69, 71–2 charters 114 coinage 89, 91, 92–3, 96–8 Pax type  89, 91, 96 n.49 coronation  73, 278, 349 death 341–2 laws and law-making  53, 54 oaths  204, 340, 342, 348 relationship with Tostig  207, 217 royal succession  207, 333, 339, 342, 345 title of rex 114–5 visit to France  204, 269 visit to Rome  269, 270 Harold Harefoot, king of the English  21, 70, 80, 271, 275, 276 Harthacnut, king of Denmark, and of the English  21, 70, 80, 142, 276 Harvey, Sally  102 Domesday: Book of Judgement 102 Hastings, battle of  63, 70, 75, 76, 83, 98, 157, 175, 180, 278, 308, 350

415

INDEX

Hawise of Bacqueville  242–62 dowry 250 Norman connections  249–50 social networks  256–7 Hawise of Normandy, countess of Brittany 249 Hedeby 31 Helena, queen  237 hell  187, 188–90, 191 Heming  35, 36 Hengest (Hengist)  222, 230 Henry I, king of England  134, 139, 230, 231, 234, 236, 261 and Wales  300, 301, 302–5, 306 charters  123–4, 134 law 56 marriage to Edith/Matilda  200, 220, 222, 227, 231, 240 poetry 223 Henry I, king of France  209, 277, 331, 335, 336, 338, 346, 348 Henry II, ‘FitzEmpress’, king of England  217, 227, 232–4, 235, 238, 239–40 Henry II, king of Germany, emperor  282 Henry III, king of Germany, emperor  208– 9, 321 n.63, 322, 331, 336, 338 death 345–6 diplomas 335 Ealdred’s visit  320, 350 embassy at Edward’s coronation  277 marriage to Gunnhild  16, 72, 208, 284 oaths to his son  334 Henry IV, king of Germany, emperor  285, 343, 344, 347, 348, 350–1 conflict with Pope Gregory  284 succession  331, 338–9, 340–1, 345–6 political education  333, 334–5, 336 Henry V, king of Germany, emperor  223, 344 Henry, bishop of Augsburg  346 Henry of Huntingdon  236, 266 Henry the Fowler  31 n.45 Hereford (Herefordshire)  98, 292, 294, 295, 305 heregeld  38, 95 n.44 Hereward  162, 279 Herfast of Crepon  250 Heribert, St  281 Herman, archdeacon of Bury St

Edmunds  58 n.77, 76–8, 157 Miracles of St Edmund  76, 157 Herman (Hermann), bishop of Ramsbury, and Sherborne  270, 276, 277, 317, 319 Herman of Reichenau  334 Hermann, archbishop of Cologne  350, 351 Heslop, T. A.  141 Hicks, Leonie  258 Hildebert of Lavardin  212, 213, 215, 221, 222–3 ‘Angia terra ferax’  222–3 Hildebrand see Gregory VII Historia de sancto Cuthberto  143, 145, 147 Historia Gruffud vab Kenan see Vita Griffini Hollis, Stephanie  51, 214, 219 Holm, Poul  170 Holme Lacy, chirograph  117 Holtzmann, Walther  325 Holy River (Helgeå), battle of  16 Horsa 230 horses  37, 275 mares, wild  117 hostages  37, 38, 85 Hough, Carole  109 Howe, John  310, 311 Hudson, John  51 History of the Laws of England 51 Hugh I, count of Vermandois, brother of Philip I  335 Hugh d’Avranches, earl of Chester  301, 304–5 Hugh (de Flori), abbot of St Augustine’s  123 n.2 Hugh de Montgomery, earl of Shrewsbury  288, 301, 302, 304–5 Hugh fitz Grip (‘of Wareham’), sheriff of Dorset  107, 112, 113, 242, 246, 248, 250–1, 252, 253, 259, 260, 261 Hugh of Beauchamp, sheriff  262 Hugh of Die, archbishop of Lyons  179–80 Hugh of Fleury  344 Modernorum regum Francorum actus 344 Hugh of Grandmesnil  246 Hugh of Le Bois-Herbert  254 Hugh of Montgomery, father of Roger of Montgomery 250 Hugh-Renard, bishop of Langres  75, 285 Humbert of Silva Candida (Humbert of Moyenmoutier), cardinal  318, 326 Humphrey of Carteret  255

416

INDEX

Humphrey of Vielles  250 Hungary  336, 351 Huntingdon, Joanna  228 Huws, Daniel  133, 134 Hywel ab Edwin  294 Iaroslav I of Kiev  336, 351 Iberia  308, 314 Ida of Lorraine, countess of Boulogne  232, 246 identity  3–22, 64, 102, 114–15, 125, 130, 133, 141–2, 163, 179, 184, 194, 198, 214, 225, 228, 248, 318 Ieuan, son of Sulien  133 Ingegerd of Sweden  336, 351 Inquisitio Eliensis see Domesday Book Instituta-Articuli see law Instituta Cnuti see law Ireland  133, 165, 167, 182, 297 Isidore of Seville  85 Isle of Wight  32, 33, 34, 277 Isolde 246 Italy  27, 73, 283 India  130, 131–2, 139 Nagari script  131–2 Urdu script  131–2 inheritance  18, 30, 67, 85, 86, 222, 226, 227, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 261, 262, 331 ‘Investiture Conflict’  310 Japheth 230 Jarrett, Jonathan  328 Jarrow (Tyne and Wear)  194, 199 Jelling dynasty of  29 monument 30 Jerome 136 Jerusalem  270, 285 Jesus Christ  29, 36, 154, 161, 185, 187, 189–90, 192, 227 Job 235 John XII, pope  315 n.29 John XIII, pope  328 John XIX, pope  72 John, archbishop of Rouen  284 John, bishop of Penne  327, 329 John, evangelist  202 John, king of England  240 John of Worcester  33, 35, 36, 53, 79, 179,

