A United Europe of Things: Portable Material Culture across Medieval Europe (Themes in Contemporary Archaeology) [1st ed. 2023] 3031483359, 9783031483356

Citation preview

Themes in Contemporary Archaeology

Jakub Sawicki Michael Lewis Mária Vargha  Editors

A United Europe of Things Portable Material Culture across Medieval Europe

Themes in Contemporary Archaeology Series Editors Peter Attema, Groningen Institute of Archaeology, University of Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands Agathe Reingruber, Institut Prähistorische Archäologie, Freie Universität Berlin, Berlin, Germany Robin Skeates, Department of Archaeology, Durham University, Durham, UK

The Themes in Contemporary Archaeology series provides cutting edge perspectives on key areas of debate in current archaeological enquiry, with a particular emphasis on European archaeology. The series has a broad coverage, encompassing all archaeological periods and all approaches. Examples of topics welcome in the series include, but are not limited to: •  from theoretical debate to archaeological practice •  landscape studies • bioarchaeology •  issues of cultural heritage The volumes are based on research presented at the Annual Meetings of the European Association of Archaeologists. They include proceedings of individual sessions, which can be enlarged if necessary to provide coherence for publication. Each volume undergoes a strict peer-review process, ensuring volumes of high quality that capture current debates in the field. SERIES EDITORS The Series editors are Peter Attema, Agathe Reingruber and Robin Skeates (themes@e-­a-­a.org) DISCOUNT FOR MEMBERS All EAA members can buy print and e-copies of all THEMES volumes at 30% discount - please email [email protected] who will assist you. Please refer the following link for the EAA guidelines https://www.e-­a -­a .org/EAA/Navigation_Publications/THEMES.aspx?WebsiteKey= 59c4f6fb-­bee0-­4278-­9c2f-­9529288deb09&THEMES=4#THEMES

Jakub Sawicki • Michael Lewis • Mária Vargha Editors

A United Europe of Things Portable Material Culture across Medieval Europe

Editors Jakub Sawicki Institute of Archaeology of the Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague Prague, Czech Republic

Michael Lewis Portable Antiquities Scheme British Museum London, UK

Mária Vargha Department of Archaeology Charles University Prague Prague, Czech Republic

ISSN 2730-7441     ISSN 2730-745X (electronic) Themes in Contemporary Archaeology ISBN 978-3-031-48335-6    ISBN 978-3-031-48336-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Paper in this product is recyclable.

Preface

This volume originates from papers given at various Annual Meetings of the European Association of Archaeologists (EAA) between 2018 and 2022 – all but the first sponsored by the Medieval Europe Research Community (MERC)  – and a desire of the authors to bring some of these papers together to explore what makes Europe united (or not) in terms of its material culture. The first EAA session (Barcelona 2018) was organised by Michael Lewis (United Kingdom), Mirjam Kars (Netherlands), Mette Højmark Søvsø (Denmark) and Jakub Sawicki (Czech Republic) and entitled ‘Interpreting and Understanding the Past through Medieval Small Finds’.1 This was our first attempt to better understand who was studying ‘medieval small finds’ within the EAA community. We were primarily interested in methods being used to understand and interpret these finds, and the relationships between finds types. Most of the papers were focused on north-west European material culture. A second foray (Bern 2019), organised by Lewis and Sawicki, sought to explore whether there was a common horizon in European material culture, looking specifically at the high Middle Ages. Again, many of the papers had a north-west European focus, and the conclusions were quite mixed. The COVID-19 pandemic of 2020 interrupted plans for a third EAA session on ‘a united Europe of things’, prepared for Budapest by Sawicki and Lewis (as above) with Mária Vargha (Austria/Czech Republic) – the editors of this current volume. Here our aims were similar to the session in Bern, but with a special focus on understanding material culture within wider European sphere (i.e. outside western Europe). This postponed session took place the following year in Kiel, albeit virtually, but the objective of hearing more about the material culture of other parts of Europe was achieved. A fourth EAA session (Budapest 2022) – also organised by Sawicki, Lewis and Vargha, with Tibor Ákos Rácz – explored reintegration, but also sought to share ideas and thought processes on the study of medieval small finds. Here the chronology was also widened (from an end date of c. 1550 to c. 1700) enabling us to take a broader view on European material culture. By this stage, plans were already in place to bring some of these papers together within a printed volume. To do this, we reached out to everyone who had given a paper at a ‘united Europe of things’ session inviting them to contribute, of which a number (not all – for various reasons) did so. Consequently, we have a range of papers exploring many aspects of medieval material culture, with diversity in finds types and from across Europe. Even so, and as is highlighted in the Introduction, there are gaps – in both research interests and knowledge for various reasons (which will become clear). Because of this, we seek to plan future sessions at the EAA’s Annual Meetings, and hopefully more publications will follow. Discussions at the EAA, as well as in this publication, show a clear scholarly interest in medieval small finds, but also that state of knowledge and expertise is dispersed. As a result, we have  established a pan-European medieval small finds research group (the  European Medieval Finds network: https://ypp.com.pl/emf/), which besides holding regular basis theFor more details, see https://www.e-a-a.org/EAA2018

1 

v

vi

Preface

matic sessions at relevant conferences looks to promote research in this area and bring together people interested in medieval finds. Indeed, there is much to be done in terms of the study of medieval material culture and – by working with a wider community of professionals, hobbyists and history lovers – share that with even more people. London, UK

Michael Lewis

Prague, Czech Republic 

Jakub Sawicki

Prague, Czech Republic 

Mária Vargha

Contents

1 Introduction�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������   1 Jakub Sawicki, Michael Lewis, and Mária Vargha 2 United  We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement ���������������������������������������������������   9 Mark A. Hall 3 Where  Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context �������������������������������������������������������������������������������  29 Ben Jervis 4 A  United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)? ���������������������������������������������������������������������������   39 Michael Lewis 5 Our  Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary�����������������������������������������������������������������  49 Karen Stark 6 ‘The  Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary�����������������������������������������������  59 Mária Vargha 7 Bull,  Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia) �����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������  69 Mojca Jančar and Mateja Ravnik 8 Hooked  Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps �����������������������  79 Jakub Sawicki 9 It  Depends: The Use of Harness Pendants in Medieval Europe�����������������������������  89 Robert Webley 10 Import  or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)�������������������������������������������  97 Bianka Gina Kovács 11 Long-Distance  Relations Reflected in the Medieval Urban Material Culture of Baia Mare (Nagybánya), Satu Mare (Szatmár) and Mintiu (Németi) (Romania) ������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 109 Péter Levente Szőcs

vii

viii

12 Masses  of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)������������������������� 115 Pieterjan Deckers 13 Material  Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)����������������������������������������������������������������� 125 Joakim Kjellberg

Contents

Contributors

Pieterjan Deckers  Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Leuven, Belgium Mark A. Hall  Perth Museum and Art Gallery, Perth, UK Mojca Jančar  Terarhis d.o.o., Ljubljana, Slovenia Ben Jervis  University of Leicester, Leicester, UK Joakim Kjellberg  Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden Bianka  Gina  Kovács Institute of Archaeology, HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities, Budapest, Hungary Michael Lewis  Portable Antiquities Scheme, British Museum, London, UK Mateja Ravnik  Institute for the Protection of Cultural Heritage, Regional Unit Celje, Celje, Slovenia Jakub Sawicki  Institute of Archaeology of the Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague, Prague, Czech Republic Karen Stark  Central European University, Vienna, Austria Péter Levente Szőcs  Satu Mare County Museum, Satu Mare, Romania Mária  Vargha Department of Archaeology, Charles University Prague, Prague, Czech Republic Robert Webley  University of Exeter, Exeter, UK

ix

About the Editors

Jakub Sawicki earned his PhD in archaeology at the University of Wrocław (Poland), studied at the Christian-­ Albrecht University of Kiel (Germany) and was a fellow at Laboratoire de médiévistique occidentale de Paris at Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne (France). Currently, he works as a researcher in the Department of Historical Archaeology at the Institute of Archaeology of the Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague. Jakub is the treasurer of the Medieval Europe Research Community (MERC) in which he actively works on organizing conferences for younger researchers and other activities related to the popularisation of medieval archaeology and the integration of the scholarly community. He gives lectures on medieval material and symbolic culture at Charles University (Czech Republic). He has published widely on these topics, including the production and consumption of dress accessories, the archaeology of pilgrimages and narratives about archaeological artefacts. He has also led a project on ‘Dress Accessories and Social Life in Central Eastern Europe’ funded by Czech Grant Agency. Currently, he is involved in research on luxury, standards of living and poverty in early modern Central European urban centres and on craftsmen preferences between Prague and Paris.  

Michael Lewis heads the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS)—a project to record archaeological finds made by the public in England and Wales (see www.finds.org.uk)—and oversees the administration of the Treasure Act 1996 by which the most important archaeological finds end up in public collections. He is also a Visiting Professor in Archaeology at the University of Reading (United Kingdom) and in Social Sciences at the University of Helsinki (Finland), and a founding member of the European Public Finds Recording Network (EPFRN). For five years he was a Special Constable with the Metropolitan Police Art and Antiques Unit, and maintains an active interest in law enforcement in relation to heritage crime. He is a member of the National Chief’s Police Council Heritage and Cultural Property Crime Working Group and an advisory member of the All Party Parliamentary Archaeology Group (APPAG) in the United Kingdom. Michael has written widely on medieval material culture, specifically metal small finds associated with everyday life and religion, and the Bayeux Tapestry; the latter was the subject of his doctoral research. He was co-curator of the British Museum’s international touring exhibition ‘Medieval Europe 400–1500’ and is a member of the Comité scientifique Tapisserie de Bayeux, advising Bayeux Museum (France) on the redisplay and reinterpretation of the embroidery.  

Mária Vargha obtained her PhD in medieval studies from the Central European University, Hungary. After working four years in the Digital Humanities unit of the Institute of History at the University of Vienna (Austria), she is currently employed as a researcher in the Department of Archaeology at Charles University (Czech Republic). She is the PI of the project ‘Empowering the Voiceless. The Role of the Rural Population in State Building and Christianisation in East-Central Europe’, conducted within the PRIMUS scheme, and the Lead Agency WEAVE tri-lateral project ‘Religiopolitics – The Imperium Christianum and its Commoners’ in cooperation with the Naturhistorisches Museum Vienna and the Slovenian Academy of Sciences. She has also obtained an ERC StG grant titled ‘RELIC – Religiopolitics - The Imperium Christianum and its Commoners’, with which she returns to the University of Vienna. Her research is mainly focused on the material culture, social and landscape archaeology of the High Middle Ages, as well as on digital humanities, with a particular focus on GIS and network analysis of diverse archaeological and historical data.  

xi

Abbreviations

Internet Databases AMCR-PAS Portál amatérských spolupracovníků a evidence samostatných nálezů. www. amcr-­info.aiscr.cz ARIADNE Ariadne Plus: a data infrastructure serving the archaeological community worldwide. https://ariadne-­infrastructure.eu DIME Digital Metaldetektorfund. https://www.metaldetektorfund.dk EPFRN European Public Finds Recording Network. https://www2.helsinki.fi/en/networks/european-­public-­finds-­recording-­network FindSampo Finnish Archaeological Finds on the Semantic Web. https://dev.loytosampo.fi/ en MEDEA Metaaldetectie en Archeologie. https://www.vondsten.be PAS Portable Antiquites Scheme. https://www.finds.org.uk PAN Portable Antiquities of the Netherlands. https://portable-­antiquities.nl Raakvlak Raakvlak: Onroerend Erfgoed Brugge end Ommeland. https://collectie.raakvlak.be SOL SOL Samlingen OnLine. Sydvestjyske Museers Arkæologiske Samling. https://sol.sydvestjyskemuseer.dk

xiii

1

Introduction Jakub Sawicki , Michael Lewis , and Mária Vargha

Keyword

Pan-European context

1.1 A United Europe of Things? This book, as well as the sessions organised at the Annual Meetings of the European Association of Archaeologists (EAA) that preceded it (see Preface), are inspired by the phenomenon that aspects of medieval material culture from across Europe are linked by a certain uniformity. Whilst the period between AD 1000 and 1550 is considered here, this homogeneity of material culture is most apparent from the thirteenth century onwards. Prior to Stefan Krabath’s monumental work of 2001, “Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde nördlich der Alpen” (High and late Medieval non-ferrous metal finds north of Alps), few studies had attempted to analyse small finds (specifically non-­ferrous metal objects) from a pan-European perspective. More than twenty years on, we are in a very different place, especially because of the many thousands of new finds that have come to light, largely due to metal-detecting. As a result, there is a ‘renaissance’ in the study of archaeological small finds, especially in terms of understanding the relationships between find types, their distribution and what they can tell us about past landscapes. Even so, scholarly attitudes towards

J. Sawicki (*) Institute of Archaeology of the Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague, Prague, Czech Republic e-mail: [email protected] M. Lewis Portable Antiquities Scheme, British Museum, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Vargha Department of Archaeology, Charles University Prague, Prague, Czech Republic e-mail: [email protected]

such finds are inconsistent across Europe, moulded by modern thinking, boundaries created by language and culture, as well as diverse research traditions. It is impossible to summarise all the issues relating to the study of medieval material culture within one region or country, let alone across the whole continent. Nonetheless, in this introduction, we would like to explore aspects relating to this field of medieval archaeology that are also developed further in the individual chapters of this book. Let us start by briefly discussing the term ‘later medieval’ and the territorial scope. This will help outline both the challenges in interpreting medieval material culture across Europe, but also the opportunities these finds provide. The term ‘medieval’ is generally understood to apply to the period from the fifth to sixteenth centuries—the time from when there were extensive migrations across much of Europe (especially following the decline of the Roman Empire), and the beginnings of the formation of the first ‘European’ polities to the Reformation. The medieval period has its own, further subdivisions, which vary in each country of Europe, depending on their respective history and research traditions (see Graham-Campbell & Valor, 2007; Carver &  Klápště, 2011). Of these divisions, the most notable is a change around the eleventh century, largely explained by political and religious developments. Thereafter, there is, in many (but not all) parts of Europe, a coming together of some common aspects of identity—almost certainly fostered by the Roman Catholic Church and growing connections between Europe’s elite—that is reflected in material culture. This explains the chronological focus of this book, on the period widely understood as the ‘high’ or ‘later’ Middle Ages. More complicated is the territorial geography of ‘Medieval Europe’, which is at odds with any possible consciousness of a pan-European identity. Between 1000 and 1550, the borders of European states were anything but static, ebbing and flowing as the balance of power was driven by alliance and conflict. Studies of medieval Europe rarely cover the whole territory, which can be explained by the factors outlined

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_1

1

2

earlier—essentially driven by the reality that scholarly interest in medieval material culture is lacking in some areas (discussed further below) and how Europe is divided into specific areas or zones by researchers, based on both the historical past, but also the political present. The area outlined in The Archaeology of Medieval Europe (Graham-­ Campbell & Valor, 2007: Vol. 1; Carver & Klápště, 2011: Vol. 2) includes the territories (west to east) from the Atlantic to the Southern Danube and (south to north) the Mediterranean to the Arctic (Carver & Klápště, 2011: 17–18), so roughly those corresponding to western Christendom in the high and late Middle Ages. In contrast, the range of topics discussed in this volume is closer to the geographic area presented in the work of Krabath (2001). This focuses on the territories lying ‘North of the Alps’, an area that is fairly well defined in its historical and cultural perspectives, and moreover regularly discussed internationally. This includes periodically held meetings focused on the Baltic and North Sea Hanseatic studies, such as the Lübecker Kolloquium zur Stadtarchäologie im Hanseraum, the Central European Forum Urbes Medii Aevi (organised mostly by Czech researchers but gathering audiences from neighbouring countries), and the more international Ruralia Conferences focused on rural archaeology. However, it is still an ‘academic invention’ that might not fully reflect a medieval view of their place in the world. Interesting and important, therefore, is how various modern factors explain the research interests of scholars, and how their interactions impact wider concepts that possibly connect past peoples. Also noteworthy is how various scholarly traditions drive research interests. Medieval archaeology has its own specificity as a discipline. It uses the traditional ‘toolbox’ known in other fields of archaeology but also reaches beyond (for a broader summary, see Graham-Campbell & Valor, 2007; Carver & Klápště, 2011). Multiple sources and their underlying research traditions allow for a complex multidisciplinary approach to the past, not always available to this extent for other periods. Gathered under the umbrella of medieval studies, these sources include historical texts of various kinds, from perambulations in charters to philosophical and theological discussions, along with a wide range of material remains preserved outside of most archaeological research, such as buildings, some of which still define the places we live in, and remains of contemporary art in the form of paintings, sculptures, or various metal objects, often kept in collections together with certain items associated with everyday life, such as furniture or elements of clothing. Together, these avenues of enquiry into the medieval period open a vast range of research questions allowing a broader understanding of a given period. Iconography has been widely used to help identify certain object types and to specify the chronology and broader social context, while historical sources (e.g. guild registers) can provide information allowing a more

J. Sawicki et al.

comprehensive interpretation of archaeological finds (e.g. about the specific rules regarding manufacture or competitions between various crafts; see Sawicki, Chap. 8, this volume). Even though medieval archaeology traditionally focuses on Europe, the discipline recently seeks to expand to a global perspective (Jervis, 2017b), to explore, among others, comparative studies of different, often neglected scholarship regions. Science and new technologies significantly impacted archaeological research over the last few decades, also resulting in a change of focus. While some traditional research themes—such as investigations of built heritage and the historic environment—still prevail, the study of larger historical processes (e.g. the Black Death, the Mongol invasion of Europe, or urbanisation), natural science connected to archaeology (including, for example, a focus on isotopes and DNA), and archaeometrical studies dominate the field of medieval archaeology. While new perspectives and technologies also offer a tremendous opportunity for the research of small finds (such as digital catalogues of finds, that make information much more accessible, along with the investigation of spatial relations, production technologies, and networks), their research across the broad European horizon faces many challenges, which can be briefly summarised in the following points. Firstly, it is clear that within the study of archaeological small finds, there is still not enough groundwork being done, even in terms of object identification, not to mention the more complex analysis of finds types across wider geographic regions. Even in Europe, which perhaps leads the study of medieval archaeology and material culture more generally, this area of research is sadly underwhelming. Secondly, it is perhaps worth mentioning that the taphonomy of small finds is a specific problem on its own (see Deckers, Chap. 12, this volume). Due to the value of the raw material, non-ferrous metal items could have been re-melted (during the course of history) and, thus, are absent in the archaeological record. Furthermore, without the use of metal detectors as archaeological tools (discussed further below), metal small finds are seldom found in professional excavations, which is especially visible in archaeological archives prior to the advent of metal-detecting. This is especially true for rural areas. Here, due to the various agricultural activities impacting the distribution and recovery of finds, along with the different archaeological situation and methodology applied, metal-detecting greatly enriches information about the past, complementing our knowledge of urban centres which are the usual focus of most professional excavations. Similarly, dress accessories (and other artefacts) disappear from medieval graves in most areas of Europe, and therefore the study of medieval non-ferrous metals is usually restricted to the much rarer hoard finds (for some excellent examples of complex studies of hoard finds, see Prokisch & Kühtreiber, 2004; Hofer,

1 Introduction

2014) or parts of Europe where hobby metal-detecting is tolerated. Bone, antler and wooden objects, or ferrous metals, have a much worse fate. Being rare archaeological finds and bearing no ‘general’ value due to their material composition, their taphonomical loss is perhaps the largest (Kühtreiber & Vargha, 2018). Thirdly, within the European context, despite the mentioned ‘uniformity’ of the material evidence, there are regional, cultural and language differences, along with a varied level of access to literature relevant to the study of material culture and, of course, different research traditions. Further complicating all these are the legislative differences for dealing with ‘portable antiquities’, even within relatively unified political entities such as the European Union. Fourthly, attitudes across Europe towards archaeological small finds vary due to archaeological theory and approaches to studying the past. While the first two points are rather self-­ explanatory, in the following sections we present thoughts on the last two challenges and examine the opportunities to deal with them. Finally, we summarise how different authors approached those problems in this volume.

1.2 Contemporary Borders and Medieval Artefacts Frontiers pose many challenges for archaeologists in continental Europe. Given that Great Britain (i.e. England, Scotland and Wales) is an island, British archaeologists have the (theoretical) luxury of investigating its material culture in relative isolation, notwithstanding the fact that a purely isolationist approach to studying the past is neither desirable nor useful—indeed, it is contrary to the purpose of this volume. For archaeologists in continental Europe, however, frontiers pose many challenges. Among them are physical, political and linguistic ones, as well as those related to local research traditions and culture. Even in Britain, modern political borders (such as that between England and Scotland) hamper a broader understanding of trends in material culture across wider geographical areas (especially as nationalism encourages an isolationist view of the past), and this is magnified significantly in ‘mainland’ Europe. Firstly, medieval borders do not usually align with current country limits, and even less so with administrative (regional) boundaries within modern nation-states (see Fig.  1.1). As such, scholars exploring the medieval past must overcome the impact of modern political boundaries, sometimes emphasised by modern linguistic differences. This is true especially in Central-Eastern Europe, but also in much of Central-Western and Southern Europe. An example can be observed in the Silesia region (in modern-day Poland), which historically belonged to the Bohemian Kingdom (in the high and late medieval period). Here, to properly study its medieval material culture, researchers need to be able to read

3

Polish, Czech, German and Slovak, as well as English, and still, some analogies can be found in Ukraine, Hungary and Lithuania, for example. Arguably less problematic for the central Middle Ages are northern European countries, such as within Scandinavia, until such studies drift towards the borderlands with the wider world. Even here, the creation of nation-states has encouraged past histories to be compartmentalised within modern political and linguistic boundaries. While syntheses on various archaeological topics from Central Europe, for example, are usually published in English, summaries on material culture are not, and most of the finds are published in finds reports, much more rarely in separate catalogues (this issue is also highlighted by Deckers, Chap. 12, this volume, for Flanders and Belgium). This requires researchers in these areas to have a good working knowledge of several languages, and an ability to interrogate the relevant literature, as the publication of small finds is often found within reports of various sites, not referring to them in their title. Furthermore, this ‘grey literature’ will almost certainly be produced in the local language. In short, research on medieval material culture, and specifically small finds, necessitates not only having a deep knowledge of the subject matter, but the ability to access various reports and literature to stay up to date with the current state of research. Perhaps because of an ‘island mentality’ and almost certainly because of its relative political stability during the medieval period (i.e. devoid of successful conquest in the high and later Middle Ages), archaeologists in England seem to have led the way in studying medieval material culture in Europe. This has certainly been facilitated by the fact that there is a common knowledge of English amongst European scholars, and good accessibility to books written in English. Many great works in the field of medieval material culture, such as Dress Accessories by Egan and Pritchard (1991) and the Salisbury Museum catalogue series (1990–2001; see Saunders, 2001), as well as the establishment of the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) and its online database (2003–) of archaeological small finds, means that finds from England (and Wales) are the most easily accessible references in Europe. While this is very helpful for ongoing research amongst scholars in other parts of the continent, it also creates an ‘Anglo-centric’ view of material culture that might blur the understanding of ‘finds’ found outside England specifically, and Britain more generally. Hence, English/British scholarship dictates ‘a reality’ that might not be ‘true’ elsewhere. A major impact on our understanding of medieval material culture has been the approach to heritage protection, notably how to deal with the issue of the public searching for archaeological finds. Metal detecting experienced a ‘boom’ across Europe from the 1980s, particularly in the 1990s (Dobat et al., 2020). There has been no common European approach to dealing with this, even within countries (e.g. in

4

J. Sawicki et al.

Fig. 1.1  Areas studied in the current volume in the context of medieval and modern Europe. (Map: Mária Vargha)

Belgium and Germany), impacting the number of new finds that have come to light. In much of north-western Europe, notably Britain, most of Scandinavia and the Low Countries, detecting is permitted, so many finds have been found and— thanks to systems in place to liaise with finders—recorded. The aforementioned PAS is a testament to the advantages of a cooperative approach to metal-detecting, with over 1.6 million public finds now recorded in its database, of which some 220,000 are medieval in date. Similar recording schemes include DIME in Denmark, the Portable Antiquities of the Netherlands (PAN), MEDEA in Flanders, and FindSampo in Finland, though some of these (e.g. DIME and PAN) are more established than others (e.g. MEDEA and FindSampo). Nonetheless, these areas have come together as part of the European Public Finds Recording Network (EPFRN) to share expertise on how to best liaise with the detecting community and record their finds and utilise ‘citizen science’ to advance archaeological knowledge. In other parts of Europe, the situation is very different. In general, most western and southern European states (e.g. France, Spain and Italy) prohibit hobby metal-detecting, and those in Central Europe severely restrict it. That said, there are mechanisms in place

to integrate metal-detecting communities in the professional archaeological works in Hungary (Laszlovszky & Rácz, 2020; Rácz, 2021), and in the Czech Republic a similar project has started recently (AMCR-PAS). There are also initiatives to record detector finds in some areas of the Baltic, notably Estonia (Kurisoo et al., 2020). Invariably this means that the archaeological map of Europe is very diverse, especially in terms of information about public finds. Here is not the place to discuss the rights and wrongs of metal-detecting or the benefits and challenges of working with finder communities (because there are many). Nevertheless, where detector finds have been recorded in significant numbers, their academic study has followed suit and flourished. In Britain, for example, not only are scholars now working on metal small finds, but even landscape studies are seen as incomplete without considering detector finds data. Examples of this work in the medieval arena include Oksanen and Lewis’s (2020) recent study of medieval market sites through portable material culture, and their exploration of changes in medieval finds (specifically dress accessories) following the Black Death (2023), as well as Lewis (2016) on processes of urbanisation.

1 Introduction

These issues—i.e. diverse literature (some less accessible because of language barriers), contemporary political borders and cultural attitudes towards metal-detecting and dealing with public finds—are probably the largest issues facilitating comparative research on medieval material culture across Europe.

1.3 Archaeological Theory and Expectations from the Research Following ideas advocated by Beaudry and Mehler (2016: 108), it is worth considering the distinction between ‘artefact studies’ and ‘material culture studies’. As these authors suggest, the latter is almost impossible without the former, but there are differences. The former focuses more on analysing and describing archaeological finds, so as objects in their own right, whereas the latter explores their (wider) cultural meaning and significance. While ‘artefact study’ largely continues with typological analysis, moving towards archaeometry, ‘material culture studies’ draws on many concepts from philosophy, anthropology and the social sciences, which (as already  indicated) are all interrelated. Indeed, such multidisciplinary approaches are much welcomed, and in the spirit of this volume. The proclaimed ‘material turn’ (Hicks, 2010) seems to be more present in theoretical studies than in the study of particular aspects of material culture, bar a few case studies. Recently many scholars have discussed and advanced new perspectives in this area. Among them are those who advocate ‘Actor-network theory’ (Latour, 2005), promoting the idea that things, not only humans, have agency. Those concepts, mostly within Anglo-American scholarship, have been discussed in numerous publications, creating a fascinating debate that was summarised in an accessible manner by Johnson (2010) as well as Harris and Cipolla (2017). At present, material culture is often being discussed as a part of the ‘ontological turn’, with a wider focus on ‘Assemblage Thought’ (Jervis, 2018), based on the works of DeLanda (2016) and philosophers Deleuze and Guattari (1987). This approach, in general, reflects on the active nature of things (Jervis, 2018: 15) and focuses on differences, fluidity and change, rather than on stasis and static models (Jervis, 2018). While the latter approach is still debated, and its development is ongoing, other frameworks are also being proposed. One such example is ‘assemblages of practice’ (Antczak & Beaudry, 2019), which also considers ‘human-things’ entanglements that transcend objects being simply seen as static. In most cases, though, the focus is more on theoretical concepts and less on the material culture itself. That said, such works open new possibilities for interpreting material culture, such as in relation to social life (Jervis, 2014) or concepts like ‘social self’ or ‘identity’ (Jervis, 2017a), or even expanding it to understand local identities (Mehler, 2009).

5

Such complicated theoretical approaches are usually not present outside Anglo-American approaches to archaeology which is somewhat telling in itself. In contrast, research in ‘mainland’ Europe seems to be more traditional (even— some might say—more grounded), including typologies, catalogues of finds, or specific studies focusing on style and analogies, as well as iconography, spread and chronology. Within such traditions, finds are divided mostly into types, and usually treated separately from others as specific groups. This, however, does not mean that research is not insightful or well conducted, but it derives from a different research tradition, quite often providing similar results. While these approaches may seem to be contradictory, the ideas promoted, although presented in slightly different ways, are also very much concerned with object-human relations, identity, social status, and/or production-economic issues. All the above leads to not-often-asked questions: what is the expected outcome of studying material culture? Or (to ask the same question in another way), what broader topics can one investigate through studying artefacts? Recent works also focus on the problem of how to deal with large assemblages of finds, mostly from urban contexts (see Deckers, Chap. 12 and also Kjellberg, Chap. 13, this volume). Large-scale excavations in the centre of historical towns leave archaeologists with large amounts of finds, but not the resources to analyse them. Hence, most research outcomes usually include only significant remains (e.g. standing structures) and case studies of the more interesting finds, which might not be typical of such assemblages. More traditional approaches also include studies of groups of finds based on the material type (e.g. wood, bone, glass, pottery, ferrous and non-ferrous metals). Arising from such challenges are two especially interesting propositions. One, put forward by Haase and Whatley (2020) regarding Veblen’s concept of conspicuous consumption, which proposes dividing finds into groups based on consumption strategies. Another intriguing idea was advanced by Atzbach and Radohs (2020), who suggest tracing a variety of objects as a method of understanding social differentiation. An approach based on social practices was briefly introduced also in this volume (Christophersen, 2015; see also Kjellberg, Chap. 13, this volume). In short, the possible research approaches are enormous and still expanding. This brings us to the issue of our expectations for future research on material culture and how it answers the above-­ mentioned challenges. Should it seek to identify new typologies of find types poorly understood, or should it be focused on cataloguing all known finds, such as through digital databases? Should medieval archaeologists expand their understanding of production techniques and advance ‘deep’ archaeometrical studies? Should we build a narrative around what we can learn from the most archaeologically significant finds, or should we focus only on the ‘big data’? Should we

6

champion object biographies as a way into the past, or look for parallels in iconography or written texts? Should the finds be linked to what we might learn about the larger processes of medieval times, such as urbanisation, industrialisation, or even the beginnings of commerce and capitalism? What is the scale and temporality of the research? In fact, as the chapters in this book show, material culture studies can follow all those possibilities to provide a large spectrum of varied research. However, we would also like to advocate for a more collective study of the past. As has already been highlighted, there are large gaps in our knowledge, and (sadly) a lack of interest in the traditional study of material culture (which has particularly impacted the ‘simple study’ of object types, their development and spatial distribution) which is fundamental to exploring many of the research avenues suggested above. This is a challenge that this volume highlights as a need to address, especially in the relationship between object types common across Europe—i.e. pan-European things!

1.4 Different Things and Different Approaches The content of this book obviously cannot answer all the questions posed above, but that is not its purpose either. Instead, our intention is to highlight various topics concerning portable material culture as a way into exploring the medieval pan-European horizon, as well as to give some insights about ongoing research. While the current collection of studies is admittedly fragmented chronologically and geographically, having a focus predominantly on Britain and Central Eastern Europe, albeit with some studies in-between (Fig. 1.1), collectively they show the need for a pan-­European perspective on various aspects evident in high and late medieval material culture. Moreover, hopefully, this book will also provide a platform for future studies of European medieval portable culture. The authors contributing to this book, coming from different scholarly backgrounds and traditions, provide a broad perspective on studying medieval small finds and approaches to a ‘united Europe of things’. First, Mark Hall considers material culture manifestations of ‘play’ and belief/supernatural engagements. His study focuses on two main areas: ‘the castle’ as an area for play, and ‘pilgrimage’ as a pan-European activity controlled (to a degree) by the Church (see also Lewis below). Importantly, this chapter explores how objects communicate ideas through the various ways they are used, which can differ from their original intended purpose. Ben Jervis takes a theoretical approach, interpreting material culture, specifically spoons, using both written texts (namely inventories) and archaeological data (mostly public

J. Sawicki et al.

finds) to understand their social relevance and agency. He argues that these (seemingly incidental) items are ‘indicative of consumer choice, the acquisition of luxury (non-essential) products and expressions of identity and a pan-European culture of consumption’. Viewed at a time of religious transition (i.e. within the context of the mid-sixteenth-century Reformation), they are particularly interesting. Again, looking at individual object types (in this case brooches, buckle-plates and strap-ends), Michael Lewis explores inscriptions on archaeological small finds as a way to understand how united Europe might be in its material culture. He examines ‘religious inscriptions’ specifically to test the theory that the overarching presence of the (Roman Catholic) Church in medieval society provides a catalyst for a pan-European identity. Although variables in the (modern-­ day) recovery of small finds distort the picture to a degree, the results are intriguing. Karen Stark also focuses on the religious meaning of medieval objects, examining items associated with the cult of the Virgin Mary in Hungary—namely rosary beads, rings and (like Lewis, above) brooches. Some of these items indicate a pan-European culture, but others appear to have been particular to certain areas. As a group, they (perhaps unsurprisingly) demonstrate the popularity of the Virgin Mary across territorial and cultural boundaries, as well as those of society. Artefacts are not only the bearers of inscriptions (as discussed by Lewis and Stark), but also of other symbols. Even seemingly simple artefacts can relate to power, as in the case of certain mounts from Hungary. Mária Vargha discusses these unusual finds in relation to the power of kings, both as secular rulers and (in some cases) saints’ cults. In particular, she explores how everyday people in Hungary might have perceived this image of the enthroned ruler and whether it could have transformed from a sign of authority to an element of ‘popular culture’. The symbolic significance of objects is also examined by Mojca Jančar and Mateja Ravnik whose chapter considers ceramic aquamaniles. Metal versions of these objects played an important role in hand-washing practices for Abrahamic cultures—namely Judaism, Christianity and Islam—both in religious and secular contexts. Finds from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia) provide new insights on this object type, not least concerning external influences (in this case, Teutonic culture) upon local culture and the spread of ‘courtly culture’ amongst lower social echelons. A different approach to material culture has been chosen by Jakub Sawicki in his chapter assessing a ‘rare’ group of dress accessories—hooked clasps and eyes. Although these objects are similar (in general terms) to ‘hooked-tags’, a phenomenon of early medieval culture (especially in England), and ‘dress hooks’, of later medieval and post-medieval date, ‘hooked clasps and eyes’ date to between thirteenth-fifteenth

1 Introduction

centuries and seem only to be present in Central Europe. As such, they are an interesting example of regionalism amongst a widespread horizon of other mass-produced objects. Similar is the approach undertaken by Rob Webley, whose study focuses on horse harness pendants. Advancing the work of Norbert Goßler and Stefan Krabath, who have identified a pan-European culture of these objects, albeit with ‘certain peculiarities’, Webley considers further their chronology and distribution, thus providing new insights. This challenges Krabath’s theory that medieval Europe was divided into seven ‘trading zones’. A thoughtful study on the impact of external culture on local ceramic production is considered in the Chap. 10 by Bianka Gina Kovács on ‘graphite ware’ in Central Transdanubia (Hungary). Previously, such pottery types have been interpreted as exclusively imported wares, but the evidence presented here suggests otherwise. Nevertheless, the strong impact of imported ceramics (mostly from ‘Austrian provinces’) on local pottery production is still evident. Long-distant relations are also discussed by Péter Levente Szőcs, who explores how two specific objects—namely a sword with inscription and a three-legged cauldron—came to be in certain (albeit distant) territories of the Holy Roman Empire (now present-day Romania). In contrast to previous chapters, here the main actors are rare artefacts, not the most common finds, and are hence not necessarily thought of as part of trade, but rather as gift exchange. In contrast to the study of individual object types (the focus of many chapters in this volume), Pieterjan Deckers seeks to investigate metalwork assemblages from medieval urban sites across Flanders (Belgium). He highlights several of the issues discussed here, not least how metal finds traditionally lack in-depth analysis in (commercial) excavation reports, and with the challenge that the data is not recorded in a single way (even within a single political entity). Using digital tools, he seeks to make sense of this hitherto under-­ exploited resource for understanding medieval towns. In a thought-provoking discussion, Joakim Kjellberg also undertakes a large-scale study of material culture, this time obtained from one particular site—the medieval town of Uppsala. Here he argues against the notion of a ‘shared urban identity in Swedish medieval townscapes’ mostly identified with a (so-called) ‘north-west European’ or ‘Hanseatic’ culture. His study explores specific categories of objects to understand the town’s development, its people and aspects of urban identity. Needless to say, the findings are surprising. This volume, along with the ongoing series of EAA sessions, aims to provide a common platform for researchers interested in European medieval small finds, but with diverse approaches to material culture, to facilitate discussion and further research collaborations. Accordingly, presented here is both diversity in approaches and the geographies of portable material studies. While it does not provide one answer

7

to the existence (or otherwise) of a pan-European horizon of material culture, it reflects the spectrum of challenges towards that ideal (raised above) and shows different ways of analysing material culture. The Middle Ages, in its European but also in a global context, is a complex world, requiring multi-layered parallel approaches. We believe that this volume successfully makes that point, and that its chapters, as individual contributions to the debate, highlight the potential of future research in this area and the variety of discourses that research might take. We wish to continue to provide a joint platform for medieval material studies, as we firmly believe that a more active discussion and a closer community of European researchers will benefit the study of material culture and, ultimately, the whole of archaeology as a field of science. This is why the European Medieval Finds (EMF: https://ypp.com.pl/emf/) network has been established—to facilitate networking and closer cooperation in this area.

References Antczak, K.  A., & Beaudry, M.  C. (2019). Assemblages of practice. A conceptual framework for exploring human-thing relations in archaeology. Archaeological Dialogues, 26(2), 87–110. https://doi. org/10.1017/S1380203819000205 Atzbach, R., & Radohs, L. (2020). Variety matters! The number of artefact types (NAT) as a new method for social differentiation in medieval settlement archaeology. Zeitschrift für Archäologie des Mittelalters, 48, 127–167. https://dialnet.unirioja.es/servlet/ articulo?codigo=8110623 Beaudry, M. C., & Mehler, N. (2016). The material culture of the modern world. Post-Medieval Archaeology, 50(1), 108–120. https://doi. org/10.1080/00794236.2016.1169811 Carver, M.  O. H., & Klápště, J. (Eds.). (2011). The archaeology of Medieval Europe (Vol. 2  – Twelfth to Sixteenth Centuries AD). Aarhus University Press. Christophersen, A. (2015). Performing towns. Steps towards an understanding of medieval urban communities as social practice. Archaeological Dialogues, 22(2), 109–132. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S1380203815000161 DeLanda, M. (2016). Assemblage theory. Edinburgh University Press. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1987). A thousand plateaus: Capitalism and schizophrenia. University of Minnesota Press. Dobat, A.  S., Deckers, P., Heeren, S., Lewis, M., Thomas, S., & Wessman, A. (2020). Towards a cooperative approach to hobby metal detecting: The European Public Finds Recording Network (EPFRN) vision statement. European Journal of Archaeology, 23(2), 272–292. https://doi.org/10.1017/eaa.2020.1 Egan, G., & Pritchard, F. (1991). Dress accessories c. 1150–c. 1450. R.R. Bowker. Graham-Campbell, J., & Valor, M. (Eds.). (2007). The archaeology of medieval Europe (Vol. 1 – Eighth to twelfth centuries AD). Aarhus University Press. Haase, K., & Whatley, S. (2020). Consumption strategies and social implications in two Danish towns in the 13th–16th centuries. Medieval Archaeology, 64(1), 116–144. https://doi.org/10.1080/00 766097.2020.1754661 Harris, O. J. T., & Cipolla, C. N. (2017). Archaeological theory in the new millennium. Routledge.

8 Hicks, D. (2010). The material-cultural turn: Event and effect. In D. Hicks & M. C. Beaudry (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of material culture studies (pp. 25–98). Oxford University Press. Hofer, N. (Ed.). (2014). Der Schatzfund von Wiener Neustadt. Ferdinand Berger & Söhne GmbH. Jervis, B. (2014). Pottery and social life in medieval England. Oxbow Books. Jervis, B. (2017a). Consumption and the ‘social self’ in medieval southern England. Norwegian Archaeological Review, 50(1), 1–29. https://doi.org/10.1080/00293652.2017.1326978 Jervis, B. (2017b). Assembling the archaeology of the global middle ages. World Archaeology, 49(5), 666–680. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 00438243.2017.1406397 Jervis, B. (2018). Assemblage thought and archaeology. Routledge. Johnson, M. (2010). Archaeological theory: An introduction. Wiley. Krabath, S. (2001). Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde nördlich der Alpen: Eine archäologisch-kunsthistorische Untersuchung zu ihrer Herstellungstechnik, funktionalen und zeitlichen Bestimmung. Leidorf. Kühtreiber, T., & Vargha, M. (2018). Treasures of the “lower ten thousand”? Hoards of iron objects. In Á. Drosztmér, K. Lyublyanovics, J. Rasson, Z. Papp Reed, A. Vadas, C. Zatykó, & D. Mérai (Eds.), Genius loci—Laszlovszky 60 (pp. 273–279). Archaeolingua. Kurisoo, T., Rammo, R., Smirnova, M., & Kangert, N. (2020). Searching devices, new discoveries, and issues related to them in Estonian archaeology in 2020. Archaeological Fieldwork in Estonia, 2020, 265–291. https://arheoloogia.ee/kirjandus/ arheoloogilised-­valitood-­eestis/ave-­2020/ Laszlovszky, J., & Rácz, T. Á. (2020). Research using metal detectors at the battlefield of Muhi: Community archaeology, battlefield investi-

J. Sawicki et al. gation and related methodological issues. Hungarian Archaeology, 9(4), 71–81. Latour, B. (2005). Reassembling the social: An introduction to actor-­ network-­theory. Oxford University Press. Lewis, M. (2016). Mounts for furnishings, padlocks, and candleholders: Understanding the urbanization of medieval England through metal small finds recorded by the Portable Antiquities Scheme. In B.  Jervis, L.  G. Broderick, & I.  Grau Sologestoa (Eds.), Objects, environment, and everyday life in medieval Europe (pp. 157–185). Brepols Publishers. https://doi.org/10.1484/M.HDL-­EB.5.109542 Mehler, N. (2009). The perception and interpretation of Hanseatic material culture in the North Atlantic: Problems and suggestions. Journal of the North Atlantic, 2(sp1), 89–108. https://doi. org/10.3721/037.002.s109 Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (2020). Medieval commercial sites: As seen through Portable Antiquities Scheme data. The Antiquaries Journal, 100, 109–140. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581520000165 Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (2023). Evaluating transformations in small metal finds following the Black Death. Medieval Archaeology, 67(1), 159–186. https://doi.org/10.1080/00766097.2023.2204727 Prokisch, B., & Kühtreiber, T. (2004). Der Schatzfund von Fuchsenhof. Oberösterreichisches Landesmuseum. Rácz, T. Á. (Ed.). (2021). Kincskeresés, kaland, tudomány: Közösségi régészeti projektek Pest Megyében. Ferenczy Múzeumi Centrum. Saunders, P. (Ed.). (2001). Salisbury Museum medieval catalogue (Part 3): Bone objects, enamels, glass vessels, pottery, jettons, cloth seals, bullae and other base metal objects…. Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum.