231, 232, 234, 275, 317 Chronicon  43, 153, 229, 231 Accounts  230–1, 234 John the Baptist  158 Jomsvikinga Saga 37 Jomsvikings see Vikings Jones, Owain Wyn  296 Jónsson, Finnur  15 Josceline, wife of Hugh of Montgomery 250 Joseph (Genesis)  238 Judith, daughter of Baldwin IV  209, 277 Judith, daughter of Emperor Henry III  351 Judith of Lens, countess  246, 247 Judith of Rennes, duchess of Normandy 249 Julius Caesar  75 justice  53, 61, 159, 161, 189 Justin 26 Kato, Takato  134 Kehr, Paul  325, 327 Kelly, Susan  268, 269 Kennedy, Alan  44 Ker, N. R.  101, 130, 137, 139 Catalogue of Manuscripts  130, 132, 137 Keynes, Simon  33, 80, 81, 89, 274, 276, 318 Kiev  209, 224 Kievan Rus’  210 kingship see rulership Kingston (Dorset)  252 Koziol, Geoffrey  5, 10–12, 333 Kristian, bishop of Århus  280 Lambert, abbot of St Nicholas  163 Lambert, emissary  317 Lampert of Hersfeld  334 Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury, abbot of Bec  71, 73, 159, 164, 168, 170, 171, 177 n.68, 194 and English saints  142, 160–1 Lantbert of Liège  281 Miracula Heriberti 281 Lapidge, Michael  133, 350 Latin language 132 learning  214, 223 translation  148, 176 n.62 writing  125, 129, 130, 136–7, 139

417

INDEX

laudes 82 law  41–64, 78, 187, 266 I–II Cnut (Winchester code)  44, 48, 49, 50, 55, 189 Articuli decem Willelmi  54–6, 59, 61, 62 canon  312 n.21 Cnut’s 1018 code (Oxford)  44–5, 46–7, 48–9, 50 Domboc 47 Edgar’s Andover code  47 forest 52 Instituta-Articuli 56 Instituta Cnuti 55–6 lawcodes  5, 18, 43, 46, 47, 86, 266, 279, 338 Leges Anglorum  53 n.54 Leges Edwardi  56, 58, 60, 344–5 Leis Willelme 56 Lex Baiuariorum 57 Lex Salica 57 proof  54, 56 n.67, 59 punishment  59, 168 Quadripartitus-Leges Henrici 56 Lawrence of Durham  169, 170 Life of St Brigid 169 Lawson, M. K.  4, 44 Le Ronceray  213, 220, 221 Leah (biblical)  230 Leo IX (Bruno of Toul), pope  73, 270, 271, 277, 313–14, 316, 317, 318, 319, 320 Leo, bishop of Trevi  280 Leofeva 246 Leofgar, bishop of Hereford  292, 294 Leofnoð, scribe  272 Leofric, bishop of Exeter  105, 134, 218, 269, 276, 317, 318, 319 Leofric, earl of Mercia  13, 14, 275, 292, 293 Leofsige, moneyer  90 Leofwine, ealdorman  14, 278 Leofwine, earl of Kent  345 Leofwine Godwineson  345 Lewis, Andrew W.  333 Lewis, Chris  104 Libellus Æthelwoldi 12 Liber Eliensis  12, 162 n.107, 238 Licence, Tom  163, 337, 338, 339 Liðsmannaflokkr (Lidmannrflokkr)  16, 17, 78 Liebermann, Felix  44, 55

Liège (Belgium)  317, 319, 325 Sint-Truiden  317, 325 Life of Queen Matilda II 231 Limoges (Haute-Vienne) council of  282 Lincoln (Lincolnshire)  90, 94 Lincolnshire 260 Lindisfarne (Northumberland)  144, 147, 199, 203 Gospels 201 literacy  132, 209 vernacular (French)  212, 217, 224 vernacular (Old English)  118, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132, 134, 136, 137, 139, 208 vernacular (Welsh)  289, 291, 296 See also Latin literary culture  130–8, 206–24 Liutwin, St  268 Llanbadarn Fawr (Ceredigion)  133–4, 135, 139, 296, 297 Llywelyn ap Iorwerth  298 n.55 Llywelyn ap Seisyll, king of Gwynedd  289, 296 London  27, 37–8, 45, 54, 78, 79, 81, 87, 91, 93, 94, 98, 159–60, 266, 273, 275, 312, 350, 251, 352 British Library Arundel MS 60  138 Cotton MS Faustina C.i  134, 135 Cotton MS Tiberius A. iii  188 Cotton MS Vespasian A. viii  188 Cotton MS Vitellius E. xii  82 Lot, Ferdinand  339 Lotharingia  277, 312 English contacts  267 English ecclesiastics  268, 269, 276, 317–9, 320 lay patronage  223 scribes  325, 327, 328, 329, 330 trade 266 Louis I ‘the Pious’, king of the Franks  322 n.63 Louis II ‘the Stammerer’, king of Aquitaine and West Francia  321 n.63 Louis IV ‘d’Outremer’, king of West Francia 10 Louis VI, king of France  334 n.15 Lowe, Kathryn  142 Loyn, Henry  172