2

United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement Mark A. Hall

Abstract

This contribution explores issues around the commonality versus distinctiveness of portable material culture across medieval Europe, focusing in particular on material culture manifestations of play (particularly ‘board games’) and belief/supernatural engagements (through the cult of saints and pilgrimage). The chapter will adopt an entangled narrative of supernatural engagement, board games and cultural interaction. Its longue durée trajectory commences in the mid-first millennium AD (with a link back to the earlier first millennium and Roman/European contacts) and closes in the sixteenth century. Over this timeframe, it will seek to highlight shared play practices as suggested by board and dice games kit. A particular focus will be the nature and spread of chess, including its social and metaphorical understanding. This will be supported by a key case study: the medieval castle as an arena for play and source of play paraphernalia for church treasuries. The idea of castles as arenas of play, especially when ruinous, has remained a key aspect of their use, reuse and understanding through to modern times. Regarding Christianity as a broad cultural practice, wider than a set of theologically controlled faith precepts, this chapter will also seek to understand pilgrimage as a unifying practice linking movement, supernatural engagement and gaming/ play practices. Keywords

Board-games · Cult of saints · Dice · Faith · Magic · Material culture · Memes · Networks · Play · Pilgrimage · Supernatural engagements

M. A. Hall (*) Perth Museum and Art Gallery, Perth, UK e-mail: [email protected]

2.1 Introduction Should we be surprised that medieval Europe was united by its material culture? It certainly seems to be an idea, even a turn – shared stuff and interconnectivity – that researchers of most archaeological periods are pursuing. The last decade or so of the study of Iron Age Europe, or more widely, Eurasia, has emphasised that the distribution of artefacts, materials, technologies, and traditions define extensive networks of communication and exchange across this wide geographic area. These networks and their constituents are in constant flux as to their scale and character and did not produce a homogenous culture. This idea is expressed by Gosden et al. (2020: 141) in the context of mound building across Eurasia, suggesting that ‘a common pairing of networks of contact, mapped out in the contents of these mounds, and the explicit referencing of local, social landscapes in their construction, highlights structural similarities in practices across much of the northern world. Their coherence and connection across Iron Age Europe and Asia – patterns rooted in sets of shared practices and beliefs that were broadly animistic in nature – enabled a sudden and dramatic transmission of new ideas, new forms of contact and new ways of life over the course of a few centuries at the beginning of the first millennium BC’. It is possible that the ubiquity of these primary burial mounds was central to the continuity of mound practices into later times  – both funerary mounds and assembly mounds. The latter can be seen conceptually and physically to reflect these funerary mounds as a way of calling on ancestral and supernatural authority, to help determine political, legal, and social affairs (the literature is extensive but see Semple et al., 2021). The European burial record shows that the continuity of connectivity can be perceived throughout later prehistory, Late Antiquity and the medieval periods. Recent publications on the Europe-wide phenomenon of funerary change, specifically the shift from depositing grave goods to not doing so, over the sixth-eighth centuries, was heavily influenced by cultural connectivity (Brownlee, 2021;

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_2

9

10

Gleeson & McLaughlin, 2021) which is also evinced by increasing amounts of long-distance bulk exchange and the increased sharing of material culture at a wider level. ‘This growing interconnectivity led to a ‘global Europe’ which shared not only funerary rites but also many other aspects of culture’ (Brownlee, 2021: 15). The same interconnectivity, with its east-west dynamic across Eurasia is revealed by analysis of the Silk Road and its transmission of visual materials and concepts (Forêt & Kaplony, 2008; Whitfield, 2019). Human action is emphasised as the key agency of transmission – the pace of diffusion along the Silk Road depending on the ­merchants, pilgrims, soldiers, clerics, ambassadors, servants, artists and craftsmen. Transmission led to innovation, which followed the adoption of ‘foreign’ concepts, resulting in imitation, inspiration and total innovation. It seems clear that material culture rarely has a fixed meaning – the meanings of objects are fluid, dependent on context, use and understanding; they have biographical trajectories, integral to how we understand what we are calling a ‘united Europe of things’. It is this multiplicity of object identities, imbued by biographical trajectories, that informs the idea of this chapter. Objects communicated ideas through the ways they were used and not always to some originary, prescribed purpose. A desire and need to interact with the supernatural provoked a willingness to conscript a wide range of objects in pursuit of that aim (Hall, 2021). Until comparatively recently, coins, for example, were a neglected example of this category, despite their key importance to this area of human behaviour; indeed, they carried this non-­ financial transactional quality in relation to the supernatural almost from their inception (Maguire, 1997; Hall, 2012a; Burström & Ingvardson, 2018). For this short outline, the focus is on other nodal points in that Eurasian network: the complex meanings of board games and the cult of saints and their interaction as a means of supernatural engagement, through both pilgrimage practices, including graffiti and magic, often intertwined.

2.2 Magic in Play and Belief It is being increasingly recognised that archaeology reveals magical practices in diverse social contexts often absent from historical sources, facilitating a more direct access to the ‘mental world of the non-literate’ (Kieckhefer, 1994: 833; Cameron, 2010: 6; Gilchrist, 2021) and not necessarily with respect to the Church’s distinction between licit and illicit magic. Archaeology’s wide chronological purview means it can also perceive continuity in ritual practice and in the selection and treatment of materials, extending over hundreds of years and across the Christian conversion and Reformation watersheds (Hutton, 2016). It reveals an enduring repertoire of common ritual actions, hybridising and

M. A. Hall

organic in their development and definable as traditional or indigenous to northern Europe (Gilchrist, 2021) and integral to the development of the cult of saints, itself a cross-­religious international mode of communication (Howard-Johnston & Hayward, 2002, esp. 187–286 for the Rus and Islamic contexts; Hooper, 2014; Stargardt & Willis, 2018). This is not the place for a history of board games, but suffice to say, they appear as an innovation in the Neolithic/Bronze Age of the Near and Middle East and from their diffuse outwards, reaching Europe with the advance of the Roman Empire. Just as Rome developed games-play primarily from Ancient Greece, so the peoples of Iron Age Europe adopted and adapted Roman practice, creating new games in their turn (Schädler, 2002; Hall & Forsyth, 2011; Hall, 2019). Games seem to have had a link with divination and magic from their beginnings and this persisted in the medieval period as part of the range of symbolic values and contextual meanings. The significance of board games as a quotidian habitual practice in turn gave them new dimensions – their associations with luck, chance and success gave them a supernatural function. Graffiti versions of the boards, often in unplayable situations, served as both an invocation of supernatural aid for continued good luck or for a change in fortune and as a distraction-defence against misfortune and demonic forces. The complex patterns of gaming boards could readily distract the attention of demons and so protect a person or a building from their attention. The assemblies of graffiti including gaming boards on the tombs of St Osamund (Salisbury Cathedral, England; Fig. 2.1) and the heroised Sir William Wodehouse (St Mary’s Hickling, England) are cases in point (Hall, 2012b: 32–33). This understanding and application of signs and symbols that gave apotropaic aid were not confined to pilgrims and their travels. They were prevalent in many other contexts because of their perceived efficacy. A wide range of symbols, including board games, is deployed at Nevern Castle, Wales, for example – incised on slates buried beside the gateway to the castle (Caple, 2012: 443–44; Table  2.1, t. 77). This primarily apotropaic use of graffiti involving play amongst other things looks markedly different to the profuse graffiti scratched into the first-floor hall at Spiez Castle, Switzerland (Table 2.1, t. 74). Here there is only one subject, the depiction of knights, generally in combat. The hall’s windows look down onto the courtyard where tournaments may have been held. The inscribing may have been the work of children but equally could be the practice of adults and the works resonate with apotropaic invocation for good luck for the combatants and their watchers. Excavation at Deer Abbey, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, has recovered a stone disc which carries elements of a gaming board graffito and a Solomon’s knot graffito. The disc fits comfortably in the hand and may have been a gaming piece or perhaps an amulet. The pairing of the two motifs is not unique and has also been observed in ecclesiastical contexts

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

11

Fig. 2.1  Tomb of St Osamund, Salisbury Cathedral, England, with graffiti gaming board. (Photo: Mark A. Hall; courtesy of the Dean’s Office, Salisbury Cathedral, Wiltshire, England)

at Peel, Isle of Man, and the early cathedral at Barcelona, Catalunya/Spain (Hall, forthcoming-a). The magical possibilities of board games were also reinforced by their magical agency in Romance tales, in which they sometimes acted as powerful supernatural objects to aid or hinder a hero’s quest; they also developed an agency in hagiographic texts (see castles discussion below). Acts of pilgrimage were of course devotional undertakings, but this was only one colour in their spectrum of meanings: many pilgrims sought not only an uplift for their souls in the future but supernatural intervention and protection here and now, in their everyday physical lives. The multiplicity of so-called pilgrimage souvenirs  – badges, ampulla, prayer beads and other personalia – were not only a token of remembrance and recollection but were future-acting agents of supernatural invocation, expected to manifest the power of the saint in a devotee’s life, aspects previously explored around the range of pilgrimage artefacts from medieval Perth, Scotland, and their apotropaic deployment in domestic and craft contexts (Hall, 2011).

2.3 Castles as Playgrounds There is not space to cover the whole landscape of the subject here – hunting, tournaments, sports and entertainments will barely be glanced at (but see, for example, Vale, 2001: 178–200; Rollason, 2016: 99–168) – the focus will be on the roles of board and dice games, primarily as elite privilege and indulgence. To facilitate a Europe-wide discussion, I have assembled a limited sample of the evidence from across a variety of castle and palace sites throughout Europe: the 80 sites are tabled in the Appendix (Table  2.1) and hereafter referred to in the format ‘t. 1’ etc. More could be cited but the chapter would become unwieldy. The selection is geographi-

cally, temporally, functionally and socially diverse and diverse too for the range of evidence it illustrates, from gaming equipment (boards, pieces and boxes) to artistic and graffiti depictions, to the use of castles for other play endeavours (helping to illuminate an issue around the castle imaginary that continues today). The last decade or so has seen an increase in the amount of board-game kit recovered by archaeological excavation in castles and lordly residences, but little of it has appeared in more synthetic analyses. Alongside the sample of evidence tabulated here, other forms of evidence are cited which helps to conjure a detailed picture of the value of play in the castle environment. So valuable indeed that it gave rise to a rich vein of symbolic expression with a variety of magical and fantastic episodes including board games in and around castles linked to heroic adventures. The castle was, of course, a playground at various levels of the social hierarchy, not just for the elites. Given the range of service and craft staff castles required they can be seen as urban environments in miniature (Fig.  2.2, Table  2.1). At Castle Acre Castle, Norfolk, England (t. 4), which, like Mayenne, France (Fig. 2.3) (t. 14), was not a castle ab initio but a grand country house, is where at least four chalk gaming boards and two chalk chess pieces were recovered from a small, crudely built rectangular structure abutting the north wall of the early-twelfth-century country house (later the keep). It was possibly used as a sort of games room by the castle’s household staff, craftsmen and/or men-at-arms. At Carrick Castle, Argyll, Scotland (t. 57), we have an example of a more improvisational use of materials to create lower status play equipment, in the shape of a disc bearing a graffito of a queen. A cache of some 22 boards and several pieces from the Islamic fortress of Alcoutim in southern Portugal (t. 50) reminds us of the need of soldiers for recreation, likewise

12

M. A. Hall

Fig. 2.2  Map showing European castles that have evidence for play as catalogued in Table 2.1. (Map: Mark A. Hall)

Fig. 2.3  Mayenne Chateau, France (t. 14): (a) castle (photo: Mark A. Hall); (b) the displayed fragments of a trictrac board with tablesmen. The board measures approx. 129 × 130 mm. (Photo: Benoit Pelletier, copyright and courtesy by Chateau Mayenne)

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

the Swedish twin castles of Stegeborg and Skällvik (t. 69), also the castle at Edsholm, Värmland (Svensson, 1995). The crusading castles in the ‘Holy Land’ and in Eastern Europe have left us a tranche of finds exhibiting the same need for recreation for soldiers serving in those places, often in contradistinction to the rules of those organisations, for examples from the ‘Holy Land’, Latvia and Estonia (see t. 12, 13, 38, 42, 43; with Cēsis, t. 42, of notable significance). Crusader journeys were a key mechanism through which board games could spread across cultures (Makariou, 2005; Lapina, 2013). With the development of castles, initially on the continent, from the early-tenth century, board game kit becomes a signature find, with castles key places of manufacture and use. Castles from across France and the Rhine Valley are notably prolific in such material (t. 14–24, 29–34; Creighton, 2012; Grandet & Goret, 2012). Mayenne, France (t. 14), is something of a type site in this regard with its extensive range of boards, pieces and dice, made on site. On a par is the board and pieces for tables recovered from a refuse deposit at Gloucester Castle, England (t. 7). It has been suggested that the circumstances of the disposal of this set in the early-­ twelfth century probably reflect the rejection of worldly pleasures by Walter Earl of Hereford, who retired to Llanthony Priory, Wales. Throughout the medieval period there were periodic calls for elites to reject the power-display and luxuria of board games and consign them to the bonfire or the midden heap. This reformation zeal was itself of course a contest or power-play between elites. The wider pool of literary accounts includes several Arthurian romances which configure castles as magical places, often with magical board games, in which the skill and morality of the hero are tested (Hall, 2016b and references there). Arthurian Romances that include magical boards include both the French Lancelot en prose and the

13

Welsh Tale of Peredur son of Efrawg (from the Mabinogion Cycle), and containing episodes set in castles in which playing pieces move themselves for example. In Chretien’s romance of Percival, that knight defends a lady and her castle from attack by using very large-sized chess pieces as weapons and their board as a shield. In the Low Countries’ Roman van Walewein, Walewein (Gawain) pursues a flying chessboard that appears at Arthur’s castle and eventually returns there. These stories also remind us that the imaginary (and so playful) symbolic castle was born on the heels of the actual castle and remained and evolved as playgrounds beyond their physical demise (a point returned to below). Romance and courtly love, of course, also foreground the role of elite women in play. In northern Italy stands high-­ pinnacled Castello di Arco (Fig. 2.4) (t. 40), in existence by the twelfth century and mostly the property of the Counts of Arco. It was abandoned in the early-eighteenth century. Beside the Great Tower is a small building known as the Room of the Frescoes, many of the fourteenth-century frescoes showing aristocratic ladies playing chess, trictrac and dice, sometimes with men (possibly including Dante). Later, graffiti depictions of knights were added to some of these frescoes. The Counts of Arco’s overlords were the prince-­ bishops of Trento, whose grand castle-palace stood northwards, in Bounconsiglio, Trento (t. 39). It includes a room in the Aquila Tower decorated with a Cycle of the Months fresco series, created at the end of the fourteenth century. January’s snowy landscape has the lords and ladies of the castle out in the landscape snowballing. Other of the castle’s frescoes show hunting scenes. The tone of this seasonal celebration is thus very playful. The playing out of chivalric ideals and fantasies often took place in the physical space of castle gardens and often included the playing of board games within that space. The 2019 exhibition in the National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden, Netherlands, ably covered

Fig. 2.4  Castelo di Arco, Italy (t. 40): (a) castle. (Photo: Mark A. Hall); (b) fresco showing ladies playing a dice game, probably hazard, and chess. (Photo: K. Weise, Castelo di Arco, CC BY-SA 4.0)

14

this aspect in its wide-ranging exploration of medieval gardens (Willemsen, 2019). In play terms its main focus was on courtly love and the imaginative interplay with romance tales, in particular Tristan and Iseult, without ignoring wider aspects around music and children’s toys. This playful dimension to the female experience of the castle garden extends our understanding of the gendered space (Dempsey et al., 2019; Dempsey, 2021). From written accounts we know that chess in particular was recognised as a skill that contributed to the very definition of a knight, and which also made it an integral element of the etiquette of chivalry and courtly love (Hall, 2014a), though in the sixteenth-seventeenth centuries, chess is increasingly superseded by cards as they can be mastered in a shorter space of time, as testified by Baldassare Castiglione in his Il libro del cortegiano (‘The Book of Courtiers’), first published in 1528 (O’Bryan, 2019: 17–18, 47–49). These forms of play both enshrined and appealed to aristocratic values and were readily adaptable to the changing context of court life, chess being at the pinnacle of all aristocratic pursuits for much of the medieval period. So, games were embedded within aristocratic values but not restricted to aristocratic circles and a key way in which aristocratic privilege, or sense of ownership over games, was maintained was through skill and proficiency achieved through the leisure time to play the games as well as through expenditure on finely crafted playing pieces and boards in gold, silver, precious stones, and rock crystal, together with books and works of art that depicted aristocratic play, and in the huge amounts of money spent in gambling. While losses could be written off, winnings might be given away, ‘an aspect of upper-class social relations, [that was] a disguised form of patronage and largesse’ (Eales, 1985: 29). Both games and gambling were avidly engaged in across society and repeated attempts by Church and State to prevent or control such behaviours generally failed. It was also the elites who could express their privilege to play in a future context by turning board-game kit into heirlooms (Vale, 2001: 172–73; Hall, 2014a) an aspect we will return to below. Raymond de Montpezat’s chessboard miracle story (see below) shows that games were often a matter of public display. Raymond took his board from the castle’s great hall, where feasts took place. The illumination on f. 265v of British Library, Royal MS 14. E. iv, a late-fifteenth-century copy of Jean Froissart’s Chronicles, shows a banquet attended by Richard II and the Dukes of York, Gloucester, and Ireland. To the king’s left, hanging on the wall behind him, is a chessboard. In c. 1530, a cycle of four murals, each covering three months in a ‘labours of the months’ cycle, was painted in the Imperial Free City of Augsburg, Bavaria, now hanging in the Deutsches Historisches Museum, Berlin, Germany. The painting for January–March depicts a feast

M. A. Hall

being held in the Fuggerhăuser (itself only completed in 1515), the private residence and administrative centre of Jacob Fugger ‘the rich’, the wealthy head of the Fugger merchant and entrepreneurial family – they essentially financed the rise of the Habsburg House and Jakob was made the Imperial Count of Kirchberg and Weissenhorn in 1511. Hanging on the wall of the house is a chessboard. As Jacob Fugger and his family enjoy the feast so other guests engage in cards and tables (or trictrac). Chess and other board games were as much a social performance as they were an individual or family contest and, in this case, the interior scene is complemented by another, this time outside in the courtyard, in which two knights joust in a tournament. Although Fuggerhäuser was not a castle, Fugger’s great wealth enabled him to display his acquired aristocratic status in various forms of ostentation, including various forms of play. It is very noticeable in the wider landscape of the painting how many of the hills and mountains are crowned by castles – the Fugger’s are both proclaiming how their wealth and power has superseded these forms of display and also absorbed them through acquisition. A similar idea of the palace as a playground is evidenced by Paris Bordan’s 1540 painting, The Chess Players (now in the Gemäldergalerie, Berlin). It also depicts the late medieval urban elite, here playing in the grounds of a renaissance villa – a space that in some respects succeeds the castle environment. The focus is an intellectual and austerely accented game of chess but other forms of play (including cards) are also in evidence. Various palaces testify to the physical reality of this with their excavated chess and other gaming pieces, including Vilnius, Lithuania; the Wawel, Kraków, Poland; Lund, Sweden, and Nidaros/ Trondheim, Norway (t. 44, 49, 68, 46), though in the case of Nidaros Archbishop’s Palace, the excavation of the pieces from craft-working areas again reminds us that the use of the material was socially diverse. Castle Sinclair Girnicoe, Caithness, Scotland, (t. 61) was ruinous by the eighteenth century, which facilitated its role as a different sort of playground, in part fuelled by imaginative engagements with its past power-politics. In the late-­ nineteenth-­twentieth century, the west barbican was used to secure a cache of 103 marbles. Hidden there by a child, it probably reflects an assemblage accumulated over several years and possibly a favoured place for playing with the marbles. Castles which continued in occupation into modern times also continued their play context, as with Finavon Castle, Scotland (t. 60), Vilnius, Lithuania (t. 44), and the Wavel, Poland (t. 49). But we also see a range of reuses of ruinous castles as playgrounds in post-medieval and modern times, whether left as ruins or redeveloped, are shown, for example, by Ludlow, England (t. 11) and Tour de Peilz, Vevey, Switzerland, which now houses the Swiss Museum of Games (t. 75). A wider range of play is evoked through the

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

imaginative discourse of a number of modern writers, notably Italo Calvino (1951) and Marcel Proust, whose À la recherche du temps perdu (1913–1927) includes his recollections of teenage, playful sexual awakenings at the imagined, ruined castle of Roussainville. The need for play and its contingent overlap with the castle space can also be seen in the reuse of castles as prisons (Launceston, England – t. 2) and where the presence of prisoners is often inscribed through a wide range of graffiti including board games (profusely as observed by the author, at the castles of Thun and Nyon, Switzerland). The synthesising of the evidence from across a range of castle sites can also reveal patterns in poorly understood medieval games, such as daldos, which until recently was regarded as obscure and possibly not even medieval (Borvo, 2001; Depaulis, 2001; Michaelsen, 2001; Næsheim, 2001). Typically, the dice for daldos have pyramidal ends (though generally they are marked with non-pipped number markings) and late medieval and post-medieval examples have to date been seen as having a Baltic distribution, except for a jet-like example from the medieval village of West Halton, England (Hall, forthcoming-c). The evidence drawn together here extends our understanding and reveals a much wider European distribution. There are pyramidal-ended dice from Viljandi, Estonia, and Cēsis, Latvia (t. 12 and 42), and graffiti boards from Launceston, England (t. 6), Dundonald, Scotland (t. 16), and Alcoutim, Portugal (t. 44), a distribution to which we can add an example to be seen with other gaming graffiti at Falaise Castle, France. That broader distribution is supported by known examples from ecclesiastical contexts in Britain (Hall, 2015) which allows us to see the game as more mainstream and part of a wider, cross-regional, shared cultural currency of play.

2.4 Chess in Focus: Castles, Female Agency and Church Treasuries The medieval board game par excellence is chess, which originated in India and/or China and travelled the Silk Road into medieval Europe, where it was further spread through Islamic conquest, Viking trade routes and high-level gift exchange. The game has a stability of form through its pieces (both abstract and figurative) and board but a profusion of play variations which did not hinder its European, indeed Eurasian, cultural currency, understood across political, ethnic, linguistic and cultural boundaries (Hall, 2016b: 192–94, 204–06). Chess was strongly linked to social elites and social codes of behaviour and was the game most tolerated by the Church authorities. Particularly during the tenth-twelfth centuries, it was common practice for the wealthy and powerful to leave luxurious chess sets to

15

church treasuries (Hall, 2014a: 229–37), a process characterised as an element of the ‘imaginary of power’ in a recent analysis (Cordez, 2020: 99–121). They effectively recalled the memory of the elite donor families but were then conscripted into the power of the holy through enfoldment into the cult of saints (see below). This additional function was widely understood through the practice of pilgrimage  – a key mechanism by which ideas were transmitted. The extended network of trans-European and trans-Mediterranean pilgrimage sites were, consequently, highways along which games play was practised and transmitted and, in some sense sanctified. The cult of saints or relics is itself a cultural practice with very deep and wide roots and, as described by Hooper (2014: 190), is a ‘fundamental mechanism by which humans have engaged with sources of power to derive benefit from them’. The role of women in this ‘play-power-castle’ equation comes through in the tenth-eleventh-century Franco-Spanish Marches. From this time and place survive a clutch of wills, generally but not exclusively of powerful noblemen, recording donations of high-status chess sets made of rock crystal to church treasuries, especially in Pyrenean Spain and France. Amongst them is the chess set (Fig. 2.5) possibly left by Countess Ersenda d’Ager to the church there (elements of which still survive in the Museu de Lleida – t. 67). Another surviving female will is that of the powerful Marcher Countess, Ermessind of Barcelona, who in 1058 left her rock crystal chessmen and their board to the monastery of St Giles at Nimes, France. These donations can be seen as acts of piety but also as acts of heirloom preservation that also express the devotional link between noble families (who used these chess sets in their castles) and the Church (van Houtts, 1999; Innes, 2001; Walker, 2001). Rock crystal was highly valued for treasury use, having multiple theological and magical properties (Bagnoli, 2010: 141–42; Gerevini, 2014) and it is notable that the Church did not have privileged access to the material but often, as in these cases, second-­hand access after a life of elite, secular use. Staying in Spain, a similar role was fulfilled by Islamic noblewomen (Santa-Cruz, 2014; Anderson & Rosser-Owen, 2015) and a precious ivory, mancala board that belonged to the daughter (probably Madinat al-Zahra) of Abd-al-Rahman III, Emir and First Caliph of Cordoba in the tenth century, was subsequently donated to the treasury of Santo Domingo de Silos and now in the Burgos museum (Dodds, 1992: 190–91; Souza, 2009; Hall, 2016b: 194; Anderson & Rosser-Owen, 2015: 30–33, suggest it is not a mancala board but a seed-­ box). Further afield, cross-cultural royal ladies also initiated such transactions. The luxury chess pieces used to decorate the Ottonian ambo in Aachen Cathedral, Germany (Fig. 2.6; see below), seems likely to have been gifted to the treasury by the Byzantine princess, Theophano, who married the

16

M. A. Hall

Fig. 2.5  The Ager rock crystal chess pieces, Catalunya, Spain, (t. 67). The pieces are approx. 27 mm in height x 16 mm in diameter. (Photo: Jordi V. Pou; copyright and courtesy of Museu de Lleida: diocesà i comarcal, Catalonia, Spain)

Fig. 2.6  Aachen Cathedral and former Palatine Chapel, Germany: (a) the ambon of the Emperor Henry II, c. 1002–14; (b) detail of one of the ambo panels with gemstone chess pieces around a rock crystal bowl. (Photo: Mark A. Hall; courtesy of Aachener Dom, Germany)

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

emperor Otto II in 972  AD.  As already noted, sometimes these acts of genealogical memory became entwined with the cult of saints. Thus, several chess sets, in ivory, rock crystal and agate, later become defined as chess sets of Charlemagne (canonised in the twelfth century), including: a rock crystal group given to the cathedral in Osnabrück, Germany (Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 37–38; Pohle, 2014: 202– 03); an ivory group given to the cathedral of St Denis (Paris), France, now in the Bibliotheque Francais (Pastoreau, 1990, 1994; and see Grandet & Goret, 2012: 142–45 for other gaming material excavated at the cathedral). Similarly, the chess set of El Cid (another publicly acclaimed warrior or hero saint) was displayed as a relic in Burgos Cathedral, Spain, after his death at the end of the eleventh century. In other instances, these familial gifts were re-worked into high-­ status ecclesiastical items, including chess boards becoming reliquaries (Hall, 2014a: 233–35 and references there) and chess pieces decorating reliquaries and furnishings, as with the already referenced ambo in Aachen Cathedral (Kluge-­ Pinsker, 1991: 34–35), the reliquary in San Millan de la Cogolla, Spain (Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 35), and the reliquary of St Maurice in the treasury of St Maurice d’Agaune, Switzerland (Schädler, 2008). The link between castle elites, board games and their ‘relicisation’ is also evidenced in literary accounts, notably the story of the knight Raymond de Montpezat. In the story recorded by Bernard of Angers in his The Book of Sainte Foy (1995: 4.8) the saint’s intervention facilitates Raymond’s escape from an enemy’s castle; the saint encourages him to take his enemy’s chessboard, hanging in the great hall of the castle, as proof of his liberation and to present it at her shrine in Conques. What is essentially a miracle story neatly binds together aspects of identity, performance, mobility and play (including the play of elite politics) around a particular piece of material culture. Raymond’s erstwhile gaoler confronted by the public presentation of his own chessboard by his escaped prisoner under the protection of Sainte Foy is unable to deny his complicity in the foul deed. It is also notable that it is a story in which elite play equipment is given into the hands of a female saint, echoing the trajectory of so many such heirlooms that moved from the castle to the church.

2.5 Conclusions Use of the term ‘united’ in this chapter does not seek to convey any false sense of a homogenous European identity. For much of its history, Europe has been politically disunited and settled by individuals and communities with contrasting and

17

contesting identities. There were (and remain) many points of difference, many of them amenable to political manipulation. But even distributed networks of power have shared processes and protocols, and of course, ‘united’ can also encompass things that do not benefit society, such as slavery and criminality  – these are not the subjects of this chapter (though the graffiti work of prisoners is alluded to as a particular form of social context, but of course all prisoners are not necessarily criminals). So ‘united’ is an appropriate term to describe the many points of commonality that have enabled diverse individuals and communities to debate, challenge, share, celebrate and evolve. Interaction has left a network of entanglements and this essay has sought to elucidate some of them. I have sought in all to brief an outline to show that within a concept of a united Europe of things, deserving of consideration as nodal points on the web of interconnectedness are board-games, or if you like play more generally, and the cult of saints. Both fused the material and the immaterial and both in their biographical trajectories served as gateways to supernatural engagement, not least (though not exclusively) for pilgrims, those transmitters of connected culture across the continent. Another node in that network, linking play across social hierarchies and also the cult of saints is the castle as a playground, a place where play is performed, a generally neglected dimension of castle studies. Castle spaces and landscapes then provided a variety of play situations; indeed, the very idea of the castle could be playful and contribute to its rich symbolism as a lordly residence and dominant node within landscapes and networks of power. This fusion of imagination and material culture persists in the ongoing use of many castle ruins as playgrounds long after their political power has ebbed away. This has been very much a summary discussion, but hopefully it has shown the potential value of further follow-up analysis looking at the commonalities and differences of castle life, the apotropaic side of play, the value of graffiti as play and the absorption of play into the creation of holy relics, and their shared communities of presence and practice. Acknowledgments  Variations of this discussion were presented at the 2019 (Bern) and 2021 (Kiel) Annual Meetings of the European Association of Archaeologists and I am grateful for the comments and questions they generated. I am grateful for the advice, comments and information received from many colleagues, in particular, Viesturs Aboltinsh, Armand Beariswyl, Povilas Blaževic, Luc Bourgeois, David Caldwell, James Graham Campbell, Chris Caple, Sophie Hüglin, Krystina Lavysh, Chris McLees, Peter Michaelsen, Caroline Patterson, Mark Redknap, Marcello Rotilli and Agnieszka Stempin.

18

M. A. Hall

Appendix Table 2.1  Tabulated summary of a cross-section of play evidence from European castles. (Table: Mark A. Hall) Castle/palace 1. Roskilde, Denmark (royal & bishop’s palace) 2. Launceston, Cornwall, England

3. Stafford, Staffordshire, England

4. Castle Acre, Norfolk, England

5. Norwich, Norfolk, England

6. Warrington, Cheshire, England

7. Gloucester, Gloucestershire, England

8. Wigmore, Herefordshire, England

9. Beeston, Cheshire, England

Play evidence Walrus ivory piece, king/pawn/knight, for chess and/or hnefatafl. 6 stone fragments of 5 certain and 1 possible gaming boards: nine men’s morris (3), chess/draughts (1) and unidentified (1) which I suggest is for daldos. 2 slate counters (1 plano-convex). Die of bone/antler, double ring-and-dot pips, arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. Possibly unfinished domed/conical antler pawn, for chess/tafl/ merelles. 5 fragments of antler mounts, some with ring-and-dot decoration; probably from a casket or perhaps a box for gaming kit. Antler tableman/merelles disc, with ring-and-dot & concentric circles. Antler/bone tableman/merelles disc, tri-lobed cross motif with outer band of triangular groups of 3 ring-and-dot motifs. Antler/bone tableman/merelles disc cut with 7 concentric circles. Abstract antler chess piece alternating 3 narrow stem sections with 4 wider balusters. 7 antler dice, ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. 3 fragments and 3 complete nine men’s morris boards incised on chalk blocks; a broken and incomplete tables board incised on a chalk block. Found in a small building abutting the keep. 6 fragments of bone mounts carved with ring-and-dot, groups of lines and openwork crosses – from a casket(s), perhaps for gaming pieces or even for trictrac points. A range of bone pins includes 3 of stubby form and with heads of a crouching animal and castellated form are suggestive of peg gaming pieces. Several Caen sandstone blocks incised with boards for merels, tables & alquerque/ fox & geese were found during 19th c. building work in the keep. A spiral & hole design may be a race game. An alquerque board can be seen in situ on the east wall of the 1st floor chapel of the keep. Plain, abstract chess/tafl pawn and an abstract knight with tin/silver inlay, both jet/jet-like material.

120 pieces of a tables/trictrac board, of bone, including points, board trims and parts of a box. Smashed and thrown into midden pit. Set (30) of bone tablemen, some stained, carved with anthropomorphic & zoomorphic scenes. From the same pit as the board elements. Slate with crudely incised nine men’s morris board, broken at one end. Crudely shaped oval, stone counter, 12th c. Stone pebble counter, associated with stone board. 4 stone discs, no sizes given, may have been gaming discs. 3 ivory dice, ring-and-dot pips arranged 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. Ceramic gaming counter 3 ceramic marbles, 4 lead discs, one decorated with an encircled cross.

Date 10th–13th c. Late 13th-early 19th c. Late 13th-early 19th c. 13th -14th c.

Reference Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 139, cat. A40. Mould & Vince, 2006: 265–66; Riddler, 2006: 363–65; 365–68; 371; 373–64.

Late 11th c. Late 14th-early 15th c. c.1600. 16th/17th c. found in 20th c. context. 1348 onwards (3), rest post-medieval

Wilkinson, 2007: 145–48, Fig. 52.

11th-12th c. 12th c. 12th c.

Coad & Streeten, 1983: 212, Fig. 29; 246, Fig. 46; 251; 253, Fig. 47; 260–64, Fig. 51.

Probably 11th-12th c.

Micklethwaite, 1892: 325–27; Heddle, 2009a: 441, 524–26; Heddle, 2009b: 711-12.

11th–12th c.

Kendrick, 1853; Harrison, 1896: 24;Bu’Lock, 1972: 63; Hall, 2016a: 364, Table 1; 38; 48. Stewart & Watkins, 1984; Watkins, 1985: 41–70; Darvill, 1988; Stewart, 1993.

Late 11th c.

14th c. Late 15th–20thc.

Shaffrey, 2015.

Late 11th-15th c. (2) & 18th –20th c. 14th-16th c. 11th-14th c. & 17th-20th c. (2). 18th-20th c.

Courtney, 1993: 152–56, Figs. 104, 106, 107.

(continued)

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

19

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 10. Old Sarum, Salisbury, Wiltshire, England

11. Ludlow, Shropshire, England 12. Viljandi, Viljandi County, Estonia

13. Rakvere, Lääne-Viru County, Estonia

14. Mayenne, Mayenne, France

15. Javarzay, Chef-­ Boutonne (Deux-Sèvres), France 16. Andone, Villejoubert, Charente, France

17. La Mothe, Pineuilh, Gironde, France

18. Bois, Loire-et-Cher, France

Play evidence Chess king piece, abstract-figurative, walrus ivory. Antler tablesman/merelles disc, 2 bone die, with ring-and-­ dot pips arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. 2 sections of antler & bone mounts, with ring-and-dot motifs; typical of caskets/boxes, possibly for games kit. During the 18th and 19th c. reuse included tennis courts, bowling green and public gardens

Date 11th-12th c. 13th-15th c. 13th-15th c.

Reference Stevens, 1933; Kluge-­ Pinsker, 1991: 142, cat. A43; MacGregor, 2001: 15–21.

18th-19th c.

7 finished and 2 unfinished chess pieces, 1 ivory, rest antler, various sizes and sets (at least 5), all abstract, including 3 kings/queens, 1 rook and 1 bishop. 1 charred wooden chess piece. Six bone/antler tablemen/merelles counters all centrally pierced, all incised with concentric circles. 4 bone die 2 cubic and 2 rhomboid, with pyramidal ends (so numbered 1,2,3,4?) typical shape of daldos. A clay marble. A bone chess pawn, cylindrical with convex top, no decoration. Bone cubic die with ring-and-dot pips arranged 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. A bone brooch with copper alloy mount with a relief carved Maltese cross and a Gothic inscription (to ‘Jesus, Mary and St Anna’) may, I suggest, originally have been a tableman/merelles counter. 28 plaques – points & edge trims for a trictrac board; 13 elements for a second board. 53 cattle bone and deer antler trictrac/merelles pieces: geometric (27), open-work (5) and zoomorphic/story (19). Deer-antler dice (5) with ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4 (on 4) and 1:2, 3:4, 5:6 (on 1). 35 chess/tafl pieces of deer-antler & elephant ivory: Pawns (27 abstract, 5 anthropomorphic), king, bishop and rook. A coped, recumbent, sarcophagus lid, limestone. Features hunting scenes and game of trictrac/backgammon.

14th-16th c. 13th-15th c.

Shoesmith, 2018: 213–15, Fig. 19; Stone, 2018: 211–12. Haak, 2004: 112, Fig. 5; Haak & Pärnamäe, 2004; Haak et al., 2012: 314–15, Fig. 18.

Fragment of limestone block with incised end-section of a nine men’s morris board. 2 bone abstract pawns for chess, one pyramidal the other a truncated, hexagonal cone. A bone abstract rook chess piece. 18 bone trictrac/merelles counters, 3 with zoomorphic design (1 centrally pierced), 2 with foliate designs (1 with a serrated edge); 8 with ring-and-dot and concentric circle designs (1 centrally pierced), 5 undecorated (2 centrally pierced). 8 bone dice, 5 of elongated, parallelepiped form, with shaved corners, & 3 cubic die with slightly convex faces. 1 unfinished; ring- and-­ dot pips arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. 1 bone, anthropomorphic, piece - a kneeling man with a projecting head with bowl-cut hair-style. Chess piece (king/ vizier/pawn)? Or a hnefatafl piece? Antler chess rook piece, abstract with ring-and-dot decoration & 3 abstract king/queen pieces. 3 bone tablemen/ merelles counters, 2 incised with equal-armed crosses and 1 with a 4-lobed petal. 3 bone playing pieces thin squares with geometric, floral and cross decoration. 8 antler trictrac/merelles counters, with hexagonally lobed edges, 7 have each lobe deeply carved as a ring-and-dot around a central one, the 8th is blank both sides. A 9th decorated example is broken and has also been converted to a brooch. A bone tableman/merelles counter incised with concentric circles. A bone, plain, cylindrical pawn with a flat base and rounded top.

14th–15th c.

Aus, 1982: 390–91, Pl. XV; 9–11.

10th–12th c.

Grandet & Goret, 2012: 63–78.

13th–14th c.

Bourgeois, 2003 375–76; 383, Fig.4; Grandet & Goret, 2012: Fig.18. Bourgeois, 2003 ; Bourgeois, 2009: 254–56, Fig. 3.75; 261–68, Figs. 3.77, 3.78 ; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 82–85.

Late 10th-early 11th c.

2nd half 11th c.

Grandet & Goret, 2012: 136–41; Bourgeois & Prodeo, forthcoming : 684–94.

10th c.

Aubourg & Josset, 2003 Grandet & Goret, 2012: 86–87; Hall, 2016b: 204–05.

(continued)

20

M. A. Hall

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 19. Boves, Somme, France

20. Château-Thierry, Aisne, France

21. Loisy, Saone et Loire, France

22. La Gravette, L’Isle-Jourdain, Gers, France 23. Fréteval, Loire et Cher, France

24. Rubercy, Calvados, France 25. Tavastia/Häme, Hämeenlinna, Tavastia Proper, Finland

26. Schlössel, Klingenmünster, Rhine Palatinate, Germany

27. Burg Rötteln, Baden-Württemberg, Germany

28. Burg Isenberg, Hattingen, Germany

Play evidence 9 antler and bone, fragmentary trictrac-board points. 5 antler chess pieces, abstract forms with fluted bodies: 3 conical pawns, 1 rook, 1 queen/king; a roughly facetted rock crystal pawn 10-12th c. 30 bone and antler trictrac/merelles counters. The number of pieces, the focus on 2 designs – an equal-armed cross set within a circle of ring-and-dot and a hexafoil set within a circle of ring-and-dot – and the presence of board elements suggests they formed a set. Elephant ivory chess piece (a bishop) converted to a double-chambered whistle.

9 antler chess pieces: figurative (1 king/queen, 1 rook [chariot form],1 knight) and abstract (1 king/queen/knight, 5 pawns) 4 antler and bone trictrac/merelles counters, geometric decoration. 5 antler abstract chess pieces: king, knight, 3 pawns. Small size and internal hollow/socketing suggests they may have been attached to pegs. Single point, broken in two, of a trictrac-board, bone. 3 antler chess pieces, 2 undecorated pawns – 1 conical, 1 pyramidal, both & 1 rook with ring-and-dot and grooving decoration. 4 bone and antler trictrac/merelles counters, 2 decorated with equal-armed crosses and 2 with contrasting ring-and-dot patterns. 4 bone dice with ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6 and a length of bone partially worked into blank, unfinished dice. Antler tablesman/ merelles piece carved with fabulous beast. A fragment of a wooden chess board, two rows of cells, alternate ones painted black. At least 3 bone, abstract chess pieces, a king, a queen and a pawn. 7 bone, cubic dice, with ring-and-dot pips, 5 arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6 and 2 arranged: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. Several graffiti chess (?) boards incised vertically in upper floor window splays. 1 complete and 3 partial points from a trictrac board, antler & bone. Purple fluorite abstract chess piece, fluted cylinder shape. 7 antler/bone tablemen/merelles counters, 1 complete, 6 fragmentary, openwork and fragmentary decoration. Antler die, cubic. Ivory knight decorated with bands of ring-and-dot around the lower body and across the stylized head and top of the piece. Pierced by two holes vertically aligned running laterally through the body, presumably for suspension, perhaps as an amulet. 4 ceramic marbles; ceramic counter; 2 bone dice; rock crystal chess piece (?).

Date 10th-12th c.

Reference Chandeau, 2002; Racinet, 2008; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 88–93.

The chess piece is no later than the 11th c. and was found in a 1450–1500 context (latrine). Early 11th c.

Goret & Poplin, 1999; Goret et al., 1999; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 100–01; Hall, 2016b: 204–05.

Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 108–09, cat. A7; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 126–129.

Mid-11th-mid-­ 12th c.

Grandet & Goret, 2012: 124–125.

11th–13th c.

Lassure & Villeval, 2001: 309–15; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 120–23.

12th–13th c.

Lorren, 1977: 157, Fig. 30.9; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 166, cat. B18. Recorded on display in the castle museum. Jensen et al., 2013: 113–15.

14th–15th c. 14th–17th c.

Late 11th c. Mid-11th-early 12th c. Mid-11th c.

Barz, 2008; Grandet & Goret, 2012: 146–49.

12th c.

Hüglin, 2020: 61–63.

13th–14th c.

Leenen, 2010a: 279–80, 502, 511; Leenen, 2010b . Leenen, 2010a: 501-2; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 40–54, 84–88, cat. A.33, C.6. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 118–19, cat A19; 158–59, cat. B7.

29. Schloss Broich, Mulheim, Ruhr, Germany

Bone & copper alloy tablesman; antler chess piece (bishop).

11th–12th c.

30. Burg Baldenstein, Gammertingen, nr. Sigmaringen, Germany

9 chess pieces from 4 sets, bone & red deer & reindeer antler: pawns (6), rooks (2), knight. 8 tablesmen/merelles pieces, bone and antler, figurative (zoomorphic) (6), abstract (2).

11th–12th c.

(continued)

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

21

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 31.Altbettingen, Bettingen, Bitburg-Prüm, Rheinland-Pfalz, Germany 32. Bietigheim-Bissingen, near. Ludwigsburg, Baden-Würtemberg, Germany 33. Rinteln-Todenmann, Schaumburg, Hünenburg, Germany 34. Langenbogen, Saalkreis, Sachsen-Anhalt, Germany 35. Clough, Co. Down, Northern Ireland

36. Trim, Co. Meath, Republic of Ireland

37. Peel, Isle of Man

38. Belvoir, Jordan Valley, Israel

39. Buonconsiglio, Trento, Trentino, Italy 40. Castello di Arco, Arco, Trentino, Italy

41. Avella, Irpinia, Campania, Italy

42. Cēsis, Central Vidzeme Upland, Latvia

43. Trakų, Trakai, Lithuania (2 castles on lake island & peninsula) 44. Vilnius, Lithuania (royal palace & castle)

Play evidence Antler tablesman, bird figure.

Date 11th c.

Bone tablesman with lobate edge and ring-and-dot motifs around central zone of 5 perforations.

11th c.

3 bone tablesmen, ring-and-dot motifs.

11th–12th c.

Chess piece of bone/antler, king, helmeted and sitting on encircled throne.

12th c.

Bone die with ring-and-dot pips: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4; bone counter with outer circle of ring-and-dot motifs; turned, knopped, conical piece (published as a scoring peg); 3 large stone discs. 2 differently sized antler, tablesmen/merelles pieces, the larger has a central six-pointed flower within concentric circles and an outer circle of ring-and-dot motifs; smaller has a circle of ring-and-dot only. The larger disc split in antiquity & repaired with bronze rivets. Roughouts for bone dice, one partially pipped; perforated antler disc; cut antler tine. 8 stone, graffiti merels boards. Walrus ivory die with ring-and-dot pips arranged 1:6, 2:5, 3:4, 3 slate counters, uncertain date; 4 jettons, one found with the die implying use as gaming tokens. 3 roughly incised boards for nine men’s morris – 2 in the kitchen area – on broken masonry blocks and the underside of a mortar.

13th–14th c.

Waterman, 1954: 145–46, Fig. 15; 149, Fig. 17.

13th–14th c.

Sweetman et al., 1978: 184, Fig. 24.

12th–15th c. 13th c. 13th–17th c.

Cubbon, 2002; Freke, 2002a: 272, nos. 1–3; Freke, 2002b: 305, no. 17; 10, Fig. 102; Warhurst, 2002. Sebbane, 1999: 287–89; Boas, 2006: 203; Lapina, 2013: 129–30; Boas, 2019: 177–78. Cella & Jurman, 2007: 40.

12th c.

The Torre Aquila contains the Cycle of the Months frescoes, including a snowball fight for January. Painted c. 1400. Part of the garden terrace, a room now known as the Frescoe Room, a series of frescoes show ladies playing dice, ladies playing chess; people – including Dante Aligheri? – playing chess, 2 persons playing trictrac and 2 scenes of table games too decayed to fully identify. Several of the frescoes have had graffiti knights added. 3 ivory chess pieces, abstract forms: bishop, rook & pawn. 4 bone/ivory tablemen/merelles counters 4 decorated with concentric circles and fifth, larger and thicker has upper surface deeply cut with pattern of 7 larger and 6 smaller hollow circles. 6 elk antler chess pieces, abstract and figurative; 14 bone/elk antler counters; 4 elk antler & 1 ivory dice (pip arrangement: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4; 3 bone dice two them with pyramidal ends typical of daldos; 3 cattle phalanges for skittles. Mostly from dumps in the moat and of workshop waste. Abstract chess pieces, bone: pawn; bishop (3); rook; king/ queen (4); chess? (2).

Late 14th-early 15th c. Late 14th-early 15th c. 15th–16th c.

4 neatly incised stone boards, 3 certainly for chess, 4th uncertain. Abstract bone chess pieces: pawn (8), castle, bishop; king/ queen (2); knight; uncertain piece (5). Chess? (2) Pawn/ bishop

15th–17th c & 17th–18th c. 14th–15th c. 13th–18th c. & 17th–19th c.

Reference Mann, 1977, no. 197; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 162–63, cat. B12; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 217, cat. C1.

Heine, 1991: 67ff; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 222, cat. C9. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 134–35, cat. A35.

Ferretto, 2009: 152–94; 207–11; 229–34; 243–48.

10th–12th c.

Recorded on display in the Avella Museum.