418

INDEX

Lucan 217 Civil War 217 Luke, evangelist  201 Lyfing, archbishop of Canterbury  79, 191 Lyon, Jonathan  335 Mack, Katharin  50 Maél Schenaill mac Domnaill  289 Maiden Castle (Dorset)  253, 255 Maine  74, 280 Magnús Berfœttr, king of Norway  288, 301, 302, 305 Magnús, son of Harald Hardraada  288, 294, 295, 297, 306 Maitland, F. W.  108, 171 Malcolm III, king of Scots  200, 219, 228, 231, 232, 234, 352 Maldon, battle of  29 Malger, archbishop of Rouen  284 Malmesbury (Wiltshire), abbey  157 n.84, 167, 180 n.82 Mamluks 27 manors  99, 101, 105–7, 108–11, 114, 117, 157, 242, 248, 252, 255, 261 manuscripts  123–39, 155, 230, 267, 268, 323–30 Celtic 133–4 Exon Domesday  99–119 Gospels  46, 123 illuminated  183–205, 209, 282 lay patronage  223–4 legal 55 liturgical  48, 80, 153, 154 poetic 133 saints’ resting places  147–9 See also palaeography Marbod of Rennes  212, 213, 220 Marcia, queen  237 Margaret, St, queen of Scots  232, 235, 337 education 219 genealogy  227, 228–9, 231, 232, 240 gospel book  200–1 hagiography  200–2, 233, 240 marriage 220 poetry 223 Mark, evangelist  201 Marle-Sveinn 279 Marmoutiers  70, 284 marriage  33, 38, 180, 220, 222, 230, 231, 247, 248–9, 251, 261, 262, 332

Anglo-Welsh 293 chaste  210–11, 212 childlessness  210–11, 219 clerical  307, 311, 312 consent 347 dynastic legitimacy  186, 222, 227–8, 240–1 European connections  208–9, 284, 285 identity 228–9 married partnership  78–84 mixed marriages  243–5 political alliances  37, 220 remarriage  258, 260, 274, 346 slave marriage  174 Martinstown (Winterborne St Mary’s)  252, 253, 255 Mary (biblical) see Virgin Mary Mary, daughter of Queen Margaret  219, 220, 231 Maselin, and Ulf  270 Matilda I, of Flanders, queen of the English, wife of William I  81, 144, 248, 251, 258, 285 as regent  82, 83 coronation and consecration  82–4 date of marriage to William  332 patronage  142, 157, 285 support for William’s conquest  81–2 Matilda II see Edith/Matilda Matilda III, of Boulogne, queen of England, wife of Stephen  220, 231–2, 236 Matilda, empress, daughter of Henry I  222, 227, 228, 232, 236–7, 344 war with Stephen  231, 236, 237 Matilda of Normandy, countess of Blois 249 Matilda Taillebois  246, 262 Matthew, evangelist  201 Mauger, count of Corbeil  249 Maund, Kari  287, 288, 293 Maurice, bishop of London  53 n.54 McGuigan, Neil  146–7, 148–9, 150, 151 McLaughlin, Megan  311 Mecenas 215 Melusina  238 n.79 memory  3–22, 53, 56, 60, 68, 69, 144, 152, 163 mercenaries  27, 280 Flemish 82 Viking  25, 26, 27, 31, 32, 33, 38

419

INDEX

Mercia 290–7 Mettlach (Saarland)  268 Mieszko, ruler of Poland  38 Miller, Maureen  311 mints see coinage Miracula Sanctae Waldburgae Tielensia 266 Modwenna, St  162 moneyers see coinage Montivilliers (Seine-Maritime), abbey  242, 247, 248, 249, 258–9, 260 pancarte  247, 258 Moore, Robert  311, 312 Morcar, earl of Northumbria  14, 279, 350 Moriuht 165 Muirchertach (Murchadh) Ó Brián, king 302 Murchadh see Muirchertach Muriel, poet  221 Mynydd Carn, battle of  298 mythology  226, 233 Old Norse  20, 216 origin myth, Trojan  226 Netley (Hampshire), abbey  258 New Minster see Winchester Nicholas I, pope  182 n.89 Nicholas II (Gerhard, bishop of Florence), pope  313 n.24, 317, 318, 319, 323–30 Nicholas of Bacqueville  242, 247, 249, 250, 251 Noah  227, 230, 233 Norham on Tweed (Ubbanford)  146, 147, 148, 149, 163 Normandy  58, 68–9, 70, 81, 82, 130, 246, 249, 258, 259, 266–7, 272–4, 275, 277, 280, 333 coinage  89, 92 exile  28, 38, 58, 65, 73, 79, 160, 185, 274, 338 law and law-making  54 visit of Harold  204 visit of Robert of Jumièges  73, 342 Northmann, son of Leofwine  14, 278 Northumbria  37, 144, 147, 149, 178 n.71, 198, 232 Norway  16, 19, 26, 50–1, 74 Norwich  34, 70 Nunburnholme Cross  183 oaths  45, 85, 180, 201

of kings  48, 49, 188 peace 280 sworn by Harold  339–40, 348 sworn to William  342–3, 344 to Empress Matilda  231, 237 to royal children  334, 343, 348 Octavian 215 Odo II, count of Blois  249 Odo, bishop of Bayeux  242 Oedipus  216, 217 Offa, king of Mercia  73, 320 Oissel (Seine-Maritime), island  25 Olaf Haraldsson, king of Norway  16 Olaf Tryggvason  26, 29, 31, 32 Old English see English, Old Old Testament  230, 234, 235 Olof Skötkonung, king of Sweden  30, 38 Orderic Vitalis  61, 69, 178–9, 227, 285, 332, 350 Historia Ecclesiastica 59 See also Gesta Normannorum Ducum ordo see coronation Ortenberg, Veronica  267, 270 Osbern, bishop of Exeter  105, 106, 107, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 117 Osbern, monk  159, 163 Life of Ælfheah 159 Osbern of Bolbec  250 Osbern, son of Herfast of Crepon  250 Osbert of Clare  234 Life of St Eadburh 234 Osgod Clapa  77, 277 Osmund, bishop of Salisbury  102, 103, 107 Osmund of Centreville, vicomte of Vernon  250 n.35 Oswald, archbishop of York  321 n.62 Oswald, St  147, 148, 197, 198 Óttar svarti  17 Knútsdrápa  17, 18 Otto I ‘the Great’, king of Germany, emperor  31, 321 n.63 Otto II, king of Germany, emperor  31, 321 n.63 Otto III, king of Germany, emperor  31 Otto of Freising  341–2 Ottonians  13, 185, 186, 320 Ovid  211–12, 216, 222, 223 Metamorphoses 212 Owain Gwynedd  298, 300 Oxford  33, 44–5, 46, 47, 48, 49, 60

420

INDEX

Bodleian Library MS Junius II  190 MS Lat. Liturg. F5  200 Corpus Christi College  153 Pagan, Hugh  98 palaeography  100, 102, 103, 127–30, 131, 137, 202, 323–30 calligraphy  130, 133, 136 scripts Anglo-Caroline  126, 129, 134, 137 Celtic 133–4 Caroline minuscule  128–9, 133, 134, 136, 137, 139 ‘diplomatic minuscule’  325, 328 Gothic 136–7 Insular minuscule  129, 137 ‘papal minuscule’  325 Vernacular minuscule  134, 139 See also manuscripts Pallig 33 papacy  73, 145, 215, 270, 271, 280–1, 284, 285, 307–30 and Cnut  72, 187, 189, 281–4, 322–3 and William  68, 71, 72–3, 284 Anglo-papal relations  269–72, 280–6, 307–30 papal legates  68, 70, 71, 178, 270, 280, 344 papal privileges  312, 313–17, 318, 319, 322, 323–30 bulla  326, 327 dating clauses  326, 327 rota  326–7, 328 St Peter’s pence  73, 271 Paris Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 7696  272 Park, Mungo  167 Parker Chronicle  32, 33 Patterson, Orlando  166, 170, 172 Paul, apostle  76, 326 Paul the Deacon  66, 70 Pays de Caux (Normandy)  248, 249, 258, 259 peace  45, 46, 83, 87, 89, 217–18, 280, 302, 351 Peace of God  180, 181 selling of  24, 25, 34 See also treaties

peasants bordars 107–8 cottars  107–8, 117 villeins 107 Pelteret, David  136, 172, 173 penance  11, 12, 21, 35, 66, 69, 72, 73, 87, 145, 178 performance  8, 9, 10, 315 Peter, St  185, 186, 187, 189, 195, 311, 313, 315 Peterborough  149, 150 Philip I, king of the Franks  345, 348 coronation 344 political education  333, 334, 335–6, 338 succession  331, 340–1, 346–7, 350 Philip II ‘Augustus’, king of France  89 Philippe de Thaon  223 Bestaire 223 Picot the sheriff  57 n.73 Pilgrim, archbishop of Cologne  283 pilgrimage  72, 266, 268, 269, 270–1, 285, 322, 331 Plus tibi fama 75 Poetic Edda  216, 217, 218 poetry  81–2, 105, 131, 208, 209 eulogies 74–5 female patronage  220–1, 222–4 Loire School poets  212, 213, 220, 221 skalds  7, 15–21, 74, 274 prosimetrical form  210–18 Welsh 133 Poitiers (Vienne)  272 Poland 283 Polynices 216 Potiphar 238 promissio regis see coronation Pryce, Huw  296, 298, 299 queenship see rulership Rachel (biblical)  230 Ragnell (Ragnhildr)  297 Ralf ‘the Timid’, earl of Hereford  274, 294 Ralph IV, count of Crépy and Valois  346 Ralph fitz Grip  251 Ralph of Diceto  79 Ralph of Montpinçon, steward of Hawise 253 Ralph Paynel, sheriff of Yorkshire  178 Ralph Taillebois  246, 262