14th–16th c.

Aboltinsh, 2018: 139–41, Fig. 7; Aboltinsh, forthcoming.

14th–15th c.

Blaževičius, 2008: Table 3, nos. 1, 13, 14, 15, 17, 21, 23, 24, 25, 36, 39. Blaževičius, 2008: Table 5, nos. 1–4 (boards); Table 3, nos. 2, 4-8, 11, 20, 27, 29, 31-34, 37, 38; Table 4, no. 3. (continued)

22

M. A. Hall

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 45. D’Oude Huys, Helmond, Noord-Brabant, Netherlands

46. Nidaros/Trondheim, Norway (archbishop’s palace & later royal Danish palace)

47. Inowłodziu, Łódź Voivodeship, Poland 48. Czersk, Pomeranian Voivodeship, Poland 49. Wavel, Kraków, Lesser Poland Voivodeship, Poland (royal castle & palace) 50. Alcoutim, Alcoutim, Portugal

51. Silves, Algarve, Portugal

52. Dundonald, S. Ayrshire, Scotland

53. Sween, Argyll & Bute, Scotland

Play evidence 4 chess pieces of walrus and narwhal ivory, 2 rooks (1 a half fragment), bishop and pawn. The complete castle piece bears a runic inscription on the base, not fully understood and referring to the river Maas and to Mathilde & Peter. 6 bone dice, opposing sides add up to 3, 7 and 11; on 1 the number 2 is repeated and 3 is missing (a false die?). 26 items of gaming equipment: 14 counters/discs for tables/ merelles both plain and decorated with concentric circles, 1 of stone, the rest wood and skeletal materials; 2 chesspieces, ivory and antler, a king/queen and a rook; 3 uncertain pieces; 7 dice of skeletal materials (one with tin (?) inlaid pips), and 1 unfinished stone die; pip arrangements include: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. Sealed by destructive burning of the palace by Danish army in 1537. 3 complete and 18 fragmentary antler, abstract chess pieces recovered from a basement/guardroom, and badly affected by a fire c. 1561-63. Walrus ivory tablesman, carved with human headed griffin

Bone/ivory figurative piece, a warder (rook), a front-facing armoured knight with sword and shield. Currently missing. Excavated finds from Wavel Hill include a bone die. Chessboard of the Polish king, Sigismund III Waza, of ebony, ivory and amber. 40 stone (schist/slate) gaming boards have been excavated at the Islamic, Old Castle (and 1 from the Christian, New Castle), including alquerque (min. 3), tabula (min. 11), merels (min. 10 – 1 tic-tac-toe, the rest nine men’s morris), mancala (min.3), and the Little Soldier’s Game (3). The boards are incised, with several overlapping and many of them incomplete. Those identified as tabula seem more likely to be for daldos and those labelled Little Soldiers Game for chess or a tafl variant. 18 plain stone gaming pieces, 10 of them truncated cones and 8 of them discs. Their sizes are playable on several of the nine men’s morris boards. Excavated in the castle and on display in the Silves Archaeological Museum are large numbers of Islamic period gaming pieces: 9 fish vertebrae roundels; at least 1 shell counter, at least 21 ceramic counters various sizes and ware types, some glazed; at least 5 stone counters; at least 2 bone, domed conical pieces; 5 bone astragali; 2 dice, 1bone and 1 stone (round with flat top and bottom and irregular numbering made as shallow depressions on all surface areas and including “9”. An assemblage of 16 slate fragments incised with graffiti, including at least 3 game boards, alquerque, daldos (with a corner of a merels board overlying it) and merels (?). 2 stone discs and a slate disc suitable as gaming counters. N.B. From the Iron Age/early medieval hillfort that preceded the castle comes a domed jet-like gaming piece. An assemblage of fragments of graffiti inscribed slates including a double-sided board for alquerque (not morris, as published) and a corner of a further alquerque board.

Date 12th c.

Reference Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 133–34, cat. A34; Arts, 2001: 57–60.

Late 15th – early 16th c.

Ekroll et al., 1997: 76; McLees, forthcoming.

15th/16th c.

Augustyniak, 1992: 78–79, 83, 109.

12th–13th c.

Hensel & Rauhutowa, 1983; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 182–83, cat. B45. Dębicka, 2010: 17; Kusina & Kusina, 2018: 219–20; Niemiec, 2018.

12th/13th c. 13–15th c. Late 16th – early 17th c. 10th–12th c.

Catarino et al., 2011.

12th–13th c.

Gomes & Gomes, 2001.

Late 14th-early 15th c. Late 14th c.

Caldwell, 2004: 107–10; Hunter, 2006a: 105–07; Hunter, 2006b; Hall, 2014b: 171–72; Hall & Schaedler, in preparation.

16th-mid-17th c.

Ewart & Triscott, 1996: 542–44, Figs. 15–16. (continued)

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

23

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 54. Urquhart, Highlands, Scotland

55. Tantallon, East Lothian, Scotland

56. Eilean Donan, Highlands, Scotland

57. Carrick, Argyll & Bute, Scotland

58. Threave, Dumfries & Galloway, Scotland

59. Caerlavrock, Dumfries & Galloway, Scotland 60. Finavon, Angus, Scotland 61. Sinclair Girnicoe, Caithness, Scotland

62. Achanduin, Lismore, Argyll & Bute, Scotland 63. Linlithgow, West Lothian, Scotland (royal palace) 64. Stirling, Stirlingshire, Scotland (royal castle & palace) 65. Falkland, Fife, Scotland (royal palace) 66. Torre de los Orgaz, Fontecha, Alava, Spain

Play evidence Bone tablesman, carved with horse & rider. Bone tablesman decorated with ring-and-dot & oblique lines; centrally pierced; greyware ceramic disc/counter; redware ceramic disc with yellow glaze and brown stripe, centrally pierced and pierced sandstone disc with linear decoration (both published as spindle whorls). Cubic bone die, ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. Bone tableman/merelles disc, centrally pierced and decorated with ring-and-dot and concentric circles; central arrangement of a ring-and-dot quatrefoil obscured by piercing. Siltstone gaming disc incised with a cross within a lozenge. 2 bone tableman, one chipped. Probably from same set as identically decorated with concentric circles, 3 groups of 3 ring-and-dot and central motif of 4 petals, a ring-and-dot between each petal. 2 counters of ceramic, reshaped from sherds of Scottish Redware. Corner of a roof-slate incised with the corner of a graffito gaming board, probably alquerque. A slate fragment with graffiti on both sides, on one an incomplete grid of parallel lines only. A third possible fragment may have been part of a board. A roughly circular slate disc, centrally pierced, incised with 4 small cells of gridded lines and a crowned head. Possibly an improvised queen/king piece? 4 broken roof slates incised with graffiti boards, two for alquerque and two undetermined. 2 wooden tableman/ merelles discs, 1 plain, 1 carved with a sexfoil on one side and 3 concentric circles on the other. 4 plain shale counters. Siltstone counter, 1 face carved with a septfoil petal. Bone tableman/merelles disc, one with concentric circles on one face; small, abstract chess piece slightly concave body with elaborate knopped head. Bone die, ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6. 3 stone discs, 1 fragment of a wooden tablesmen incised with concentric circles. Wooden toy sword; a second sword is unpublished; both lost. Elements of an ivory and Indian rosewood draughts board, with folding hinges of silver. 2 ivory dtraughtsmen. Round glass counter reworked from a piece of window glass. Copper alloy Nuremberg jetton/gaming token. 103 fired clay, limestone and 1 glass marbles. 2 bone tablesmen, 1 prob. unfinished, second with hexafoil design; a die blank, bone. ? Merels board (‘9 holes’) built into floor; not published. 2 ceramic counters. Sandstone counter Pig’s bladder and leather football, c.1540s, lodged in the rafters of the Queen’s Chamber

Date 12th c. 13th–15th c.

Reference Samson, 1982: 475, nos. 92–95; Fig.6; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 194, cat. B56; Glenn, 2003: 183, cat. L5.

15th–16th c.?

Caldwell, 1991: 346–47, illus. 6–7.

12th–13th c. 14th-15th c.

Miket & Roberts, 2007: xxv; Hall, forthcoming-b.

18th c. demolition.

Franklin, 1998: 973–75, illus. 21, 23; Hall, 2014b: 171–73.

Mid-15th-mid-­ 17th c. 1370–1455.

Good & Tabraham, 1981: 126, 129, Figs. 13, 15, 20.

c.14th–15th c.

MacIvor et al., 1999: 227, illus. 49; 229, illus. 53, 54.

18th c.

Simpson, 1957: 413–14, 415, Pl. XLVIII.3. Hall, forthcoming-d.

17th c. Late 19th c.

13th–14th c. 14th–15th c. 17th–18th c. & 15th–16th c. 1540s

Royal tennis court added in 1536

1536 onwards

2 boards – nine men’s morris & alquerque – incised side-by-side in floor slabs of the corridor of the upper floor of the tower, built 14th-15th c.

14th–16th c.

Caldwell, 2017: 45, nos. 6–8. Caldwell & Lewis, 1996: 84, ill. 15; 864, ill. 28. Stirling Smith Art Gallery & museum object record; McEwan & Broomhall, 2016. Puttfarken & Stuart, 1989: 26–35. Ortiz de Landaluze, 2002: 192–95. (continued)

24

M. A. Hall

Table 2.1 (continued) Castle/palace 67. Ager/Lleida, Catalunya, Spain (church and museum)

Play evidence 19 rock crystal chess pieces, 2 kings, 1 queen, 5 bishops, 1 rook, 1 knight, 9 pawns. The pawns are facetted, tapering cones and the figurative pieces – apart from the knight which is also plain – are cut with tracery.

Date 10th c.

68. Lund, Scania, Sweden (& bishop’s palace) 69. Stegeborg (1304–90 & 1390–1689) & Skällvik (1330–56) twin castles, Östergötland, Sweden

2 chess pieces, 1 of rock crystal & 1 of wood, both king/ queen, abstract style. Walrus ivory anthropomorphic chess bishop 13th c., bone die & gaming piece (Stegeborg); 5 antler/bone cubic dice (Skällvik), 4 with dot pips arranged: 1:2, 3:4, 5:6, 1 with ring-and-dot pips arranged: 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. 2 unworked horse teeth, possibly for gaming piece manufacture. From the bakery & common room. 2 chess pieces, a knight, of antler, & a pawn of blue glass.

11th–13th c.

12/13th c.

4 chess pieces, 2 king/queen, bishop, rook.

12th c.

Bone chess piece, pawn.

10th/11th–15th c.

2 antler chess pawns.

10th-13th c.

Extensive set of graffiti showing knights in combat (reflecting tournaments at the castle?) – in the 1st floor hall of the keep. Since 1987 the castle has been the home of the Musée Suisse du Jeu/Swiss Museum of Games. Slate board, broken in two, incised with nine men’s morris. Small stone disc (playable on the slate board). Twelve incised slates with many graffiti designs including at least 3 nine men’s morris and 2 chess/tafl boards (some partial). Chess knight, tablesman & die (2); bone. Knight is a truncated conical with angular projection; tablesman/ merrelles piece is a lathe turned disc with concentric rings both sides; cubic die with ring-and-dot pips arranged 1:6, 2:5, 3:4; lozenge-shaped die with drilled conical pips arranged 1:6, 2:5, 3:4. 2 stone discs. Ivory chess piece, simple anthropomorphic form, with half-moon face; pawn/king? 15 bone tablesmen, and 10 antler chess pieces, charred in a fire. The tablesmen fall into 4 types variously sized and decorated with concentric circles and ring-and-dot. Some are coloured black/brown. Chess pieces very fragmentary, cylindrical form, only a pawn and a knight clearly identifiable. 2 bone counters for trictrac/merelles, incised with concentric circles and ring-&-dot; small stone elliptical counter; a small stone cube, possibly a die blank.

13th-15th c.

70. Hapsburg, Aargau, Switzerland 71. Trimbach, Frohburg, Switzerland 72. Gipf-Oberfrick, Aargau, Alt-Tierstein, Switzerland 73. Salbüel, Hergiswil, Luzern, Switzerland 74. Spiez, Berne Cantone, Switzerland 75. Tour de Peilz, Vevey, Switzerland 76. Nevern, Pembrokeshire, Wales

77. Dryslwyn, Carmarthenshire, Wales

78. Skenfrith, Monmouthshire, Wales 79. Loughor, Swansea, Wales

80. Hen Domen, Montgomeryshire, Wales

Mid-14th c.

13th c. Late 12th c.

Reference Murray, 1913: 764–65; Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 35–37, Fig. 18; Stempin, 2021: 289–90, Fig. 6; Museu de Lleida website collection database. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 140, cat. A41. Rundkvist, 2019: 42, 56–75.

Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 114, cat. A14. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 115–16, cat. A16. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 115, cat. A15. Kluge-Pinsker, 1991: 111, cat. A10. Baeriswyl, 2014; Schweizer & Hüssy, 2015: 35–36. Musée Suisse du Jeu website. Caple, 2008; Caple, 2012: 443–44, Tables 1–2.

Late 13th -early 14th c.

Caple, 2008 265, Fig. 9.19.

11th–12th c.

Kightly, 1988: 103, no.45; Knight, 2009: 29. Redknap, 1993: 150–58.

11th-early 12th c.

Late 11th-13th c.

Higham et al., 2000: 107, Fig. 5.8, 5.9.

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement

References Aboltinsh, V. (2018). Cēsu Pils arheoloģiskajā materiālā identificētie ziloņkaula priekšmeti. In G.  Kalnins (Ed.), Cēsu Pils Raksti II (pp. 129–173). Cēsu Municipality and Latvian Government. Aboltinsh, V. (forthcoming). Objects of games and recreation made of animal skeletal materials in the archaeology of the medieval castle of Cēsis (Latvia). Anderson, G. D., & Rosser-Owen, M. (2015). Great ladies and noble daughters: Ivories and women in the Umayyad court at Córdoba. In A. S. Landau (Ed.), Pearls on a string: Artists, patrons, and poets at the great Islamic courts (pp. 28–51). The Walters Art Museum and University of Washington Press. Arts, N. (2001). Het ‘oude huys’ de archeologie van het eerste kasteel van Helmond, circa 1175–1375. In N.  Arts, H.  Roosenboom, & L. van Zalinge-Spooren (Eds.), De kastelen van Helmond. Een machtscentrum aan de rand van de Peel (pp. 22–75). Utrecht. Aubourg, V., & Josset, D. (2003). Le site de promontoire du château de Bois du VIIIe au XIe s. (Loir-et-Cher). Seconde partie : le mobilier non céramique. Revue archéologique du Centre de la France, 42, 169–216. Augustyniak, J. (1992). Zamek w Inowłodzu. Biblioteka Muzeum Archeologicznego i Etnograficznego w Łodzi. Aus, T. (1982). Über die forschung der Odensburg von Rakvere in den Jahren 1976–1981. Eesti Teaduste Akadeemia Toimetised, Ühiskonnateadused/proceedings of the Estonian Academy of Sciences. Social Sciences, 31(4), 388–391. Baeriswyl, A. (2014). Eine Turnierdarstellung aus der Zeit um 1300 – Die ritzzeichnungen im schlossturm von Spiez. Mittelalter, 19(1), 8–14. Bagnoli, M. (2010). The stuff of heaven: Materials and craftsmanship in medieval reliquaries. In M.  Bagnoli, H.  A. Kleiun, C.  Griffith Mann, & J. Robinson (Eds.), Treasures of heaven: Saints, relics and devotion in medieval Europe (pp. 137–147). British Museum Press. Barz, D. (2008). Schlössel bei Klingenmünster. Befunde und Funde einer salierzeitlichen Burg. Mitteilungen der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Archäologie des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit: Archäologie Mittelalterlicher Burgen, 20, 189–196. Bernard of Angers, The book of Sainte Foy. (1995). (P. Sheingorn, Ed., & Trans.). University of Pennsylvania Press. Blaževičius, P. (2008). Seniausieji Lietuvos šachmatai. Lietuvos Archeologija, 34, 59–104. Boas, A. J. (2006). Archaeology of the military orders. Routledge. Boas, J. (2019). Crusader archaeology: The material culture of the Latin East. Routledge. Borvo, A. (2001). Sahkku, the ‘Devil’s game. Board Games Studies, 4, 33–52. Bourgeois, L. (2003). Pièces de jeu et milieu aristocratique dans le Centre-Ouest de la France (xe–xiie siècles). Aquitania, 18(2001– 2002), 373–400. Bourgeois, L. (Ed.). (2009). Une residence des comtes d’Angoulême autour de l’an mil : le castrum d’and one. Publications du CRAHM. Bourgeois, L., & Prodeo, F. (Eds.). (forthcoming). Les signeurs du marais la residence fossoyée de La Mothe de Pineuilh (Gironde, Xe-XIIe siècle) (Vol. 1). Caen:Publications du CRAHM. Brownlee, E. (2021). Connectivity and funerary change in early medieval Europe. Antiquity, 95(379), 142–159. https://doi.org/10.15184/ aqy.2020.153 Bu’Lock, J. D. (1972). Pre-Conquest Cheshire. Cheshire Community Council.

25

Burström, N. M., & Ingvardson, G. T. (Eds.). (2018). Divina moneta: Coins in religion and ritual. Routledge. Caldwell, D.  H. (1991). Tantallon Castle, East Lothian: A catalogue of the finds. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 121, 335–357. Caldwell, D.  H. (2004). Inscribed and engraved slates. In G.  Ewart, D.  Pringle, D.  Caldwell, E.  Campbell, S.  Driscoll, K.  Forsyth, D.  Gallagher, T.  Holden, F.  Hunter, D.  Sanderson, & J.  Thoms. Dundonald Castle Excavations 1986–93. Scottish Archaeological Journal, 26(1/2), 107–110. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27917525 Caldwell, D.  H. (2017). Achanduin Castle, Lismore, Argyll: An account of the excavations by Dennis turner 1970–75. Scottish Archaeological Internet Reports, 73, 1–64. https://doi.org/10.9750/ issn.2056-­7421.2017.73 Caldwell, D., & Lewis, J. (1996). Linlithgow palace: An excavation in the west range and a note on finds from the palace. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 126, 823–869. Calvino, I. (1951). The cloven viscount. Vintage Books. Cameron, E. (2010). Enchanted Europe: Superstition, reason and religion 1250–1750. Oxford University Press. Caple, C. (2008). Nine men’s Morris board. Archaeology in Wales, 48, 44. Caple, C. (2012). The apotropaic symbolled threshold to Nevern Castle – Castell Nanhyfer. Archaeological Journal, 169(1), 422–452. Catarino, H., Teixeira, M., & Dias, F. (2011). Timeless games. Boards and stone game pieces from the Old Castle in Alcoutim. Câmara Municipal de Alcoutim. Cella, L., & Jurman, F. (2007). Castello del Buonconsiglio guide. ViaDellaTerra. Chandeau, F. (2002). La motte castrale de Boves (Somme): tabletterie et petits artefacts (Xe-XVIe siècles). Revue Archeologique de Picardie, 1–2, 25–71. Coad, J.  G., & Streeten, A.  D. F. (1983). Excavations at castle Acre Castle, Norfolk, 1972–77: Country house and castle of the Norman earls of Surrey. Archaeological Journal, 139(1982), 138–301. Cordez, P. (2020). Treasure, memory, nature: Church objects in the Middle Ages. Brepols. Courtney, P. (1993). The medieval and post-medieval objects. In P. Ellis (Ed.), Beeston Castle, Cheshire. A report on the excavations 1968–85 by Laurence keen and Peter Hough (pp. 134–160). English Heritage Archaeological Report (Vol. 23). Historic Buildings and Monuments Commission (HBMC). Creighton, O.  H. (2012). Early European castles: Aristocracy and authority, AD 800–1200. Bristol Classical Press. Cubbon, A. M. (2002). Merels Boards. In D. Freke (Ed.), Excavations on St Patrick’s isle, Peel. Isle of Man 1982–88, prehistoric, Viking, medieval and later (pp. 276–281). Liverpool University Press. Darvill, T. (1988). Excavations on the site of the early Norman castle at Gloucester 1983–84. Medieval Archaeology, 32, 1–49. Dębicka, M. (2010). The lost Wavel. Zamek Królewski na Wawelu. Dempsey, K. (2021). Tending the ‘contested’ castle garden: Sowing seeds of feminist thought. Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 31(2), 265–279. Dempsey, K., Gilchrist, R., Ashbee, J., Sagrott, S., & Stones, S. (2019). Beyond the martial façade: Gender, heritage and medieval castles. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 24(4), 353–369. Depaulis, T. (2001). An Arab game in the North Pole? Board Games Studies, 4, 77–82. Dodds, J.  D. (Ed.). (1992). Al-Andalus. The art of Islamic Spain. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Eales, R. (1985). Chess: The history of a game. B. T. Batsford Ltd..

26 Ekroll, Ø., Nordeide, S., Jondell, E., & Bakken, A. (1997). The Archbishop’s palace museum. Nidaros Domkirkes Restaurerinsarbeiders forlag. Ewart, G., & Triscott, W., (1996). Archaeological excavations at castle Sween, Knapdale, Argyll and Bute, 1989–90. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 126, 517–557. Ferretto, G. M. (2009). Partita a scacchi con Dante Aligheri L’esegesi del Gioco degli Scacchi e la lettura degli affreschi del Castell di Arco. Edizioni G.M.F. Forêt, P., & Kaplony, A. (2008). The journey of maps and images on the Silk Road. Brill. Franklin, J. (1998). Finds. In G.  Ewart, & F.  Baker (Eds.), Carrick Castle: Symbol and source of Campbell power in South Argyll from the 14th to the 17th century. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 128, 937–1016. Freke, D. (2002a). Slate artefacts. In D. Freke (Ed.), Excavations on St Patrick’s isle, Peel. Isle of Man 1982–88, prehistoric, Viking, medieval and later (pp. 272–273). Liverpool University Press. Freke, D. (2002b). Antler, horn, bone and walrus ivory artefacts. In D. Freke (Ed.), Excavations on St Patrick’s isle, Peel. Isle of Man 1982–88, prehistoric, Viking, medieval and later (pp.  305–307). Liverpool University Press. Gerevini, S. (2014). Christus crystallus: Rock crystal, theology and materiality in the medieval west. In J.  Robinson, L. de Beer, & A. Harnden (Eds.), Matter of faith: An interdisciplinary study of relics and relic veneration in the medieval period (pp. 92–99). British Museum Press. Gilchrist, R. (2021). Magic and archaeology: Ritual residues and ‘odd’ deposits. In S.  Page & C.  Rider (Eds.), The Routledge history of medieval magic (pp. 383–401). Routledge. Gleeson, P., & McLaughlin, R. (2021). Ways of death: Cremation and belief in first-millennium AD Ireland. Antiquity, 95(380), 382–399. https://doi.org/10.15184/aqy.2020.251 Glenn, V. (2003). Romanesque and gothic decorative metalwork and ivory carvings in the Museum of Scotland. National Museums of Scotland. Gomes, R., & Gomes, M. V. (2001). Palácio Almoada de Alcácova de Silves. Museu Nacional de Arqueologia. Good, G. L., & Tabraham, C. J. (1981). Excavations at Threave Castle, Galloway, 1974–78. Medieval Archaeology, 25, 90–140. Goret, J.-F., & Poplin, F. (1999). Autour d’un fou d’echecs en ivoire convertie trouvé à Château-Thierry (Aisne): matières dures d’origine animale et pieces de jeux d’échecs médiévaux. In A quoi joue-t-on? Pratiques et usages des jeux et des jouets à travers les âges. Actes du Festival d’Histoire de Montbrison, 26 Sept–4 Oct 1998, Montbrison: Festival of History (pp. 497–504). Publisher. Goret, J.-F., Homo-Lechner, C., & Poplin, F. (1999). Une pièce d’échecs en ivoire convertie en sifflent provenant de Château-Thierrt (Aisne). Revue Archéologique de Picardie, 3–4, 199–202. Gosden, C., Hommel, P., & Nimura, C. (2020). Making mounds: Monuments in Eurasian prehistory. In T.  Romankiewicz, M. Fernández-Götz, G. Lock, & O. Büchsenschütz (Eds.), Enclosing space, opening new ground. Iron Age studies from Scotland to mainland Europe (pp. 141–152). Oxbow Books. Grandet, M., & Goret, J.-F. (2012). Échecs et trictrac fabrication et usages jeux de tables au Moyen Âge. Éditions Errance. Haak, A. (2004). Archaeological investigations at Viljandi Castle of the Teutonic order and in medieval Viljandi. Archaeological Fieldwork in Estonia/Archeaologilised välitööd Eretis, 2003, 101–119. Haak, A., & Pärnamäe, L. (2004). Arheoloogilised Kaevamised Viljandi ordulinnusel 2002–2003. Viljandi Muuseumi aastaraamat, 2003, 62–84. Haak, A., Rannamäe, E., Luik, H., & Maldre, L. (2012). Worked and unworked bone from the Viljandi Castle of the Livonian order (13th-­ 16th centuries). Lietuvos Archeologija, T.38, 295–338.

M. A. Hall Hall, M. A. (2011). The cult of saints in medieval Perth: Everyday ritual and the materiality of belief. Journal of Material Culture, 16(1), 80–104. Hall, M.  A. (2012a). Money isn’t everything: The cultural life of coins in the medieval burgh of Perth, Scotland. Journal of Social Archaeology, 12(1), 73–91. Hall, M.  A. (2012b). Des jeux gravĕs dans la Pierre : Graffiti des cathédrals, monastères et églises paroissiales en Grande-Bretagne. Histoire et Image Médiévales Thématiquen, 28, 30–33. Hall, M.  A. (2014a). ‘To you he left … his brown ivory chessmen’, cultural value in the Lewis hoard of gaming pieces. In D.  H. Caldwell & M. A. Hall (Eds.), The Lewis chessmen: New perspectives (pp. 221–242). National Museums of Scotland and Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Hall, M. A. (2014b). Board of the kings: The material culture of playtime in Scotland AD 1–1600. In M. Teichert (Ed.), Sport und spiel bei den Germanen, Nordeuropa von der Römischen Kaiserzeit bis zum Mittelalter (pp. 163–196). Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde (Vol. 88). De Gruyter. Hall, M. A. (2015). Ecclesia ludens: Board and dice games in a Scottish monastic context. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 145, 283–297. Hall, M. A. (2016a). Playing the dark side: A look at some chess and other playing pieces of jet and jet-like materials from Britain. In F. Hunter & A. Sheridan (Eds.), Ancient lives: Object, people and place in early Scotland. Essays for David V.  Clarke on his 70th birthday (pp. 359–381). Sidestone Press. Hall, M. A. (2016b). Jeux sans frontières: Play and performativity or questions of identity and social interaction across town and country. In B. Jervis, L. Broderick, & I. G. Sologestoa (Eds.), Objects, environment and everyday life in medieval Europe (pp. 189–212). Brepols. Hall, M. A. (2019). Whose game is it anyway? Board and dice games as an example of cultural transfer and hybridity. In V.  Dasen, & U.  Schädler (Eds.), Jouer dans l’Antiquite : Identite et multiculturalite / games and play in antiquity: Identity and multiculturality [special section 2]. Archimède. Archéologie et Histoire Ancienne, 6, 199–212. Hall, M.  A. (2021). Status, magic and belief: Exploring identity through dress accessories and other amulets in medieval Scotland: A Perthshire case study. The Scottish Historical Review, 100(3), 469–492. Hall, M.  A. (forthcoming-a), magical play: Gaming counters, boards and graffiti. In A. Cameron (Ed.), Excavations at old deer monastery, Aberdeenshire. Hall, M.  A. (forthcoming-b). Eilean Donan at play. In J.  Clark, J. Garner-Lahire, C. Spall, & N. Toop, Exploring a highland icon research excavation at Eilean Donan Castle, 2005–2017. Hall, M. A. (forthcoming-c). The gaming pieces. In V. Crewe, D. M. Hadley, & H.  Wilmott (Eds.), Fieldwork at West Halton. North Lincolnshire. Hall, M.  A. (forthcoming-d). The castle as seventeenth century playground. In J. Garner-Lahire, & C. Spall (Eds.), Excavations at castle Sinclair Girnicoe, Caithness. Scotland. Hall, M. A., & Forsyth, K. (2011). Roman rules? The introduction of board games to Britain and Ireland. Antiquity, 85(330), 1325–1338. Hall, M.  A., & Schaedler, U. (in preparation). Europe’s playful frontiers: Roman board-games in the barbaricum, from Britain to the Danubian provinces. Harrison, W. (1896). An archaeological survey of Lancashire. Society of Antiquaries of London. Heddle, J. (2009a). Games and pastimes. In E.  S. Popescu (Ed.), Norwich Castle: Excavations and historical survey 1987–98 (Part I – Anglo-Saxon to c. 1345, pp. 524–526). East Anglian Archaeology report (Vol. 132i). East Anglia Archaeology.

2  United We Play, United We Pray? Connected Networks of Medieval Play and Supernatural Engagement Heddle, J. (2009b). Games and pastimes. In E.  S. Popescu (Ed.), Norwich Castle: Excavations and historical survey 1987–98 (Part II  – C. 1345 to modern, pp.  711-712. East Anglian archaeology report (Vol. 132ii). East Anglia Archaeology. Heine, H.  W. (1991). Burgen der salischen Zeit in Niedersachsen. Ein Überlick. In H. W. Böhme (Ed.) Burgen der Salierzeit (Vol. 1, pp. 9–84). Thorbecke. Hensel, W., & Rauhutowa, J. (1983). Una pedina medievale con bassorilievo ritrovata a Czersk (presse Varsavia). Rivista di Archeologia, VII, 69–71. Higham, R., Barker, P., & Rouillard, M. (2000). Hen Domen, Montgomery: A timber castle on the English-Welsh border; a final report. University of Exeter Press and Royal Archaeological Institute. Hooper, S. (2014). Bodies, artefacts and images. A cross cultural theory of relics. In J. Robinson, L. de Beer, & A. Hornden (Eds.), Matter of faith: An interdisciplinary study of relics and relic veneration in the medieval period (pp. 190–199). British Museum Press. Howard-Johnston, J., & Hayward, P.  A. (Eds.). (2002). The cult of saints in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages. Essays on the contribution of Peter Brown. Oxford University Press. Hüglin, S. (2020). Geschichte(n) zum anfassen – fundobjekte von Burg Rötteln. In R.  Wagner, R.  Brachthäuser, & M.  Volk (Eds.), Burg Rötteln: Herrschaft zwischen Basel und Frankreich (pp.  60–73). Staatliche Schlösser und Gärten and J. S. Klotz Verlagshaus. Hunter, F. (2006a). Objects of stone, slate, oil, shale and related material. In G.  Ewart, & D.  Pringle (Eds.), ‘there is a castle in the west…’. Dundonald Castle excavations 1986–93 [special issue]. Scottish Archaeological Journal, 26(1–2), 104–107. Hunter, F. (2006b). The oil shale and related material from Dundonald: Corrigenda and addenda. In D. H. Caldwell, N. Holmes, & F. Hunter (Eds.), Addendum Dundonald Castle excavations: Further information on the finds [special issue]. Scottish Archaeological Journal, 28(1), 75–80. Hutton, R. (Ed.). (2016). Physical evidence for ritual acts, sorcery and witchcraft in Christian Britain – A feeling for magic. Palgrave Macmillan. Innes, M. (2001). Keeping it in the family: Women and aristocratic memory, 700–1200. In E. van Houtts (Ed.), Medieval memories. Men, women and the past, 700–1300 (pp. 17–35). Longman. Jensen, V., Parikka, A., & Kylseberg, B. (Eds.). (2013). Castles around the Baltic Sea. The Association of Castles and Museums around the Baltic Sea. Kendrick, J. (1853). An account of excavations made at the Mote Hill, Warrington, Lancashire. Proceedings and Papers of the Historical Society of Lancashire and Cheshire, 5(1852–1853), 59–68. Kieckhefer, R. (1994). The specific rationality of medieval magic. American Historical Review, 99, 813–836. Kightly, C. (1988). A mirror of medieval Wales. Gerald and his journey of 1188. Cadw Welsh Historic Monuments. Kluge-Pinsker, A. (1991). Schachspiel und trictrac zeugnisse mittelalterlichter spielfreude aus salischer zeit. Jan Thorbecke. Knight, J. (2009). The three castles: Grosmont Castle, Skenfrith Castle. White Castle. Kusina, E., & Kusina, J. (2018). Chess collections in Krakow’s Museums. In A.  Stempin (Ed.), The cultural role of chess in medieval and modern times: 50th anniversary jubilee of the Sandomierz chess discovery (pp.  219–227). Muzeum Archeologiczne Poznaniu. Lapina, E. (2013). Gambling and gaming in the Holy Land: Chess, dice and other games in the sources of the crusades. Crusades, 12, 121–132. Lassure, J. M., & Villeval, G. (2001). Découvertes récentes de pieces de jeu d’echecs médiévales dans le Sud-Ouest de la France. Bulletin de la Sociéte Archéologique, Historique, Littéraire et Scientifique du Gers, 102(2), 309–315.

27

Leenen, B. (Ed.). (2010a). Ritter, Burgen und Intrigen  – AufRuhr 1225! Das mittelalter am Rhein und Ruhr. Philipp von Zabern and Archäologie-Westfälisches Landesmuseum Herne. Leenen, S. (2010b). Die isenburgen an der Ruhr (denkmalpflege und forschung im Westfalen). Philip von Zabern. Lorren, C. (1977). Le château de Rubercy (Calvados). Etude de la demeure principale (c. 1150–1204). Archéologie médiévale, 7, 109–178. MacGregor, A. (2001). Objects of bone, antler and ivory. In P. Saunders (Ed.), Salisbury and South Wiltshire museum medieval catalogue (Part 3, pp. 15–16). Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum. MacIvor, I., Gallagher, D., Laing, L., Caldwell, D., Gabra-Sanders, T., Haggarty, G., Hurst-Vose, R., Holmes, N. M., & Ruckley, N. (1999). Excavations at Caerlavrock Castle, 1955-66. Archaeological Journal, 156(1), 143–245. Maguire, H. (1997). Magic and money in the early Middle Ages. Speculum, 72(4), 1037–1054. Makariou, S. (2005). Le jeu d’échecs, une pratique de l’aristocraties entre Islam et Chrétienté des IXe-XIIIe siècles. Les Cahiers de Saint-­ Michel de Cuxa, 36, 127–140. Mann, V.  B. (1977). Romanesque ivory tablesmen [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. New York University. McEwan, J., & Broomhall, S. C. (2016). Spirits trouble some houses (information card in the series stories of emotions and Scottish objects). Australian Research Council Centre of Excellence for the History of Emotions. McLees, C. (forthcoming). The Archbishop’s Palace, Nidaros, excavations – The finds. Michaelsen, P. (2001). Daldøs, an almost forgotten dice board game. Board Games Studies, 4, 19–32. Micklethwaite, J. T. (1892). On the indoor games of school boys in the Middle Ages. Archaeological Journal, 49, 319–328. Miket, R., & Roberts, L. (2007). The medieval castle of Skye and Lochalsh. Birlinn. Mould, Q., & Vince, A. (2006). Introduction to the finds. In A. Saunders (Ed.), Excavations at Launceston Castle, Cornwall (pp. 261–268). Society for Medieval Archaeology. Murray, H. J. R. (1913). A history of chess. Clarendon Press. Næsheim, A. (2001). Daldøsa, an old dice game with an obscure origin. Board Games Studies, 4, 9–14. Niemiec, D. (2018). Did Conrad of Mazovia play chess on Wavel? In A. Stempin (Ed.), The cultural role of chess in medieval and modern times: 50th anniversary jubilee of the Sandomierz chess discovery (pp. 55–66). Poznań Muzeum Archeologiczne Poznaniu. O’Bryan, R. (Ed.). (2019). Games and game playing in European art and literature, 16th–17th centuries. Amsterdam University Press. Ortiz de Landaluze, A.  L. (2002). Tableros de juego en el patriminio arqueológico de Álava. Estudios de Arqueologia Alavesa, 19, 190–196. Pastoreau, M. (1990). L’échiquier de Charlemagne : un jeu pour ne pas jouer. Adam Biro. Pastoreau, M. (1994). Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. Bibliothèque Nationale and Musées et Monuments de France. Pohle, F. (Ed.). (2014). Karl der Grosse/Charlemagne (Vol. 2 – Orte der Macht). Sandstein Verlag. Proust, M. (1913–1927). À la recherche du temps perdu (Vols. 1–7). Gallimard. Puttfarken, T., & Stuart, M.  C. (1989). The royal tennis court at Falkland. In L. St. J. Butler, & P. J. Wordie (Eds.), The royal game (pp. 26–35). Falkland Palace Real Tennis Club. Racinet, P. (Ed.). (2008). Le site castral de Boves du Xe–XVIIe siècle. Bilan des recherches archéologiques 2001–2006. Revue Archéologique de Picardie, 1(2), 168. Redknap, M. (1993). The bone gaming pieces. In J.  M. Lewis (Ed.), Excavations at Loughor Castle, West Glamorgan 1969–73. Archaeologia Cambrensis, 142, 99–181.

28 Riddler, I. (2006). Stone, bone, antler and ivory finds. In A. Saunders (Ed.), Excavations at Launceston Castle, Cornwall (pp. 357–380). Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph (Vol. 24). English Heritage and Society for Medieval Archaeology. Rollason, D. (2016). The power of place: Rulers and their palaces, landscapes, cities and holy places. Princeton University Press. Rundkvist, M. (2019). At home at the castle: Lifestyles at the medieval strongholds of Östergotland AD 1200–1530. Östergotland County Administration. Samson, R. (1982). Finds from Urquhart Castle in the National Museum, Edinburgh. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 112, 465–476. Santa-Cruz, N. S. (2014). Ivory gifts for women in caliphal Córdoba: Marriage, maternity and sensuality. Journal of Medieval Iberian Studies, 6(1), 103–125. Schädler, U. (2002). The Talmud, Firdausî and the Greek game ‘City’. In J. Retschitzki & R. Haddad-Zabel (Eds.), Step by step: Proceedings of the 4th colloquium board games in academia (pp.  91–102). University of Fribourg. Schädler, U. (2008). Eine Bergkristall-Scachfigur in der Schweiz. In S.  Schönle (Ed.), Festschrift Meissenburg. Schachforschungen (pp. 654–665). Wein. Schweizer, J., & Hüssy, A. (Eds.). (2015). Spez Castle and its church. Society for the History of Swiss Art. Sebbane, M. (1999). Board games: A crusader pastime. In S. Rozenberg (Ed.), Knights of the Holy Land: The crusader kingdom of Jerusalem (pp. 287–291). The Israel Museum. Semple, S., Sanmark, A., Iversen, F., & Mehler, N. (2021). Negotiating the north: Meeting-places in the Middle Ages in the North Sea zone. In Society of Medieval Archaeology Monograph, 41. Routledge. Shaffrey, R. (2015). The worked stone objects. In S.  Rátkai (Ed.), Wigmore Castle, North Herefordshire. Excavations 1996 and 1998 (pp. 133–135). Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph (Vol. 34). Society for Medieval Archaeology. Shoesmith, R. (2018). The story of castle house. In R.  Shoesmith & A.  Johnson (Eds.), Ludlow Castle. Its history and buildings (pp. 123–130). Logaston Press. Simpson, D. W. (1957). Finavon Castle. Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 89, 398–417. Souza, J. C. R. (2009). Mancala (califal). In M. T. L. de Guereño Sanz & I. G. B. Torviso (Eds.), Alfonso X el Sabio [exposición] Sala San Esteban, Murcia, 27 octubre 2009–31 enero 2010 (pp.  615–616). Comunidad Autónoma de la Región de Murcia. Stargardt, J., & Willis, M. (Eds.). (2018). Relic and relic worship in early Buddhism: India, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka and Burma. British Museum Research Publication (218). British Museum. Stempin, A. (2021). The oldest (11th–13th c.) chess figures made in the abstract Arab style excavated in Poland. Against the European trends related to the initial stages of adaptation in Europe. Slavia Antiqua, LXII, 279–309.

M. A. Hall Stevens, F. (1933). An early chessman from old Sarum. Antiquaries Journal, 13, 308–310. Stewart, I.  J. (1993). The Gloucester tabulae set: Its discovery and interpretation (Vols. 1–2) [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. University of Bristol. Stewart, I. J., & Watkins, M. J. (1984). An 11th-century bone tabulae set from Gloucester. Medieval Archaeology, 28, 185–190. Stone, R. (2018). The porter’s lodge, prison and stable block. In R. Shoesmith & A. Johnson (Eds.), Ludlow Castle. Its history and buildings (pp. 205–212). Logaston Press. Svensson, E. (1995). Life in the bailff’s castle of Edsholm. Papers of the Archaeological Institute, University of Lund, 10(1993–1994), 159–166. Sweetman, P. D., Mitchell, G. F., Mansfield, R. J., & Dolly, M. (1978). Archaeological excavations at Trim Castle, Co. Meath, 1971–74. Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, 78 C, 127–198. Vale, M. (2001). The princely court: Medieval courts and culture in North-West Europe. Oxford University Press. van Houtts, E. (1999). Memory and gender in medieval Europe 900– 1200. Palgrave Macmillan. Walker, R. (2001). Images of royal and aristocratic burial in northern Spain c. 950–c. 1250. In E. van Houtts (Ed.), Medieval memories. Men, women and the past, 700–1300 (pp. 150–172). Longman. Warhurst, M. (2002). Casting counters (jettons) and a lead seal. In D. Freke (Ed.), Excavations on St Patrick’s Isle, Peel. Isle of Man 1982–88, prehistoric, Viking, medieval and later (pp.  329–330). Liverpool University Press. Waterman, D.  M. (1954). Excavations at Clough Castle, Co. Down. Ulster Journal of Archaeology, 17, 103–163. Watkins, M. J. (1985). Gloucester. The Normans and domesday exhibition and catalogue. Friends of Gloucester Museum. Whitfield, S. (Ed.). (2019). Silk roads – Peoples, cultures, landscapes. Thames and Hudson. Wilkinson, D. (2007). Objects of worked bone and antler. In I. Soden (Ed.), Stafford Castle survey. Excavation and research 1978–1998 (Vol. II – The excavations, pp. 143–148). Stafford Borough Council. Willemsen, A. (2019). Middeleeeuwse tuinen aardse paradijzen in oost en west, 1200–1600. Rijksmuseum van Oudheden.

Internet Databases Museu de Lleida  – Collections atabase. http://museudelleida.cat/ collection/al-­andalus/page/2/ Musée Suisse du Jeu. https://museedujeu.ch/en/informationspratiques/ Stirling Smith Art Gallery and Museum  – Object record. https:// www.smithartgalleryandmuseum.co.uk/about/the-­c ollection/ stirling-­history-­archaeology/the-­worlds-­oldest-­football/

3

Where Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context Ben Jervis

Abstract

Silver spoons are common items in later medieval wills and inventories. These objects are often interpreted as stores of wealth  and as indicators of an emerging middling sort among urban and communities. Silver and pewter spoons are rarely recovered from excavations, however metal detected finds demonstrate the diversity of forms, materials and decoration used in the manufacture of these objects. This chapter will examine spoons in a wider context, as related to networks of interaction which extend into Europe; narratives of industrial expansion, international commerce and religious change out of which these objects emerged and within which they found meaning. As such, it demonstrates the complex ways in which objects developed relational meaning and value in the Middle Ages. Keywords

Commerce · Consumption · Material culture · Medieval · Pewter · Religion · Silver · Spoon

3.1 Introduction Through the course of the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries, pewter was transformed from being an item found principally in the church and at the elite table to being a common component of domestic material culture (see Hatcher & Barker, 1974). Among the most frequently occurring pewter items in inventories and wills of this period are spoons, objects also commonly produced in silver. This chapter explores how pewter and silver spoons existed at a nexus of social and economic transformations through this period, B. Jervis (*) University of Leicester, Leicester, UK e-mail: [email protected]

relating to global networks of production, commerce and exchange, to the emergence of individuality and the domestication of affective religious practice. Spoons are commonly understood in representational terms. In England, silver spoons have a particular association with urban homes, which has led Goldberg (2008) to propose that they are symbolic of urban ‘bourgeois’ systems of value, in which silver spoons were a means of displaying wealth, success, creditworthiness and piety. Spoons occurred in rural homes too. This chapter draws on the results of the Living Standards and Material Culture in English Rural Households c. 1300–1600 project (see Jervis et al., 2015, 2023; Briggs et  al., 2019), which combined the study of archaeological finds with that of lists of the goods of rural and small-town households produced by two royal officials, the escheator and the coroner. The context of these lists was the seizure of the goods of felons by the crown, effectively resulting in detailed inventories which provide a unique insight into the possessions of non-elite households in the Middle Ages. Silver and pewter spoons are scarce finds from excavated contexts in England. The large-scale survey of excavated finds undertaken by the Living Standards and Material Culture project identified only two examples from rural sites. The large corpus of published finds from excavations in Winchester includes only one example of a pewter spoon, the bowl of which is decorated with an incised cross motif (Brisbane, 1990: 833–34). The largest groups of excavated finds are from London, the centre of the English pewter industry, where pewter spoons occur in contexts from the thirteenth century onwards. In total, 28 examples are published from the Thames waterfront excavations, some decorated with potentially or explicitly religious iconography, including one with an incised fish motif and another with an incised cross (Egan, 2010: 244–52). A larger corpus of spoons has been recovered by metal detectorists and reported to the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), a scheme for the recording of archaeological finds made by members of the public in England and Wales. This includes over 200

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_3

29

30

medieval spoons. This chapter begins by discussing the availability and movement of pewter and silver between the fourteenth-sixteenth centuries, before relating this to social and religious changes in the period.

B. Jervis

European pewter into the English market, although where objects were imported it was typically spoons (Hatcher & Barker, 1974: 76–77). Increasingly, localised studies of mineral extraction and its social and economic consequences are changing our perspective on economic development. Rather than viewing this 3.2 The Velocity of Metals as a stage in the evolution of capitalism and modern industrialisation, medieval economic changes emerge as a patchIn the context of inventories, spoons become indicative of work of localised interactions which overspill their bounds. consumer choice, the acquisition of luxury (non-essential) This created circumstances in which new economic forms products and expressions of identity and a pan-European cul- could emerge and in which a wider array of objects became ture of consumption (see e.g. Poulsen, 2004: 59; Ardavičiūtė-­ available to consumers. On the consumption side, the acquiRamanauskienė, 2018). As such, it becomes possible to sition of metalware, either silver or pewter, was motivated by equate spoons to a form of indicator artefact for commercial anxieties caused by the bullion famine, itself the product of growth and rising living standards, part of a progressive nar- localised political regimes of taxation and hoarding. Plate rative of economic growth and development culminating in allowed for the holding of wealth in a form which could be modern consumption. However, if we return to the materials, easily liquidated, whilst simultaneously allowing households these spoons beg questions about the implications of this pro- to social display through the acquisition of objects which fitcess of intensification which force us to think about economic ted into a contemporary regime of value (Goldberg, 2008; development as non-linear, as a patchwork of interconnected Smail, 2016: 59–67; Hamling & Richardson, 2017: 134). localised ‘happenings’ in which the European medieval econWe can view this patchwork process of economic develomy is not a single phenomenon but a series of situated emer- opment through a reflection on the archaeological evidence gences (see Jervis, 2022). The intensification of consumption for production landscapes. For example, a critical source of causes a ripple effect, disrupting ways of life, temporalities tin were the mines of Cornwall in south-west England. Here and geographies (Lowenhaupt Tsing, 2015: 38). As Law and a distinctive agrarian regime emerged in tin-working areas Mol (1995: 290–91) state, history ‘isn’t a story: it’s bits and with the infrastructure of tin extraction and working shaping pieces from a whole list of possible stories. [There are] end- the landscape. Rights to tin extraction became bound up less stories about the kaleidoscope of materialities’. Spoons in  local legal practices and economic relations which are not singular objects with singular meaning, but are embed- extended beyond immediate communities in the hunt for ded in relational constitutions of becoming. capital (Blanchard, 1972; Hatcher, 1974; Gerrard, 2000). In Technology is socially situated (Sillar & Tite, 2000). The Devon, the silver mines at Beere Ferrers were operated by organisation of production has implications  – it overspills the Crown and their lessees, employing over 300 men in the frame of the artisanal shaping of materials, revealing how extraction and construction (Claughton, 2010; Claughton & whilst spoons can, through one lens, be understood as mark- Smart, 2010). Both tin and silver smelting placed demands ers of rising living standards and economic growth, through on fuel resources and impacted the landscape through drainanother they are symptomatic of the exploitation of environ- age, with the mines becoming a focus of new settlement. ments and labour. The expansion and intensification of min- Exploring the emergence of mining towns in Central Europe, eral extraction in medieval Europe is commonly portrayed as Cembrzyński (2017) highlights variability in the relationship a linear story of technological and economic development. between processes of urban development and mining varyTechnological innovations in the use of water power allowed ing in relation to specific local circumstances. Furthermore, mining for lead, tin and silver in southern Germany to inten- mining had localised impacts, for example depleting timber sify, fuelling a demand for these resources in response to the resources, stimulating soil erosion and polluting water and fifteenth-century ‘bullion famine’, caused by a shortage of the air (Cembrzyński, 2019). silver in the form of cash (see Nef, 1941; Munro, 2006; Whilst the demand for silver coinage stimulated the intenAllen, 2011). From the 1560s silver supplies were further sification of silver extraction, the growth of mining operaexpanded by the exploitation of new resources from the tions can be linked, in part, to the growing market for silver Americas (Desaulty & Albarede, 2013). Until the mid-­ and pewter tableware in this period. The intensification of fifteenth century England, with its long-exploited tin and production and growing commercialisation at the European lead resources, had been the leader in the European pewter level had local implications. Just as demand for English wool trade, but exports fell as new, cheaper, European sources (e.g. Oldland, 2016) and grain (Hybel, 2002) entangled rural allowed the development of pewter industries across north- communities in large-scale economic networks, intensifying ern Europe. Whilst England’s pewter exports fell dramati- production and, in some cases, commodifying labour, so the cally, protectionist measures limited the importation of growing demand for lead, tin and silver shaped the land-

3  Where Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context

scapes and communities in mineral-rich areas. Whilst pewter and silver spoons are easily situated within narratives of rising living standards and economic growth, a focus on their materials draws us back to landscapes and communities, to reflect on economic ‘progress’ as a multi-textured phenomenon comprised of localised interactions which overflow their bounds (Lowenhaupt Tsing, 2015: 21); as Latour (2005) argues, the local is global and action overtakes itself. As Cembrzyński (2019) demonstrates, whilst access to metalware was a luxury for consumers, indicating a rise in quality of life and affording the emergence of new forms of domesticity, among mining communities health, welfare and environment were all potentially degraded. This forces us to look beyond the object and the technological processes behind their manufacture to consider in a more expansive way the multi-layered implications of later medieval commercial and industrial development beyond a simple linear narrative of intensification, growth and rising standards of living.

3.3 Spoons and Selfhood Spoons then are the product not only of a commercialising economy but of localised intensifications of mineral exploitation which form a part of a wider patchwork of economic change. The proliferation of spoons, best exemplified by urban wills and inventories, suggests that they were desirable objects. They were often held as groups of six or twelve, bequeathed as highly personal objects. How are we to explain this increasing fashion for the acquisition of spoons by urban, but also rural, households? We might take, as an example, the husbandman John Ferrour of Sevenhampton, Wiltshire, who possessed two silver spoons in 1415.1 We could perceive of a process of emulation, rural households imitating the consumption patterns of their urban counterparts, spoons being acquired by those lower down the social ladder as one component of the fashioning of a particular form of domesticity. The twelfth-thirteenth centuries are thought of as a period in which medieval society became increasingly aware of the individual, and of the power of consumption to shape identity in a more-than-representational way (see Logan, 1986; Shaw, 2009; Blamires, 2010; Jervis, 2017). Commerce provided the means and resources to acquire new goods, to fashion the self in new ways, both to display but also to provoke response and affect. Sumptuary legislation associated with clothing provides a vivid example of a heightened awareness of, and anxiety about, the consequences of consumption. The breakdown of bonded tenurial arrangements, coupled with National Archives E357/24 rot. 36d, m. 1 https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/households_lt_2020/h_fullrecord.cfm? search=inventandid=e237 1 

31

the growing marketisation and commercialisation of the economy, placed ‘luxury’ items such as spoons within the reach of a wider cross-section of society. Spoons are an object closely associated with the self. They appear in allegorical literature as metaphors for being self-serving or selfish (Kamath, 2013). We might, therefore, associate spoons with this growing concern with selfhood and individuality, with these metaphorical evocations revealing how these objects can be situated within the anxieties around growing consumption. These links are furthered by the personalisation of spoons, either through the presence of inscriptions or scratched motifs. Spoons are a fairly ubiquitous form across northern Europe, commonly featuring depictions of the apostles or Virgin with Child, or have acorn knops. Acorns are a common motif on medieval artefacts (Fig.  3.1a, e), including spoons, and have been suggested by Cassels (2013) to represent values of modesty, chastity and virtue. These spoons, we might infer, had representational value as symbols of religious belief. Spoons, therefore, exist at an intersection of religious belief, being symbols of piety and probably tools of personal devotion, and commerce, playing a role in crafting domesticity and a representation of the self. In his analysis of the possessions of urban households in the Mediterranean, Smail (2016: 64) perceives of wealth as a form of energy, which was expended through acts of ‘costly signalling’; the acquisition and display of objects which were to a degree an extension of the self, symbols of identity. In the case of spoons, signifying wealth, virtue and religious piety (see Goldberg, 2008; Hamling & Richardson, 2017: 134). Far from being excessive investments in luxury, Smail proposes that these goods were an investment in image with the added value of providing a financial buffer in times of hardship. Within this framework, spoons were clearly an acceptable means of displaying character traits which were widely understood. The implication that we can draw from these approaches is that commerce created possibilities to acquire goods which allowed a degree of choice and creativity in the crafting of the self. Spoons then are more than an investment in a functional object, but may suggest that people were also investing in a widely understood symbol of identity. Following Braidotti (2013: 58), however, I propose we can go further in thinking through the affect and implications of spoons. Braidotti argues that modernity is concerned with fashion and mass media, a desire to breed conformity and prevent the emergence of difference, or alternative forms of becoming. Modern capitalism provides quantitative options for identity fashioning rather than allowing identities to emerge as people are ‘infected’ by them (see also Reynolds, 1997: 157). Far from providing choice, the proliferation of goods and the meaning that the emerging capitalist system assigned to them can be understood as creating a kind of ‘identity by

32

B. Jervis

Fig. 3.1  Examples of silver and pewter spoons reported to the Portable Antiquities Scheme: (a) fourteenth-­ fifteenth-­century silver spoon with acorn knop from Newington, Oxfordshire (BERK-203428); (b) silver spoon dating to c. 1375 with pointed knop from East Knoyle, Wiltshire (DOR-­ 235972): features leopard head and wheatsheaf marks; (c) anthropomorphic knop from a copper alloy maidenhead or apostle spoon dated 1400–1600 from Bishops Waltham, Hampshire (HAMP-71D2020); (d) silver-gilt knop depicting a Wildman motif from Rendlesham, Suffolk (SF-0B2F53); (e) silver gilt spoon handle with acorn knop from Enmore, Somerset (SOM-6CFA32). (Image courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

numbers’, rather than allowing selfhood to emerge. Thinking about spoons simply as a symbol of a system of value meaning or understanding, therefore, limits the potential of understanding what they could become, of the range of ­ medieval identities, experiences and domesticities which could emerge out of their acquisition, display or use. The concept of the ‘social self’ applied to medieval consumption by Shaw (2009) captures this idea well. He argues that conspicuous consumption has implications – the message broadcast is not always that understood. Because objects were a part of a system of value, care had to be taken in their acquisition and consumption (see also Jervis, 2017). This concept explicitly recognises the affective capacity of things to exceed their representational capacity – they were not extensions of the self but rather enrolled in its formation – they had consequences for who, or what, could become. Similarly, Irigaray and Marder (2016: 45) argue that the expenditure of energy in producing a ‘presumed human world’ is neutralising. Their argument is that rather than representing choice, the presence of an array of commodities, each with their own specific sets of generalised associations, meanings and representational values makes it difficult for these objects to find alternative forms of becoming  – as

goods become more specific and differentiated their meaning, value and potential become less malleable. In effect, far from offering choice, understanding these goods in representational terms alone casts objects as oppressive, blocking routes to alternative experiences of becoming. As Guattari (1989: 44) concludes ‘What condemns the capitalist value system is that it is characterized by general equivalence, which flattens out all other forms of value, alienating them in its hegemony’, the thrust of his argument being that modern capitalism has caused us to privilege signs over matter. A perspective on spoons purely as symbols articulates this focus on signs over matter into archaeological and historical practice. A focus on emulation assumes a ubiquity of meaning and motivation, rather than appreciating how similar objects affect their users in a variety of ways. To illustrate this point, we can look at three examples from lists of goods seized from felons by the Crown. In 1414, the clerk Hugh Cetur of Woodchurch, Kent, was convicted of the murder of the chaplain John Smyth.2 He had a wide range of possesNational Archives E357/24 rot. 20, m. 2 https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/households_lt_2020/h_fullrecord.cfm? search=inventandid=e215 2 

3  Where Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context

sions including seven silver spoons, valued at seven shillings. Cetur was clearly a wealthy religious man, his possessions include a range of other items of pewter ­tableware including two saucers, three latten candlesticks and gilt mazer. It is unclear whether the order in which goods are listed in escheators’ records relate to the spatial position of goods within the home (see Briggs et al., 2019 for discussion), but it is noticeable here that the silver spoons are listed after Cetur’s chest and with his silver adorned belt, rather than with his tableware. Other goods adjacent to the spoons in the list include items of armour, his religious books and bedding, perhaps suggesting that they were stored in a chamber or parlour. In the early modern period, it was common for silver spoons to be found within chambers, a protective and private space, suggesting that these were personal objects, perhaps concealed within Cetur’s chest. Cetur’s spoons can be contrasted with the two belonging to the husbandman John Ferrour, who was outlawed by a civil suit (most likely in pursuit of debt) in 1415.3 Ferrour’s list is unusual as his profession is stated as being an agriculturalist, but no animals, crops or tools are listed among his possessions, despite these being the most common items occurring in the Escheators’ lists. His list is suggestive of aspiration, as he had a range of items of unusually elaborate bedding including coloured coverlets and testers (the top part of a hanging bed) which are listed as being old or worn. Ferrour appears to have acquired these goods secondhand, perhaps through inheritance or through the second-hand market and sought to use them to construct a particular domestic environment. His spoons are listed with his tablecloths and napkins, perhaps suggesting the acquisition of items for display at the table, to cultivate an image of affluence and refinement, contrasting the apparent concealment of Cetur’s spoons. A final example is that of Geoffrey Potet, beheaded for his part in the uprising of 1381.4 Potet lived in the town of Dartford, Kent, and possessed six silver spoons worth six shillings. Like Cetur, his spoons are listed directly after a container, in this case a casket, and in the same part of the list as his bedclothes. Unlike Cetur, Potet did not have other items of tableware and his cooking ware and a mention of tippler’s vessels suggest a profession in the victualing trade. The uprising of 1381 is commonly referred to as the ‘Peasant’s Revolt’, but in reality the social composition of the rebels was much more varied. There was strong support for the rebellion among some urban artisans, the group to

National Archives E357/24 rot. 36d, m. 1 https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/households_lt_2020/h_fullrecord.cfm? search=inventandid=e237 4  National Archives E136/94/2  m. 18 https://archaeologydataservice. ac.uk/archives/view/households_lt_2020/h_fullrecord.cfm? search=inventandid=e656 3 

33

which Potet would appear to belong. In May 1381 a royal tax collector was attacked at Dartford and official documents were burned in protest at the imposition of burdensome taxation (Flaherty, 1860; de Saxe, 2007). Potet’s possessions suggest he had a fairly comfortable lifestyle, his home was well-furnished. Taxation perhaps threatened the aspirational lifestyle that he had crafted for himself, small luxuries such as his silver spoons not simply being tools of emulation but an active means of resisting oppressive attempts to limit opportunities for economic advancement, of which involvement in the 1381 uprising was a more tangible expression (see also Smith, 2009). Overall, these lists show spoons functioning in three different domestic arenas. In the context of Cetur’s home, these were personal objects, associated with a relatively luxurious form of domesticity associated with his office. For Potet the spoons may be suggestive of aspirational investment, not necessarily to imitate the lifestyles of the urban elite but rather as a form of private and personal resistance to oppression  – as a tool of crafting his individuality and independence. In contrast to Cetur and Potet, John Ferrour’s spoons appear to have been displayed, seemingly the possession of a household who sought to engage with the wealth of new goods available, but which were, perhaps, beyond their means, accounting for the possession of only two spoons rather than a full set, and the range of dilapidated goods in his home. Through these three examples, we can begin to see that spoons were not simply physical manifestations of a shared system of value and meaning, but were implicated in the performance of domesticity and the emergence of particular forms of selfhood. Rather than reflecting identities, they played a role in shaping individuality and personhood becoming resources for the emergence of difference through material engagement.

3.4 Spoons and Devotion Whereas inventories provide details on who owned spoons, where they may have been located in the home and their monetary value, archaeological evidence allows us to understand the material elements of these objects. Here we can focus particularly on the evidence provided by PAS finds of silver and pewter spoons, many of which carry explicit or implicit religious imagery. At the time of writing, there are 257 spoons of silver (44 examples), copper alloy (112 examples) or pewter/lead-alloy (80 examples) dating to the period 1300–1600 on the PAS database.5 Copper alloy examples sometimes exhibit tinning or silvering, suggesting that they were coated to give the In the remaining cases the material is not stated.

5 

34

impression of being pewter or silver spoons. Where the handle survives the most common types are spoons with an acorn knop (31 examples; Fig. 3.1a, e). Spoons with explicit religious symbolism include those with a maidenhead knop (depicting the Virgin and Child; twelve examples; Fig. 3.1c) or apostle spoons (19 examples; Fig.  3.2). Three spoons exhibit etched crosses on the bowls, which may have been made by the user whilst two carry the inscription ‘MATER DEI MEMANTO MEI’ (Mother of God, Remember Me) (Fig. 3.3). This small collection of objects shows how spoons could carry both explicitly and implicitly religious iconography, with this being a feature of the objects as acquired (e.g. cast knops) or potentially be added to the objects through customisation (e.g. etching a cross into the bowl). In thinking about the implication of these ideas for our understanding of silver spoons we can go back to the fourteenth century and the aftermath of the Black Death. Analysing consumption among London households, French (2022: 144) highlights an increasing acquisition of religious objects by households in this period, as well as an upsurge in the designation of household spaces for private worship. This corresponds with an increase in ‘popular piety’, investment in chapels and churches and the leaving of objects to churches and shrines (Morris, 1989: 362–65). Households were not simply investing in displays of piety, but in experience, constructing affective relations to bring about protection and salvation. The manufacture of spoons in cheaper copper alloy and pewter permitted them to circulate more freely than more expensive silver examples, allowing them to infiltrate a broader range of households. This can be understood as a wider process of the domestication of religious observance, providing an opportunity to buy into an identity of piety. As well as carrying religious iconography, some spoons carry religious inscriptions. The decorated knops are often gilded, drawing attention to these elements, encouraging sensorial stimulation, as well as creating a perception of wealth. Tableware played an important role in domestic devotion (e.g. Sundmark, 2017). Iconography such as inscriptions could have a mnemonic role, for example in reciting prayer but, along with representations of crosses or saints, also have an apotropaic function (see both Lewis, Chap. 4 and Stark, Chap. 5, this volume). The ‘magical’ element of medieval religion is often overlooked, but analyses of burial practices and of the deposition of objects around the home demonstrate how the line between Christian practice and folk belief was blurred (Gilchrist, 2008; Hall, 2011). Medieval devotion was a sensory experience, in which relics, religious objects, words and images were affective components of everyday devotional activity (Walker Bynum, 2011). Within this ontology of vibrant devotional materials, these spoons are more than representations of piety, they are objects of protection and of holy power.

B. Jervis

Fig. 3.2  Apostle figure from a pewter spoon found in York (YORYM-­ 2B6F62). (Image courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

Fig. 3.3  Inscribed handle likely reading ‘MATER DEI MEMANTO MEI’ (Mother of God, Remember Me), from the Isle of Wight (IOW-­ 351B46). (Image courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

The English Reformation of the mid-sixteenth century saw an ontological confrontation between materialist Catholicism and humanist Protestantism (Walker Bynum, 2011: 269–71). The key sites of confrontation were not homes but churches, which were stripped of the venerated representations of saints and the holy cross – however there were consequences for the household. Religious dogma shifted from one in which material vibrancy was replaced by a steadfast concern with humanism. However, just as capitalism was a patchwork of experiences, interactions and happenings, so too was religious reform. Authoritarian narratives

3  Where Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context

of imposition and resistance are open to challenge as they mask how reactions to reform were highly variable across society. As Walsham (2008: 527) puts it, ambivalence and contradictions are the norm, rather than exceptions, in the process of religious reform. Spoons carrying explicit religious iconography, such as apostle spoons, are usually thought to date from the mid-fifteenth-mid-sixteenth centuries, however the curation of these objects would have ensured their presence in the home through this upheaval and beyond. Protestant reformers were not opposed to the use of religious images as tools of memory and learning, but rejected their affective potency. Therefore, religious images were tolerated in private spaces and, as Hutton (1995) demonstrates, some elements of Catholicism were transformed into vernacular practices – a process which he considers to be one of negotiation and adaptation as household sought to obtain the services and experiences that they derived from the church in new ways. Similar proposals are put forward by Lewis (2022), in relation to papal bullae and Limoges enamels, and Yeoman’s (2018) discussion of the re-purposing of reliquaries as tableware, particularly as salt cellars. Yeomans argues that the association with salt, a sacred substance, was a means of adapting the sacred significance of these objects by integrating them into domestic practice. Walsham (2017) suggests that the displacement of objects from church to home stripped them of their potency; an ontological transformation occurred through their seizure and commoditisation as they shifted to being neutral materials, stripped of the capacities that their relations with worship had generated. Interactions with spoons were affective. They could operate in the space created by the ontological tension between Protestant representation and Catholic vital materiality, being tools for prayer and meditation as tactile engagement became bound up in vernacular devotional practice. Considering the potency of materials forces us to break away from a restrictive Catholic-Protestant binary, to consider religious identity in more varied terms. As with the salt cellars discussed by Yeomans (2018), they perhaps even acted to substitute tactile and ocular engagements with confiscated or destroyed church plate: spoons were not simply representations of piety and chaste values but provided a means of allowing individuals to maintain sensorial, affective relations through prayer and contemplation which had been removed from churches by the process of reform. It is possible that some silver spoons were even made of recycled silver taken from churches and that those obtaining these goods were aware of this fact or possibility – we know for certain that goldsmiths acquired and made use of a range of liturgical plate. Awareness of this vibrant materiality might be seen in the concealment of spoons in boxes or chests, as is often revealed by probate inventories (Hamling & Richardson, 2017: 42) and is suggested by the lists of the possessions of

35

Hugh Cetur and Geoffrey Potet discussed earlier. Whilst this in part relates to security, it perhaps also shows an awareness of the risks associated with the display of items which had the potential to not only symbolise resistance to religious reform but were active participants in devotional practices which created ontological friction. The breakage and deposition of these items could equally be understood in a variety of ways: was their power being harnessed through protecting fields, in the same way that Anderson (2010) has proposed for the deposition of ampullae, or were these items being hoarded as an act of resistance, or does burial encapsulate a desire to suppress the potency of these objects?

3.5 Conclusions Spoons could be symbols of belief, of wealth and status. But they were also a part of the performance of selfhood and the household beyond this representational capacity. They had an apotropaic potential through which religious change could be negotiated. Capitalism and Protestantism sought to neutralise the vibrant capacity of materials by emphasising monetary worth and promoting a humanist dogma, but as Walsham (2016: 606) states, these objects operated at the ‘interface between meaning and feeling’. Commerce created potential for the display of faith, but a persistent ontology which recognised the potency of things adorned these objects with further capacities and it is by recognising these that we can understand the expenditure of energy, not simply in costly signalling and the fashioning of outward facing selfhood, but in salvation. Narratives around the introduction of plate often talk of the need to present an image of cultivation, seeing these objects as components of a shared system of value. In doing so, we need to take care that we are not populating the past with monocultures rather than cultivating difference. In this analysis, I have proposed that spoons are sites of negotiation and tension, where the neutralising values of commerce and humanist Protestantism mask the affective capacity of these objects. The acquisition of spoons in cheap base metals, such as in pewter and copper alloy, should not trigger thoughts of emulation but rather ask us to question what it was that was being valued and why. Whilst the market valued silver, consumers valued the potential experience and affect afforded by the enrolment of spoons into performances of the self. Base metal spoons were within the means of a large swathe of the population, but many chose not to invest in them, whilst others acquired them at times of religious change, some perhaps to facilitate resistance, others to mediate continuity. To equate spoons to systems of value is to see them as instruments of material oppression, restricting potential forms of becoming by stressing the implications of their acquisition and consumption in terms of perception.

36

However, to explore their vibrancy, their potential, opens up a path to appreciating the variability and multiplicity of medieval identities and religious experiences. Acknowledgements This chapter uses data derived from the Leverhulme Trust funded project Living Standards and Material Culture in English Rural Household Project (PI Chris Briggs).

References Allen, M. (2011). Silver production and the money supply in England and Wales, c. 1086–c. 1500. Economic History Review, 64(1), 114–131. Anderson, W. (2010). Blessing the fields? A study of late-medieval ampullae from England and Wales. Medieval Archaeology, 51, 182–203. Ardavičiūtė-Ramanauskienė, S. (2018). Spoons with apostle figures in Lithuania. Archaeolgia Baltica, 25, 177–190. Blamires, A. (2010). Individuality. In E. Treharne & G. Walker (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of medieval literature in English (pp.  478– 495). Oxford University Press. Blanchard, I. (1972). The miner and the agricultural community in late medieval England. Agricultural History Review, 20, 93–106. Braidotti, R. (2013). The Posthuman. Polity. Briggs, C., Forward, A., Jervis, B., & Tompkins, M. (2019). People, possessions and domestic space in late medieval escheators’ records. Journal of Medieval History, 45(2), 145–161. Brisbane, T. (1990). Later medieval spoons. In M. Biddle (Ed.), Object and economy in medieval Winchester (pp.  832–835). Clarendon Press. Cassels, A. (2013). The social significance of late medieval dress accessories. Unpublished Doctoral dissertation, University of Sheffield. Cembrzyński, P. (2017). ‘Gold rush’ or ‘considered investment’? Origins of mining towns in the medieval Central Europe. Acta Rerum Naturalium, 21, 59–72. Cembrzyński, P. (2019). The ecology of mining: Human-environmental interactions in the medieval and early modern mining in Central Europe. Kwartalnik Historii Kultury Materialnej, 67(1), 17–39. Claughton, P. (2010). The crown silver mines and the historic landscape in Devon (England). The work of the Bere Ferrers project. ArchaeoSciences, 34, 299–306. Claughton, P., & Smart, C. (2010). The crown silver mines in Devon: Capital, labour and landscape in the late medieval period. Historical Metallurgy, 44(2), 112–125. De Saxe, D. (2007). The hundred of Wye and the Great Revolt of 1381. Archaeologia Cantiana, 127, 143–162. Desaulty, A.-M., & Albarede, F. (2013). Copper, lead and silver isotopes solve a major conundrum of Tudor and early Stuart Europe. Geology, 41(2), 135–138. Egan, G. (2010). The medieval household. Daily living c. 1150–c. 1450. Boydell. Flaherty, W. E. (1860). The Great Rebellion in Kent of 1381 illustrated from the public records. Archaeologia Cantiana, 3, 65–96. French, K. (2022). Household goods and good households in late medieval London. Consumption and domesticity after the plague. University of Pennsylvania Press. Gerrard, S. (2000). The early British tin industry. Tempus. Gilchrist, R. (2008). Magic for the dead? The archaeology of magic in later medieval burials. Medieval Archaeology, 52, 119–159. Goldberg, J. (2008). The fashioning of bourgeois domesticity in later medieval England: A material culture perspective. In J.  Goldberg & M.  Kowaleski (Eds.), Medieval domesticity: Home, housing

B. Jervis and household in medieval England (pp.  124–144). Cambridge University Press. Guattari, F. (1989). The three ecologies. Bloomsbury. Hall, M. (2011). The cult of saints in medieval Perth: Everyday ritual and the materiality of belief. Journal of Material Culture, 16(1), 80–104. Hamling, T., & Richardson, C. (2017). A day at home in early modern England. In Material culture and domestic life 1500–1700. Yale University Press. Hatcher, J. (1974). Myths, miners and agricultural communities. Agricultural History Review, 22, 54–61. Hatcher, J., & Barker, T.  C. (1974). A history of British pewter. Longman. Hutton, R. (1995). The English reformation and the evidence of folklore. Past and Present, 148, 89–116. Hybel, N. (2002). The grain trade in northern Europe before 1350. Economic History Review, 55(2), 219–247. Irigaray, L., & Marder, M. (2016). Through vegetal being. Columbia University Press. Jervis, B. (2017). Consumption and the ‘social self’ in medieval southern England. Norwegian Archaeological Review, 50(1), 1–29. Jervis, B. (2022). Becoming through milling: Challenging linear economic narratives in medieval England. Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 32(2), 281–294. Jervis, B., Briggs, C., & Tompkins, M. (2015). Exploring text and objects: Escheators’ inventories and material culture in English rural households. Medieval Archaeology, 59, 168–192. Jervis, B., Briggs, C., Forward, A., Tompkins, M., & Gromelski, T. (2023). The material culture of English rural households c. 1250–1600. Cardiff University Press. https://doi.org/10.18573/ book10 Kamath, S. (2013). A cruel spoon in context: Cutlery and conviviality in late medieval literature. Etudes Anglaises, 66, 281–296. Latour, B. (2005). Reassembling the social: An introduction to actor-­ network-­theory. Oxford University Press. Law, J., & Mol, A. (1995). Notes on materiality and sociality. The Sociological Review, 43(2), 274–294. Lewis, M. (2022). Characterising transformation in religious material culture AD 1000–1700 through the study of archaeological small finds discovered by the public in England and Wales. In K. Wilson & L. Clark (Eds.), Mobility of objects across boundaries 1000–1700 (pp. 57–81). Liverpool University Press. Logan, R. (1986). A conception of the self in the later middle ages. Journal of Medieval History, 12, 253–268. Lowenhaupt Tsing, A. (2015). The mushroom at the end of the world. On the possibility of life in capitalist ruins. Princeton University Press. Morris, R. (1989). Churches in the landscape. J. M. Dent. Munro, J. (2006). South German silver, European textiles, and Venetian trade with the Levant and Ottoman empire, c. 1370 to c. 1720: A non-mercantilist approach to the balance of payments problem. In S. Cavaciocchi (Ed.), Europe’s economic relations with the Islamic world 13th–18th centuries (pp. 905–960). Istituto Internazionale de Storia Economica ‘F. Danti’ Prato. Nef, J. (1941). Silver production in Central Europe, 1450–1618. Journal of Political Economy, 49(4), 575–591. Oldland, J. (2016). The economic impact of clothmaking on rural society, 1300–1550. In M.  Allen & M.  Davies (Eds.), Medieval merchants and monet: Essays in honour of James L.  Bolton (pp. 229–252). Institute of Historical Research. Poulsen, B. (2004). Trade and consumption among late medieval and early modern Danish peasants. Scandinavian Economic History Review, 52(1), 52–68. Reynolds, B. (1997). The Devil’s house, ‘or worse’: Transversal power and anthitheatrical discourse in early modern England. Theatre Journal, 49(2), 143–167.

3  Where Globalisation, Commerce and Devotion Meet: Silver and Pewter Spoons in Later Medieval England in a European Context Shaw, D. (2009). Necessary conjunctions. The social self in medieval England. Palgrave. Sillar, B., & Tite, M. (2000). The challenge of ‘technological choices’ for materials science approaches in archaeology. Archaeometry, 42(1), 2–20. Smail, D. L. (2016). Legal plunder. Households and debt collection in late medieval Europe. Harvard University Press. Smith, S. (2009). Towards a social archaeology of the late medieval English peasantry: Power and resistance at Wharram Percy. Journal of Social Archaeology, 9(3), 391–416. Sundmark, S. F. (2017). Dining with Christ and his saints. Tableware in relation to late medieval devotional culture in Sweden. Journal of Art History, 86(3), 219–235.

37

Walker Bynum, C. (2011). Christian materiality. An essay on religion in late medieval Europe. Zone Books. Walsham, A. (2008). The reformation and ‘the disenchantment of the world’ reassessed. The Historical Journal, 51(2), 497–528. Walsham, A. (2016). Domesticating the reformation: Material culture, memory and confessional identity in early modern England. Renaissance Quarterly, 69, 566–616. Walsham, A. (2017). Recycling the sacred: Material culture and cultural memory after the English reformation. Church History, 86(4), 1121–1154. Yeoman, V. (2018). Reformation as continuity: Objects of dining and devotion in early modern England. West 86th: A Journal of Decorative Arts, Design History, and Material Culture, 25(2), 176–198.

4

A United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)? Michael Lewis

Abstract

This chapter will discuss inscriptions on medieval dress accessories, focusing on those which are religious in nature. These tend to be abbreviated to just a few letters or words, rather than full sentences or longer. As such, they must have been well-known verses derived from biblical texts and similar. This relationship between ‘dress accessories’ and ‘religion’ forms the basis of the thesis presented here that connects ‘a united Europe of things’ through the overarching presence of the [Roman Catholic] Church in the Middle Ages. Specifically, this study will examine inscriptions on medieval brooches, buckle-plates and strap-ends (though they are found on other items) with reference to some other types of material culture. Drawing primarily on the data held within the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) database, it will also reflect upon similarities and divergences in religious inscriptions on medieval finds by exploring the material in other European datasets, including both public finds databases and excavated data. Keywords

Brooches · Buckle-plates · Dress accessories · Material culture · Medieval Europe · Portable antiquities · Religion · Strap-ends

4.1 Introduction Medieval dress accessories are interesting for many reasons, not least because they can have inscriptions. These might be amatory (or similar), but many are religious in nature. Although some inscriptions consist of full sentences, many are abbreviated, consisting of just a few words or letters. As M. Lewis (*) Portable Antiquities Scheme, British Museum, London, UK e-mail: [email protected]

such, they must reflect well-known phrases and prayers, derived from biblical texts and similar. This relationship between medieval ‘dress accessories’ and ‘religion’ forms the basis of a thesis presented here that connects ‘a united Europe of things’ through the overarching presence of the medieval Church (see Fogas, 2009: 168) – although (somewhat ironically) these objects might actually highlight the strength of everyday ‘lived religion’, given the Church sometimes expressed concerns that people might value the ‘protective power’ of inscriptions over their ‘spiritual force’ (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 253). Inscriptions are found on many medieval objects (from bells to knife handles), as well as on an array of dress accessories. So, to keep things manageable, this chapter will only explore letters and legends found upon brooches, buckles and strap-ends. Furthermore, the focus will be on data held by the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS, see PAS, n.d.) – established to record archaeological finds made by the public (invariably by metal detectorists) in England and Wales (Lewis, 2016)  – but will contextualise that within a wider European sphere by reference to material culture in other datasets, including excavated data, public finds databases and in museum collections. The aim of this chapter is to show a commonality of some aspects  – therefore arguing ‘a united Europe of things’  – though there is also diversity in the evidence. It is important to add that this is an exploratory study of this material culture, with further research needed to be more definitive.

4.2 Portable Antiquities Scheme Data The Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) database contains over 1.6 million finds within over one million records, of which about 220,000 are medieval in date (Oksanen & Lewis, 2020). Whilst it is not unusual for medieval dress accessories to have inscriptions, they are by no means common (WardPerkins, 1993: 274). Of more than 32,400 buckles recorded by

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_4

39

40

the PAS less than 1% have inscriptions. Within the 7300 medieval strap-ends recorded, this increases to about 3%. Of the object types studied here, most likely to have inscriptions are medieval brooches: 4300 (about 8%) have letters. To understand the nature of these inscriptions it is useful to look at each of these object types, starting with brooches.

4.3 Brooches Annular brooches (in particular) had ‘extraordinary symbolic potential’ in the Middle Ages because their frames provided a suitable medium for expressing love, fidelity and loyalty (Belaj, 2017: 198), as well as (and important in the context of this chapter) religious devotion. Unfortunately, these inscriptions cannot always be deciphered because of wear, damage and corrosion. Others have pseudo or nonsensical inscriptions, as well as false lettering (see Egan & Pritchard, 2002: 248–49), which probably gave their hosts amuletic or magical qualities (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 252). It is not altogether clear whether misspellings are always accidental or deliberate and (in any case) can provide insights into medieval literacy (Egan & Pritchard, 2002: 248, No. 1308; Gilchrist, 2012: 163; Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 265–66). It has been suggested that the growth in popularity of inscribed dress accessories from the early fourteenth century indicates a rising level of literacy amongst wearers, but, even so, people need not be literate to understand their significance and meanings (Willemsen & Ernst, 2012: 128–29). Albeit not typical, some impressive medieval brooches with inscriptions have been recovered by members of the public. In Swallowfield, Berkshire (BERK-BB15D7: Fig. 4.1a), was discovered a gold annular brooch, found by someone digging for worms (to use as fishing bait). This item is also decorated on its reverse with flowers and sprigs of foliage and would have probably once been enamelled: it has been hypothesised that such ‘bifacial decoration’ of annular brooches implies they could have been worn either way around (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 262), notwithstanding the fact that the display-side proper would normally be dictated by the position of the pin-rest (Belaj, 2017: 198). This brooch (from Swallowfield) is one of several recorded with the PAS with ‘personal’, often amatory, inscriptions. Set within the grooves on the display side is the inscription, in French gothic script, ‘avez tout mon coer a vre plaisir’ (have all my heart at your pleasure). Similar phrases on other brooches include the popular ‘love conquers all…’ (see BUC-115A4A etc), ‘I am… a sign of love’ (BH-DE4686), ‘I am here in the place of a friend’ (LIN-B28186), and the more lustful, ‘I desire you’ (NARC-97BB42). These reflect a tradition in the Middle Ages that sits alongside dress accessories and jewellery with religious inscriptions, highlighting the interconnectivity between human love for others with that of the divine.

M. Lewis

Of particular interest (in the context of this chapter), is that occasionally such ‘personal’ inscriptions nod to religious expression. An interesting example, from Edlington with Wispington, Lincolnshire (LEIC-D0B01B: Fig.  4.1b), is a silver annular brooch with the prayer-like legend in the vernacular ‘AILLENAr hAB GOD A IN [Þ]I hERTE YS ALL // EInLI kEPInG WIL NI LIFE LAST MAI’, transcribed (by Jones, see PAS database record) as ‘God should have Eleanor in his keeping for as long as she lives’, or similar. Intriguingly, the brooch is of simple form and otherwise undecorated. Since the inscription runs on both sides only part of it would be visible – the rest known only to the wearer. This is consistent with other personal and religious inscriptions. Especially in the case of precious metal examples, it might be that externally they symbolised status and wealth, but their legends were discrete and personal (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 261). For some other brooches with inscriptions, the linkage between the personal and divine seems less direct than on the brooch from Edlington and Wispington. Hard to fully appreciate, since it represents only half the frame, is a silver annular brooch fragment with an inscription found at Brockley, Suffolk (SF-9FF011). Here the lettering, in French, reads ‘AIDE MEI M’ (or possibly AEDE MEI M) which is thought to mean ‘Help me Mary’. This inscription only appears on one side of the object, seemingly (but uncommonly) on the display side. Conversely, a gold annular brooch from Hursley, near Winchester, Hampshire (HAMP-D47643: Fig. 4.1c), is engraved on its reverse (so hidden from view) in Latin with ‘SALVEZ LAMER DEV’, transcribed (by Jones, see PAS database record) as ‘may the love of God protect’: its front is decorated with grooved x-shapes and chevrons  – a simply executed design, that gives little indication of the embellishment underneath. Interestingly most of the brooches with personal inscriptions are made of gold or silver, rather than base metals, suggesting they may have belonged to people of relative status (see Jervis, this volume, for more on the complexities of this topic). It has been suggested that medieval people believed that the protective function of an object can be ‘further reinforced’ by the choice of the material used, with precious metals and the use of precious and semi-precious stones being particularly prized (Søvsø, 2009: 211; 2011: 284; Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 261). This potency could be enhanced further with the use of certain inscriptions (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 261), and even with marks that imitate lettering (Søvsø, 2011: 267). Including brooches with uncertain or nonsensical inscriptions, less than a quarter of the total recorded by the PAS have religious inscriptions. The majority give part of the Ave Maria prayer or evoke Jesus Christ. Indeed, some do both, as on a copper-alloy annular brooch from Stow Bedon, Norfolk (NMS-917C53: Fig. 4.2a), which is inscribed in Latin with ‘IHESVS NAZARENVS’ (on the front) and ‘AVE MARIA

4  A United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)?

41

Fig. 4.1  Brooches with inscriptions that combine personal and religious elements: (a) from Swallowfield, Berkshire (BERK-BB15D7), but with an amatory inscription; (b) from Edlington with Wispington,

Lincolnshire (LEIC-D0B01B); (c) from Hursley, Hampshire (HAMP-D47643). (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

GRACIA P’ (back). Its Lombardic script is reserved on a linear/hatched ground, marking it out as more interesting than many. Most common are brooches evoking Jesus Christ alone (see Goodall, 2012: 92), though the nature of these inscriptions varies significantly. A copper-alloy heart-shaped brooch from Watlington, Oxfordshire (BH-6992F7: Fig.  4.2b), abbreviates the name of Jesus: its inscription reads ‘ihe[su]s na/zarenus’. Similar is a copper-alloy annular example from Old Warden, Bedfordshire (BH-72DB25), with the legend ‘ihc nAzA ren vs’; a cross marks the start of the inscription. The letterings on both are in gothic script. Intriguing is a copper-alloy annular brooch from Hayle, Cornwall (CORN-­ 2300D4), where the legend repeats the letters ‘INR’ five times (i.e. +INRINRINRINRINR) to create ‘INRI’ for ‘I[ESUS] N[AZARENUS] R[EX] I[UDAEORUM]’ (Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews). This phrase is believed to have apotropaic powers (Evans, 1922: 128–29; Egan & Pritchard, 2002: 255), including protection against sudden death (Goodall, 2012: 92), and is also found on other medieval objects, such as a church bell from Hales, Norfolk (Alexander & Binski, 1987: 244, No. 129), and a spoon from Billingsgate, London (Gilchrist, 2012: 126–27). In the case of the brooch from Hayle, the inscription is given only on the back: its front appears to be decorated with a geometric pattern, but it is very worn.

An inscription evoking Jesus of Nazareth is given in full on a brooch of quatrefoil form from Langford, Nottinghamshire (DENO-175AFE), reading ‘IHESUS. NAZARENV[S.] REX IUDEORUM’. Perhaps it is significant (in terms of having a full inscription) that this brooch is made of silver and is more ornate than others. Even so, inscriptions regularly vary from one another. A silver annular brooch from near Snape, North Yorkshire (DUR-­17DE65), though less impressive than the example from Langford, has Nazareth abbreviated as ‘Naza’. Another from Saxton with Scarthingwell, North Yorkshire (SWYOR-­C5D8C6), only has ‘X IESV’ (for Jesus): in this case, the letters are spaced out on a background of zig-zags. Other inscriptions give part of the Ave Maria prayer (Ave Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus), which is (obviously) impossible to give in full on such small items (Griffiths et al., 2007: 146–47, No. 1765): Egan and Pritchard (2002: 254–55) noted the frequency of finds with ‘versions of Ave Maria’, particularly amongst chance finds made by mudlarks on the Thames foreshore, London, and the inscription appears on a purse bar in Salisbury Museum (Goodall, 2012: 106–07, No. 169). A gold annular brooch from ‘Bedfordshire’ (CAM-2E1627: Fig. 4.2c) has the Ave Maria prayer heavily abbreviated and not altogether clear. The brooch is triangular in cross-section, with the inscription being on both of the

42

M. Lewis

Fig. 4.2 Brooches with inscriptions evoking Jesus and/or Mary. Examples from: (a) Stow Bedon, Norfolk (NMS-917C53); (b) Watlington, Oxfordshire (BH-6992F7); (c) ‘Bedfordshire’

(CAM-2E1627); (d) Stanstead, Suffolk (SF-2C11E5); (e) Notley area, Buckinghamshire (BUC-D47F44). (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

upper two sides; so, in this case, it is the reverse that is undecorated. This legend reads ‘PL/AM/AV/EM’ (outer angle) and ‘IM/GR/AC/IA’ (inner angle) perhaps meaning ‘Hail Mary full of love, image of grace’. The frame of a copper-­ alloy annular brooch, octagonal in plan, from Altarnun, Cornwall (DEV-80E086), has the Latin legend ‘A-V/E MA/RIA/GRA’ within a corded border. Probably more common is the tendency for brooch inscriptions to just show the start of the ‘Ave Maria’ prayer, as on a gold annular brooch from Ashby St Ledgers, Northamptonshire (LEIC-­ A3B9F2). Likewise, a silver example from Hart, Hartlepool (NCL-D1AF46), gives ‘AVE MARIA GRA’ on the front, whilst its reverse inscription evokes Christ. A blundered Ave

Maria prayer is perhaps visible on a copper-alloy rectangular-­ framed brooch (or possible buckle) from Stanstead, Suffolk (SF-2C11E5: Fig. 4.2d). This seems to read ‘AVE MARIA RIAS PR MEL’, but it may be that it is meant to say ‘AVE MARIA ORA PRO MEI’ (Hail Mary, pray for me). It is probably not surprising that inscriptions evoking Mary and Christ are common. Also appearing are brooches in the form of a letter ‘M’, presumably for Mary. A silver example, in the form of a crowned Lombardic ‘M’, was found in the Notley area, Buckinghamshire (BUCD47F44: Fig.  4.2e), and a copper-alloy annular brooch from Horley, Surrey (SUR-98B541), only has the word ‘MARI[A]’.