421

INDEX

Ralph the Chaplain, wife of  246 Ramsey (Cambridgeshire), abbey  12, 155 Liber benefactorum 316 Ranig, earl  15 Reading (Berkshire)  34 Rebecca (biblical)  230 Recueil des actes des ducs de Normandie 247 Reculver (Kent) Saint Mary’s  268 Redarians, the  31 reform ecclesiastical  59, 128, 129, 152–3, 155, 163, 180, 267, 307–30 of coinage  28, 86, 87, 93 role of urban populus 312 Regenbald, chancellor  54, 276 Reginald of Durham  147 Reims (Marne)  213, 215, 325, 344 Synod of Reims (1049)  270, 277, 316, 317, 322 Reinwlf 294 relics see saints Rhain (Raen) Scotus  289, 296 Rheims see Reims Rhigyfarch’s Lament  134 Rhodri Mawr  297 Rhyd y Groes, battle  292, 293 Richard I, duke of the Normans  228, 229, 249, 343 Richard I, king of England  239 Richard II, duke of the Normans  58, 73, 249, 272, 273, 280, 340, 343 Richard II, king of England  158 Richard III, duke of the Normans  249, 340 Richard, earl of Chester  304 Richard Fitz Nigel  60, 62 Richard fitzGilbert ‘Strongbow’, earl of Pembroke 298 Richard of Hexham  175–6, 179 Richard, vicomte of Rouen  250 n.35 Richards, Mary  49 Rio, Alice  166 Riquier, St  340 ritual  67, 314, 315, 316 Robert I, king of France  283 Robert I ‘the Magnificent’, duke of the Normans  73, 249, 260, 331, 338, 340, 343, 345 Robert II ‘Curthose’, duke of the Normans 332

Robert, archbishop of Rouen  249 Robert Blanchard, abbot of Battle  70 Robert, brother of Philip I  335 Robert, count of Mortain  252, 254 Robert, duke of Anjou  26 Robert fitzPaine  261 Robert of Beaumont  250 Robert of Jumièges (Robert Champart), archbishop of Canterbury  73, 269, 274, 275, 276, 312, 319, 342 Robert of Lincoln  261 Robert ‘of Lorraine’, bishop of Hereford 276 Robert of Neauville  242 Robert of Rhuddlan  178–9 Robert of Torigni  231 See also Gesta Normannorum Ducum Robert, son of Gerold  251 Robert the corn dealer  253 Robert the Frisian  66 Robert the Lotharingian, bishop of Hereford 117 Rodulf 24 Rodulf of Warenne  250 Roger Arundel  114 Roger, bishop of Salisbury  252 Roger de Lacy  117 Roger of Bacqueville  248 Roger of Beaumont  249, 255 Roger of Howden  53 Roger of Ivry, wife of  246 Roger of Montgomery  242, 249, 250 Roger of Wendover  24 Rohaise, wife of Richard fitzGilbert  246 Rollason, David  144, 148, 149, 199 Roman de Thèbes 217 Romans, the  41, 89, 166, 183, 189, 226, 253 Rome (Italy)  13, 16, 72–3, 188, 212, 269–71, 281–2, 284–5, 315, 317–18, 319, 322, 328 Old St Peter’s  194, 195 Schola Saxonum  73, 271 synods  317, 318, 319, 322, 327 Romsey, abbey  222, 229 Rouen  178, 266 Saint-Amand, nunnery  250, 259 Rubenstein, Jay  161 Rudolph, king of Burgundy  281 rulership  74, 237 kingship  5, 7, 16, 39, 65–84, 89, 140–

422

INDEX

64, 315, 331, 334, 344, 347 child kings  331–52 European dimensions  6, 10, 16, 19, 283 Irish 289 legitimacy  227, 339, 343, 351 penitential  11, 21–2, 66–73 queen mothers  233, 234, 237, 334–6, 343, 345–7, 351 and guardianship  345–6, 351–2 queenship  33, 71, 79, 144, 185–6, 187, 339–40, 348, 349 charters  248, 251, 334–8 continuity 186 coronation 80–4 counsel 153 legitimacy 225–41 patronage  68, 142, 152, 157, 200–1, 206–24 Russell, Frederick  180 Russell, Paul  298, 299 sagas  15, 37 Saint Benet at Holme (Norfolk), abbey  154–5, 163 Register of the Abbey (London, British Library, Cotton MS Galba E. ii)  155 Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire (Loiret), monastery 272 Saint-Bertin (Flanders), monastery  213, 215, 267 Annals of Saint-Bertin 24 Saint-Corneille of Compiègne (Oise), abbey 285 Saint David’s (Pembrokeshire), cathedral  291, 298–9 Saint-Denis (Seine-Saint-Denis), abbey  284, 321 n.63, 329 Saint-Évroul (Orne), monastery  179 Saint-Florent of Saumur (Maine-et-Loire), abbey 285 Saint-Germer of Fly (Oise), abbey  70 Saint-Omer (Flanders)  281 Saint Paul’s (London), cathedral  71, 79, 81, 158, 160 Saint-Riquier (Somme), abbey  341 Saint-Vaast (Arras), abbey  267 Sainte Foi of Conques (Aveyron), abbey cartulary 271 saints  195, 230, 231, 233, 234, 240, 281, 307–8

cults of  140–64, 197–205 relics  5, 70, 145, 147, 148, 149–50, 151, 160, 161, 162, 163, 197–9, 202, 213, 240 Salians  13, 185 Salisbury  34, 101–2, 118 Salomon, duke of Brittany  26 salt women  108 salt works  117 Sandwich (Kent)  35, 38, 277 Sarah (biblical)  230 Satan  190, 191 Saxons, the  31, 41, 42, 295 Saxowal, monk  340 Sawyer, Peter  23, 266 Scandinavia  23–4, 29, 39, 94, 95, 184, 192 funerary monuments  19–20 impact in Wales  288–9, 290 influence in England  274 Scotland  30, 169, 195, 200, 219 Scots, the  149, 169, 175, 179 Scragg, Donald  132 scribes  100–18, 123, 128–9, 130, 132, 136, 137, 139, 152, 272, 325, 341 Anglo-Saxon chronicles  45–6, 307 documents  8–9, 268, 325, 326, 327–8, 329–30 training 125–6 Welsh 134 See also Exon Domesday Searle, Eleanor  244, 261 Secgan  147–8, 149 Seine, river  25 Serlo (de borci)  114 Serlo of Bayeux  221 Shaftesbury (Dorset)  251 abbey  255, 258–9 Shem (biblical)  230 sheriffs  101, 103, 104, 106, 108, 118, 247, 251, 260, 261, 262 ships  28, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 45, 266 the ‘Mora’  82 Shrewsbury (Shropshire)  98 Sidroc the Old, earl  24 Sidroc the Young  24 Sigeric, archbishop of Canterbury  268, 269 Sigmundr 20 Sigtryggr Silkiskegg, king of Dublin  288–9 Sigvalde 37