4  A United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)?

Besides these, there are brooches naming ‘the Lord’. A series from London (LON-D6A623) and Suffolk (SF-52ADB1 and SF6179), have the same Latin inscription in gothic (black-letter) script – domine ne in furore tu[o] (O Lord, do not rebuke me in thine anger), the opening lines from both Psalms 6 and 38. In short, these items show the diversity in inscriptions and their use. ‘AGLA’ is an acronym found on some dress accessories, including brooches. The letters seem to represent a Latinised version of the Hebrew phrase Atah Gibor Le-olam Adonai (Thou art powerful and eternal, O Lord). During the Middle Ages, these words were believed to offer protection (Gilchrist, 2012: 163), including from illness, violent death, fire and fever. It has even been argued (see Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 254–55) that religious inscriptions are often deliberately interrelated with magical elements to improve their protective powers, perhaps highlighting their value as part of everyday religion. A fine example of a gold annular brooch from ‘Northamptonshire’ (CAM-69867A: Fig.  4.3a) has ‘AGLA’ inscribed on its reverse. In this case, the display side is decorated with a striking design composed of lozenges and annulets. Similar, but undecorated and with ‘AGLA’ (seemingly) on its upper side, is a gold annular brooch from Acaster Malbis, York (YORYM-2031B1). Some medieval brooches evoke the Magi, whose names were prized because of their perceived efficacy (Gilchrist, 2012: 163), including protection against ‘the falling sickness’ (i.e. seizures, see Goodall, 2012: 92, following Evans, 1970: 47). As such, they often appear alone without any supplementary phrase or wording. For example, a silver quatrefoil brooch found at Brighstone, Isle of Wight (IOW-336352: Fig.  4.3b), names Jaspar, Melchior and Balthasar in isolation; it is similar to one in Salisbury Museum (Goodall, 2012: 92, No. 5). This inscription on the brooch from the Isle of Wight is shown as a continuous legend in Latin Lombardic script, reading ‘IACEPARMELCHIORBALTASA’: of note, the letter ‘S’ in Balthasar is in the form of an ‘M’ turned sideways, probably to conserve space. Also found on the Isle

43

of Wight (IOW-A7AC5D), at Shalfleet, is a silver annular brooch that just reads ‘mELCIOR’ (Melchior). A silver-gilt example from Alne, North Yorkshire (YORYM1934), reads ‘IASPAR MELCHIOR BAVLTAZA’ (Jaspar Melchior Balthasar), but also has the reverse inscription  in Latin ‘NMANVS TVAS DOMINE AVR’ (Into thy hand Lord), derived from Christ’s words when delivering his soul to God at the Crucifixion (Luke 23: 46; Psalm 32: 1–5).

4.4 Buckles and Strap-Ends Now considered together are buckles and strap-ends. Not only are they similar in form – indeed sometimes they can be hard to tell apart, especially if incomplete (Goodall, 2012: 100) – but those that survive are also usually made of similar materials. As previously noted, strap-ends are more likely to have inscriptions than buckles: of some 7300 strap-ends on the PAS database, about 3% have inscriptions, whilst of some 32,400 buckles less than 1% have letters: invariably it is the buckle-plate (rather than its frame) that is inscribed. Important to note, especially in relation to brooches, is that almost all strap-ends and buckles with inscriptions are made of copper alloy; many medieval dress accessories were (probably) also made of bone, wood and similar, but, as such, are less likely to survive. This indicates that (unlike the precious metal brooches) they were owned by a wider section of society (see Jervis, this volume), thus highlighting (perhaps unsurprisingly so) that religious devotion was widespread amongst everyday people in the Middle Ages. The longer (albeit still limited) inscriptions found on brooches are uncommon on buckles and strap-ends, no doubt because most do not lend themselves to having many words or letters. The Ave Maria prayer, for example, which (as we have seen) is relatively common on brooches, is only found on a few PAS recorded strap-ends, such as one from Foulden, Norfolk (SF-455FD3: Fig. 4.4a). In this case, the inscription

Fig. 4.3  Brooches with amuletic inscriptions: (a) with the phrase ‘AGLA’ from ‘Northamptonshire’ (CAM-69867A); (b) another evoking the Magi from Brighstone, Isle of Wight (IOW-336352). (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

44

M. Lewis

Fig. 4.4  Copper-alloy buckle-plates and strap-ends with long-ish inscriptions: (a) strap-ends from Foulden, Norfolk (SF-455FD3); (b) Quainton, Buckinghamshire (BUC-42A0C5); (c) buckle-plate from Hayle, Cornwall (CORN-CCE175). (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

is crudely executed and not that clear. Indeed, it might have been added later, perhaps by its owner rather than the craftsman. Interesting is another copper-alloy strap-end, from Quainton, Buckinghamshire (BUC-42A0C5: Fig.  4.4b), which has a Latin inscription on one side reading ‘Cm nome iohes’. This appears to say ‘with the name John’: the inscription on the other side of the strap-end is illegible. It has been suggested (by Rogerson, see PAS record) that this might refer to the Biblical phrase ‘there was a man sent from God whose name was John’ (John 1: 6). In contrast to many of the brooch finds, these are not made of precious metals or even particularly well crafted, perhaps showing a wider appreciation of longer verses. In relation to the Foulden strap-end, are a series of copper-­ alloy buckle-plates with similar simply made inscriptions. Some are thought to have legends that are nonsensical, such as one from Banstead, Surrey (SUR-D883E4), though its lettering is better executed than the Foulden piece. Others have inscriptions that cannot be read, such as the lettering on an example from North Cave, East Yorkshire (SWYOR-­ BC6E51). In other cases, these items might have letterings that reflect parts of the Ave Maria prayer even if they are partly unclear, such as the buckle-plates from Hayle, Cornwall (CORN-CCE175: Fig.  4.4c), with the possible inscription ‘AVIE’ // ‘IIIA’ (or ‘NIIA’, or ‘MIA’), and Wherwell, Hampshire (HAMP1111), with what seems to be ‘MARIA // IAM R’. Relatively common are strap-ends with the letters ‘IHC’ or ‘IHS’ upon them, representing over a quarter of the PAS dataset of strap-ends with inscriptions. ‘IHC’ is a well-­known Christogram, denoting the first three letters of the Greek word for Jesus (ΙΗΣΟΥΣ): sometimes also interpreted as standing

for ‘Jesus, saviour of mankind’ or similar (see Gilchrist, 2012: 162–63; Goodall, 2012: 101). Some of the strap-ends with this lettering have a box-like strap-sleeve, as with an example from St Cuthbert Out, Somerset (SOM-­FDD975: Fig. 4.5a), or are made from rectangular sheet metal, as on one from Tasburg, Norfolk (NMS-590D53: Fig. 4.5b): in the case of a latter, part of the woven textile strap survives within the fold. For both items, the space available on them is ideal for such short inscriptions (see also ‘IHS’ on a toy lead-alloy plate from London: Egan, 2003: 307–08, No. 176d). ‘IHC’ or ‘IHS’ is also found on buckle-plates, but less commonly than on strap-ends: they account for 13% of PAS buckle-plates with inscriptions. The form of the letters, especially if in gothic (black letter) script, can be hard to decipher (see Leahy & Lewis, 2020: 195). Examples with the ‘IHC/ IHS’ legend include the plate of a buckle with a ‘lyre-shaped’ frame from High Offley, Staffordshire (FAKL-BC86A9), and that of a buckle with a looped frame from Chapel St Leonards, Lincolnshire (PUBLIC-5A4C3F). Some inscriptions are clearer than others, both in terms of execution of the lettering (as their forms blend with one another) and because of damage and wear. It is of note that recorders of these inscriptions can anticipate the more common lettering, even if the letters are hard to make out or read, thus (potentially) introducing some bias in the data: see for instance the inscription on the plate of a buckle with ‘trapezoid’ frame found at Stoke Orchard, Gloucestershire (GLO-1A143E: Fig.  4.5c), though in this case, the recorder (Adams, see PAS record) has stated his uncertainty in reading the letters. Other finds, such as a strap-end from Norwich with an inscription that is thought to read ‘DN’ for dominus (Lord) show the use of alternative texts (Margeson, 1993: 36–37, No. 241).

4  A United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)?

Fig. 4.5  Copper-alloy buckle-plates and strap-ends with (probable) ‘IHC’ or ‘IHS’ inscriptions: (a) strap-ends from St Cuthbert Out, Somerset (SOM-FDD975); (b) Tasburg, Norfolk (NMS-590D53);

Both buckles and strap-ends are also sometimes inscribed with single letters: 36% of strap-ends and 29% of buckles recorded by the PAS have single- or double-letter inscriptions. Included on the PAS database are those with the letters ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘G’, ‘H’, ‘I’, ‘K’, ‘N’, ‘P’, ‘R’, ‘S’, ‘T’, ‘V’ and maybe ‘W’, but most common is the letter ‘M’ (also see above). Examples of buckle plates with the letter ‘M’ include finds from Hingham, Norfolk (NMS-A47D5D: Fig.  4.6a), and Stoke Gifford, Gloucestershire (GLO-BA328B: Fig. 4.6b). Generally, this is thought to stand for ‘Maria’ (so Mary), though the pervasiveness of other letter forms might suggest these could represent the names of other saints or even personal names. Interesting in this respect is a memorial brass in the parish church of St Peter and St Paul at Northleach, Gloucestershire, showing an otherwise anonymous wool merchant and his wife (Alexander & Binski, 1987: 295–96, No. 237). The merchant is wearing a belt that has a strap-end inscribed with the letter ‘T’, perhaps the initial of his name, but equally for a saint. In one case of a strap-­ end from Somerby, Lincolnshire (LIN-C2A2A2), the letters ‘MAR’ (also for Mary, or similar) are depicted. An interesting strap-end from Micheldever, Hampshire (HAMP-C37F56: Fig. 4.6c), is inscribed with the letters ‘IH’ on one side and has the depiction of a bishop holding a book on the other. Whether the letters on this object relate to the imagery is not certain, but it adds to the debate on the nature of some of these inscriptions, and whether they are purely religious or not. In this regard, of note is the cross-like quatrefoil formed of loops that links the letters. As with brooches, there are a significant number of buckle-plates and strap-ends – 42% and 35% respectively – where the inscriptions remain illegible or uncertain. It seems

45

(c) buckle-plate from Stoke Orchard, Gloucestershire (GLO-1A143E). (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

Fig. 4.6  Copper-alloy buckle-plates and strap-ends with single and double letters: buckle-plates, perhaps evoking the Virgin Mary: (a) Hingham, Norfolk (NMS-A47D5D); (b) Stoke Gifford, Gloucestershire (GLO-BA328B); (c) strap-end from Micheldever, Hampshire (HAMP-­C37F56), inscribed with the letters ‘IH’, perhaps connected with the depicted bishop. (Images courtesy of the Portable Antiquities Scheme)

46

likely that many of these have the ‘IHS/IHC’ Christogram or single/double letter inscriptions, but we are unlikely to ever know for sure. Although buckle-plates more-or-less follow strap-ends in terms of their inscriptions, buckle-frames lend themselves to different letterings. That said, inscriptions upon buckle-­ frames are not common – only 21 examples were observed in the PAS dataset. One of these, from Harpham, East Yorkshire (YORYM-B514B6), has an amatory inscription – ‘AMOR’ (love) – made in shallow inscribed lines. Eleven other PAS recorded buckle-frames have inscriptions considered uncertain or illegible, and the remainder (nine) have nonsensical letterings. The point of interest is that while buckle plates, like strap-ends, are likely to have inscriptions of a religious nature, the frames (it seems) do not, though the surviving sample is much smaller.

4.5 Continental Brooches It is useful to briefly consider whether the observations made regarding British finds of dress accessories recorded through the PAS are common to those from other parts of Europe – therefore highlighting a united Europe of things. Annular brooches with inscriptions are found throughout continental Europe, especially in France and Germany (Belaj, 2017: 201). It is generally thought that brooches with inscriptions became more popular in Central-Eastern Europe with the migration of German speakers and (importantly for us) through the mediation of religious orders, particularly in the twelfth-thirteenth centuries, though the findspot data suggests the picture is likely to be even more complex (Belaj, 2017: 201–02, 211–12). There is even a suggestion that the production of inscribed objects was controlled by the state (Belaj, 2017: 202), but that seems unlikely to be the case (in most areas), especially for lower-quality items. Even so, there are gaps in our knowledge of brooch finds with inscriptions, not least because of where metal-detecting is allowed (and prohibited) and due to the lack of research interest in them (especially, perhaps understandably, in areas where they are apparently less common). However, a study of the finds recorded by the Portable Antiquities of the Netherlands (PAN), the Danish ‘digital metal-detector finds’ database (DIME, see DIME, n.d.) and discovered through excavations at Nowy Targ Square in Wroclaw, Poland, together with example finds from elsewhere, allow for a preliminary investigation of European parallels for finds recorded with the PAS. European finds of precious metal dress accessories are relatively rare, as are those with inscriptions (Søvsø, 2009: 210). For instance, none of the brooches from Wroclaw are gold or silver. Further, although copper-alloy and lead-alloy

M. Lewis

examples are sometimes decorated or embellished, few have inscriptions (Sawicki, 2017: 201–17). These include brooches with pseudo or nonsensical inscriptions (Sawicki, 2017: No. 414), those hard to decipher – including one perhaps reading ‘VIVI’ (Sawicki, 2017: No. 421) – and others with possible ‘winged letter T’s’ (Sawicki, 2017: Nos. 433– 35); the latter might be a plant-motif instead. From Lundby, Denmark, was found a copper-alloy brooch with the legend ‘ANRVEMT’. It is one of a group found across Denmark, which (because of its apparently nonsensical lettering, see further below) has been interpreted as being of magical or mystical significance, linked to inscriptions like ‘AGLA’ etc. (Søvsø, 2009: 242–43). Although a few precious metal brooches have been recorded by the PAN, it is only the base-metal examples that have inscriptions: it is likely that medieval people produced copper-alloy and lead brooches based on those of gold and silver (Belaj, 2017: 198; Oksanen & Lewis, 2023). An interesting example is a lead-alloy annular brooch from Delft, Netherlands (PAN-00013255), which has a legend that starts ‘+A  +  G  +  L  +  A…’ and then carries on with (what seems to be) part of the Ave Maria prayer, though some of it is nonsensical (M.  Kars, personal communication, April 6, 2022). This can be linked to a silver annular brooch from Ribe, Denmark, with its inscription giving both ‘AGLA’ and ‘AVE MARI[A GR]ACIA[PLE…]’ (thanks to M.  Søvsø, personal communication, April 25, 2022. for highlighting this example). Likewise, a copperalloy brooch from Vojvodina, Serbia, seems to read ‘MARI (…) IVREOM’, thus appearing to blend part of the Ave Maria prayer with something else, perhaps (in this case) an inscription evoking Jesus Christ (Belaj, 2017: 199–200). Another annular brooch, made of silver, found during archaeological excavations of a church in Gora, Croatia, though possibly manufactured in France, has the legend ‘AVEMAIGLNROAICS’. This was initially thought to end with an acronym for ‘In Laudem Nostri Regis Omnipotentis Altissimi Iesu Christi Salvatoris’ (In the Glory of Our Lord the Almighty and Supreme Jesus Christ the Saviour) but perhaps due to ‘intentional encryption’ (see below) gives a very abbreviated ‘AVE MA[R]I[A] G[RATIA P]L[E]N[A] DOMIN[V]S’ (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 247, 257–58, 262–63). Given that there are several ‘Ave Maria brooches’ whose inscriptions start correctly but have less intelligible endings, it has been suggested that these legends were deliberately obscured through the ‘symmetric selection of letters’ to increase their efficaciousness (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 268; Belaj, 2017: 200). As with the English finds, and highlighted by the aforementioned brooch from Delft, it does seem that the Ave Maria prayer is favoured for inscriptions on objects that lend themselves to it: i.e. that they have room for a longer legend.

4  A United Europe of (Religious) Inscriptions (on Medieval Dress Accessories)?

Indeed, several brooches from Denmark, including those recorded by DIME, appear to have inscriptions inspired by this prayer (see Jensen, 2005: 152–54, Nos. 41–68; Søvsø, 2011: 267–68), though they vary in quality. A particularly fine copper-alloy annular brooch from Thisted (53795) has ‘AVE MARIA’ carefully executed in evenly spaced Lombardic lettering. Similar, though not as well crafted, is another from Thisted (72377), one from Syddjurs (77512), and another from Randers (Søvsø, 2009: 197). All contrast with a copper-alloy annular brooch from Norddjurs (103080), where the inscription is particularly crude and inscribed in large letters: this might have been added by its owner (rather than the craftsman), as suggested for the strap-end from Foulden, Norfolk (see above). An interesting find from Denmark (without precise provenance) is a silver annular brooch with clasped hands that has an inscription reading ‘HILF MARIA’ (Søvsø, 2011: 267–68), part of the aforementioned series of items with apparently nonsensical inscriptions that may relate to the Ave Maria prayer – reading ‘ARVMBRET[G?]’, ‘AhnVMLRET’, ‘ANRVEMT’ etc. (Jensen, 2005: 86, Nos. 69–77)  – but it is suggested must have been deliberately misspelt (M.  Søvsø, personal communication, April 25, 2022). In this regard, annular brooches decorated with engraved chevrons or ‘zig-zags’ might be seen to mimic ‘A’s’ and ‘M’s’ (see Jensen/Søvsø Type 1.2 in Jensen, 2005: 26). From Vojvodina, Serbia, are a group of (so-called) ‘Hungarian’ copper-alloy annular brooches – one from a grave – inscribed in Latin gothic script ‘HILF MARIA MER T’ (so like the Danish find described above), probably for ‘Help me Mary’ (Belaj, 2017: 200–01). Finds of ‘Ave Maria brooches’ (Jensen/Søvsø Type 1.3  in Jensen, 2005: 27; Søvsø, 2009: 185–86) are relatively common in many parts of Europe, particularly the west, but also seem to cluster around the Baltic (Heindel, 1986; see also Fogas, 2009: 148–49). Not observed in the DIME dataset were brooches with inscriptions evoking Jesus, and this reflects what is seen in the Danish evidence more broadly. However, there is an interesting series of annular brooches from Denmark giving saints' names. These include a copper-alloy example from Alsted (Jensen, 2005: No. 78), which names the evangelists – ‘Iecas Marcus Matheus Iohanes’ (Luke Mark Matthew John)  – and another made of gold, in the form of clasped hands, from Kalø Castle (Jensen, 2005: No. 151), which reads ‘S. NICOLAV’ (St Nicholas) (Søvsø, 2011: 268–70). Found during excavations in Fiskegade, Ribe, was a copper-­ alloy brooch with the inscription ‘IASPAR MELCHIOR B’ and an image of St Catherine (Søvsø, 2011: 270–71), which can be linked to English examples (see above) with similar inscriptions: in this case, Balthazar is only indicated with the initial letter.

47

4.6 Continental Buckles and Strap-Ends The buckles and strap-ends from Wroclaw, Poland, come in a variety of forms but are all base metal, including a significant proportion that are ferrous (Sawicki, 2017: 87–136, 143–62); ferrous buckles are not unusual from excavated contexts (as in this case), but might not always be dress accessories – horse equipment, for example, certainly included more buckles in iron than did clothing worn by medieval men and women (Egan & Pritchard, 2002: 50). Some of the items from Wroclaw are engraved with decoration, but none have letters. This seems odd given many other decorated items are well crafted: for example, several are embellished with well-executed floral motifs (see Sawicki, 2017: e.g. Nos. 207, 228, 240, 259) and geometric designs (e.g. Nos. 227, 257), including a ‘geometrical knot motif’ (e.g. Nos. 222, 249). It is clear, however, that these designs are suited to longer objects, such as buckleplates, strap-ends and similar. In the PAN (Netherlands) dataset, copper-alloy buckles and strap-ends dominate, but only one buckle-plate, from Maastricht (56201), has an inscription. In this case, its meaning is uncertain, perhaps even nonsensical. An explanation for this lack of inscribed material might be that the dataset is relatively small: the PAN one has only 1141 belt and buckle fittings, compared with 40,000+ in the PAS dataset. In the DIME dataset, none of the 135 recorded strap-ends have obvious inscriptions. Somewhat surprisingly, no buckle-plates or strap-ends with the ‘IHC/IHS’ Christogram appeared in the European datasets studied (i.e. the finds from Denmark, the Netherlands and Poland). Further, those with single letters were also few. However, single letters are found on other types of dress accessories, with many mounts and badges formed of letters being found in the Netherlands. It has been noted that the letters ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘M’ and ‘S’ are common, particularly ‘M’ (which is often crowned), probably for the Virgin Mary, and the joined letters ‘A’ and ‘M’, for the Ave Maria prayer (Willemsen & Ernst, 2012: 119–21, 124, 141–42). As has been noted above, some of these letters might refer to personal names, such as those of ruling families (Willemsen & Ernst, 2012: 126–27). Recorded with DIME (Denmark) are buckle plates from Ringsted (56771) and Hjørring (51643), which are inscribed with a letter, though in both cases it is not certain what these are: the latter object being fragmentary. On the DIME database, only four of the 481 buckle elements had inscriptions. Lettering is found on an item identified as a ‘possible book clasp’ from a domestic dwelling in Konůvky, Czechia (Sawicki & Levá, 2022: 71–72), which could actually be a buckle plate, thus highlighting that the commonality of these items might be underappreciated.

48

4.7 Conclusions

M. Lewis

Egan, G. (2003). Domestic space. In R.  Marks & P.  Williamson (Eds.), Gothic: Art for England 1400–1547 (pp.  280–308). V&A Publishing. Although this study is preliminary, and much more work Egan, G., & Pritchard, F. (2002). Dress accessories 1150–1450. Medieval finds from excavations in London: 3 (2nd ed.). Boydell could be done – especially on material outside England and Press. Wales – there are indications we are seeing some evidence of Evans, J. (1922). Magical jewels of the middle ages and the renaisa ‘united Europe’ in the material culture with inscriptions, sance. Clarendon Press. particularly in those associated with religion. Brooches, for Evans, J. (1970). A history of jewellery 1100–1870. Faber. example, lend themselves to longer religious inscriptions, Fogas, O. (2009). A gótikus feliratos csatok európai elterjedése. In S.  Rosta (Ed.), Kun-kép. A magyarországi kunok hagyatéka and these are more common on precious metal items. (pp. 147–174). Kiskunfélegyháza. Appearing most are legends evoking the Virgin Mary, espe- Gilchrist, R. (2012). Medieval life: Archaeology and the life course. cially through the Ave Maria prayer. In terms of buckle-­ The Boydell Press. plates and strap-ends, inscriptions are much shorter, though Goodall, A. (2012). Objects of copper alloy. In P.  Saunders (Ed.), Salisbury & South Wiltshire Museum medieval catalogue (Part 4, these seem better reflected in the English dataset. An explapp. 90–142). Salisbury & South Wiltshire Museum. nation might be that the DIME and PAN datasets are much Griffiths, D., Philpott, R., & Egan, G. (Eds.). (2007). Meols: The smaller than PAS, but there are indications (through the archaeology of the North Wirral Coast. Oxford University School of Archaeology (Vol. 68). University of Oxford. study of finds from elsewhere) that this reflects reality. In general, however, we seem to see a commonality in material Heindel, I. (1986). Ave-Maria-schnallen und hanttruwebratzen mit inschriften. Zeitschrift für Archäologie, 20, 65–79. culture recorded through the public finds recording schemes Jensen, M.  H. (2005). Middelalderlige ringspænder i det nuværende that suggest a ‘United Europe of things’. Furthermore, espeDanmark: Typologi og datering, fundforhold og kontekster, funktion og symbolik [Unpublished Master’s thesis]. Aarhus University. cially in terms of objects with inscriptions, it is possible that Leahy, K., & Lewis, M. (2020). Finds identified II: Dress fittings and the medieval Church was the catalyst that created such an ornaments. Greenlight Publishing. environment, though there is also the possibility that inscrip- Lewis, M. (2016). A detectorist’s utopia? Archaeology and metal-­ tions upon dress accessories reflect the ‘lived religion’ of detecting in England and Wales. Open Archaeology, 2, 127–139. Margeson, S. (1993). Norwich households: Medieval and post-­medieval everyday people. finds from Norwich survey excavations 1971–78. East Anglian Archaeology Report (Vol. 58). Norfolk Museums Service. Acknowledgements  I would like to thank Lisbeth Imer, Mirjam Kars, Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (2020). Medieval commercial sites: As seen Frederikke Reimer, Jakub Sawicki, Mette Højmark Søvsø, Mária through portable antiquities scheme data. The Antiquaries Journal, Vargha and Robert Webley for their help with aspects of this chapter, as 100, 1–32. well the finders and recorders who have contributed to understanding Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (2023). Evaluating transformations in small the finds discussed. Otherwise, any errors are mine. metal finds following the Black Death. Medieval Archaeology, 67(1), 159–186. Portable Antiquities Scheme database (PAS, England & Wales). (n.d.). Portable Antiquities Scheme Database. https://finds.org.uk/database Sawicki, J. (2017). Medieval dress accessories from Nowy Tag Square References in Wroclaw, catalogue of finds. Yellow Point Publications. Sawicki, J., & Levá, K. (2022). Late medieval dress accessories in Alexander, J., & Binski, P. (1987). Age of chivalry, art in Plantagenet rural communities in Central-Eastern Europe. European Journal of England 1200–1400. Royal Academy of Arts exhibition catalogue. Archaeology, 25(1), 61–79. Royal Academy of Arts/Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Søvsø, M. H. (2009). Middelalderlige ringspænder: Typology, datering Belaj, J. (2017). Annular brooches from the 13th and 14th century from og brug. Kuml, 2009, 183–211. Vojvodina. The Star, 67, 197–222. Søvsø, M. H. (2011). Tro, håb og kærlighed: de middelalderlige ringBelaj, J., & Belaj, M. (2016). Prstenasti broš s natpisom iz templarspænders symbolik. Kuml, 2011, 263–285. ske Gore  – Prijedlog dekodiranja  – An inscribed annular brooch Ward-Perkins, J. B. (1993). London Museum medieval catalogue 1940 from the Templar site of Gora – A possible decipherment. Prilozi (2nd ed.). Anglia Publishing. Instituta za Arheologiju u Zagrebu, 33, 247–270. Willemsen, A., & Ernst, M. (2012). Hundreds of… medieval chic Digitale metaldetecktorfund (DIME, Denmark). (n.d.). Digitale metalin metal: Decorative mounts on belts and purses from the Low detecktorfund database. https://metaldetektorfund.dk Countries, 1300–1600. Rijksmseum van Oudeden.

5

Our Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary Karen Stark

Abstract

While fascinating forms of medieval Marian jewellery discovered in Hungary have been discussed in their respective archaeological contexts, they have never been considered together in the context of Hungarian Marian cults or larger trends of personal devotion. These objects – including rosaries, rings, and brooches – not only express shared devotional trends, but also illustrate the effects of long-distance trade and the possibilities of a ‘common material culture’. Marian jewellery found in Hungary can be found throughout Central Europe and beyond but was also found and used in unique contexts particular to the religious and cultural trends  – including multi-cultural/ ethnic contexts  – within Hungary. For medieval people, the image and name of the Virgin Mary embodied in physical objects had a protective power that surpassed geographical boundaries, but which also manifested uniquely and meaningfully in regional and local contexts. Keywords

Hungary · Material culture · Medieval jewellery · Virgin Mary · Inscriptions

5.1 Introduction For medieval Christians, an object bearing the name or image of the Virgin Mary did not only remind one of the Mother of God, but very often actually contained and exuded her This study is based on a subchapter of my doctoral thesis (defended in 2022): ‘The garden watered by the Virgin Mary’: The Marian landscape of medieval Hungary (1308–1437). K. Stark (*) Central European University, Vienna, Austria e-mail: [email protected]

presence and protection in some way. The great popularity of the Marian cult and the proliferation of devotional practices such as praying the rosary helped to ensure a market for Marian goods, including jewellery and clothing accessories. These objects  – which could serve both as a focus of personal devotion and an outward display of Marian piety  – could have apotropaic qualities, protecting one throughout the course of daily life or during exceptional events like childbirth and illness. Jewellery or clothing accessories were particularly apt objects to serve these functions because they were worn on the body; their physical proximity to the wearer made their potential spiritual and/or apotropaic qualities especially potent and they could further function as objects of prestige representation and express religious, regional, and/or ethnic identity. Such objects have been discovered throughout the confines of medieval Europe, including the Kingdom of Hungary, where the Virgin held a special honour as patroness, a concept established and built upon since the first Christian king of Hungary, St Stephen I, placed the kingdom under her protection according to his eleventh-century vita.1 The Virgin’s importance in the kingdom and the strength of her cult, especially in the fourteenth to fifteenth centuries, ensured that she appeared in medieval Hungarian material culture. Because Hungary is often considered to lie at the ‘edge of Christendom’ in the context of medieval Europe, one might expect that popular forms of Marian material culture in other parts of Europe never reached Hungary and that Hungarian Marian material culture developed independently of Western markets and trends. On the contrary, we can speak to some extent of a ‘common material culture’ in the context of medieval Marian jewellery, with direct connections between Hungarian objects and similar objects discovered as far away as England The consensus in the relevant research is that the date of its composition is shortly before or in 1083, the date of the canonisation of King Stephen. Nora Berend (2000: 375) puts its composition between 1077 and 1083 (see also Varjú, 1928: 83–89; Klaniczay, 1988: 185–96; Kristó, 2000: 175–94; Thoroczkay, 2013: 28). 1 

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_5

49

50

and France. Many Marian objects in use in medieval Hungary were either produced outside of the kingdom or inspired by foreign goods. New forms of Marian objects were also born within Hungary or took on new contexts in the specific communities where they resided. The object biographies of these goods demonstrate how they were created, transformed, and used by the different social and ethnic/language groups in medieval Hungary, and in turn how these communities themselves interacted. In this chapter, all of the major categories of Marian jewellery or clothing accessories – namely, rosaries, rings, and brooches – discovered in medieval Hungarian contexts will be presented. The individual objects presented represent the vast majority of the known examples of these types of small finds, though additional examples may exist that have not been published or are published in more obscure locations. While these objects have in the past been considered in their own archaeological contexts, they have never been considered together in the context of Marian devotion, from which larger trends in piety, trade, and Hungarian material culture can be revealed.

5.2 Rosaries The rosary would have been the most accessible piece of ‘jewellery’ associated with the Virgin Mary for most people in the Middle Ages. The beads of the rosary could have been made from a wide variety of materials, from wood, bone, and glass to coral and precious stones, meaning that anyone from a peasant to a queen could have had access to a rosary. The use of beads as ‘prayer counters’ can be detected already in the first centuries of Christianity, but their more formalised use with the Ave Maria and Pater Noster prayers began in the thirteenth century, developing closer into what is considered a ‘rosary in the modern sense’ in the first decades of the fourteenth century (Winston-Allen, 2010: 14, 15, 30). Wearers carried this symbol and tool of Marian piety with them throughout their day, bringing an air of sanctity to whatever space they might be in, and at their death, they were either placed in the burial with the body, given to a family member, or donated to the Church as a votive object (Kühnel, 1992: 212–13; Szende, 2004: 198). In the Hungarian historical record, evidence for the existence and use of rosaries can be detected in testamentary records. The most extensive examples from medieval Hungary that have been analysed to date come from the free, royal towns of Eperjes (now Prešov, Slovakia), Preßburg (Pozsony; now Bratislava, Slovakia), and Sopron and date from the mid-fourteenth to early sixteenth centuries (Szende, 2004; Majorossy & Szende, 2010, 2014). Thirty-seven rosaries are mentioned amongst the 314 last wills known from medieval Sopron, 66 in the c. 900 last wills from Preßburg,

K. Stark

and only one in the more than 100 from Eperjes. They appeared in the wills of both men and women, were made primarily of coral, and their elaborateness varied.2 They might be decorated with coins, pendants (the Virgin Mary was of course a popular image on such pendants, but St Christopher and Agnus Dei medallions were also common), or a pomander (Bisampfel) – a perforated metal sphere filled with perfume; the latter ornament was the rarest in the wills of the cities in question, appearing in only three early sixteenth-­century wills. While rosaries were typically left to a family member, by the early sixteenth century it became fashionable, at least in Preßburg, to leave a rosary to a religious institution, more specifically that it would be used to decorate a certain altar, statue, or image in said institution. Cases like this, as well as in instances where one was buried with a rosary in a church cemetery, ‘can be interpreted as a crossing of the dividing line between private (everyday) devotion (see Lewis, Chap. 4, this volume) and communal rites’ (Szende, 2004: 198, 200, 201). While the social strata included in these wills was diverse, most pertained to the cities’ burghers, ruling classes, and clergy, especially from the mid-fifteenth century onwards (Szende, 2004: 92). Simpler rosaries  – like those made of wood or bone, which the ‘average’ medieval Hungarian citizen would have worn – were not included in wills (Szende, 2004: 198) but can be detected in the archaeological record. Some of the best evidence for rosary bead production in Hungary was unearthed in 1985, when excavations were undertaken at 36 Fő Street in Visegrád, where the remains of a bone carving workshop were discovered in the fourteenth to ­fifteenth-­century levels of the settlement (Gróf & Gróh, 2001: 281).3 Bone beads – which would have been polished and then strung together to make a rosary – as well as tools and debris for producing the beads were recovered from the site (Fig.  5.1). Interestingly, dice (see Hall, Chap. 2, this volume) – the use of which was often prohibited – were also produced at the workshop (Gróf & Gróh, 2001: 281–85). Thus, at this Visegrád workshop, simple bone was transformed both into a worldly vice, dice, and a religious aid, the rosary. Remains of late medieval bone beads and scrap material have also been recovered in Székesfehérvár, Buda, Visegrád, and Eger, pointing to the more widespread production of bone beads in the Hungarian Kingdom (Sándor, 1961: 141–49). There are many examples of medieval beads being discovered in an archaeological context in Hungary, but it is Coral necklaces in general, not only rosaries, were thought to have magical and protective qualities, especially for children. Many fourteenth to fifteenth-century Italian paintings depicted the Christ Child wearing a coral necklace or holding coral, and the red colour of the coral symbolised the Passion (Ward, 2008: 146; Rubin, 2009: 491, ft. 98). 3  See also Gróf & Gróh, 2004: 83–93; Szende, 2012: 143. 2 

5  Our Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary

51

Fig. 5.1  Bone beads and debris from the Visegrád workshop. (Reproduced from Gróf & Gróh, 2001: 285)

difficult to identify many of these finds as rosary beads in particular, especially if they are found in small numbers. However, some examples can be identified. For instance, 52 bone beads were found in a grave in the late medieval cemetery of Kaszaper; they were found around the neck of the buried individual and would have been worn as a necklace (Bálint, 1938: 161–62). During the excavation of a cemetery in Aranyegyháza, located a few kilometres from Szabadszállás, 285 smaller and three larger bone beads were recovered near the right hand of a body within a grave dated to the fourteenth century (Szabó, 1938: 43–44). About 20 km south-east of Aranyegyháza, the excavation of a cemetery in Ágasegyháza yielded another likely rosary from the fourteenth century. Again, it was found near the right hand of the deceased but was composed of 86 blue glass beads (Szabó, 1938: 41–42). A rosary of medieval bone beads from Diósgyőr and medieval bone beads from the Buda Castle are also known (Sándor, 1961: 146). More definitive identifications and larger numbers of rosaries have been found during

the excavation of early modern graves in Hungary, such as those recovered during the excavation of an early modern cemetery in Szécsény and the cemetery surrounding the church of St Nicholas in Žumberak (Zsumberk), the latter made of wooden beads and a horizontal credo cross (Bebek & Janeš, 2016: 135; Líbor et al., 2020: 33). The materials used to make rosaries in Hungary are congruous to those used in other regions of medieval Europe. Bone was an especially popular material, and evidence of medieval bone bead production can be identified throughout Europe, from Estonia to northern France and England (Spitzers, 1997: 157), indicating that the popularity of bone bead rosaries was supra-regional, though they were probably primarily produced and purchased locally and were thus more accessible to a wider swath of the population. The wood and glass rosaries recovered at Hungarian sites – the majority of which were small market towns or villages  – were likewise probably local products. More expensive rosaries, like those made of coral or other precious materials

52

K. Stark

listed in the last wills of the residents of Preßburg, Sopron, and Eperjes  – important royal towns and centres of long-­ distance trade (Szende, 2011)  – were more likely to have been produced abroad.

5.3 Rings Other forms of medieval jewellery or accessories would invoke Mary with inscriptions of her name – ‘Maria’ or simply ‘M’  – or variations of the Hail Mary prayer (see also Lewis, Chap. 4, this volume). In the fourteenth century, in the area that is sometimes referred to as Lower Hungary (today western and central Slovakia), silver – and to a lesser degree bronze – rings with a large, flat head, engraved with a letter, lily, cross, or bird, were quite fashionable. These rings were made from a thin silver or bronze sheet, and the engravings were typically quite shallow and crude, so they would not have been used as sealing rings. Rather, the symbols on them may have been emblems of religious guilds. The letter ‘M’ was the most common letter found on such rings, perhaps short for ‘Maria’, and therefore possibly a sign of one’s membership in a Marian confraternity or guild (Szabó, 1938: 53–54). Other medieval rings found in Hungary are more clearly connected to the Virgin Mary. Excavation of the area around the southern Buda palace in 1974 revealed a gilded silver ring with the inscription ‘AVE MARIA GRACIA PLENA’ (the first part of the Ave Maria prayer). It was recovered from a cistern beneath a layer of building rubble with a layer of fifteenth-century rubbish, leading to the assumption that it also dates to this period (Zolnay, 1977: 38).4 A similar ring was found during the excavation of a house located at Jókai u. 10  in the city centre of Székesfehérvár. This one is of higher quality; it was made of gold and the stone (now missing) was held by a lion’s mouth on either side. On the outer sides of the ring a longer portion of the Ave Maria prayer with intermittent spacing was engraved, reading: ‘AVE MA x RIA GRA TIA PLE x NA DOMI’ (Fig. 5.2). Antoni (1979: 303) hypothesised that this ring was made for a high priest or important member of some religious order, and that it was brought to Hungary, perhaps by someone of Italian origin, during the reign of Charles I.  Parallels to this ring can be found in western Europe.5 A strikingly similar gold ring  – Ernő Szakál (1984: 276) suggests that the ring was ritually deposited. Mention should also be made of a ring in the Hungarian National Museum dating to the thirteenth century. It contains a brown Jasper from the first half of the first century engraved with a horned pan face connected to a bald silenus. The jasper is set in a flat gold head, around which the inscription ‘AVE MARIA VHIS’ (the last set of letters may be an abbreviation of Virgo humilis), can be read. Unfortunately, the provenance of the ring is unknown so it may have never been in medieval Hungary during its ‘lifecourse’ (Gesztelyi, 2000: 78–79). 4  5 

Fig. 5.2  Gold ring recovered from Székesfehérvár, fourteenth century; outer diameter: 2.4  cm; weight: 5.6 grams: (a) inscription; (b) ring. (Inscription redrawn after Antoni, 1979: 304, Fig. 1; image courtesy of the Szent István Király Múzeum)

bearing the inscription ‘+ AVE MARIA GRAT/IA PLENA DOMIN’  – now in the British Museum, also dates to the fourteenth century and originated from Volterra, Italy.6 Other versions of this Ave Maria ring, more or less elaborate, appear to have been produced in the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries, primarily in Italy, France, and England, and were worn by important ecclesiastical officials like bishops and abbots (Ward et al., 1981: Pl. 124).7 This makes sense in the context of the rings found in Buda and Székesfehérvár, the most important centres of medieval Hungary, since this is where some of the foremost ecclesiastical officials of the kingdom resided and where important foreign ecclesiastical officials would frequent.

5.4 Brooches Aesthetically similar to ‘Ave Maria rings’ are ‘Ave Maria brooches’ (Ave-Maria-Schnallen), a subtype of medieval annular or ring brooches, which were one of the most popular types of jewellery that highlighted Marian devotion (Heindel, 1986: 65–79; see also Lewis, Chap. 4, this

British Museum: inventory AF.877. Including, for example, two thirteenth-century rings produced in England (British Museum: inventory 1925,0113.1; WREX-848E6F), now at the British Museum and Museums Wales, respectively. 6  7 

5  Our Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary

53

volume).8 These brooches also contained variations of the Hail Mary prayer, though other Marian invocations can also be found (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 254). In addition to the protective quality of the prayer itself, variations in spelling  – such as writing the prayer backwards or inscribing the mirror image of the letters, which appears to have been more common on Ave Maria brooches than on the aforementioned rings – added an additional apotropaic quality to the object (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 254–55). In the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, the social context of these brooches was very different both from that of the rings and from that of Ave Maria brooches found in other parts of Europe. Further, according to Fogas (2009: 161), in Hungary, they were actually more commonly used as belt buckles than brooches. In his analysis of these brooches (Fogas, 2009: 162)  – 28  in total  – he discovered that they were found in the graves of upper-class women, concentrated in the area between the Danube and Tisza.9 They seem to have been used for only a short period of time, from the mid-­ fourteenth century to the turn of the fifteenth century, which is in contrast to Western Europe, where they can be found from the mid-thirteenth through early fifteenth centuries (Heindel, 1986: 65–79; Fogas, 2009: 156). Perhaps most interestingly, the vast majority of the graves from which these brooches were recovered belonged to Jász-Cuman communities (Fogas, 2009: 156), nomadic peoples of the Eurasian steppe who had settled in Hungary following the Mongol Invasion of 1241–42. Nevertheless, we should be careful not to use these kinds of brooches as a means of ethnic classification; while the graves where Ave Maria brooches were found were located in areas with prominent JászCuman populations, we cannot say with 100% certainty that each of these graves belonged to Jász or Cuman individuals. Most of the inscribed brooches had some kind of Marian invocation, which can be separated into four broad categories (Figs. 5.3 and 5.4). Five of the brooches were inscribed with the letter ‘M’, referencing Mary, which was repeated around the brooch and decorated with lilies (Fogas, 2009: 156, 159, Fig. 1.: 6–10). The most numerous type features the inscription ‘HILF+MARIA+MER + T+’, in which ‘mer’ corresponds to the German ‘mir’, and ‘t’ to an abbreviation of ‘tu/tui’, a misspelling of the modern German ‘du’ (Fogas, 2009: 157, 160, Fig. 2.: 6–13). The third variety contains the inscription ‘HILF+GOT + MARIA+EROTI’, which can be interpreted as ‘hilf Got Maria beroth’, that is, ‘God help me, Mary advise me’ (Fogas, 2009: 157, 160, Fig. 2.: 1–5). The Marian interpretation of the final inscription type, ‘+ST

UNGZ+AN+M IER°*°’, is only one possible solution to this more cryptic engraving (Fogas, 2009: 157, 159, Fig. 1.: 1–5). It could be interpreted as ST(ephanus) UNG(arorum) AN(imas) M(ar)I(a)E R(ecommendavit), that is, ‘Stephen offered the souls of the Hungarians to Mary’ (Fogas, 2009: 157). However, other interpretations, such as ‘M(artir) (h) IER(osolyma) ST(ephani)…(AN)imas and AN(imi) MI(s) ER(ere)’, are also possible, and the German ‘Stumpfen an mir’ even more so since the other inscriptions are all in German (Fogas, 2009: 157). Why and how did these brooches end up in Jász-Cuman communities in Hungary? The German inscriptions show the most similarity to the Saxon dialect of the Transylvanian Saxons, indicating that they were produced there – probably at the workshops of Nagyszeben (Hermannstadt; today Sibiu, Romania) – and not imported from outside of Hungary (Hatházi, 2004: 97–99, 102–03; Fogas, 2009: 157, 162, 164). This would go against the theory proposed by Heindel (1986: 65–79), that is, that the spread of annular brooches with devotional inscriptions was connected to the Hanseatic trade based in Lübeck, since Hungary was outside of the Hansa’s sphere of influence (see also Fogas, 2009: 37). Rather, according to Fogas (2009: 148), ‘it can only be concluded that its roots are probably in German territory, but that it is a general European custom, much wider than the sphere of influence of the Hanseatic League and especially the Teutonic Knights’. This is supported by more recent archaeological research, which has revealed that Ave Maria brooches spread further than previously thought and that widespread local production of these brooches  – especially those of lesser quality – was probably the norm.10 Why these brooches circulated in the Jász-Cuman communities in the second half of the fourteenth century is more difficult to determine, but Fogas (2009: 164) suggests that the large-scale conversions of the time, which coincided with Franciscan proselytising, may indicate that the Franciscans ‘distributed’ these objects to the Jász and Cumans. These brooches may have replaced amulets traditionally worn by Jász-Cuman women, a suggestion supported by the fact that inscribed brooches had protective and magical functions in Christian communities as well (Fogas, 2009: 161; Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 253–55). Another example of an inscribed Marian brooch found within the geographical limits of medieval Hungary was recovered in a very different context, during the excavation of the church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Gora, near Petrinya (now Petrinja, Croatia) (Fig.  5.5).

See also Ward et al., 1981: 58; Ragolič, 2010: 18. On medieval circular brooches (without Marian iconography) found in Hungarian archaeological contexts see Vargha, 2015: 44–46. 9  Some of these inscribed annular brooches are also analysed in Belaj, 2017: 197–222.

10 

8 

This was the conclusion reached during the material culture panel ‘A United Europe of Things 2. Large Scale and Local Networks of Differences and Similarities in Medieval Material Culture,’ at the 27th Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists, 7 September 2021.

54

K. Stark

Fig. 5.3  Annular inscribed ‘Ave Maria’ brooches found in Hungary. (1–5) ‘+ST UNGZ+AN+M IER°*°’ brooches; (6–10) Monogrammatic ‘M’ brooches. (Reproduced from Fogas, 2009: 169)

A Romanesque church had existed at the site until King Béla III (r. 1172–96) gave it to the Knights Templar, who built a new gothic church at the site in the mid-thirteenth century (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 249). Four hundred and twenty-four graves were discovered during the excavation, dating from the time of the Romanesque church to the early modern period (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 249). The silver brooch was found in the grave of a woman likely buried sometime between the end of the thirteenth century to the first half of the fourteenth. The inscription, which reads ‘AVEMAIGLNROAICS’, clearly refers to the Ave Maria

prayer, though how to identify the second half of the inscription remains unclear.11 Parallels to brooches from medieval Željko Demo (Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 262) of the Archaeological Museum in Zagreb suggested that the ‘IGLNROAICS’ portion of the inscription is an acronym for ‘In Laudem Nostri Regis Omnipotentis Altissimi Iesu Christi Salvatoris’, although this interpretation assumes that ‘G’ letter is actually an ‘N’. Juraj Belaj and Marijana Belaj (2016: 263–68) disagree with this interpretation and suggest that the inscription is an abbreviation of ‘Ave Maria Gratia Plena Dominus’, but with the omission and substitution of certain letters, the logic of which is still unclear. 11 

5  Our Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary

55

Fig. 5.4 Annular inscribed ‘Ave Maria’ brooches found in Hungary. (1–5) ‘HILF+GOT  +  MARIA+EROTI’ brooches; (6–13) ‘HILF+MARIA+MER + T+’ brooches. (Reproduced from Fogas, 2009: 170)

France, and the fact that the Templars who settled in Croatia primarily came from French provinces, support the presumption of Belaj and Belaj (2016: 268) that the brooch belonged to a French woman who brought the brooch to Gora and was buried with it. The only other Ave Maria brooch discovered in the vicinity of medieval Hungary is from the Wiener Neustadt hoard. The hoard consisted of late medieval, predominantly high-­ quality jewellery, tableware, and clothing accessories. One

of the items recovered is an annular brooch with the inscription ‘A//VE M[ARIA]’, probably dating to the late thirteenth century (Hofer, 2014: 257, 347, Fig. 52). Two other pieces of jewellery with Marian inscriptions were also found in the hoard: a ring with the engraving ‘AV[E M]ARI[A]’, likely from the mid- to late thirteenth century, and a ring with the engraving ‘AVEM[ARI]AG’ from the early fourteenth century (Hofer, 2014: 255, 344, Fig. 28; 252–53, 343, Fig. 17). While some of the pieces in the Wiener Neustadt hoard can

56

Fig. 5.5  Inscribed Ave Maria annular brooch from Gora, Petrinja, Croatia. Exterior diameter: 2.8 cm; interior diameter: 1.8 cm; weight: 4.043 g. (Reproduced from Belaj & Belaj, 2016: 248)

be traced to Hungary, most of the items originated from German lands or can only be classified as more generally ‘Central European’ (including the aforementioned brooch and rings) (Hofer, 2014: 236).12

5.5 Conclusions The medieval Marian objects discussed above first appeared in Hungary in the mid-thirteenth century and progressively increased in number as the late Middle Ages continued, coinciding unsurprisingly with the late medieval flowering of Mary’s cult and increased expressions of personal devotion, which occurred not only in Hungary but in Europe as a whole. It makes sense then that personal objects like jewellery featuring the Virgin’s name and/or image would appear at this time. While the iconographical elements and style of Marian jewellery changed as the Middle Ages weaned and early modern era progressed, it continued to be popular in the Kingdom of Hungary despite the effects of the Reformation. Though the social context of the extant medieval Marian jewellery discovered in Hungary leans more towards the upper social classes, most social classes could have had access to Marian jewellery, with bone bead rosaries being the most accessible and ornate rings the least so. The multi-­ cultural context  – in terms of influence, production, and

Another important hoard – dating to the late thirteenth century – was discovered in Fuchsenhof, Austria. An Ave Maria brooch as well as two rings with Marian inscriptions (‘+ A / / NAMATERMARIE +’ and ‘+ANNAMAT.MAVEMARIA’) were also found in this hoard (Prokisch & Kühtreiber, 2004: 452, Fig. 48; 560, Fig. 247; 648, Fig. 348). 12 

K. Stark

consumption  – of Marian material culture is also evident. The discovery of objects produced in places like France and Italy points to the mobility of both individuals and objects in the medieval world. While jewellery and clothing accessories bearing Marian imagery were certainly influenced by external trends from foreign lands, the adaptation and development of these objects in Hungary also point to autochthonous processes. The production and use of Ave Maria brooches in Hungary illustrate these processes beautifully. They demonstrate how a Marian object could pass back and forth between both different ethnic/cultural spheres as well as religious and secular spaces: perhaps, a Saxon craftsman produced an Ave Maria brooch for his own livelihood, the brooch was purchased by a Franciscan as a tool to help spread the Christian faith, a Cuman woman received the brooch who wore it as an amulet, and eventually the object made its way into the grave of the woman within a Christian cemetery. Overall, these objects illustrate how the image and name of the Virgin Mary had a protective power for medieval people, across cultural boundaries. Whether they considered it to be miraculous or magical, the Virgin’s presence had an apotropaic quality. The multiple examples of objects recovered in Hungary inscribed with portions of the Ave Maria, which was often used in spoken medieval charms and inscribed on objects to imbue them with protective and healing characteristics, also indicate the use of Marian objects for their apotropaic quality in late medieval Hungary (Haines, 2009: 372).13 The widespread existence of Marian jewellery in medieval people’s homes and on their bodies demonstrates both the potency of her image and her presence in the day-to-day lives of the inhabitants of medieval Hungary. Acknowledgements  I would like to express my sincere thanks to my doctoral supervisors Gábor Klaniczay and József Laszlovszky for their guidance and encouragement during my doctoral research, a portion of which inspired this study. I am also grateful to Mária Vargha, Jakub Sawicki, and Michael Lewis for organising this volume and for their helpful comments on this chapter.

References Antoni, J. (1979). Középkori aranygyűrű Székesfehérvárról. Alba Regia. Annales Musei Stephani Regis, 17, 303–306. Bálint, A. (1938). A kaszaperi középkori templom és temető. Függelékkel. Dolgozatok a Magyar Királyi Ferencz József Tudományegyetem Archaeologiai Intézetéből, 14, 139–183. Bebek, A. A., & Janeš, A. (2016). Groblje oko crkve sv. Nikole biskupa u Žumberku. In S. Krznar, T. Sekelj Ivančan, T. Tkalčec, & J. Belaj (Eds.), Groblja i pogrebni običaji u srednjem i ranom novom vijeku na prostoru sjeverne Hrvatske (pp. 123–139). Institut za arheologiju.

On the use of the Ave Maria and other liturgical chants in ritual magic see: Haines and Véronèse, 2020: 293–320. 13 

5  Our Lady of Things: The Representation of the Virgin Mary on Jewellery in Medieval Hungary Belaj, J. (2017). Annular brooches from the 13th and 14th century from Vojvodina. СТАРИНАР, 67, 197–222. Belaj, J., & Belaj, M. (2016). Prstenasti broš s natpisom iz templarske Gore  – prijedlog dekodiranja  – An inscribed annular brooch from the Templar site of Gora – A possible decipherment. Prilozi Instituta Areologiju Zagrebu, 33, 247–270. Berend, N. (2000). Hartvic, life of King Stephen. In T.  Head (Ed.), Medieval hagiography: An anthology (pp. 375–398). Routledge. Fogas, O. (2009). A gótikus feliratos csatok európai elterjedése. In S.  Rosta (Ed.), Kun-kép  – A magyarországi kunok hagyatéka (pp. 147–174). Kiskunfélegyháza. Gesztelyi, T. (2000). Antike gemmen im Ungarischen Nationalmuseum. Catalogi musei Nationalis Hungarici. Hungarian National Museum. Gróf, P., & Gróh, D. (2001). The remains of medieval bone carvings from Visegrád. In A. M. Choyke & L. Bartosiewicz (Eds.), Crafting bone – Skeletal technologies through time and space. Proceedings of the 2nd meeting of the (ICAZ) Worked Bone Research Group (pp. 163–166). Archaeopress. Gróf, P., & Gróh, D. (2004). Játékkocka és rózsafüzér. A középkori csontmegmunkálás emlékei Visegrádon. In E.  D. Matuz & A.  Ridovics (Eds.), Játszani jó! Történelmi barangolás a játékok birodalmában (pp.  83–93). Budapesti Történeti Múzeum/Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum. Haines, J. (2009). Music. In S. Page & C. Rider (Eds.), The Routledge history of medieval magic (pp. 371–382). Routledge. Haines, J., & Véronèse, J. (2020). De quelques usages du chant liturgique dans les textes latins de magie rituelle à la fin du Moyen Âge. Journal of Medieval and Humanistic Studies, 39, 293–320. Hatházi, G. (2004). A kunok régészeti emlékei a Kelet-Dunántúlon. Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum. Heindel, I. (1986). Ave-Maria-Schnallen und Hanttruwebratzen mit Inschriften. Zeitschrift für Archäologie, 20, 65–79. Hofer, N. (Ed.). (2014). Der schatzfund von Wiener Neustadt. Ferdinand Berger/Söhne. Klaniczay, G. (1988). Szent István legendái a középkorban. In F. Glatz & J.  Kardos (Eds.), Szent István és kora (pp.  185–196). MTA Történettudományi Intézete. Kristó, G. (2000). Írások Szent Istvánról és koráról. Szegedi Középkorász Műhely. Kühnel, H. (Ed.). (1992). Bildwörterbuch der Kleidung und Rüstung. A. Kröner. Líbor, C., Laczkó, V., Zsiga-Csoltkó, E., & Balogh Bodor, T. (2020). The excavation of an early modern cemetery in Szécsény. Hungarian Archaeology, 9(1), 30–35. Majorossy, J., & Szende, K. (Eds.). (2010). Das Preßburger Protocollum Testamentorum 1410 (1427)–1529 (Vol. 1: 1410–1487). Böhlau Verlag.

57

Majorossy, J., & Szende, K. (Eds.). (2014). Das Preßburger Protocollum Testamentorum 1410 (1427)–1529 (Vol. 2: 1487–1529). Böhlau Verlag. Prokisch, B., & Kühtreiber, T. (2004). Der Schatzfund von Fuchsenhof. Bibliothek der Provinz. Ragolič, A. (2010). Srednjeveški in zgodnjenovoveški nakit z napisi. Unpublished Master’s thesis, University of Ljubljana. Rubin, M. (2009). Mother of God: A history of the Virgin Mary. Yale University Press. Sándor, M. G. (1961). Adatok a középkori csontgomb- és gyöngykészítéshez. Folia Archeologica, 13, 141–149. Spitzers, A. (1997). Late medieval bone bead production: Socio-­ economic aspects based on material from Constance, Germany. Anthropozoologica, 25–26, 157–163. Szabó, K. (1938). Az alföldi magyar nép művelődéstörténeti emlékei. Országos Magyar Történeti Múzeum. Szakál, E. (1984). A budavári gótikus szoborlelet sérüléseinek és eltemetésének jelképrendszere. Budapest Régiségei, 26, 271–321. Szende, K. (2004). Otthon a városban: Társadalom és anyagi kultúra a középkori Sopronban, Pozsonyban és Eperjesen. MTA Történettudományi Intézete. Szende, K. (2011). Towns along the way. Changing patterns of long-­ distance trade and the urban network of medieval Hungary. In H.  Houben & K.  Toomaspoeg (Eds.), Towns and communication. Volume 2  – Communication between towns. Proceedings of the meetings of the International Commission for the History of Towns (ICHT) (pp. 161–225). Mario Congedo Editore. Szende, L. (2012). Királyi központok kézművessége a 13.–14. században. Urbs – Magyar várostörténeti évkönyv, 7, 133–152. Thoroczkay, G. (2013). Szent István legendái. In T. Kerny & A. Smohay (Eds.), István, a szent király (pp.  28–35). Székesfehérvári Egyházmegyei Múzeum. Vargha, M. (2015). Hoards, grave goods, jewellery: Objects in hoards and in burial contexts during the Mongol invasion of Central-­ Eastern Europe. Archaeopress. Varjú, E. (1928). Legendae Sancti Regis Stephani. Szent István király legendái. Singer and Wolfner. Ward, G. (2008). Coral. In G. Ward (Ed.), The Grove encyclopedia of materials and techniques in art (pp. 145–147). Oxford University Press. Ward, A., Cherry, J., Gere, C., & Cartlidge, B. (1981). The ring: From antiquity to the twentieth century. Thames and Hudson. Winston-Allen, A. (2010). Stories of the rose: The making of the rosary in the middle ages. Penn State Press. Zolnay, L. (1977). Az 1967–75. évi budavári ásatásokról s az itt talált gótikus szoborcsoportról. Budapest Régiségei, 24(3), 3–164.

6

‘The Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary Mária Vargha

Abstract

This chapter examines three copper-alloy mounts dating to the thirteenth century that depict enthroned kings. It investigates the agency of such rulers among their subjects, with a special attention to them conveying authority and giving rise to cults of dynastic saints. Accordingly, the chapter reviews in what ways various images of enthroned rulers may expressed authority, how the cults of dynastic saints manifested in mundane, everyday objects, and what other anthropomorphic images were present in the contemporary material culture. Finally, the chapter examines how these images appeared in diverse environments, and what possible functions or roles they may have had. Keywords

Coins · Enthroned king · Material culture · Medieval · Mounts · Seals

6.1 Introduction Enthroned figures representing earthly or heavenly power are among the most widespread images used in the Middle Ages. In the ‘secular sphere’, inspired by Byzantine predecessors, the enthroned image of German emperors appeared on their seals, soon followed by kings and queens doing likewise: this appears common across much of Europe. The idea originates from religious counterparts, predominantly the Shakespeare, Richard III, Act 5, Scene 3. The quote paraphrases Prov. 18:10, drawing a parallel between the power of God and the earthly power of the king (see Hamlin, 2019: 40). M. Vargha (*) Department of Archaeology, Charles University Prague, Prague, Czech Republic e-mail: [email protected]

various portrayals of Maiestas Domini (Christ in Majesty), and connected to that, the enthroned Virgin (Keller, 1998: 422–23). The image conveyed that the sacred sphere did not have clear divisions from the appearance of secular rulership. The anointed king, empowered by divine sanction, therefore represented something in-between earthly and heavenly power. Furthermore, the canonisation of dynastic saints transported the images of contemporary secular rulers further within the religious sphere.1 This chapter, stemming from the study of a group of curious late Romanesque copper-alloy sheet metal mounts depicting an enthroned male figure, aims to explore how everyday people in Hungary might have perceived this image and whether it could have transformed from a sign of authority to an element of ‘popular culture’. The three mounts in question bear many similarities. Only one was found within an archaeological context of medieval date, in the village of Kána (within the area of modern-day Budapest, Hungary), on the inner surface of an oven (Fig. 6.1a); this context helps date the piece to the first half of the thirteenth century. The remaining two are items from private collections (Fig. 6.1b: Korinek collection, Fig. 6.1c: K. J. G. collection), and their context is largely unknown.2 All three artefacts are pressed from copper-alloy sheet metal and form a four-lobed foil with a diameter of 22–24 millimetres. Although the quality of the mounts differs significantly and the images on the pieces from Kána and in the K. J. G. collection are less well executed, they are clearly of a group, suggesting a common design concept. The piece from the Korinek collection, the highest in quality (Fig.  6.1c), exhibits (in the four-lobed frame) a male figure, seated on a throne wearing (presumably) a crown on his head and has a toga secured on his left shoulder, pleating diagonally across his chest and in a

For an elaborated discussion on this topic see Klaniczay, 2002, 2004, 2012. 2  For a detailed description of the finds and their context and the finds see (Vargha, 2015a: 160–61.) 1 

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_6

59

60

M. Vargha

Fig. 6.1  Mounts and pressing die with anthropomorphic images from Nádudvar-Klösterle, Hungary: (a) Kána, o. 1440/1439; (b) Korinek collection; (c) K. J. G. collection; (d) pressing die, Nádudvar-Klösterle. (Photos: Mária Vargha, István Kocsis)

v-shape on his legs. His left arm reaches out, holding a larger circular object (an orb) in his hand. His right hand is placed on his hips, his elbow pointing out. His right arm holds a linear item (presumably a sceptre) with a flower-shaped top decoration that appears in the (otherwise plain) background right next to the elbow. The interpretation of this image is very clear: it shows a king sitting on his throne in majesty with all the insignia of rank. Understanding the imagery in the other mounts is consequently informed by this piece. Clearly, the concept is the same  – a four-lobed frame in which a figure sits on a throne, probably wearing a crown and holding the symbols of the state, also showing remarkably fine details, such as the pleating of the toga or the angle of the arm holding the orb. Interestingly, these details also reveal that the less well-­ executed mounts are the mirrored versions of the better-­ quality piece from the Korinek collection, which suggest that they might have been copied from one another or something similar; here, the toga is pleating from the right shoulder and the orb is also held in his right hand. These two mounts also share some rather curious details; while the Korinek collection’s mount has an empty background, the others have a noticeable bump under the right hand and next to the left elbow, with the exact same positioning and shape. These additional elements were not added intentionally, but instead likely result from the production process (such as the result of an imperfect pressing die) and showing their poor quality, linking the two artefacts even closer. A further detail connects all three items: their fastening seems to be identical –

two rivets, one on the top and one on the bottom, which secured the mounts onto fabric or leather. The depiction of the enthroned king is a powerful symbol, especially in a predominantly illiterate society. However, interpreting such finds is much more complex than just understanding them as a symbol augmenting the king’s power. As noted above, when interpreting images of enthroned rulers, besides the actual secular ruler, the cult of dynastic saints, images of biblical kings, and even the divine should be considered. Therefore, in this chapter, I would like to explore further the possible contemporary perceptions of enthroned figures on Romanesque small metal finds and examine them in a broader chronological and theoretical context: in particular, how, and the degree to which, such images convey the power and authority of the king, whether they should be interpreted as religious or purely decorative images, and to see how the image of the king found its way to the general popular culture of medieval Europe. For an overview, it is crucial to investigate the material remains themselves and how common people experienced the presence, roles and representation of the king. While there could be many directions in our study of the visual and material evidence about the perception of the king, the present chapter will only discuss these small finds in detail. Doubtlessly, other representations of the ruler, such as wall paintings in churches or sculptural elements, could also have been part of this experience for everyday people. Still, the space in which they appear differs significantly from that of small finds, especially per-

6  ‘The Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary

sonal items, and therefore, their agency and interpretation could also be quite different.3 However, it is important to briefly discuss two issues prior to any investigation of the appearances of enthroned figures in the material culture of the lower part of society. First, the perception and role of the king as a person of authority, including his relationship with the general population, should be examined. Secondly, an overview of the cult of the venerated kings  – in the case of thirteenth-century Hungary, St Stephen and St Ladislaus – in the milieu of the lower social strata. While the audience, space and aspects of the appearance of religious and secular figures might have somewhat overlapped, the message of these images is likely to be different. While both express power, in the case of religious figures (including the mentioned biblical kings and king-saints) the power is transcendent, and thus their appearance in medieval material and visual culture is varied. Saints and heavenly figures on small personal items, especially those connected to the Virgin, became elements of medieval ‘popular culture’ from around the thirteenth century onwards and bloomed in the later Middle Ages (Schmitt, 2021). Consequently, they appeared in all social spheres, from highly decorated objects and spaces to churches and simple trinkets of the rural people. However, the secular enthroned image of the king transmits the connotation of earthly authority. Accordingly, its representation is connected to objects representing this power, which were probably less frequently experienced by the general population. Most commonly, perhaps, they observed the ruler’s image on coins. Less often, in certain legislative procedures, such as summons to court, they might have met with the king’s seal. Nonetheless, examining only small finds (excluding coins and seals) is rather challenging. Although there are a fair number of sources on rulers and the other elite, the commoners of the time seldom appear in any written evidence. Similarly, although settlement networks and the material culture of villages are well researched, small finds in the rural milieu are perhaps the least studied and most scattered elements of it. The reason for that is complex. The occurrence of small metal finds in settlement features is low, especially without the regular use of metal-detectors in excavations. Traditionally, in Hungary (and in other parts of Europe where metal-detecting is restricted, even when good progress is made between local detectorists and the museums, the finds are not accessible – such as through a centralised database),4 small finds and especially dress accessories turn up more frequently in a burial context. However, from the mid-twelfth century, field cemeteries fell into disuse and burying the dead in churchyard cemeteries became usual in Central-Eastern For an overview of medieval Hungarian royal representative symbols, see Bak, 2001. 4  For a contrasting example, see the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS). 3 

61

Europe, bringing another change in burial customs: the use of shrouds, which led to the dramatic reduction of dress accessories in graves, creating the phenomenon of the ‘impoverishment of churchyard cemeteries’.5 In contrast, coins, being one of the most frequent elements of material culture, and a crucial part of chronology, are well-researched, and so are seals, being singular, highly precious objects. As the artefacts in question date to the thirteenth century, the study will also restrict its focus to this chronological framework. The thirteenth century, despite the ongoing social transformations that affected most of society, was still a time of patrimonial kingship in Hungary. The ruler was the head of the military, and, since the king was anointed, he became the highest patron of the Church: among other things, allowing him to appoint dignitaries. Most crucially, he was the highest authority and the central source of judicial power. A further critical right that belonged solely to the ruler was the minting of coins. All this, combined with the itinerant character of the court, resulted in a high personal involvement with the affairs of their subjects. Nonetheless, the people interacting with the king seldom included simple commoners (apart from servants), as the judicial matters of the lower classes were discussed in local courts (Zsoldos, 2020: 54, 60–62).

6.2 Enthroned Images Representing Authority Many artefacts (predominately coins and seals) with the enthroned image of the king reflected these roles. Emperor Otto III’s (r. 996–1002) coronation seal started the tradition of European royal seals, depicting the enthroned ruler with an orb and spectre (Keller, 1998: 420–22; Érszegi, 2001: 21; Takács, 2012: 13–14). Indeed, the depiction of royal figures on the mounts studied here is very close to the images of royal seals. Comparing the king’s posture on seals and the mounts, differences are observable in the position of the arms. It is debatable whether the figure on the mounts of Kána and the K. J. G collection have both arms stretched out, each holding an object, or has the hand holding the sceptre on their lap. Inspecting the royal seals (Fig. 6.2), the former seems to be a more archaic version, as it appears on the seals of Coloman (r. 1095–1116) and Géza II (r. 1141–62), while the latter occurs on the seals of Emeric (r. 1196–1204), Béla IV (r. 1235–70), Stephen V (r. 1270–72) and Ladislaus IV (r. 1272–90).6 Curiously, some seals of ecclesiastical institutions and, less frequently, settlements with royal privileges share this For a discussion of this term see Ritoók, 2004: 121 and Vargha, 2015b: 22, 62–63. 6  See the mentioned seals in Érszegi, 2001: 37, 39, 41, 51, 55, 57 and 59, and also Takács, 2012: 86–87, 92–94, 102–05, 118–25, 129–31 and 136–45. 5 

62

M. Vargha

Fig. 6.2  Seals of enthroned rulers: (a) seal of Emperor Otto III, 997/8; (b) citation seal of Andrew I (r. 1046–60); (c) seal of King Coloman (1095); (d) seal of King Emeric (r. 1196–1204). (Reproduced from Takács, 2012, 17, 28)

image. Among these are the seal of the Zagreb Chapter (also known in a similar form from 1323 and 1371) and the seal of the Stefanite convent of Esztergom-Szentkirály, dated 1242– 45, which are contemporary with the studied mounts (Takács, 1992: 60, 98–99). Interestingly, both institutions were royal foundations and shared the same patron saint, King Stephen. While the patron saints on the seals of ecclesiastical institutions generally transmitted the divine authority of the saint in question, in the case of the venerated rulers, the seal could have had a double meaning. Firstly, the monarch appears as the institution’s patron saint, so his depiction and insignia could be interpreted as attributes of the holy king, resulting in the ‘sacralisation’ of the images of royal seals (Takács, 2012: 14). The seal of the Chapter of Várad (Oradea, Romania) from 1291 is a curious example in this regard, in that the Chapter, founded by King Ladislaus, initially had its patron saint, the Holy Virgin, appear on its seal. Várad, the burial place of Saint Ladislaus, became a centre of his cult and grew rapidly after his canonisation in 1192. Then the Chapter changed its seal, in 1291, to show the bust of Ladislaus wearing a crown, holding an orb in his left hand, and a hatchet (his common attribute) in his right (Takács, 1992: 93–94). Secondly, considering that all these institutions were founded by a king, the possibility cannot be ruled out that this representation of royal power can be interpreted

as a particular representation of prestige. In this context, it should be noted that according to historical research, up to the first half of the thirteenth century, there was no difference in the legal force of the various seals. Only a few people were authorised to use them, and these public officials (secular and ecclesiastical) were most often commissioned by the king, so the practice of certification, and thus the use of seals, was projecting nothing less than royal authority itself (Kumorovitz, 1993: 67–69; Solymosi, 2006: 202–03). In the case of the seal from 1291, however, this argument does not stand, as by then these dynamics have changed. When examining the possible functions and meanings of the mounts, their possible connection to citation seals is important to discuss. Citation seals were used predominantly during the high Middle Ages to summon people to court.7 They did not function as an actual seal but rather as a kind of badge, as their design and characteristics, such as the loop on top and the often worn, plain, unadorned reverse, illustrate. The process of summoning itself already appears in the laws of St Ladislaus and King Coloman (St Ladislaus, Code I, 42; Code III, 3, 5, 26; King Coloman Code I, 2, 5, 6, 14). Citation seals have been discussed in many studies. See for example Jakubovich, 1933; Váczy, 1934; Lovag, 1980, 1990; Kubinyi, 1984; Kumorovitz, 1993; Györffy, 1998; Paszternák, 1998; Németh, 2017. 7 

6  ‘The Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary

63

These sources show that the king, the count palatine (comes palatinus), the prince’s count, the king’s magistrates, archbishops, bishops, archdeacons and, according to later records, the counts (comes) could have had these badges with a summons seal. In practice, however, their executors, the summoner (pristaldus, poroszló, billogos), needed to show the badges when collecting the summoned people (Kumorovitz, 1993: 16–17). Not surprisingly, the various authorities resulted in different designs on the seals themselves. Only a few citation seals survive from the high Middle Ages, of which four doubtlessly belonged to multiple rulers. Two are associated with Andrew I (r. 1046–60), depicting the king in a similar position as on the mounts. A seal, now lost, was attributed to King Solomon (r. 1063–74). Lastly, one with the inscription Sigillum Adalberti Regis and a depiction of the Agnus Dei is attributed to one of the kings named Béla, with the identification of these four rulers being somewhat uncertain. Béla I (r. 1060–63) (the only one who appears in the sources as Adalbertus) is excluded from the possibilities, based on stylistic and chronological considerations. Györffy (1998) linked the find to Béla II (r. 1131–41), András Kubinyi (1984) to Béla III (r. 1172–96), and Lovag (1999: 85) most recently to Béla IV as rex iunior (r. 1214–35) (c.f. Takács, 2012: 16–20). A further, rather crude seal, loosely dated to the eleventh-twelfth century, shows a close connection to the images on the lower-quality mounts. The identification of the figure as a king or a saint, however, is unclear (K. Németh, 2017: 240–41). Summoners simultaneously had the roles of an official agent and a public witness. However, the advance-

ment of literacy led to gradual changes in the process of summoning and the justice system. The role of the public witness was transferred to places of authentication (locus credibilis), ecclesiastical institutions that provided authentic copies and notarised documents. Furthermore, the official agents emerged as a particular category, the men of the king (homo regius). The latter, primarily local noblemen, were commissioned for specific cases and acted together with the appointed place of authentication. Some connected these developments to the change in the use of citation seals, suggesting that the development of literacy with more frequently issued charters led to badges becoming seals, and hence produced with an image in negative (Kumorovitz, 1993: 19). Coins are the second largest finds group using the enthroned ruler’s image to project authority (Fig.  6.3). However, figural representations of the ruler on coins were sporadic during the first two centuries of the high Middle Ages in Hungary. Nevertheless, the portrait of the king (only a bust, but with insignia) was already seen on the gold coins of King (St) Stephen, although their identification and chronology is debated (Kovács, 1997: 262–272). A schematic portrait appeared briefly on the coins of Solomon and some of his successors, but this tradition ended soon with the anonym mint appearing during the reign of Coloman. An interruption in them being issued came with copper coins of Béla III, where the enthroned image of the ruler patently reflects the king’s Byzantine upbringing. In the thirteenth century, the technology and the artistic concepts of the coins changed, potentially influenced by the so-called Friesach denarii,

Fig. 6.3  Coins depicting enthroned rulers: (a) St. Stephen (?) (1000– 38), digital drawing: Mária Vargha; (b) Solomon, CNH.I. 22; (c) Béla III, CNH.I. 98; (d) Andrew II, CNH.I. 223; (e) Béla IV, CNH.I. 229;

(f) Stephen V, CNH.I. 285. (Reproduced from Gedai, 1999, 362–65 and Réthy, 1899, Table 2, 6, 12, 13, 15, 18)

64

bringing in the repeated representation of the enthroned king. It appeared first on the somewhat schematically depicted denarius (CNH.I. 223) of Andrew II (r. 1205–35). The portrayal of the ruler with insignia continued later on and became more elaborated; the figure of the king seated on the throne on the coins of Béla IV was much more refined and detailed, and this form of the royal figure remained in use and became increasingly detailed during the reigns of Stephen V, Ladislaus IV and Andrew III (r. 1290–1301) (Gedai, 1999: 352–58; Tóth, 2020: 27–31).

6.3 The Cult and Material Representations of the Holy Kings Previous research convincingly argued that the canonisation of Stephen, his son Emeric, and the martyr-bishop Gerhard lacked any previously emerging local cult and was thus a purely political act, serving the consolidation and legitimisation of Ladislaus, who took over the power from the legitimate king, Solomon; the spontaneous cult of St Stephen only emerging around the sixteenth century (Klaniczay, 2002: 124–31; Makk, 2011: 141). Secular elements dominated his cult, and although (as already noted) general evidence of the venerations of his cult is missing from the period following his canonisation, the legitimisation power of the first holy ruler is apparent in the written evidence at that time, with particular respect to privileges and the coronation ceremony (Zsoldos, 2020: 56–57). Therefore, St Stephen’s cult was conceivably confined to the uppermost echelons of society. The exact circumstances of the beginnings of the cult of St Ladislaus are debated; sources about his canonisation are scarce. Written evidence indicates that in 1192, his canonisation was initiated by Béla III, but opinions differ on whether the current ruler promoted a particular idea of a saint or supported an already existing cult, centred around Várad, the burial place of King Ladislaus and endorsed initially by the bishop of the cathedral (Solymosi, 2017: 40–42; Thoroczkay, 2019).8 Nonetheless, St Ladislaus undoubtedly gained more popularity than St Stephen, which is illustrated by the numerous wall paintings on predominantly rural churches displaying various versions of his legend, dating from around the end of the thirteenth century.9

For the most comprehensive overview on the cult of St Ladislaus see Klaniczay, 2014. It is important to note that decorating the inside of churches with murals only became a custom from the second half of the thirteenth century onwards (Tóth, 1974: 11). Therefore, the lack of earlier wall paintings does not indicate the popularity of the cult of the holy rulers. 9  The literature on the analysis and interpretation of the murals of the legend of St Ladislaus is vast. For the enumeration of the latest comprehensive studies see Klaniczay, 2014: 32–35. 8 

M. Vargha

Another way to investigate the cult of the holy kings is by examining the emergence of churches dedicated to them. In his monumental work, Mező (2003: 189–200, 211–21) collected and catalogued information on the churches of medieval Hungary. This identified 140 churches dedicated to King St Stephen and 202 to St Ladislaus, highlighting the more popular cult of the latter. Although the first historical evidence of these churches is generally connected to the papal tithe registers in the third decade of the fourteenth century, in most cases, it does not relate to their dating, as many of them were constructed earlier. These dedications suggest that Kings Stephen and Ladislaus were among the country’s most important saints, although the intensity of their popularity differs from region to region (Tari, 2000: 210–13). The high medieval origins of these churches are also presupposed when investigating the place names originating from their dedications. Generally, such names occur when the construction of the church and the foundation of a village happened around the same time, as pre-existing settlements seldom changed their names. Accordingly, altogether 53 villages are named after King St Stephen, and 32 after St Ladislaus. The lack of larger towns named after the holy kings – as opposed to church dedications, which appear in all types of settlements – is explained by the same chronological argument (Benkő, 1993: 12, 15–16). It is perhaps worth considering what may have been behind the promotion of church foundations and the advocacy of the cult of the dynastic saints. The representation of these two kings (Stephen and Ladislaus) in high medieval material culture is scarce. While supposedly the centres of their cult had connected artistic workshops that propagated their cult in some form, and their visual representation might be expected in the churches dedicated to them, such images (even on artefacts) have not survived. The iconography of the venerated kings (besides their coins and seals) is only known from unique and typically precious objects, preserved mostly in connection with their associated value. For St Stephen, one such example is the coronation mantle of 1031, and another is his appearance on the porta speciosa of the cathedral of Esztergom, where he offers the state to the enthroned Virgin. The creation of the latter is dated to the end of the twelfth century, but it is only known from an eighteenthcentury drawing (Wehli, 1994: 108–09). St Ladislaus most commonly appears on murals depicting his legend, appearing from the end of the thirteenth century, so the period that interests us. However, his enthroned image also appeared before that. Besides the mentioned seal of the Chapter of Várad, the pontifical seal of András Báthory, the bishop of Várad (1329–45), preserved a similar image. A schematic version of this depiction appeared on a fourteenth-century casting mould for pilgrim badges. Research has suggested that this image, which also appeared on various

6  ‘The Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary

other artefacts later on, including the coins of subsequent rulers to murals, could have been based on the image on the altar of St Ladislaus in the cathedral of Várad, renovated during the time of bishop András Báthory (Kerny, 2018b). Interestingly, despite the intensive cult, no actual pilgrim badges are known. Another highly precious object, from the end of the thirteenth century, preserved the concept of the joint adoration of the Holy Kings and Princes of Hungary: Stephen, Emeric and Ladislaus. The so-called ‘triptych of Bern’, possibly made for the son of King Andrew II, Prince Stephen (d. 1272), is the earliest remaining material evidence of this iconographic concept, which was suggested to originate from the cult of the Magi at Cologne, and aligned with a trend of emerging regional saint groups (Kerny, 2018a: 13–15). Although the joint adoration of the Holy Kings was not a new concept – the beginning of the fourteenth century brought a new drive to their veneration – after the end of the Árpád dynasty, the new Anjou ruler, King Charles Robert (r. 1308–42), used the joint promotion of the cult of St Stephen and St Ladislaus to help legitimise his rule by the advocacy of his saintly maternal ancestors. Continued by the subsequent ruler, King Louis I (r. 1342–82), the sancti reges Hungariae became a trio with St Emeric, the holy prince, by the mid-fourteenth century. Their joint appearance on murals of churches, gaining a unified iconography and position, became widespread rapidly (Năstăsoiu, 2010).

6.4 Medieval Small Finds with Anthropomorphic Images Despite the active cult of the sancti reges Hungariae and especially St Ladislaus, the material remains of their veneration – besides their relics, the mentioned murals, coins and seals  – among the general population is almost unknown, even from the height of the popularity their cult, in the late Middle Ages (Fedeles, 2012). Interestingly, anthropomorphic images are also scarce, not counting the saints and angels appearing on liturgical and secular objects. A few examples that show similarities with the examined mounts are discussed in the following. The first, somewhat ambiguous example is a stamping plate from the collection of the Hungarian National Museum, dated to the mid-fourteenth century. This has multiple, often overlapping negative designs, two of which show an enthroned figure with a lily in their right hand and a floral decoration of the background on the left side of the figure, in a circular frame (Lovag, 1999: 102, 238). The item was briefly identified as possibly belonging to the ‘Minnedienst’ iconography circle, but its similarity to the images on coins has been noted at the same time (Kolba, 1987: 379).

65

Curiously, it has a particular resemblance to the thirteenth-­ century coins of the Abesses of Quedlinburg.10 Although not representing an image of a king, but closely connected to the above theme, is a similarly curious set of objects discovered in the Fuchsenhof Hoard: eight pieces of a bishop’s head made of pressed silver sheet, cut out from Augsburg bracteates. Commenting on the use of coins as decorative parts of jewellery and dress accessories, Krabath (2004: 287–88) showed that a variety of coins were used as pendants, clasps, pins, finger rings and occasional unique objects. He believed that, in some cases, apotropaic or healing powers could be associated with such jewellery. Images of saints and various secular anthropomorphic features often appeared on clasps, sometimes featuring the four-lobed frame that characterises the mounts as well (Krabath, 2001: 199–200, Fig. 37/18, Abb. 38/1). A positive stamping die showing a similar form, but within a four-lobed rectangular frame depicting Christ, was discovered in Hungary, and is dated to the thirteenth century (Fig. 6.1d). As with the above-mentioned pilgrim badges, few small finds depict the enthroned ruler. It is perhaps worth mentioning that our knowledge about the fashion of the last century of the high Middle Ages is generally quite poor. Although decorated capes preserved in ecclesiastical treasuries show the custom of decorating garments with mounts (often showing the four-lobed shape as the mounts discussed in this study) and sometimes even coins,11 there is almost no archaeological evidence of such items among the grave goods of churchyard cemeteries. Artefacts connected to the production of dress accessories and jewellery are also extremely rare. Nonetheless, the existence of decorative mounts, pilgrim badges, and even artefacts depicting the enthroned ruler, can still be shown to have existed, albeit indirectly; for example, their imprints have been preserved as embellishments on medieval bells and baptismal fonts. These designs, often dated to an earlier period than the actual objects they embellished, continuously appear in the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries in different workshops, featuring various versions of the enthroned king image. Interestingly, their closest parallels were identified not in the royal seals of Hungarian kings but of the Bohemian rulers and other kings of the Holy Roman Empire. However, it has also been pointed out that

Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Münzkabinet, id. no. 18205016. The iconography therefore simultaneously shows a conveyance of divine and earthly power. 11  Such capes were usually arrived as donations from the uppermost echelon of society, and often altered to be a cape to dress a statue of the Virgin or the Christ child. An example for that is the so-called ‘Agnesglocke’, believed to be donated to the monastery of Köngsfelden by Queen Agnes, the wife of Andrew III and later taken to Sarnen (Marti, 1996: 177–78), another cape from the cathedral of Halberstadt featured a type of four-lobed mount that also appeared as decorative imprints on baptismal fonts (Benkő, 2002: 176). 10 

66

M. Vargha

Gedai, I. (1999). Román kori éremművészet Árpád-házi pénzeken. A Herman Ottó Múzeum Évkönyve, 38, 349–366. Györffy, G. (1998). Adalbert király idézőpecsétje. In E.  Csukovits (Ed.), Tanulmányok Borsa Iván tiszteletére (pp.  77–80). Magyar Országos Levéltár. Hamlin, H. (2019). The renaissance bible. In H.  Hamlin (Ed.), The Cambridge companion to Shakespeare and religion (pp.  34–51). Cambridge University Press. Jakubovich, E. (1933). I. Endre király törvénybeidéző ércbilloga. Turul, 47, 56–74. Keller, H. (1998). Zu den Siegeln der Karolinger und der Ottonen. 6.5 Conclusions Urkunden als ‘Hoheitszeichen’ in der Kommunikation des Herrschers mit seinen Getreuen. Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 32, The listed uses of images of enthroned kings probably only 400–441. complicate the interpretation of the mounts discussed here, Kerny, T. (2018a). A magyar szent királyok tisztelete és ikonográfiája a XIII. századtól a XVII. századig. In Á. Mikó (Ed.), Uralkodók, rather than providing a straightforward answer to their exact királyi szentek: Válogatott ikonográfiai és kultusztörténeti tanulpurpose. Dated to the thirteenth century, a time when an mányok (pp. 9–63). MTA Bölcsészettudományi Kutatóközpont. image could have conveyed power instead of the written Kerny, T. (2018b). Gondolatok a középkori váradi székesegyház Szent László-oltáráról. In Á. Mikó (Ed.), Uralkodók, királyi szentek: word, they perhaps could have been used by authorities carVálogatott ikonográfiai és kultusztörténeti tanulmányok (pp.  214– rying out duties in the name of the king (Lewis & Vargha, 227). MTA Bölcsészettudományi Kutatóközpont. 2022). However, it is equally possible, especially consider- Klaniczay, G. (2002). Holy rulers and blessed princesses: Dynastic ing the later use of the depictions of royal seals as decorative cults in medieval Central Europe. Cambridge University Press. elements, that they served no such purpose and were purely Klaniczay, G. (2004). The birth of a new Europe about 1000 CE: Conversion, transfer of institutional models, new dynamics. decorative items. It is also tempting to connect them with the Medieval Encounters, 10, 99–129. emerging cult of the holy kings, however, there is very little Klaniczay, G. (Ed.). (2012). Saints of the Christianization age of evidence of that in the thirteenth century. Their interpretaCentral Europe (Tenth–Eleventh centuries) = Vitae sanctorum aetatis conversionis Europae Centralis (Saec. X–XI). Central European tion, therefore, remains unclear. Nonetheless, they reveal University Press. connections in the material culture and traditions in Europe, Klaniczay, G. (2014). A Szent László-kultusz kialakulása. In A. Zsoldos and show how much more is to be done in the investigation (Ed.), Nagyvárad és Bihar a korai középkorban (pp.  7–39). of objects used by everyday people towards the end of the Varadinum Kulturális Alapítvány. Kolba, J. (1987). Ötvösség. In E.  Marosi (Ed.), Magyarországi high Middle Ages. művészet 1300–1470 körül (pp.  369–373, 638–643, 736–741). Akadémiai Kiadó. Acknowledgements  I would like to thank Maxim Mordovin for draw- Kovács, L. (1997). A kora Árpád-kori magyar pénzverésről. Magyar ing my attention on some of the finds, and for József Korinek and József Tudományos Akadémia Régészeti Intézete. Géza Kiss for allowing me the publication of items of their collection. I Krabath, S. (2001). Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde would like to express my gratitude towards my colleagues, Michael nördlich der Alpen: Eine archäologisch-kunsthistorische Lewis and Jakub Sawicki for giving me valuable advice on this Untersuchung zu ihrer Herstellungstechnik, Funktionalen und chapter. zeitlichen Bestimmung. Verlag Marie Leidorf. This publication has been published with the financial support of the Krabath, S. (2004). Die metallenen Trachtbestandteile und grant provided by the Faculty of Arts of the Charles University (no. Rohmaterialien aus dem Schatzfund von Fuchsenhof. In B. Prokisch PRIMUS/21/HUM/019) entitled ‘Empowering the Voiceless: The role & T. Kühtreiber (Eds.), Der Schatzfund von Fuchsenhof (pp. 231– of the rural population in state building and Christianisation in East-­ 304). Oberösterreichisches Landesmuseum. Central Europe’, implemented at the Faculty of Arts of Charles Kubinyi, A. (1984). Isten bárányát ábrázoló törvénybeidéző pecsét. University. Folia Archaeologica, 35, 139–159. Kumorovitz, L. B. (1993). A magyar pecséthasználat története a középkorban. Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum. Lewis, M., & Vargha, M. (2022). The relevance of Hungarian mounts References for understanding ‘king’s head’ mounts from England. Medieval Archaeology, 66, 160-165. Bak, J. (2001). Magyar királyi jelvények a középkorban. A Hadtörténeti Lovag, Z. (1980). Árpád-kori pecsétgyűrűk I. Folia Archaeologica, 31, Múzeum értesítője, 4, 17–25. 221–238. Benkő, L. (1993). Az Árpád-ház szentjeinek szerepe a középkori mag- Lovag, Z. (1990). I.  András idézőbillogjának második példánya. yar helynévadásban. Magyar Nyelv, 89(1), 10–19. Archaeologiai Értesítő, 117, 189–201. Benkő, E. (2002). Erdély középkori harangjai és bronz Lovag, Z. (1999). Mittelalterliche Bronzegegenstände des Ungarischen keresztelőmedencéi. Teleki László Alapítvány. Nationalmuseums. Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum. Érszegi, G. (2001). Sigilla regum-reges sigillorum: Királyportrék Makk, F. (2011). Megjegyzések a Szent István-i államalapítás történea Magyar Országos. Levéltár pecsétgyűjteményéből. téhez. Aetas, 2011(1), 104–142. Magyar Képek. Marti, S. (1996). Königin Agnes und ihre Geschenke. Zeugnisse, Fedeles, T. (2012). ‘Ad visitandumque sepulchrum sanctissimi regis Zuschreibungen und Legenden. Kunst und Architektur in der Ladislai’. Várad kegyhelye a késő középkorban. In D.  Bagi, Schweiz, 47, 169–180. T. Fedeles, & G. Kiss (Eds.), ‘Köztes-Európa’ vonzásában. Ünnepi Mező, A. (2003). Patrocíniumok a középkori Magyarországon. Magyar tanulmányok Font Márta tiszteletére (pp. 163–182). Pécs. Egyháztörténeti Enciklopédia Munkaközösség (METEM).

they were not direct copies of the seals themselves, but rather imprints of ornamental reliefs originating from royal seals, which, based on the investigation of the material of the same workshop, show a co-occurrence with reliefs of the Evangelists, often decorating books, reliquaries or larger crosses (Benkő, 2002: 184–85).