423

INDEX

Sigvatr Þórðarson  17 Knútsdrápa  17, 18, 20 silver  28, 40, 86, 93, 96 Simon of Amiens, Valois and the Vexin  285 Simon, son of Hawise of Bacqueville  251 simony  275, 316, 318 Skáldatal 16 skalds see poetry Skåne (now Sweden)  16, 30 Slapton (Chillington Hundred)  107, 117–18 slavery see enslavement Soberton, hoard  98 Solomon, king of Hungary  351 Somerset  100, 107, 113–14, 330 Southampton (Hampshire)  31 Southwark (Greater London)  93, 94, 95 Spearhafoc, abbot of Abingdon  275, 319 Stafford, Pauline  33, 37, 48, 80, 214, 243, 244, 247, 273 Staindrop (Durham)  145 Stamford Bridge (Yorkshire), battle of  208 Statius 216–18 Thebaid  216, 217, 218 Stenton, Frank  29, 171 Stephen IX (Friedrich of Liège), pope  318 Stephen, king of England  220, 231–2, 236, 237 Stephenson, David  296 Stigand, archbishop of Canterbury  70–1, 270, 309 n.9 deposition 71 pallium 270 priest at Ashingdon  70 Stokes, Peter  132 Strickland, Matthew  174, 176, 177 Strud-Harald, earl of Sjælland  36–7 succession  133, 244, 261 ducal  338, 340 royal  5, 73, 88, 141, 208, 225, 227, 229, 230, 231, 236, 240, 283, 331–52 Sulien, bishop of Saint David’s  133 Svea, kingdom of the  19 Svein Estrithsson (Estrithson), king of Denmark  29, 209, 280, 285 Svein (Swein) Forkbeard, king of the English  28–32, 33–5, 37–40, 78 conquest of England  4, 20, 21, 23, 25, 63, 65, 191, 192, 273 contrast with Cnut  76, 77 death  38, 63, 155, 273

relationship with Thorkell  28, 36–7 Svold, battle of  32 Swan Knight  238 n.79 Swan, Mary  132 Swein (Sweyn) Godwineson  270, 277, 292, 293–4 Swein, thegn  255 Swiętoslawa see Czcirada swineherds  108, 117 Symeon of Durham  53, 147, 149, 150–1, 195, 199, 202, 203 Historia regum 200 Libellus de exordio  145–7, 198, 200, 204 Tatlock, J. S. P.  237 Tavistock, abbey  109, 112, 113 Textus Roffensis 109 Thames, river  32, 273 The Go-Between 21 Thebes 216–17 Theodred, bishop of London  152 Thetford (Norfolk)  34, 95 Thietmar of Merseburg  36 Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury 158 Becket window  204 Thomas, Hugh  244 Thompson, Sally  244 Thomson, Rodney  222 Thorarinn (Þóarinn) loftunga  17 Hofuðlausn 17 Tøgdrápa 17 Thordr (Þorðr) Kolbeinsson  17 Eiríksdrápa  16, 17 Thored, earl  234 Thorkell (Thurkill) ‘the Tall’, earl of East Anglia  27, 28, 32, 35, 36–8, 40, 43 n.5, 67, 153 Thorkil, jarl  280 Thorn, Frank  104 Thorney (Cambridgeshire), abbey  68, 162 Liber Vitae 67 Thornton, David  299 Thorold of Pont Audemer  250 Thurlby, Malcolm  195, 197 Tiberius Psalter (London, British Library, Cotton MS Tiberius C. vi)  190 Tock, Benoît-Michel  106, 114 Tofi the Staller  13 Tole, wife of Urk  13, 15

424

INDEX

Tolhurst, Fiona  237 Tostig Godwineson, earl of Northumbria  12, 27, 207, 208, 209, 216, 217, 219, 277, 345, 348 Tostig, on Yttergärde stone  32, 34 n.60 Townend, Matthew  15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 74 trade  26, 266, 269, 286 Trahaearn ap Caradog  297, 304 treason  8, 29, 59 treaties  24, 25, 27, 32, 33, 34, 273 II Æthelred  26, 27, 31, 33 Anglo-Flemish 82 Treaty of Winchester (1153)  236 See also peace Treharne, Elaine  20, 132, 187 trelleborgs 30 tribute  31, 33, 34, 35, 43, 45, 51, 94–5, 98, 160 Troy 212 Turgot of Durham  195, 240 Life of St Margaret  186, 200, 228, 229, 231, 232, 233, 235 Tweed, river  148, 149 Tyler, Elizabeth  348 Ubbanford see Norham on Tweed Ufegeat 37 Ufi, abbot of Bury St Edmunds  153 Uhtred (of Bamburgh), earl of Northumbria  37, 144, 151, 278 Ulf, and Maselin  270 Ulf, from Borresta  27 Ulfcetel, moneyer  97 Ulfcytel (Ulfcetel), ealdorman of East Anglia  34, 151 Ulfr Thorgilsson (Ulf Thorgilson), jarl of Skåne  16, 36 Ulric Manfred II of Turin  283 Urk, royal housecarl  13, 15 Utrecht Psalter  190 n.23, 191, 192 van Houts, Elisabeth  228, 231, 243, 333, 339, 348 Venus 226 Vercelli Easter synod (1050)  270, 277 Victor II (Gebhard of Eichstätt), pope  313 n.24, 320 Vikings  18, 20, 21, 23–40, 93, 165, 171, 175, 273, 277

etymology 23 Jomsvikings 36–7 villeins see peasants Vinogradoff, Paul  171 Virgil  82, 216 Virgin Mary  154, 158, 185, 186, 218 Vita Ædwardi Regis  206–23, 269, 270, 277, 337, 347–9 Queen Edith’s patronage  206, 207, 214–16 Vita S. Oswaldi regis 147 Vladimir, prince of Smolensk and Kiev  209 Volsung cycle  20 Vortigern 222 Wace  53 n.52 Waddon (Dorset), manor  242, 248, 258 Wales  94, 133, 169, 178–9 Anglo-Welsh relations  287–306 Gwynedd, kingdom of  287, 290, 293, 297, 298, 299, 300, 302, 303, 304–5 marcher lands  178, 287 Powys  296, 304, 305 Walkelin, bishop of Winchester  194 Walter I Giffard  250 Walter II Giffard  242, 249, 250 Walter, bishop of Hereford  276, 317, 318 Walter fitz Grip  251 Walter Map  239 De nugis curialium 239 Walter of St-Martin  251 Waltham (Essex)  13, 33 abbey  69, 72 Chronicle of Waltham Abbey 72 Wareham (Dorset)  251, 252, 254, 255 Wareham Castle (Dorset)  252 warfare 165–82 code of war  176, 180, 181 Wasca, daughter of Rainier  258 Watling Street  25, 37 Wearmouth (Tyne and Wear)  194, 199 Webber, Teresa  101–2 Wedmore (Somerset)  107, 117 Weland 25 Welf IV, duke of Bavaria  209 Wells (Somerset), cathedral  323–30 Cathedral Library, DC/CF/3/2 Papal Charter  324, 330 Welsh Anglo-Welsh relations  287–306

425

INDEX

identity 133–4 language  127, 139 people  169, 170, 175, 178–80 Wendreth, St  162 Wessex  39, 221, 279 dynasty  70, 200, 231, 234 Westminster (Greater London) abbey  65, 70, 72, 82, 116, 160, 194, 219, 278, 349 council of (1102)  168 memorandum 117 Wevia, wife of Osbern of Bolbec  250 Weymouth (Dorset)  252 n.45, 255 White, G. H.  247 Whitelock, Dorothy  44 widows  50 n.39, 51, 79, 176, 177, 243, 247, 248, 249, 254, 258, 259–60, 262 Wilfrid, bishop of York  141 William I ‘the Bastard’, ‘the Conqueror’, king of the English, duke of the Normans  194, 229, 231, 234, 249, 252, 271 and enslavement  168, 171 and saints’ cults  140–64 Bury St Edmunds  156–8 Ely 162 See also Ælfheah, Cuthbert, Eadnoth, Modwenna and Scotland  200 and the English church  68, 141–2, 285–6 atonement  66–73, 78 bishops  71, 102, 118–19 charters  68, 114, 117, 242, 250 children  213, 220, 332 claim to the throne  63, 73, 178, 185, 200, 208, 240, 275, 333, 339, 340–1, 342–4, 345, 250 blood tie to Edward the Confessor  208, 240, 343 coinage  85, 86, 87, 89, 91, 92, 95–8 Profile/Cross Fleury type  91 comparison with Cnut  43–64, 65–84, 85–98, 140–64, 183–205, 278–80, 285–6 conquest, of England  42, 52, 65, 72–3, 84, 129, 140, 208, 278, 279, 340–2, 350, 352 conquest, of Maine  74, 280 coronation  65, 68, 70, 79, 83–4, 278, 342

death  77, 172 ducal succession  331, 338, 340, 343, 338 European context  278, 279–80, 284–6 harrying of the north  98, 195, 279 laws and law-making  52–64 murder fine  59–62 marriage to Matilda  78, 81–4, 332 oath from Harold  204 papacy  68, 71, 72–3, 284 patronage  66, 68–9, 140–3, 146, 156–8, 285 rebellion 279–80 reputation 74–8 as caesar 75 taxation 95 vow to found Battle Abbey  66, 68–70 warfare  178, 180 William II ‘Rufus’, king of the English  58, 69, 70, 93, 96, 142, 158, 180 William V, duke of Aquitaine  282–3 William, abbot of Volpiano  73 Willian Adelin  228 William Baynard  117 William, bishop of Durham  144 William d’Aumery  254 William de Moyon, sheriff of Somerset  100, 103, 104, 106, 107, 109–10, 112, 113 William de Warelwast  194, 195 William fitzOsbern  249, 250 William Malet  72 William of Arques  250 n.35 William of Braose  255 William of Gouiz  261 William of Jumièges  68, 73, 272, 342 William of Malmesbury  33, 68, 71, 82, 147, 150, 156, 158, 159, 165, 167–9, 170, 179, 214, 227, 231, 237–8, 269, 284 and Empress Matilda  231, 237, 238 and Queen Edith/Matilda  222, 223, 227–8, 237 Gesta pontificum Anglorum 150 Gesta regum Anglorum  43–4, 168, 171, 222, 237 Life of Wulfstan 168 William of Mohun  261 William of Moutiers  254, 255 n.55, 261 William of Poitiers  61, 62, 68, 71, 73, 83–4, 175 n.57, 177 n.68, 284, 285,