6  ‘The Kings’ Name Is a Tower of Strength’: Images of Enthroned Kings on Late Romanesque Mounts from Hungary Năstăsoiu, D. G. (2010). Political aspects of the mural representations of ‘sancti reges Hungariae’ in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Annual of Medieval Studies at Central European University Budapest, 16, 93–119. Németh, K.  A. (2017). Középkori pecsétnyomók és idézőbillogok Tolna és Somogy megyékből. A Wosinszky Mór Múzeum Évkönyve, 39, 235–261. Paszternák, I. (1998). Régészeti adatok Salamon magyar király szentesi idézőpecsétje hitelességének kérdéséhez. Móra Ferenc Múzeum Évkönyve, 4, 237–252. Réthy, L. (1899). Corpus Nummorum Hungariae I. Magyar Tudományos Akadémia. Ritoók, Á. (2004). Szempontok a magyarországi templom körüli temetők elemzéséhez. In A. Grynaeus, B. Romhányi, & K. Magyar (Eds.), ‘Es tu scholaris’: Ünnepi tanulmányok Kubinyi András 75. születésnapjára (pp. 115–123). Budapesti Történeti Múzeum. Schmitt, J.-C. (2021). Gender, worship, and material expressions of faith in medieval Christianity. Material Religion, 17(1), 117–119. Solymosi, L. (2006). Írásbeliség és társadalom az Árpád-korban: Diplomatikai és pecséttani tanulmányok. Argumentum. Solymosi, L. (2017). Szent László király tiszteletének kezdetei és szentté avatása. Kisebbségkutatás, 26(3), 34–53. Takács, I. (1992). A magyarországi káptalanok és konventek középkori pecsétjei. Magyar Tudományos Akadémia Művészettörténeti Kutató Intézet.

67

Takács, I. (2012). Az Árpad-házi kiralyok pecsétjei. Magyar Országos Levéltár. Tari, E. (2000). Pest megye középkori templomai. Pest Megyei Múzeumok Igazgatósága. Thoroczkay, G. (2019). László király szentté avatása. In T.  Kerny, Á. Mikó, & A.  Smohay (Eds.), Szent László kora és kultusza. Tanulmánykötet Szent László tiszteletére (pp. 60–66). Kairosz. Tóth, M. (1974). Árpád-kori falfestészet. Akadémiai Kiadó. Tóth, C. (2020). The 13th century Hungarian coinage. In N. C. Tóth & J. G. Kiss (Eds.), Árpád-kori magyar pénzek katalógusa (Vol. III, pp. 25–31). Martin Opitz. Váczy, P. (1934). A királyi kúria bírósága és I.  Endre király törvénybeidéző ércbilloga. Századok, 68, 184–189. Vargha, M. (2015a). Gondolatok három, királyalakot mintázó veretről. In K.  Pokrovenszki & C.  Szőllősy (Eds.), Fiatal Középkoros Régészek VI.  Konferenciájának Tanulmánykötete (pp.  159–168). Szent István Király Múzeum. Vargha, M. (2015b). Hoards, grave goods, jewellery: Objects in hoards and in burial contexts during the Mongol invasion of Central-­ Eastern Europe. Archaeopress. Wehli, T. (1994). Szent István kultusza a középkori magyarországi művészetben. In J. Török (Ed.), Doctor et apostol. Szent István tanulmányok (pp. 107–140). Márton Áron. Zsoldos, A. (2020). The Árpáds and their people. Research Centre for the Humanities.

7

Bull, Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia) Mojca Jančar

and Mateja Ravnik

Abstract

Aquamaniles are animal- or human-shaped vessels used for ceremonial hand-cleaning purposes, as well as table decorations, at medieval banquets: handwashing played an important role in the liturgy of the medieval Church besides courtly etiquette. They were produced in large numbers across Europe from the twelfth to the fifteenth century, and come in a wide variety of forms. Whereas copper-alloy examples are sometimes attributed to specific production centres, ceramic aquamaniles were presumably made much more locally. During the excavations on the Upper Maribor Castle, Slovenia, fragments of at least five ceramic aquamaniles were found in different contexts. They probably date to sometime in the thirteenth century and highlight intense German contacts with the region at this time, as well as the adaption of Teutonic table manners: this reflects the strong political influence of German nobility, probably linked to the Lords of Maribor (1175–1376), ministeriales of Ottokar IV of Traungau (r. 1164–92) and the later House of Babenberg (1192–1246). Keywords

Aquamaniles · Handwashing · Figurative pouring vessels · Table manners · Upper Maribor Castle

M. Jančar (*) Terarhis d.o.o., Ljubljana, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected] M. Ravnik Institute for the Protection of Cultural Heritage, Regional Unit Celje, Celje, Slovenia e-mail: [email protected]

7.1 Introduction An aquamanile (plural: aquamaniles or aquamnilia) is a zoomorphic or anthropomorphic pouring vessel used for washing hands in Jewish, Christian and Islamic ceremonies, both secular and religious. The term, which derives from the Latin for ‘water’ (aqua) and ‘hands’ (manus), was already known in sources from late antiquity, and throughout the Middle Ages, to describe all equipment for handwashing, especially basins. Its current usage to define (exclusively) figurative vessels made from ceramic, bronze, brass or silver, was first used in 1831 by theologian and archaeologist Johann Christian Wilhelm Augusti. Aquamaniles were produced during the sixth/seventh-nineteenth centuries, from the Near East to Europe, and they vary in size, weight and form. Islamic brass aquamaniles – made in Egypt and Spain and (modern-day) Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan until the early thirteenth century – are predominantly in the form of birds, like eagles, falcons, pheasants, peacocks, geese and ducks, or quadrupeds, such as lions, tigers and deer (Olchawa, 2019: 39–43). It is likely aquamaniles were introduced to Western Europe during the eleventh century via the Silk Road trade routes, and/or could have been among the luxury items brought to the West through diplomatic gift exchange, or even as booty from the Crusades. Imported Islamic aquamaniles were sometimes repurposed for Christian worship, as is probably in the case of a dove aquamanile from Iran (c. 1100–1300), which has upon it a later twelfth-century Latin inscription (Wu, 2021). In the Islamic culture, aquamaniles were used only in private events, because of the prohibition of images inside mosques (Olchawa, 2019: 53). The aquamaniles of the high medieval period from Western Europe are an innovation, combining the handwashing ritual from Christian liturgy and the Islamic profane hygienic function, with a motif closer to their experience and philosophy of life (Müller, 1997: 256). From the early twelfth century, metal aquamaniles were made in Belgium, a little later in North

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_7

69

70

Germany and from the thirteenth century onwards in Hungary. The height of the production of ceramic aquamaniles in Central Europe (mainly South Germany, Switzerland, Austria and the Czech Republic) was between 1220–1340 (Olchawa, 2019: 43). The designs upon metal aquamaniles reflect a western worldview dominated by the medieval knight – something that was not common in Islamic culture. Some of these designs are quite novel, though are usually quadrupeds, like horses (with or without riders), lions and mythical/hybrid creatures. Early examples of metal aquamaniles from the eleventh-twelfth centuries indicate oriental influence on their design (Müller, 1997: 256–58). The ceramic aquamaniles exemplify the appropriation of ­aristocratic table manners by a broader part of the population such as the lower aristocracy and higher burgher class. Like their metal counterparts, these reflect knightly culture, as shown by the dominance of horses, knights, stags and rams in their designs (Stephan, 2017: 521). The few bird vessels cannot be attributed to medieval European aquamaniles, but bird whistles or toys from the modern era (Stephan, 2017: 523). Aquamaniles used in Jewish handwashing rituals do not differentiate in shape and motifs, but they usually have Hebrew inscriptions (Olchawa, 2019: 43). In the fifteenth century, Portuguese traders transported aquamaniles to West Africa. These were incorporated into local beliefs and some of them were probably used by kings, or obas, for handwashing ceremonies (Wu, 2021). All aquamanilles, therefore, related to handwashing in some way.

7.2 Symbolic and Ceremonial Aspects of Washing Hands In preparation for interaction with the Divine many different religions undertake some kind of cleansing rituals. It can be part of abstaining, fasting, washing, body painting or similar. However, very often the ritual is simply cleansing with water because it would seem irreverent to enter a sacral space with the dirt from daily life. This can be done by bathing (i.e. immersing the whole body in water, as is a custom in many baptismal rites). Furthermore, there might be a desire to wash parts of the body that can be soiled even when fully clothed: the face, hands and feet. Washing hands became prevalent in cleansing rituals for several reasons, of which Schumacher (2019: 64–65) lists five: (1) the importance of hands in giving an offering to a deity or making an animal sacrifice; (2) the gesture of praying to God with raised or spread hands; (3) the metonymic connection between hands and actions, and the belief unclean hands can relate to sin (and not necessarily limited to murder or manslaughter); (4) washing your hands is relatively easy (at least easier than washing your feet or even taking a full bath) and is, therefore, practicable for frequently performed rites; (5) ‘rules’

M. Jančar and M. Ravnik

about washing hands before eating led to handwashing before an act of sacrifice, especially when the sacrifice was a meal. In each of the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) ritual washing is significant as a means of achieving physical and spiritual cleanliness. Washing hands to atone for guilt and (re)establishment of ability to participate in a ritual are important points in the biblical-Jewish tradition (Schumacher, 2019: 61). For all Jews (so not only for the priests) it was/is obligatory to ritually wash hands (netilat yadayim), especially before a meal with bread. Following the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, Jewish households used the dining table to take over some functions of the altar, and likewise taking bread was used for the sacrifice (Schumacher, 2019: 66). The Talmud and other texts also mandate hand-washing after eating, upon waking up, prior to worship, and prior to reciting blessings during worship. The Roman prefect of Judea, Pontius Pilate, was probably aware of old Jewish rituals. When he washed his hands with the words ‘Lavabo in innocentia manus mea…’ at the trial of Jesus Christ, it led to one of the great iconographic traditions of Christian art, in which Pilate is hardly ever depicted without a washbasin. A good example, dating to the thirteenth century, can be found in the Bonmont Psalter, from the Upper Rhein in origin (currently in City Library in Besançon, MS. 54, f. 11v–2). Handwashing continued to be an important practice in Christianity. The Traditio Apostolica, an early Church ordinance from the third century attributed to Hippolytus of Rome, has the first detailed instructions for Christians to wash their hands before praying. The first known report of handwashing within the liturgy comes at the end of the fourth century. Cyril of Jerusalem stated that the washing of the priests at the altar has nothing to do with bodily dirt, but it is rather symbolic that ‘we must cleanse ourselves from all sins and all injustice’. In all these texts, cleanliness stood for good, and cleansing for creation or restoration of good. In the early Middle Ages this premise evolved with Christianity warning against purity being defiled by natural bodily fluids (e.g. menstrual blood, male ejaculation, contact with birth or death) (Schumacher, 2019: 68–71). The washing of hands before and during Holy Mass has been incorporated into the rites of Christian worship in various ways. From the seventh century onward, this process was accompanied by the emergence of liturgical explanations. One of the authors of such allegory from the thirteenth century, Wilhelm Durandus, writes in his work Rationale divinorum officiorum that external handwashing should remind priests of internal cleanliness (Schumacher, 2019: 72–73). During a ritual called lavabo hands are washed three times: prior to donning clerical vestments; prior to administering the Eucharist during the Mass; and (the final handwashing) the ablution of the fingers in a triple cleansing of

7  Bull, Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia)

the mouth, cup and fingertips. Aquamanile or an ewer with a basin would be a part of the items, also called lavabo, to perform this ritual (Schumacher, 2019: 75; Wu, 2021). In Judaism and Christianity, ritual and cultic handwashing can be expressed in two ways: one is the demonstration of innocence; the other is the expression of effort to work away guilt (to redeem). In this sense, washing away guilt also implies an admission of guilt. Therefore, the washing of hands highlights the tension between acknowledging guilt and repelling it (Schumacher, 2019: 63). One of the essential aspects of Islam is the cleanliness of the body, as well as clothes and place, also of the mind, heart and soul. Believers gain peace with Allah by always maintaining cleanliness and purity. Ritual purification is ­ achieved by removing physical impurities from the body first and then ritual impurity with partial ablution, wudu or full ablution, ghusl. Moreover, because the purification is done through the hand, Islam has made handwashing a cornerstone of purification (Maigari, 2016: 92–93; Wu, 2021). This ritual purification, or the ritual of ablution, is not exclusive to Abrahamic cultures. For example, it can be found in Hinduism, Buddhism, Shinto, Kalash and others. With the rise of noble culture in the twelfth century, there was a need for better table manners and etiquette. Normative texts written to define good table manners appear in the Mediterranean and Hispano-Arabic regions from about the twelfth century. These were designed to teach the parvenus from the lower nobility and their descendants, showing how a knight should behave at the table. Important was the Disciplina Clericalis written by the baptized Jew, Petrus Alphonsi (Müller, 1997: 251). In its tale about ‘The Two Brothers and the Budget of the King’, where a father is instructing his son on proper manners at the royal table, we find references to handwashing. Here the son is told to wash his hands ‘before eating…’ and ‘after eating, wash your hands, because it is both hygienic and good manners’ (Hermes & Quarrie, 1977: 150). Handwashing in this instance has not only a metaphoric, but also a pragmatic function, and these hygienic processes after the meal were well known, especially in the Islamic world. Table culture – defined as a set of rules, habits, behaviour and rituals related to the consumption of food – also has a material aspect – the objects used to serve people in the dining space, not only on, but also near the table (Szajt, 2018: 400). Many of these objects can be associated with handwashing from the late antique and early medieval period onwards. They are not only specific items, like lavabos or aquamaniles, or unspecific objects, like pitchers, jugs or basins, which could be used differently, but also things like towels. In the late antique and early medieval times, jugs and basins were usually used as a set for handwashing; one was used for pouring the water, the other for collecting it.

71

Sometimes two basins could be used in the same way. Handwashing, and the sets of vessels used for it, changed through time, space and within social contexts. Moreover, the spread of handwashing equipment reflects a growing material urban culture and is part of a process of gradual popularisation of items and customs. The use of innovative techniques emphasises the meaning of washing hands in a symbolic and social context. It is the demonstration of purity in an ethical and moral sense, combined with attitudes of courtly table manners (Müller, 1997: 260–62). The most interesting aspects of the aquamaniles according to Müller (1997: 258) are ‘the possibility of an allegorical interpretation and the substitution of metal by ceramic objects’. In the eleventh-twelfth centuries allegory became very popular, particularly in the Physiologus, a compilation of descriptions of animals and fantastic creatures, sometimes stones and plants, provided with moral content from the second century. These animals, and the interpretation thereof by medieval philosophers and the clergy, then found their way into architectural sculpture and crafts or applied arts. The lion as a symbol of strength and power, or the horse as a sign of nobility and wealth, for example, are abbreviations of more complex allegories. It was a way of making things visible and teaching people morality, and this was not only represented by aquamaniles. Although most of the people owning aquamaniles were not able to read or write, and may not have been familiar with the allegorical interpretation discussed in scholastic circles, the possibility of an allegorical interpretation still guaranteed social prestige (Müller, 1997: 258).

7.3 Aquamaniles in the European Context Ceramic aquamaniles were undoubtedly more readily available and popular than the metal examples, the latter enjoying a certain exclusivity since they were certainly not so affordable. Ceramic aquamaniles imitated their metal counterparts, but we also see variation and new designs. Medieval potters shaped them in their own way according to their own skills and customs, often using innovative techniques in fabric, glaze and decoration. Therefore, their distribution might reflect the general market in highly valuable ceramic wares. Ceramic aquamaniles are not common finds, but the known examples have increased in recent years thanks to new discoveries being made. In 1976, only 140 examples were known from Central Europe. By 2017, this number increased to an estimated 600 ceramic and almost 400 metal aquamaniles across the whole of Europe (Stephan, 2017: 521). All finds of ceramic aquamaniles indicate a profane use and are mostly known from castles and urban sites; only a few are from rural settlements. Examples from monastic sites are generally from outer courtyards, so the guests’ quar-

72

ters or the abbot’s living area and, therefore, have the same ‘secular’ interpretation. The absence of finds inside churches may indicate that ceramic ones are substituted for metal ones only in the profane function. Finds from castles might be linked to a different rank of nobility, given such ranks are clearly defined in medieval society. Ministeriales are one of the low-ranking groups of nobility and are potential users of ceramic aquamaniles. Their living standards probably did not allow for luxury items like copper-alloy aquamaniles. The urban middle classes, who wanted to emulate the nobility’s world with their gradually increasing living standards and the popularisation of social customs like handwashing, were probably another potential customer for ceramic ­aquamaniles. They were aware of more prestigious customs and fashions and could be a part of them by using ceramic aquamaniles. Handwashing was a moment not merely for the display of good manners but also for the display of enviable possessions. According to Stephan (2017: 521, 543), ‘figural pouring vessels are a cultural marker of German-influenced regions on the continent between eastern France and Silesia as well as England’. They are less present in the Northern German-Polish plains, in the Alpine world, and in the regions around the Baltic Sea. He also assumes that in the main area of the distribution of aquamaniles between c. 1200–c. 1450, were probably only a few settlements with nobility oriented toward courtly table manners, which did not at least temporarily have the ceramic or metal aquamanile (see also Müller, 1997: 258–60). Pöpper (2015: 22–25) experimented with the practical handling of some (metal) aquamaniles from museums in which he emphasised the difficulties in their usability caused by the weight of the objects (especially when filled with water) and that the hand position for pouring water is rather awkward. The act of pouring water demands full physical effort and concentration. The body of aquamaniles is only partially hollow, so other parts contain a lot of metal. For this reason, the centre of gravity is positioned unfavourably for one-handed handling or tipping. The attachment and shape of the handle forced the person to use both hands initially and sometimes uncomfortably bend wrists. The artistically obvious placement of the spout in the animal’s mouth always resulted in an incalculable and uneven behaviour of the water flow. Pöpper thus concluded that the user of an aquamanile must adopt a composed, action-focused attitude, an attitude that could briefly be characterised as deferential, servile, or even submissive. The handwashing rite usually involved at least two people, the one who held the vessel and poured the water and the other who washed their hands. On a depiction in a French manuscript (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des Manuscrits, Français 755, f. 115r: 1320–30), showing the legend of Le Roman de Tristan, a (third) person is shown holding the basin to intercept the water (Olchawa, 2019: 53).

M. Jančar and M. Ravnik

In the same illustration, a stationary basin is also shown on the ground. This involvement of more people in handwashing was possibly conditioned by the status of the person washing their hands – a king and queen in this image – or with their position, here seated behind the table. In the before-mentioned drawings of Pilate washing his hands, shown in the Bonmont Psalter (City Library in Besançon BM MS.54, ff. 11v-2), the same person held both vessels: for pouring the water, aquamanile, in one hand and basin to intercept the water in another hand. Metal aquamaniles made after about 1400 have spigots on the chest or trunk and were probably used stationary. In such instances, a person holding the object was no longer required since the person washing their hands can turn the spigot on their own (Olchawa, 2019: 48–49). Pöpper (2015: 22) also emphasised that the cleaning and drying of the metal aquamanile interior can be very tedious, inferring they are more likely to be owned by the higher social echelons who would have servants to clean them. Ceramic aquamaniles were made in two ways. In most cases, the vessel’s body was made on a potter’s wheel, by either being turned completely or re-turned. This invariably was formed into the shape of a double-bodied bottle or cylinder. The body could also be made of two individually manufactured parts, which were then joined. The legs, handle, pouring spout and the ‘filling opening’ were formed by hand and then added to the body. In rare cases, aquamaniles were formed completely freehand. Some vessels were additionally decorated with engobe, glaze or painting (Mehler, 2013: 23). In contrast to metal aquamaniles, ceramic versions are smaller, sometimes significantly so. They rarely hold more than 0.4 to 1 litre, and often significantly less than this. The small capacity of the figurative aquamaniles in comparison to other vessels for washing hands indicates that they were not primarily used for practical washing purposes of heavily soiled hands. They were probably regarded as an exclusive item, which served the more or less symbolic cleaning of the hands of highly honoured guests (and their hosts) before and during the meal, as well as during the ritual-ceremonial reception of valued or high-ranking persons at the festive courtly table (Stephan, 2017: 526). People in medieval society probably had certain formal and functional ideas about aquamaniles and demanded motifs that were familiar to them from contemporary everyday life, especially ones that were important in the lives of knights and the nobility. Above all, they cherished precious horses, indispensable for tournaments, battles, stately representation and mobility, as the unmistakable status symbol of the knight and the animals of the high hunt reserved for the nobles. As mentioned above, aquamaniles were usually in the form of quadrupeds. Here, there are some similarities between non-ferrous heavy metal and ceramics vessels,

7  Bull, Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia)

especially in the popular depictions of knights, stags, rams and lions (Stephan, 2017: 532). However, the range of motifs of ceramic aquamaniles is somewhat limited, their execution more uniform and often considerably simpler, and may even be substantially stylised. The stylisation in some cases prohibits the recognition of the animal’s species. Because of the free-hand shaping, every piece of ceramic is unique (Stephan, 2017: 523). The potters designed the figurative pouring vessels quite freely according to their individual abilities, and the wishes, demands and concerns of their customers. Complex theological or philosophical animal allegories, that were accessible only through third parties of local priests or travelling scholars, were mostly foreign to the simple ­craftsmen, who were probably not even organised in guilds (Stephan, 2017: 532).

7.4 Maribor Aquamaniles and Their Cultural Context 7.4.1 Historical Background During the eleventh-twelfth centuries much of the area around Maribor was part of the Holy Roman Empire. Following the defeat of the Magyars at Augsburg in 955, the Emperor Otto II (r. 973–83) founded the Duchy of Carinthia (in 976) and with it a series of margraviates (the Carinthian March – Marchia Carantana and the Sannmarch on the territory of Eastern Slovenia). This benefitted Count Bernhard of Spanheim, who acquired the greater part of the territory of Podravje (the land around river Drava) and other lands near Savinja River and probably also Kostanjevica on Krka River. When Bernhard died while on crusade in Asia Minor (in 1147) without issue, Ottokar III of Styria and Traungau (his wife’s nephew) inherited his estates. It was at this time that Upper Maribor Castle was built, though different historians date its construction to the beginning of the twelfth century (Curk, 1987: 242; Stopar, 1990: 75; Mlinarič, 2000: 344; Kos, 2005: 326), around 1150 (Ravnikar, 2014: 11) or just before 1164 (Štih, 2006: 243–60), when it was first mentioned in a charter issued by Ottokar III (Ravnikar, 2014: 11). A preliminary on-site assessment of the pottery during the aforementioned excavations, and the dating of the finds uncovered with trial trenching in 1985, seem to indicate occupation of the hilltop at least as early as the first half of the twelfth century (Strmčnik-Gulič, 1992: 212; Ravnik et al., 2014: 328). In 1175, Ottokar IV of Styria brought the so-called Lords of Maribor as ministeriales of the margraves and later dukes of Styria from Riegersburg to the Maribor region. They originated from the House of Wildon, which was an offspring of Gundaker family, old ministeriales of Traungau. They retained this position until 1376 and they even remained

73

hereditary castle wardens under the House of Babenberg who took over Upper Maribor Castle in 1192 (Lampreht, 2015: 10–20). The Babenbergs reorganised the estate around 1200, separating it into the Upper and Lower Maribor. After the Lords of Maribor had died out, the ownership of the castle passed through many different noble families until it was abandoned in 1784.

7.4.2 Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle During extensive excavations in the western part of the Upper Maribor Castle, Marchburch, in north-eastern Slovenia (Figs. 7.1 and 7.2) in 2010–11 an area of 1250 m2 was investigated. Over five tons of artefacts, animal bones, as well as some architectural elements and samples of building materials were excavated (Ravnik et  al., 2014: 329). Among these artefacts, five fragmented zoomorphic spouts and two fragmented bodies of aquamaniles were found. They were found in three different contexts in the courtyard, mainly in fills of older structures with mixed materials (an oven, refuse pit and a larger ditch, all in the inner courtyard), and in a layer full of pottery fragments used for levelling off the surface for construction of the west palatium (Fig. 7.3). All fragments of aquamaniles were made on a throwing wheel from clay with medium-sized inclusions (0.51– 2.00  mm) and then hand-finished. They were fired in a reduced atmosphere with oxidisation occurring at the end of the process. The surface on some fragments is harsh (Fig. 7.4: 2, 4, 6) and smooth on others (Fig. 7.4: 1, 3, 5, 7) (Horvat, 1989: 31). This surface treatment was achieved through smoothing – the wet surface was ‘wiped’ without the use of water before drying, so that the surface of the items stayed rough (Horvat, 1989: 31; Horvat, 1999: 25). Three of the zoomorphic spouts (Fig.  7.4: 1, 2, 4) were attached to the badly preserved vessel’s wall, and one of the spouts (Fig. 7.4: 3) was attached at the turning point of a partially preserved biconical wall. Half a body of an aquamanile found at Upper Maribor Castle (Fig. 7.4: 6) indicates that it was probably made from at least one spherical pot at the rear with a narrow middle. Numerous North German specimens of pottery aquamaniles are made from two opposing spherical pots, connected at the mouth; this gives them their characteristic basic shape with an evenly strong front and rear. Other specimens were probably modelled from a vessel on the rear and completed freehand on the front (Stephan, 2017: 523). In this instance, we do not know if the front was formed freely or if another spherical half was used. The mouth for pouring the water into the vessel is located at the rear end behind the handle (Fig. 7.4: 6, 7). All aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle

74

M. Jančar and M. Ravnik

Fig. 7.1  Map of Slovenia with the location of Upper Maribor Castle. (Map: Mojca Jančar and Mateja Ravnik)

Fig. 7.2  View to the south of the Upper Maribor Castle. (Photo: Nataša Grum)

were similarly made and of an approximately equal size; they are of a category of very small aquamaniles. The capacity of half of the body is 0.2 litres, which means complete examples would not hold more than 0.5 litre of liquid. Stephan (2017: 526) suggested that if an aquamanile was not reserved for the host and their most distinguished guests, several vessels could have been passed around the table at the larger festivals. He argues, that in such cases, there would have been the possibility of combining aquamanile with ­different motifs at one banquet. While this theory is hard to prove, it might apply to the aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle which had different animals represented. Despite their different locations inside the castle, all aquamaniles were made in a similar fashion and probably by the same potter. Among the spouts found on the Upper Maribor Castle was that of a bull, a ram and three hares. All the motifs were easily recognisable: bull with horns curving up; ram’s horns curved down; and hares have long ears. Half of a body probably belongs to a hare, with a small and upward-turned tail. Most of the spouts, except the ram, have round eyes made with a piercing tool. For the ram’s eyes two carved ‘V’ were used. Bulls (or oxen) are not commonly depicted on aquamaniles. They are easily recognised by mighty horns that curve upwards. A bull’s iconographic meaning changed with the arrival of early Christian art and during the Romanesque period, from a symbol of fertility, sacrifice and connection to Gods (in the early cultures), to a symbol of patience and power (later on). In Christian iconography a winged bull symbolises St Luke (Baćani Hnatko, 2016: 14). Bestiaries, on the other hand, give more attention to oxen.

7  Bull, Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia)

75

Fig. 7.3  Location of aquamaniles in Upper Maribor Castle. Numbers correspond with Fig. 7.4. (Drawing: Mateja Ravnik)

Very popular aquamaniles were in a shape of a ram with strong curved horns, representing one of the dominant strong, wild, combative male animals. Rams together with stags are also a part of an entourage of hunting animals, possibly with some sacred secondary connotation (Stephan, 2017: 526, 552). Very similar depictions as on the spout from Upper Maribor Castle can be seen on glazed jugs with arched handles (Bügelkannen) with zoomorphic spouts from Vienna, Austria (Huber, 2011: 92–93, Fig. 2). Rabbits and hares appeared in bestiaries for the first time at the beginning of the thirteenth century. In Antiquity, the hare embodied the love of a man for a woman, and in some instances expressed homosexual love. It also symbolised of sexual promiscuity  – hetero- or homosexual. The hare seldom appears in the Bible, where it was declared an impure animal which cannot be eaten. However, the hare appears in the bestiaries, and also in the scenes of Creation and on the ‘naming of the beasts’, where it occupies a place of honour

close to God or Adam and is presented as Adam’s favourite animal. The hare also became a visual representation of an imaginary creature, the Lepusculus Domini, which symbolises Christian people who trust in God, as well as the Christian Church (Dines, 2004: 73–84). Hares can be also found on the above mentioned Bügelkannen from Vienna which are very similar to those found on Upper Maribor Castle (Huber, 2011: 92–93, Figs. 3, 17, 18). There were numerous castles, monasteries and towns in the territory of present-day Slovenia during the Middle Ages, which could be compared in importance to the status of the Upper Maribor Castle or even exceed it. Therefore, the absence of aquamaniles fragments in the medieval pottery assemblages in Slovenia may be a consequence of the state of research (i.e. they are yet to be discovered). With new excavations and the reinvestigation of those sites explored in the past, it is likely more fragments of aquamaniles will be found in Slovenia, and help our interpretation of these items

76

M. Jančar and M. Ravnik

Fig. 7.4  Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle. (Drawing and photo: Nataša Grum)

within a wider social context. Already known are at least two more, one from Krško and one from a pottery workshop in Kranj probably in a form of a pig (Stepanjan, 2021: 69, 360–61).

7.5 Conclusions Judging by the context (waste pits and levelling layers), fragments of aquamaniles from the Upper Maribor Castle date back to the period before the major renovation of the castle complex (construction of a residential tract on the west side). Aquamaniles were probably used at the castle’s table in its initial residential period when the castle was one of the important centres of the region (according to the extent of the construction and written sources). The absence of aquamaniles fragments on other castles in Slovenia is more difficult

to explain, as these fragments easily stand out in medieval pottery assemblages. With the development of the town of Maribor, soon after the middle of the thirteenth century, the castle lost its original, administrative-military-political significance. Therefore, their connection to Teutonic table manners and to the Lords of Maribor seems to be the most probable. The range of animal symbolism represented in the unearthed fragments of spouts and their similarity in the manufacturing coincides with the above-mentioned hypothesis (Stephan, 2017) that perhaps all the aquamaniles discovered at the Upper Maribor Castle were part of one larger table set. Results based on the archaeological data (stratigraphy of the site, development of the architecture and analysis of the finds), as well as the chronological interpretation, are preliminary. However, we can place the discovered fragments of aquamaniles, based on the above-described circumstances,

7  Bull, Ram and Hare: Pottery Aquamaniles from Upper Maribor Castle (Slovenia)

around the thirteenth century. The Upper Maribor Castle had, at least in its initial period, the status of the central castle of the Slovene-Styrian region, where handwashing was almost certainly practised at banquets. Aquamaniles are vessels whose production spanned centuries and connected three religions – Judaism, Christianity and Islam  – in the area from the Middle East to Western Europe with the ceremonial custom of washing hands and later even spread to West Africa. Their design in metal or ceramic is very similar, but also very different, as it is adapted to the user’s taste. New techniques of both metal casting and ceramic moulding were used for their production. They spoke of the social status of their owners and, therefore, were open to different allegorical interpretations.

References Baćani Hnatko, L. (2016). Prikaz životinja u romaničkoj umjetnosti [Unpublished Bachelor’s thesis]. Josip Juraj Strossmayer Univerity of Osijek. Curk, J. (1987). Grad Gornji Maribor. Časopis za zgodovino in narodopisje, 58, n.v. 23(2), 241–251. Dines, I. (2004). The hare and its alter ego in the Middle Ages. Reinardus. Yearbook of the International Reynard Society, 17(1), 73–84. https://doi.org/10.1075/rein.17.06din Hermes, E., & Quarrie, P. R. (1977). The Disciplina clericalis of Petrus Alfonsi. University of California Press. Horvat, M. (1989). Ajdovska jama pri Nemški vasi. Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete. Horvat, M. (1999). Keramika. Tehnologija keramike, tipologija lončenine, keramični arhiv. Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete. Huber, H.  E. (2011). Spielen mit der Form: Bügelkannen mit zoomorphen Ausgussröhren aus dem keramischen Fundgut Wiens. In S. Felgenhauer-Schmiedt, N. Hofer, K. Kuhtreiber, & G. Scharrer-­ Liška (Eds.), Keramik und Technik. Internationale Fachtagung der ÖGM 43. Internationales Symposium Keramikforschung Mautern an der Donau, September 2010 (pp.  91–101). Beiträge zur Mittelalterarchäologie in Österreich (Vol. 27). Österreichische Gesellschaft für Mittelalterarchäologie. Kos, D. (2005). Vitez in grad – vloga gradov v življenju plemstva na Kranjskem, slovenskem Štajerskem in slovenskem Koroškem do začetka 15. stoletja. Znanstvenoraziskovalni center Slovenske akademije znanosti in umetnosti. Lampreht, R. (2015). Izvor in razvoj gospodov Mariborskih. Časopis za zgodovino in narodopisje, 86, n.v. 51(2–3), 9–33. Maigari, Y.  T. (2016). The relevance of the Islamic principles on cleanliness to contemporary times: Focus on hand washing. Ilorin Journal of Religious Studies, 6(2), 91–104. Mehler, N. (2013). Tönerne Aquamanilien aus dem Ingolstädter Donauraum und der Fränkischen Alb: Archäologische Zeugnisse mittelalterlicher Tischkultur und Körperpflege. Sammelblatt des Historischen Vereins Ingolstadt, 122, 20–42.

77

Mlinarič, J. (2000). Historično-topografski oris neposredne okolice srednjeveškega Maribora I. Časopis za zgodovino in narodopisje, 71, n.v. 36(3), 343–372. Müller, U. (1997). Different shape – Same function? Medieval hand-­ washing equipment in Europe. In G. De Boe, & F. Verhaeghe (Eds.), Material culture in medieval Europe (pp. 251–264). Papers of the ‘Medieval Europe Brugge 1997’ Conference (Vol. 7). Instituut voor het Archeologisch Patrimonium. Olchawa, J. (2019). Aquamanilien und ihr Gebrauch in islamischen, christlichen und jüdischen Handwaschungsriten. In R.  Jütte & R.  Schmitz-Esser (Eds.), Hangebrauch. Geschichten von der Hand aus dem Mittelalter und der Frühen Neuzeit (pp.  39–58). Paderborn. Pöpper, T. (2015). Gebrauchsgesten als ikonische Mensch-Ding-­ Konfigurationen. Ein designwissenschaftlicher Versuch über Aquamanile, Retiküle und Savonnettes (sowie ‘iPhones’). In T. Pöpper (Ed.), Dinge im kontext. Artefakt, handhabung und handlungsästhetik zwischen mittelalter und gegenwart (pp. 13–54). De Gruyter. Ravnik, M., Jančar, M., & Strmčnik-Gulič, M. (2014). Marchburch – Upper Maribor castle – Preliminary results of archaeological excavations in 2010 and 2011. In K.  Predovnik (Ed.), The castle as social space (pp.  325–337). Castrum Bene (Vol. 12). Znanstvena založba Filozofske fakultete. Ravnikar, T. (2014). Maribor v 12. stoletju: 850 let prve omembe Maribora. Pokrajinski arhiv Maribor. Schumacher, M. (2019). ‘Lavabo in innocentia manus meas…’ Zwischen Schuldanerkennung und Schuldabwehr. Händewaschen im christlichen Kult. In R.  Jütte & R.  Schmitz-Esser (Eds.), Handgebrauch. Geschichten von der Hand aus dem Mittelalter und der Frühen Neuzeit (pp. 59–77). Paderborn. Stepanjan, U. (2021). Srednjeveško in novoveško gradivo. Tipološka in časovna opredelitev keramike iz Odpadne jame 1. In R. Urankar (Ed.), Kranj, kieselstein – Severno dvorišče. Raziskave 2008–2009 (pp. 52–70). Monografije CPA (Vol. 13). Zavod za varstvo kulturne dediščine Slovenije. Stephan, H.-G. (2017). Aquamanilen  – Figürliche Gießgefäße aus Keramik. Typologie, Chronologie, Gedanken zu Funktion, Verbreitung und Materialität eines mittelalterlichen Tafelgeräts und Statussymbols. In R.  Atzbach, P.  Cassitti, H.  Kenzler, & L.  Löw (Eds.), Archäologie, Mittelalter, Neuzeit, Zukunft: Festschrift für Ingolf Ericsson (pp. 521–568). Bamberger Schriften zur Archäologie des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit (Vol. 6). Dr. Rudolf Habelt. Štih, P. (2006). K predzgodovini mesta Maribor. Maribor skozi čas III, Studia Historica Slovenica, 6(2–3), 243–260. Stopar, I. (1990). Grajske stavbe v vzhodni Sloveniji I, Območje Maribora in Ptuja. Partizanska knjiga. Strmčnik-Gulič, M. (1992). Gornji Maribor v luči arheoloških raziskovanj. Časopis za zgodovino in narodopisje, 63, n.v. 28(1), 200–231. Szajt, J. (2018). Kultura stolu. In K. Wachowski, J. Klapště, S. Krabath, M.  Młynarska-Kaletynowa, & J.  Piekalski (Ed.), Rytm rozwoju miasta na kulturowym pograniczu. Studium strefy placu Nowy Targ we Wrocławiu (pp. 379–399). Wratislavia Antiqua (Vol. 23). Uniwersytet Wrocławski, Instytut Archeologii. Wu, T. (2021). Animal-shaped ewers and ritual hand washing. Legion of Honour Museum.

8

Hooked Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps Jakub Sawicki

Abstract

Late medieval dress accessories are a category of objects that seems to be very uniform throughout Europe north of the Alps. Similar designs of buckles, strap-ends and belt mounts or brooches are known from London as well as Novgorod, Pisa and Tallinn. This common horizon, however, is only apparent superficially. A more in-depth study, based on international literature and databases of artefacts acquired by the public, points to differences and regionally emerging specific categories of objects. One such example worthy of study are late medieval hooked clasps and eyes  – which show the complexities of interpreting local and pan-European material culture. This chapter will discuss these objects, attempting to systematise their nomenclature, dissemination, use and chronology, based on archaeological finds and contemporary images thereof. Keywords

Central Europe · Hooked clasps and eyes · Medieval · Pan-European context · Small finds

8.1 Introduction Nikolaus von Popplau might be seen as a kind of medieval James Bond, or at least that is how he portrayed himself in his memoirs! Being fresh to nobility, a successful tournament champion, famous for exceptional skill and strength, in 1483 he went on a ‘secret mission’ on behalf of the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick III (r. 1452–93), to Germany, the Netherlands, France and the Iberian Peninsula. From those travels survives his diaries (von Popplau & Radzikowski, J. Sawicki (*) Institute of Archaeology of the Czech Academy of Sciences in Prague, Prague, Czech Republic e-mail: [email protected]

1996; Krawiec, 2013) in which he describes other nations and their customs, pointing out everything that seemed different to him, as well as his thoughts on these matters. Nikolaus does not say much about differences in people’s outfits until he visits territories of modern-day Spain and Portugal. Given his biography (albeit he used to be a skilled merchant though not a trader in dress accessories), perhaps we might not expect too much interest from him in the outfits of other people, however, his remarks on this and other ‘cultural’ topics start to become more elaborate and interesting as he found himself in southern Europe. This short reflection on the adventures of Sir Nikolaus raises the question of whether there were major differences in people’s costumes ‘North of the Alps’, since these are only noticeable to him when he ventures south. Specifically, do all these areas constitute one cultural zone and does this correspond to the archaeological state of knowledge? Dress accessories are essentially the only archaeological evidence of costume and fashion – simply because textiles are rarely preserved in the archaeological record, although for some periods of time, especially in the medieval period toward the Renaissance, the art-historical evidence is increasingly useful. Whilst these accessories, including jewellery, are not necessarily as expressive as clothing, they too carry meanings. As Eicher (1995: 1) remarks, ‘dress is a coded sensory system of non-verbal communication that aids human interaction in space and time. The codes of dress include visual as well as other sensory modifications (taste, smell, sound, and feel) and supplements (garments, jewellery, and accessories) to the body which set off either or both cognitive and affective processes that result in recognition or lack of recognition by the viewer’. In this chapter, I will take a closer look at differences and diversity in dress accessories and, therefore, the implications this has for understanding pan-European material culture. As a case study, I will present a relatively uncommon group of late medieval dress fasteners – namely hooked-clasps and eyes – which have so far been a limited object of academic research.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_8

79

80

8.2 Archaeology and Medieval Costume

J. Sawicki

tiple different find types. However, this data is distorted, due to the lack of information on finds made by the public, which Numerous works have been published on medieval fashion, can significantly alter the otherwise known distribution patbut regional differences in costume have largely been tern (especially of metal artefacts). The impact of public described by historians and art historians (Boucher, 2012). A finds upon archaeological knowledge can be shown by a good example is the monumental study of Gutkowska-­ short study of so-called ‘Lithuanian purse fittings’ (Svetikas, Rychlewska (1968) who differentiates between specific 2003)  – an example of less recognised but well-identified English, French, German, as well as local Polish fashion, in finds from the territory of modern-day Poland – where only the high and later Middle Ages. She also noted the very dif- about five specimens have been found archaeologically, but ferent southern European Spanish and Italian fashions, data from metal-detectorists forums indicate that more than a which correspond with observations of Nikolaus von thousand have been discovered (Sawicki & Karpiński, 2017). Popplau. To reliably document the entire state of research, considArchaeological study of medieval costume and fashion is ering all archaeological excavation reports from the whole of somewhat limited as the majority of the textiles from archae- Europe north of the Alps, published in various languages, ological excavations are only small fragments. However, requires a large research team. In consequence, such synthey do allow for discussion on the origin of raw materials, thetic studies are usually missing, and studies about certain weaving techniques, the textile trade, and even local eco- find types stay at the level of microregional comparisons (as nomics or customs (Hayeur Smith et  al., 2015), but less somewhat demonstrated by most of the studies in this volabout fashion itself, such as the differences in cut of dress. ume). In addition, our knowledge of this material culture is There are few exceptions, including entirely preserved cos- changing incredibly fast, due to new archaeological excavatumes from Herjolfsnes (Hovgaard, 1925; Nørlund, 2016), tions, as well as because of new finds being made by the or the numerous fabrics that survive in churches, albeit they public (of which the legality of their excavation depends on are mostly post-medieval date (Grupa, 2005; Drążkowska, the legislation of the country in question, see Dobat et  al., 2008). 2020). Despite these obstacles, it is possible to observe some Because of this poor survival of textile remains, archaeolo- pan-European trends. The work of Krabath (2001), or even gists are primarily confronted with dress accessories and jew- the study of finds in museum collections, indicates similariellery as the main evidence of medieval fashion. Although a ties in material culture, especially when it comes to metal substantial body of literature has been produced on dress artefacts. A closer examination even reveals regional and accessories, this study has not been even across Europe local differences. Examples might include ‘temple rings’, (because of a variety of factors; see ‘introduction’ to this vol- which are typical for Central and Eastern Europe, disappearume). Regional studies dominate, including the single sites or ing by the end of the thirteenth century, or jewellery known towns, such as Wroclaw (Poland; Sawicki, 2017), Gdansk among the Baltic peoples, which co-occurred with gothic (Poland; Bednarz, 2016; Leśniewska, 2016), Prague (Czech fashion as late as in the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries Republic; Sawicki, 2021a), Elblag (Poland; Rybarczyk, (Svetikas, 2003; Sawicki, 2017). But here, I would like to 2021), London (England; Egan & Pritchard, 2002), or even take a closer look at clasps with hook-and-eye construction – regions, such as Provence (France; Thuaudet, 2020) or that is, clasps composed of at least two elements (Fig. 8.1). Moravia (Czech Republic; Šlancarová, 2018). Only a few Besides the available published literature, I will draw upon works focus on the finds from the countryside (Vargha, 2015; information that can be learnt by studying public finds Oksanen & Lewis, 2020; Sawicki & Levá, 2022). Against this recorded by the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS) in background, stand out the studies from the United Kingdom England and Wales and the Portable Antiquities of the (among others Egan & Pritchard, 2002; Cassels, 2013). In Netherlands (PAN). addition, the database of finds made by the public is available for England and Wales (PAS), as well as that for Denmark (DIME) and the Netherlands (PAN), and some other coun- 8.3 Terminology of Hooked Clasps tries, though much more limited in nature (i.e., the embryonic and Eyes project in the Czech Republic: AMČR-PAS). These provide a large amount of data and allow researchers to carry out vari- There are several terms for describing ‘hooked clasps’ and ous studies based on portable material culture. ‘eyes’ in the archaeological literature, and the problem of To date, there has only been one major study of non-­ attributing them to a certain finds category arises quite reguferrous medieval metalwork across Europe north of the Alps larly (Geake, 2020). In part, this is because there are differ(Krabath, 2001). Although this was written more than ent types of objects in the same overarching ‘object category’, 20 years ago, and is not exhaustive, it still provides an impor- plus overlapping regional terminologies that are not compattant basis for any future research on the distribution of mul- ible with each other.