426

INDEX

342–3, 350 criticism of Cnut  75–6 praise of William  52, 75 presence at Matilda’s coronation  83 William of St Calais, bishop of Durham  178, 195 William of Warenne  242, 249, 250 William Thorne  271 Williams, Ann  246, 342 Williams, Gareth  98 wills Alfric Modercope  270 Ulf and Maselin  270 Wilton (Wiltshire)  34, 98 nunnery  98, 214, 218–21, 222 Saint Mary’s, church  270 Wilton diptych  158 Wiltshire  93, 100, 113, 167 n.13 Winchester (Hampshire)  17, 19–20, 71, 94, 137, 143, 194, 198, 274 New Minster  12, 13, 19, 149, 186 Liber Vitae (London, British Library, MS Stowe 944)  ii, 13, 20, 22, 88, 148, 151 n.51, 185, 186–7, 188–9, 205, 337, 338 Winchester code see law Winkler, Emily  299, 300, 303 Winterborne, rivers East Winterborne, river  253, 254 South Winterborne, river  252, 253 Winterborne Saint Martin (Dorset)  252, 261 Wipo 281 witan (witangemot)  33, 38, 39, 49, 57, 280 acceptance of Cnut  48 and law  44, 45, 46–7, 50, 58 See also assemblies writs see charters Woden (Óðinn)  226, 230 women  78–84, 242–62, 340, 343

and enslavement  175–7, 179, 180, 181, 182 and genealogies  225–41 aristocratic 242–62 French 242–62 heiresses  244, 260, 262 literary patronage  206–24 See also rulership Worcester (Worcestershire)  129, 137, 230, 232 Wulfeva, wife of Finn  246 Wulfheah 37 Wulfric, abbot of St Augustine’s  270, 277 Wulfstan II (d.1023), archbishop of York, bishop of Worcester  5–6, 21, 72, 81, 84, 87, 170, 187 Be Christendome 187 Be Hæðendome 187 laws and lawcodes  43, 44, 45–6, 47–8, 49, 50, 51, 53, 67, 189 Sermo Lupi 187 sermons  67, 187 Wulfstan (d.1095), bishop of Worcester  103, 168, 170 Wulfwig, bishop of Dorchester-onThames  327 n.82 Wyatt, David  179, 180 Wyrtgeorn, husband of Cnut’s sister  283 Yggdrasil 216 York (Yorkshire)  38, 46, 94, 97, 144 Minster 195 York Gospels (York Minster Library 1)  43, 187 Yorkshire 25 Ystrad Tywi  293 Yttergärde (Uppland), runic inscription  27, 32, 34 n.60, 39 n.84 Ziolkowski, Jan  209

427

LAURA ASHE is Professor of English Literature and Fellow and Tutor in English, Worcester College, Oxford. EMILY JOAN WARD is Moses and Mary Finley Research Fellow, Darwin College, Cambridge. Contributors: Timothy Bolton, Stephanie Mooers Christelow, Julia Crick, Sarah Foot, John Gillingham, Charles Insley, Catherine Karkov, Lois Lane, Benjamin Savill, Peter Sigurdson Lunga, Niels Lund, Rory Naismith, Bruce O’Brien, Rebecca Thomas, Elizabeth M. Tyler, Elisabeth van Houts, Emily Joan Ward. Cover image: CUL MS.Ee.3.59; f.4. Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library. Cover design: Upside Creative.

CONQUESTS IN ELEVENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND: 1016, 1066

Eleventh-century England suffered two devastating conquests, each bringing the rule of a foreign king and the imposition of a new regime. Yet only the second event, the Norman Conquest of 1066, has been credited with the impact and influence of a permanent transformation. Half a century earlier, the Danish conquest of 1016 had nonetheless marked the painful culmination of decades of raiding and invasion – and more importantly, of centuries of England’s conflict and cooperation with the Scandinavian world – and the Normans themselves were a part of that world. Without 1016, the conquest of 1066 could never have happened as it did: and yet disciplinary fragmentation in the study of eleventh-century England has ensured that a gulf separates the conquests in modern scholarship. The essays in this volume offer multidisciplinary perspectives on a century of conquest: in politics, law, governance, and religion; in art, literature, economics, and culture; and in the lives and experiences of peoples in a changing, febrile, and hybrid society. Crucially, it moves beyond an insular perspective, placing England within its British, Scandinavian, and European contexts; and in reaching across conquests connects the tenth century and earlier with the twelfth century and beyond, seeing the continuities in England’s Anglo-Saxon, Danish, Norman, and Angevin elite culture and rulership. The chapters break new ground in the documentary evidence and give fresh insights into the whole historical landscape, whilst fully engaging with the importance, influence, and effects of England’s eleventh-century conquests, both separately and together.

CONQUESTS IN ELEVENTHCENTURY ENGLAND: 1016, 1066

Edited by Laura Ashe and Emily Joan Ward