8  Hooked Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps

81

Fig. 8.1  Construction and elements of late medieval hooked clasps. (Drawing: Marek Dobrowolski)

The English term for this type of object is ‘hooked clasps and eyes’ (Egan & Pritchard, 2002; Read, 2008; Sawicki, 2017), but the even broader term ‘hooked fasteners’ is also used. Similar items are also referred to as ‘hooked tags’, and to complicate things even more ‘double hooked fasteners’ are distinguished among them (Read, 2008: 39; Geake, 2020). The German term for this type of fastener is ‘Häken und Ösen’ (Krabath, 2001), but the term ‘Häftel’ also appears (Wachowski, 2013). In Hungarian, they are known as ‘ruhakapocs’ or ‘boglár’. Polish, on the other hand, uses the term ‘haftka’, borrowed from the German, nowadays used only for simple pieces made of wire; in the past, this name was specified for particular items, the hook being referred to as ‘konik’ and the eyelet as ‘kobyłka’ (Gloger, 1900). Hooked eyes and clasps (like those presented in Fig. 8.1), i.e. fasteners with a hook and eye construction, do not have a systematised name in Polish archaeological literature. These items can be found under the term bipartite fastenings (zapięcia dwudzielne, see Frankowska-Makała, 2004), but there is also the term ‘haftel’, borrowed from German, which corresponds well with the term ‘haftka’ functioning in both languages: following the vocabulary logic, haftel is simply a large haftka (hook and eye). This apparent confusion of terminology is due to a lack of clear understanding about the function(s) of the objects in question, explained by their varying uses in certain periods and the different research traditions that exist between (modern) countries. Here, however, I will attempt to clarify the difference between all these types of fastenings, to further discuss these objects in a broad European context. The items, described as ‘hooked tags’ (Lewis & Naylor, 2013), date to the early medieval period and are associated with Anglo-Saxon culture in England. Read (2008: 26) suggests that they may have been used with (most likely male) costumes to fasten a bandage-like wrap worn on the

calf; to hold up trousers (Read, 2008: 7) or to hang a purse (Read, 2008: 24). Double hooked fasteners also have had a comparable use (Read, 2008: 39), though they are also found outside Britain. Similar in form are examples from the Netherlands (https://portable-­antiquities.nl/pan/#/ object/public/89620), but are dated to the later medieval and early modern periods. It is significant, however, that researchers in Britain do not identify any high or late medieval ‘hooked tags’, though objects of similar construction, but slightly different form, again appear in the early post-medieval period (sixteenth-seventeenth century), and are traditionally described as ‘dress hooks’. Hooked clasps and eyes  – i.e. clasps with a hooked-eye design  – are, on the other hand, known in continental Europe from the high and late medieval period (thirteenthfifteenth centuries), but seem to be typical only of a specific region (more on this later). The context of these finds and the iconography seem to indicate their use as costume fasteners – used similarly to buttons – to join the front of a costume, necklines, sleeves or to fasten cloaks. Significantly, fastenings of this type come in pairs – as a hook and eye. This contrasts with examples from post-­ medieval England, where similar specimens, occurring singly (perhaps hooking onto a thread-based loop), were also used to support women’s skirts (Read, 2008: 46–47). In many cases of archaeological finds, it is impossible to know if found objects were made as a pair or for single use. In this text, I would like to focus primarily on these late medieval clasps. To keep things clear, I will use the term ‘hooked clasps and eyes’ interchangeably with just the term ‘hooked clasps’. The remainder of the text will therefore examine late medieval (thirteenth-fifteenth century) specimens from continental Europe whose main function was to fasten items of dress.

82

8.4 Late-Medieval Hooked Clasps Research by Krabath (2001) indicates hooked clasps date from the thirteenth century.1 This is confirmed by finds from Wroclaw, where 25 stratified specimens were excavated (Sawicki, 2017; see Fig.  8.2 for examples from this site). Although these objects have been published in a catalogue and briefly characterised, they have not received a more detailed discussion. From this assemblage, the oldest pieces date to the second half of the thirteenth century, but the largest number of specimens come from fourteenth-century layers (Sawicki, 2017: 11). Most of the hooked clasps published to date, especially from hoards, date to this period. Hooked clasps and eyes also seem to be evidenced by German wills, among others from Lübeck. On 16 November 1337, a certain Wobbe von Grevesmolen bequests ‘acht Paar silberne Schnallen vom Unterkleid’ (eight pairs of silver buckles from the undergarment). Similarly, the will of Margareta von Conredeshaghen, dated 20 July 1340, concerns twelve pairs of gilded clasps (Krabath et al., 2006: 82). These objects also appear in contemporary art, but interpreting them needs to be handled with care, as there are differences between dated finds and those in art. First, however, I will attempt to discuss the issue of medieval fashion in terms of costume fastenings.

8.5 Hooked Clasps and Eyes in Medieval Fashion The history of medieval fashion shows certain clear trends (Gutkowska-Rychlewska, 1968). In the thirteenth century, loose gowns with narrow sleeves were fashionable. These garments were fastened only at the sleeves or below the neck. However, in the fourteenth century, somewhere around the 1340s onwards, a new fashion for tight-fitting garments emerged. A Franciscan monk from Prague, Jan Žitavský commented on this: ‘older people don’t like the fact that young men wear long and curly hair like women, their jackets are short and tight, with cock-like ornaments on elbows, their hoods have long tails, and pointed hats are worn instead of traditional Czech headdresses, and girdles are wide and full of metal ornaments; the women wear costly silk robes, and on their skirts have wide embroidery, and many other things (Winter, 1906: 117). In short, costumes for both men and women become more fitted to the body. This went together with a change in the construction of garments by including the use of numerous fasteners, buttons, but also hooked clasps and eyes, and even eyelets and holes through Early medieval hooked clasps are also known in Central-Eastern Europe, but they seem to disappear by the beginning of the twelfth century. In this text I focus specifically on the late medieval examples of these artefacts. 1 

J. Sawicki

which lace was woven to tightly fasten the dress, a transformation recently discussed by Heller (2017). Fashion changes again at the end of the fourteenth century, with loose, voluminous, outfits returning. These had fastenings mainly at the neck. However, some tighter garments are still being worn. The mid-fifteenth century brings another change, where hooked clasps and eyes become popular as fasteners of sleeves as well as at the neckline of garments. Contemporary art indicates not only fastenings with an eye and hook, but also using both for interlacing the cord. The fluctuation of fashion corresponds to the use of diverse fasteners and their appearance in the archaeological record. Nevertheless, it is of note that, in the fourteenth century, tight fashion was rejected by the Church (Krabath et al., 2006: 85). An example includes representations of the wise and foolish maidens, such as in art from Lübeck Castle Monastery dated to c. 1400; the former is depicted in loose robes, while the latter is in tight, buttoned-up garments (Krabath et al., 2006: 85). Therefore, visual remains do not necessarily represent contemporary fashion and should always be interpreted in regards to their context and agency.

8.6 Hooked Clasps and Eyes in Medieval Art Art depicting hooked eyes and clasps from the second half of the thirteenth century and the fourteenth century to the period from which most of the hoard finds are dated is very rare. Some depictions are on carvings in Magdeburg Cathedral (Krabath et  al., 2006: Fig.  61). It is possible that fasteners shown on a gown from the tomb of Euphemia von Denmark (Pomeranian, 1285–1330) from Sorø, Seeland, Denmark, can be interpreted as a hooked clasps (Krabath et al., 2006: Fig. 62). Numerous finds from the Prtizwalk Hoard allows us to reconstruct the method of their use and fastening of costume in the fourteenth century. For each brooch in this hoard, there was a set of hooked clasps and eyes, often varying in size, with sets numbering between one and nine specimens (Krabath et al., 2006: 82). It is significant that in contrast to what appears in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century art, there are many depictions of hooked clasps from the fifteenth century, especially from the second half of the century. Though, instead of being used in larger sets of up to nine clasps, they are shown as being used to fasten only the neckline or sleeves, which are sometimes even open behind the elbow. In the Oberheinser Master’s painting, The Birth of Mary, dated to c. 1460–65, now in Stuttgart, Württembergischen Landesmuseum, midwives and servants wear gowns with a neckline fastening of three hooks. From a similar cultural context, but dating to c. 1510–12, is Hans Holbein the Elder’s painting Portrait of a Woman. Now in the Unterlinden

8  Hooked Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps

83

Fig. 8.2  Various hooked clasps and eyes: (a, e–p) Wrocław; (b) Gdańsk; (c, d) Prague. Pewter (b, e, g, i, j) and copper alloy (a, c, d, f, h, k–p). (Photos: Jakub Sawicki (a, e–p); Martin Kalíšek (c, d); Joanna Szmit (b). (Courtesy of authors and The Archaeological Museum of Gdańsk)

Museum, Colmar, the work depicts a woman in a dress fastened at the neckline with a row of fleur-de-lys-shaped embroideries connected by a chain. Also, the unusual fastening with the use of hooked clasps is known from a painting by Jakob Elsner, so a slightly older portrait, dated to c. 1500 (Fig. 8.3). In this case, the unknown lady has her neckline fastened by a row of identical clasps in the form of rosettes with hooks on one side and eyelets on the other, but with a cord threaded through both rows. The use of clasps that are clearly fastened with hooks and eyes, on the other hand, can

be seen on the gown depicted in the painting of St Catherine of Alexandria, dated c. 1476 by Italian artist Carlo Crivelli, now in the National Gallery, London. This fastening of the dress, and probably even the same dress, also appears in other paintings by the same artist (i.e. of St Lucia or St Mary Magdalene), which may, however, be more indicative of the equipment of this painter’s studio than of a particular fashion or regional specificity. It is also worth noting that decorative hooked clasps, in the fifteenth century, appear to have been an accessory of typically female costume.

84

Fig. 8.3  Jakob Elsner’s Portrait of a ‘Woman in a Gold-Figured Cap’ with hooked clasps and eyes fastening. (Image courtesy of Staatliche Museen zu Berlin: Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie / Property of Kaiser Friedrich Museumsverein / Christoph Schmidt; Public Domain Mark 1.0)

Examples from the second half of the fifteenth century and the beginning of the sixteenth century can be multiplied, which not only indicate further how this type of fastener was used, but also highlight its popularity.

8.7 Archaeological Finds of Hooked Clasps and Eyes In terms of construction, the clasp consists of two decorative discs ending in a hook or eyelet. In some cases, the hook is hidden under an additional decorative disc (Fig.  8.1). This last element can take various forms, most commonly a coat of arms or a rosette. The shape of the main discs with attached hooks and eyelets seems to be the most distinctive element to determine between types. Hooked clasps and eyes vary slightly in size, which may also indicate upon which item of clothing they were worn as fasteners, or (if they were part of a larger assemblage of fasteners) where on the garment they were located (more on this later in the text). The typology of hooked clasps and eyes proposed by Krabath (2001: 197– 201), with more than 90 individual variants (variante), is

J. Sawicki

complicated to apply to new finds. For the purpose of this chapter, I give only a brief overview of all the common types, mostly based on finds from Gdansk, Prague and Wroclaw, presented in Fig. 8.2, and I don’t aim to create a new typology, but only to systematise the different types of objects. Hooked clasps with coat-of-arms motifs are represented by those in the form of heraldic shields (Fig. 8.2a), or with heraldic animals, such as lions (Krabath et al., 2006), or lions inside of heraldic shields (Fig. 8.2b). A second popular motif is in the shape of various types of rosettes and stylised flowers (Fig.  8.2c, d, e), and also oval shields with inscribed rosettes (Fig. 8.2f). Sometimes letters are used as decoration (Fig. 8.2g), or other motifs such as a human face (Fig. 8.2h), though it is difficult to determine specific reasons for this symbolism (Wachowski, 2007, see also Lewis, in this book). There are also specimens with discs in the form of three hemispheres arranged on a triangular plan (Figs.  8.1 and 8.2i, j, k). This seems to be a popular shape, which is also known from the hoards found in Szczecin (Frankowska-­ Makała, 2004) or Pritzwalk (Krabath et al., 2006), for example. This type has also been found in Britain, but dated to the sixteenth century (Read, 2008). The Wroclaw finds (based on their stratigraphy) can be dated to the early fourteenth century, and the above-mentioned hoards, to well into the fourteenth century. Lily-shaped hooked clasps, so with the disc in the form of fleur-de-lys (Fig. 8.2l, m, n), are also a distinctive type. Among them stands out a half-finished product made of sheet metal, on which the fleur-de-lys was pressed and presumably intended to cut out of the sheet. (Fig. 8.2o). Among the other specimens recorded, one is in the shape of a scallop shell, identified with St James ‘the Great’ (Fig. 8.2p). A significant number of finds come from Scandinavia and areas of Central Europe, as highlighted by Krabath’s (Krabath, 2001: 207, 205, Karte 54) first broad summary of this subject. Recent discoveries from Wrocław (Sawicki, 2017) and Prague (Sawicki, 2021a) shed more light on their distribution, by shifting the focus of their prominence towards the southeast. In addition, this type of clasp is also known from Hungary, where numerous specimens have been found mainly in burials (see among others Horváth, 1975: 354, Table II.39; Bárdos, 1987: 48, Table I.26; Mezősiné Kozák, 1993: Table 4.9; Szatmári, 1999: 126, Fig. 14.4; Varga, 2004: 107, Table I.7, 8) and in hoard finds (Hatházi, 2009). The situation is different in Western Europe. Hooked clasps appear absent from France, and no specimens have been found in Britain, so far: notably, this is confirmed by a lack of examples on the PAS database, where there are no häftels from the late medieval period (see also Read, 2008); although it is noteworthy that similar looking hooks, but dated to the early sixteenth century, have been identified in England as items used to attach the hood or collar to a belt of a womens dress so that it does not curl up while working

8  Hooked Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps

(Read, 2008: 46–47). Krabath (2001) cites an iconographic example from France, a sculpture of Jeanne de Bourbon (d. 1377), and suggests she wears a dress with hooked clasps with concealed fasteners. This cannot be ruled out, but the rearranged ornaments may well be buttons. Perhaps, then, in the case of France, the question of the non-occurrence of hooked clasps is more due to the state of research (or lack of metal-detecting) rather than the reality of medieval fashion. Finds from Germany and Scandinavia indicate numerous similarities between them (Krabath, 2001: 207), and recent finds from Wroclaw seem to confirm this observation (Sawicki, 2017: Fig.  2). Distinctive hooked clasps in the form of two lions in a rampant pose holding a heraldic shield are known from the Slagelse Hoard, from Sealand, Denmark (dated 1372, see Krabath et al., 2006: 45, Abb. 28), Amunde, in Gotland, Sweden (Krabath, 2001: 199, Abb 37.1), as well as from Pritzwalk, Brandenburg, Germany (dated to the fourteenth century). In addition, hooked clasps, in the form of three circles on a triangular plan, are known from the Pritzwalk Hoard (Krabath et  al., 2006), as well as from Szczecin, Poland (Frankowska-Makała, 2004). Almost identical specimens, but made of tin-lead alloy and not of gilded silver, come from Wroclaw (Figs.  8.1and 8.2b, e, g, i, j). From this city, both a hook and an eyelet are known, but most probably from two different sets. The Wroclaw finds, therefore, differentiate from previously known specimens mainly by raw material. The vast majority of published hooked clasps were found in hoards; they are objects made of silver alloys, often gilded. They were therefore deposited, even if not for their artistic value, but for the value of the metal itself. The specimens from Wroclaw were made of tin-lead and copper alloys. Hooked clasps and eyes were made in a simple manner. Pewter specimens were cast from stone moulds with a formed eyelet or hook. This type of construction is known from Wrocław (Fig. 8.2e, g, i, j), while a casting mould was found in Göttingen, Germany (Krabath et  al., 2006: 88, Fig. 70). This was a small piece of sandstone that allows two different pairs of clasps to be cast, one in the form of a trefoil, the other of an acorn (the latter motif is also discussed by Jervis in this volume). Silver specimens are known from various hoards, including those from Pritzwalk, Germany (Krabath et  al., 2006: 61, Fig.  43.228), and Stege (region Storstøms), Denmark (Krabath et al., 2006: 85, Abb. 65), and these were also manufactured in the same way. However, most often in the case of silver specimens, the hook and eyelet were made from a suitably shaped band and soldered on from the underneath (Krabath et al., 2006: 59, Fig. 41; 61, Fig.  43). A copper-alloy hooked clasp, decorated with enamel, from Wroclaw’s New Market was similarly made (Fig. 8.2a). Clasps were also manufactured by plastic deformation of sheet metal made of copper alloys or silver (e.g. repoussé,

85

chasing and similar, see Bourgarit & Thomas, 2012). The sheet metal was often stamped already with an eyelet (Fig. 8.2m) or a band which was later formed into a hook, as specimens from Wroclaw (Fig.  8.2k, l, n) and Prague (Fig.  8.2c) highlight. From Wroclaw was also found one half-finished product (Fig. 8.2o). It is a piece of sheet metal, cut into a trapezoid, with an eyelet on one side, intended to resemble the final shape of the clasp. It is embossed with a fleur-de-lys motif. The object was most likely not finished as the stamping of the design led to a crack in the metal plate. Nonetheless, it is possible that this small fragment shows the chaîne opératoire of the production of this type of clasp. It seems that they may have been produced almost en masse in this way by first cutting pieces of sheet metal, then hammering out the pattern and finally chiselling. Construction elements, such as eyelets and hooks, were also soldered to clasps made of stamped sheet metal. Many such pieces come from the Erfurt Hoard, Germany. Examples include lily-shaped clasps (Opitz & Speitel, 2010: 251, Fig.  52a) or schematically rendered dragons (Opitz & Speitel, 2010: 250, Fig.  51a). An important example is a large, hooked clasp (overall length  – 18.6  cm, height  – 6.5 cm) from Gdansk, Poland, discovered on Granary Island (Fig.  8.4). It is made of gilded silver and decorated with niello (Sawicki, 2021b). It has a central shield covering the hook, almost larger than the side shields, which is soldered to the underside on a long band. This object, due to its size, probably served as a coat clasp. Against this background, only the more complicated ornaments from Pritzwalk stand out (Krabath et  al., 2006: 60, Abb 42; 126–30). These were decorated with openwork flowers or lion figures. However, apart from their artistic value, the actual fastening mechanism is no different from the simpler specimens. A study of clasps decorations indicates a certain regularity. There are almost no known specimens with heraldic motifs which were made of non-precious materials. Only one exception is a find from Gdansk, in the form of a tin alloyed, heraldic shield with a lion rampant (Fig.  8.2a). Another similar item is the already described find from Nowy Targ Square, Wroclaw (Fig 8.2b). It is decorated with enamel, which also indicates its higher standard (see Sawicki & Levá, 2022). Thus, it is possible that clasps with heraldic motifs were worn only by the upper classes of society. This may be evidenced by many such decorated clasps from various treasures, such as Pritzwalk, Amunde am Dune on Gotland (Sweden), and Slagelse (Denmark), which also seem to indicate the northern provenance of this heraldic variant (Krabath, 2001: 207). On the other hand, the heraldic motifs seem to have been popular in the late Middle Ages simply as an ornament, without connections to any house or family (see among others Standley, 2013; Wachowski, 2013; Sawicki, 2014). It can be found on dress accessories from

86

J. Sawicki

Fig. 8.4  Hooked clasp and eye from Gdańsk. (Photo: Joanna Szmit, courtesy of Archaeological Museum of Gdańsk)

simple metals, such as the brooches from Nowy Targ Square (Sawicki, 2017: Cat. 379, 425), and numerous secular badges (van Beuningen & Koldeweij, 1993; Spencer, 2010; Sawicki, 2014).

8.8 Conclusions At the first sight, the material culture of the late Middle Ages in Europe north of the Alps, appears to be uniform. The dress accessories are a good example of this. Brooches, buckles and belt mounts, for example, are broadly similar to each other, whether they come from Provence (Berthon, 2013; Thuaudet, 2020) or Silesia (Sawicki, 2017). Likewise, the same type of specific belt mount (German: Bortenstrecker) is known from London (Egan & Pritchard, 2002) as well as from Wroclaw (Sawicki, 2017). At the same time, however, even among those similarities, some regional differences can be distinguished. Hooked clasps and eyes provide good examples of this. In this chapter, I have introduced this little-recognised category of dress accessories, which in the late medieval period seems to be typical to Central and Northern Europe, but is also known in Silesia, the Czech Republic and Hungary. Hooked eyes and clasps can be distinguished in archaeological material from the second half of the thirteenth century and increase in numbers in the fourteenth century. Hoard finds from this period are also known where fastenings of this type appear in large numbers (i.e. from Pritzwalk and Szczecin). They are also known from Hungarian burials of this period. In the fifteenth century, especially in the second

half of the century, they begin to appear in art as fastenings mainly for sleeves and necklines. A significant number of hooked clasps have been found in hoards. Here, perhaps unsurprisingly, they are made of more expensive metals. Only recently a larger number of clasps made of copper and lead-tin alloys have been discovered, indicating the prevalence of this fashion not only among people of higher status. This may also indicate the spread of fashion from the upper to the lower strata, but that has not been tested here. The type of large clasps known from hoards stands out in particular; this probably served as fasteners for coats or furs, such as the specimen from Gdansk (Fig.  8.4) or Pritzwalk show (see Krabath et al., 2006). It is possible that copies with heraldic motifs were primarily worn by people from the upper classes, as only a few hooked clasps with heraldic motifs made of cheap metals have been discovered so far. These objects, however, are primarily a testament to local fashion and provide a good commentary on whether there was a pan-European culture of medieval material culture. Although there are some similarities in metal small finds across Europe, there are also various and vivid differences. Detailed study of this material culture enables archaeologists to discern specific trends and local conditions. However, numerous examples show the dynamics of clashing influences, local and distant trends, which are often very difficult for archaeologists dealing with medieval material culture to trace. Acknowledgements  I would like to thank Micheal Lewis and Maria Vargha for their help with thischapter, as well as Nicolas Thomas and Lise Saussus for their discussions and help in understanding many issues with dress accessories production processes. Otherwise, any errors are mine.

8  Hooked Clasps and Where to Find Them: Similarities and Differences in Dress Accessories in Europe North of the Alps

References Bárdos, E. (1987). Középkori templom és temető Kaposvár határában II. Somogyi Múzeumok Közleményei, 8, 5–81. Bednarz, S. (2016). Sprzączki z wykopalisk przy ulicy Chmielnej 73–74 w Gdańsku. In R.  Krzywdziński (Ed.), Dantiscum (Vol. I, pp. 267–334). Dantiscum. Pracownia Badań Archeologicznych. Berthon, A. A. (2013). Les objects métalliques aux XIIIe–XIVe siècles, aspects de la culture matérielle. In M.  Bois (Ed.), Au Moyen Âge entre Provence et Dauphiné : Archéologie et histoire autour de Lachau en Baronnies (pp. 85–94). Alpha. Boucher, F. (2012). Historia mody: Dzieje ubiorów od czasów prehistorycznych do końca XX wieku. (P. Wrzosek, Trans.). Wydawnictwo ‘Arkady’. Bourgarit, D., & Thomas, N. (2012). Late medieval copper alloying practices: A view from a Parisian workshop of the 14th century AD. Journal of Archaeological Science, 39(10), 3052–3070. https://doi. org/10.1016/j.jas.2012.04.009 Cassels, A.  K. (2013). The social significance of late medieval dress accessories [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. University of Sheffield. Dobat, A.  S., Deckers, P., Heeren, S., Lewis, M., Thomas, S., & Wessman, A. (2020). Towards a cooperative approach to hobby metal detecting: The European Public Finds Recording Network (EPFRN) vision statement. European Journal of Archaeology, 23(2), 272–292. https://doi.org/10.1017/eaa.2020.1 Drążkowska, A. (2008). Odzież grobowa w Rzeczypospolitej w XVII i XVIII wieku. Naukowe Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Egan, G., & Pritchard, F. (2002). Dress accessories, c. 1150–c. 1450 (2nd ed.). Boydell Press. Eicher, J. B. (Ed.). (1995). Dress and ethnicity. Berg Publihsers. https:// doi.org/10.2752/9781847881342 Frankowska-Makała, M. (2004). Średniowieczne srebrne ozdoby w skarbie ze szczecińskiego Podzamcza. In M. Glińska, K. Kroman, R.  Makała, & Z.  Krzymuska-Fafius (Eds.), Terra transoderana. Sztuka Pomorza nadodrzańskiego i dawnej Nowej Marchii w średniowieczu. Materiały z seminarium naukowego poświęconego jubileuszowi 50-lecia pracy w muzealnictwie szczecińskim Zofii Krzymuskiej-Fafius, 7–8 czerwca 2002 (pp.  317–331). Stowarzyszenie Historyków Sztuki, Oddział Szczeciński. Geake, H. (2020). Hooked tags and other dress hooks and eyes. British Museum/Portable Antiquities Scheme. https://finds.org.uk/counties/ findsrecordingguides/hooked-­tags-­and-­other-­dress-­hooks Gloger, Z. (1900). Encyklopedja Staropolska ilustrowana (Vol. 1–4). P. Laskauer i W. Babicki. Grupa, M. (2005). Ubiór mieszczan i szlachty z XVI–XVIII wieku z kościoła p.w. Wniebowzięcia Najświętszej Marii Panny w Toruniu. Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Gutkowska-Rychlewska, M. (1968). Historia ubiorów. Zakład Narodowy im. Ossolińskich. Hatházi, G. (2009). A déli Kiskunság 14–15. századi kincsleletei és azok lehetséges kun vonatkozásai. In Sz. Rosta (Ed.), Kun-kép – A magyarországi kunok hagyatéka (pp. 67–111). Bács-Kiskun Megyei Önkormányzat Múzeumi Szervezete, Kiskun Múzeuma. Hayeur Smith, M., Arneborg, J., & Smith, K.  P. (2015). The ‘Burgundian’ hat from Herjolfsnes, Greenland: New discoveries, new dates. Danish Journal of Archaeology, 4(1), 21–32. https://doi. org/10.1080/21662282.2016.1151615 Heller, S.-G. (Ed.). (2017). A cultural history of dress and fashion in the medieval age. Bloomsbury Academic. Horváth, F. (1975). Szer plébániatemploma és a település középkori története. Móra Ferenc Múzeum Évkönyve, 1974–1975, 343–373. Hovgaard, W. (1925). The Norsemen in Greenland: Recent discoveries at Herjolfsnes. Geographical Review, 15(4), 605. https://doi. org/10.2307/208626

87

Krabath, S. (2001). Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde nördlich der Alpen: Eine archäologisch-kunsthistorische Untersuchung zu ihrer Herstellungstechnik, Funktionalen und zeitlichen Bestimmung. Verlag Marie Leidorf. Krabath, S., Lambacher, L., & Kluge, B. (Eds.). (2006). Der Pritzwalker Silberfund: Schmuck des späten Mittelalters: Katalog zur Sonderausstellung anlässlich des 750. Jubiläums der Stadtrechtsverleihung an Pritzwalk im Stadt- und Brauereimuseum Pritzwalk vom 28. Mai bis 29. Oktober 2006: Eine Ausstellung im Rahmen des Föderalen Programms der Stiftung Preußischer Kulturbesitz: Zugleich Bestandskatalog XXIII des Kunstgewerbemuseum der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, Mittelund Nordeuropäischer Edelmetallschmuck vom 13. bis zur Mitte des 15. Jahrhunderts. Stadt- und Brauereimuseum. Krawiec, A. (2013). Obcy mężczyźni, obce kobiety. Postrzeganie siebie i innych w relacji z podróży Mikołaja von Popplau. Biuletyn Polskiej Misji Historycznej, 8, 255–280. https://doi.org/10.12775/ BPMH.2013.008 Leśniewska, D. (2016). Okucia końca pasa z wykopalisk przy ulicy Chmielnej 73–74 w Gdańsku. In R.  Krzywdziński (Ed.), Dantiscum (Vol. I, pp.  335–357). Dantiscum. Pracownia Badań Archeologicznych. Lewis, M., & Naylor, J. (2013). Anglo-Saxon hooked-tags classification. Portable Antiquities Scheme. https://www.academia.edu/3445469/ Anglo_Saxon_Hooked_Tags Mezősiné Kozák, É. (1993). A vértesszentkereszti apátság. Országos Műemlékvédelmi Hivatal. Nørlund, P. (2016). Buried Norsemen at Herjolfsnes. Museum Tusculanum Press. Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (2020). Medieval commercial sites: As seen through portable antiquities scheme data. The Antiquaries Journal, 100, 1–32. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003581520000165 Opitz, K., & Speitel, E. (Eds.). (2010). Die Mittelalterliche Jüdische Kultur in Erfurt (Vol 1  – Der Schatzfund: Archäologie  – Kunstgeschichte – Siedlungsgeschichte). Thüringisches Landesamt für Denkmalpflege und Archäologie. Read, B. (2008). Hooked-clasps and eyes. Portcullis Publishing. Rybarczyk, A. (2021). Odzież i akcesoria stroju w średniowiecznym Elblągu. Wydawnictwo IAE PAN. Sawicki, J. (2014). Średniowieczne świeckie odznaki w Polsce na tle europejskim. Uniwersytet Wrocławski. Sawicki, J. (2017). Medieval dress accessories from Nowy Targ Square in Wrocław. Catalogue of finds. Yellow Point Publications. Sawicki, J. (2021a). Dress accessories from Prague, c. 1200–c. 1800. Catalogue of finds. Archeologický ústav AV ČR, Praha and Yellow Point Publications. Sawicki, J. (2021b). Zapinka dwudzielna. In B.  Ceynowa (Ed.), Spichlerz Błękitny Baranek. Katalog wystawy (p.  410). Muzuem Archeologiczne w Gdańsku. Sawicki, J., & Karpiński, P. (2017). Case of fittings finds of so-called ‘Lithuanian purses’ from modern Poland [Paper presentation]. 23rd annual meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists, Maastricht, The Netherlands. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/320980056_Case_of_fittings_finds_of_so-­called_lithuanian_purses_from_modern_Poland Sawicki, J., & Levá, K. (2022). Late medieval dress accessories in rural communities in Central-Eastern Europe. European Journal of Archaeology, 25(1), 61–79. https://doi.org/10.1017/eaa.2021.20 Šlancarová, V. (2018). Středověký šperk. Archeologické nálezy z jižní Moravy. Katalog nálezů. Masarykova univerzita. https://doi. org/10.5817/CZ.MUNI.M210-­9021-­2018 Spencer, B. (2010). Pilgrim souvenirs and secular badges (2nd ed.). Boydell Press. Standley, E.  R. (2013). Trinkets and charms: The use, meaning and significance of dress accessories 1300–1700. University of Oxford, Institute of Archaeology.

88 Svetikas, E. (2003). Tretininkų odiniai kapšeliai: jų apkalų tipologija, chronologija ir simbolika. Lietuvos archeologija, 24, 241–266. Szatmári, I. (1999). A középkori Csorvás és temploma. A Békés Megyei Múzeumok Közleményei, 20, 83–145. Thuaudet, O. (2020). La fabrication des accessoires en alliage cuivreux de la ceinture des XIIIe–XIVe siècles : le témoignage du mobilier provençal. In Y. Henigfeld, P. Husi, & F. Ravoire (Eds.), L’objet au Moyen Âge et à l’époque moderne : fabriquer, échanger, consommer et recycler (pp. 41–57). Presses Universitaires du Caen. van Beuningen, H.  J. E., & Koldeweij, A.  M. (Eds.). (1993). Heilig en profaan. 1000 laatmiddeleeuwse insignes uit de collectie H. J. E. van Beuningen. Stichting Middeleeuwse Religieuze en Profane Insignes. Varga, S. (2004). Középkori temető Kisszállás határában. Kőhegyi Mihály ásatása Kisszállás-Templomdombon. Halasi Múzeum, 2, 103–119.

J. Sawicki Vargha, M. (2015). Hoards, grave goods, jewellery: Objects in hoards and in burial contexts during the Mongol invasion of Central-­ Eastern Europe. Archaeopress. von Popplau, N., & Radzikowski, P. (1996). Opisanie podróży Mikołaja von Popplau, rycerza rodem z Wrocławia. Trans-Krak. Wachowski, K. (2007). Mon cor plesor. Symbolika przedstawień i napisów na średniowiecznych wyrobach kultury materialnej. In S. Rosik & P. Wiszewski (Eds.), Cor hominis. Wielkie namiętności w dziejach, źródłach i studiach nad przeszłością (pp.  254–279) Uniwersytet Wrocławski. Wachowski, K. (2013). Emblemata mediaevalia profana: Przykład Polski. Uniwersytetu Wrocławskiego. Winter, Z. (1906). Dějiny řemesel a obchodu v Čechách v XIV. a v XV. stoleté. Bursík and Kohout.

9

It Depends: The Use of Harness Pendants in Medieval Europe Robert Webley

Abstract

This chapter proposes that decorative pendants from medieval horses’ harnesses represent a novel vehicle through which to approach the question of whether there was a common material culture across Europe in the Middle Ages. On the one hand, pendants helped decorate harnesses from England and France in the west, to Poland, Czechia and Hungary in the east. On the other, authors have recently drawn out certain particularities in the use of different forms in different parts of the continent. This chapter seeks to build on previous findings in terms of chronology and spatial analysis. A diachronic approach is taken to assess a change from a commonality of pendant forms at the start of the high medieval period, to an increasing diversification and separation over the thirteenth-­ fourteenth centuries; here I also use the untapped evidence of pendant suspension mounts. In closing, we will consider whether the distributions of harness pendants support German scholar Stefan Krabath’s notion of numerous material divisions within medieval Europe, or, rather, imply a more universal phenomenon. Keywords

Artefacts · Copper alloy · Europe · Horses · Harness pendants · Medieval

9.1 Introduction In this chapter I  propose that decorative pendants from equestrian harnesses represent a novel means through which to approach the question of whether there was a common R. Webley (*) University of Exeter, Exeter, UK e-mail: [email protected]

material culture across Europe in the medieval period. Having provided a brief definition and background of the object type considered, I will examine the distribution of medieval harness pendants, building on previous work by Krabath (2001) and Goßler (2011). Going further, I will draw on my own work on harness pendants of the central Middle Ages to frame the start of the period discussed, and thereby facilitate consideration of changes in their distribution through time. In closing, I will pass comment on the paradigm of a united whole by reflecting on Krabath’s (2001: 341) assessment that medieval Europe can be considered in terms of seven ‘large trading areas’. While these areas might necessarily at times overlap, Krabath’s assessment of distributions of various medieval metal items allowed him to separate the continent into distinctive cultural areas  –  such as ‘Northwestern Germany up to the Weser and The Netherlands’ – often delimited by natural borders.

9.2 Definition and Background – Harness Pendants While harness straps could be decorated with metal mounts, and horses apparelled with fabric caparisons or in metal armour, such items rarely survive in the archaeological record. Furthermore, not least in the case of mounts, such objects can often be far less analytically tractable than the pendants considered here. Metal pendants embellished the leather straps of horses’ harnesses from the Iron Age onwards, but, prior to the medieval period, the period of greatest use was as Roman cavalry accoutrements (Fiedler, 2002: 318). To swing, a pendant was suspended by a loop – set generally at 90 degrees – from a separate mount. In turn, this ‘suspension mount’ featured a pair of loops to hold an axis bar, generally made of iron, around which the pendant’s loop swung. We shall return specifically to these ‘suspension mounts’, arguing below that the nature of their construction can offer useful chronological information. The visual

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_9

89

90

impact of decorated pendants would have been enhanced in transit, both through their movement and in catching the light. Pendants, and even more so bells, which were also worn on harnesses (Thuaudet, 2021: 274–76), had an aural impact too, through their swinging. By way of example, in his late fourteenth-century Canterbury Tales, Englishman Geoffrey Chaucer wrote of the Monk on his way to Canterbury on pilgrimage: ‘And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here; Ginglen in a whistling wind…’. On the basis of pictorial evidence, in the medieval period pendants were primarily located on three main harness straps (Cherry, 1991: 17): the breast-band, the rear strap, and the brow-band. The first two of these straps helped retain the saddle. On a detail of f.7v of (British Library) Harley 603 Psalter, circular pendants are shown hanging from the ­breast-­band in front of the saddle as well as from the rear strap behind it (Fig.  9.1). Carver (1986: 131) considered these pendants additions by a later hand in the early-midtwelfth century; the book itself dates to the first half of the eleventh. Excavated evidence suggests that in preceding centuries, harness pendants are likely to have been often limited to the brow-band (part of the bridle), and, as such, produced in smaller numbers. For example, various pieces excavated in the Sambian peninsula of modern-day Kaliningrad Oblast, Russia, come from tenth-eleventh-century graves and were found at the horses’ heads (Shiroukhov, 2020). From at least  the twelfth century, a shift can be detected (Webley, 2020: 250), with the iconographical evidence showing that most harness pendants adorned the breast-band instead (Fig. 9.2). With this shift, numbers of pendants used to decorate harness increased significantly. Gradual changes are detectable even within this period: for the 80-year period after 1150 more pendants are shown in artistic depictions per strap than in the preceding 80  years (Webley, 2020: 260). Such reliance on pictorial evidence is demanded by both the lack of surviving relevant leatherwork and of inhumations by this period. However, one, exceptional, leather strap has survived. Dating from the first half of the thirteenth century, it was found in 2011  in a well at Caherduggan Castle, Co. Cork, Ireland, and would have featured 48 pendants and suspension mounts, many of which still survive (Schousboe, 2012). The pendants discussed are generally made of copper alloys, although some rare examples exist in iron (Webley, forthcoming). They could be embellished with gilding, or decorated with enamel; the latter could give them a function as a heraldic device, though this only occurred from the late twelfth century onwards (Baker, 2015: 22–23). Though certainly used on horses’ harnesses, pendants of this type could have been worn from animal collars or as dress accessories (Griffiths, 1986: 2), and even on other items. While disambiguation may be argued based on size, it is not our particular purpose to try to distinguish the equestrian items from

R. Webley

Fig. 9.1  Men on horseback, detail from Psalm 13 of the Harley 603 Psalter showing pendants on both the breast-band and rear strap (addition of c. 1140 to psalter of c. 1000–1050). British Library, London, Harley 603, f.7v. (Image courtesy of the British Library)

Fig. 9.2  King Nebuchadnezzer’s soldiers besieging Jerusalem – detail from The Lamentations of Jeremiah by Gilbert of Auxerre (c. 1150– 1200). The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, acc. no. W.30.3R. (Image courtesy of The Walters Art Museum)

those that had other uses, but rather to consider the nature of the spread of harness pendants across Europe, and so it is to distribution that we therefore turn.

9  It Depends: The Use of Harness Pendants in Medieval Europe

9.3 Distribution To date, geospatial analysis of medieval harness pendants has been limited. Ashley (2002: 2) and Goßler (2011: 123, 125, 127, 128, Abb. 45, 47, 49–50) provide some of the few examples of local or national mapping (both as recent as the current century). Ashley’s map sets out the pendants he examined from one English county – Norfolk. Meanwhile, Goßler has plotted the distribution of medieval harness pendants and pendant suspension mounts across modern-day Germany. The main truly international study is that by Krabath, who in 2001 provided a distribution plot of harness pendants across transalpine Europe. It is worth dwelling on this work as it provides a basis for new comparisons and more detailed work in the next section of this chapter. On the basis of Krabath’s monumental study, redrawn here (with minor errors corrected, Fig. 9.3), we can assert that there was a European market for harness pendants across his area of study ‘north of the Alps’ (see also Sawicki, this volume). Relative strengths of numbers can perhaps be explained by the focus of his project in Germany, around the border of North Rhine-Westphalia and Lower Saxony, and by the historic recording of metal-detected finds by various museums in England, even prior to the advent of the Portable Antiquities Scheme (PAS), established in 1997. On the other hand, Fig. 9.3  Distribution of published medieval harness pendants. Note that many pendants could now be added from recording schemes and other sources. (Map: Robert Webley, redrawn after Krabath, 2001: 245, Karte 58)

91

moving away from his project base, areas without a tradition of recording metal-detected material, such as France, Spain and Italy, should arguably be expected to be underrepresented (see introduction, this volume). The only initial caveats against suggesting a pan-European paradigm for harness pendants, therefore, are those imposed by the limits of Krabath’s study area (with Spain and Italy under-analysed) but also the relative absence noted by Krabath in the area to the east of the river Oder, an area which he suggested had been relatively well studied. Next, we will start to probe this apparent homogeneity in terms first of form, and, subsequently, by taking a diachronic approach.

9.4 Consideration of Form The main way of dividing the corpus of harness pendants, in England going back to Ward Perkins’s (Ward Perkins, 1940) classification in the London Museum Medieval Catalogue, has been by form (Fig.  9.4). As an analytical tool this can be somewhat blunt as many of the forms used for harness pendants – such as a circle or a cross – are relatively simple and, as such, chronologically undiagnostic. They, and other forms, can be shown to also have been rather long-lived (e.g. Webley, 2020: 468). This notwithstanding, we will utilise

92

R. Webley

Fig. 9.4  A selection of harness pendant forms: (a) openwork circular (NMS-256088); (e) circular (NMS-BD284E); (f) shield shaped (NMS-­ (DENO-D26DDD); (b) crescentic (with separate swinger)(HESH-­ 62FBFB). Note the enamelling on the later examples. (Images courtesy 671151); (c) shell-shaped (SF-E9AF9E); (d) ‘elaborate’ quatrefoil of the Portable Antiquities Scheme).

form to consider the corpus as it has been a universal approach to begin analysing harness pendants, with the exception of Goßler (2011) who additionally employed criteria such as metrics. We may note an apparent division between basic and more complicated pendant forms. Circular pendants, for example, appear widely spread across the study area (Krabath, 2001: 247, Karte 60), as do shield-shaped pendants (Krabath, 2001: 249, Karte 62). Krabath (2001: 251) noted, however, that formal similarities could mask decorative differences, and that, for example, in England harness pendants were used more as specific heraldic identifiers through the tinctures provided by the enamel that decorated them. Divergence can be seen even more clearly in elaborated forms, such as the ‘elaborate’ quatrefoil which appears largely particular to the British Isles (Krabath Variante 5110), though with a few outliers (Fig.  9.5). This form is mapped here with openwork circular pendants possessing so-called ‘Romanesque’ motifs (Krabath Variante 4100). The latter have a strong focus in mainland Europe, with Krabath (2001: 244) furthermore arguing for stylistic differences between central German pieces and those found in modern-day Hungary. What may therefore be inferred from the pioneering work of Krabath and Goßler is that despite the extensive market for harness pendants north of the Alps, cul-

tural approaches towards their use  differed  – such as the uptake of heraldry – which led to different forms and decoration being used in different parts of medieval Europe.

9.5 Analysis Through Time The remainder of this chapter will turn to the question of chronology in order to try to untangle the variety uncovered within the apparent homogeneity outlined above. This is since analysis by form alone can mask time depth, a criticism that could be levelled at Krabath’s study. It will also allow us to better appraise Krabath’s (2001: 338–39) general suggestion of medieval Europe being divided into distinct trading areas. My own work has been largely focused on the eleventh-­twelfth centuries: a period often perceived as preceding a homogenous European material culture in the thirteenth-­fourteenth centuries, one exemplified in particular by dress accessories (e.g. Berthon, 2013). I have elsewhere attempted to isolate the forms of pendant relevant to this final phase of the central Middle Ages (Webley, 2020); these pendant forms can then be compared with those discussed by Krabath and datable to the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries. The quantity of harness pendants in circulation witnessed a huge increase from the later twelfth century onwards, based

9  It Depends: The Use of Harness Pendants in Medieval Europe

93

Fig. 9.5 ‘Elaborate’ quatrefoil harness pendants (hexagons) and openwork circular pendants (circles) show largely separate distributions at a European level, the former mostly found in the British Isles. (Map: Robert Webley)

both on archaeological and iconographical evidence (see above). The repertoire of forms in the period was dominated by simple circular pendants, with other early forms being crescentic and annular (Webley, 2020: 250). Forms appear to have diversified significantly in the second half of the twelfth century, although in the first half the basic forms mentioned seem to have already been joined by shell- and drop-shaped pendants, as well as by pendant bells. The simplicity of these forms provides a problem of method when it comes to d­ ating. Here, I propose a partial resolution to this issue which centres on the construction of suspension mounts: its genesis relies on examples of pendants being found with their suspension mount as a ‘set’. As noted, pendant suspension mounts feature two loops to retain the axis bar on which the pendant swung. There appear to be two main ways of creating these loops: either to perforate two, parallel, cast lobes by drilling, or by folding a basal tab (cast at the lower end of the suspension mount) back on itself after cutting a slot at its centre (Thuaudet, 2021: 271). While this distinction has started to be recognised, seemingly it has not been noted that it may have a chronological significance. While the two construction techniques are not entirely temporally exclusive – with drilled cast lobes occasionally present early – it would seem that the majority of eleventh- and twelfth-century pendant suspension mounts were made in the second way, having loops formed of slotted

and folded tabs (Webley, 2020: 255). Harness pendants without archaeological dating may therefore be tentatively dated to the central Middle Ages based on associations identified between pendants and suspension mounts of ‘folded tab’ construction. Thereafter, from at least the mid-thirteenth century, loops formed from perforated cast lobes dominated – on stud-like forms, T-shaped forms (Krabath Variante 2000) and related cruciform mounts (Krabath Variante 3000) (see e.g. Griffiths, 2004: 69, Fig. 52). Taking the evidence of the early suspension mounts (as established here) and contemporary pendants (as dated through excavation and by association with early mounts), we can note a spread across Europe of ‘early’ forms (Fig. 9.6). Such forms include annular, crescentic and shell-­ shaped pendants, and suspension mounts with circular plates and folded tabs. This pan-European patterning is, similarly, suggested by the evidence of representations of pendants in contemporary artistic media (Fig. 9.7). These representations extend the distribution to southern Europe – primarily Italy and Spain  – helping fill the gap in the archaeological evidence as collected by Krabath and in the present study. With a few exceptions, until around the end of the twelfth century, the same forms – circular, crescentic and annular pendants – are depicted across media, almost exclusively (Webley, 2020: Appendix 3). The fact that there is both variety within the depictions, and that these particular forms are all

94

R. Webley

Fig. 9.6  Early forms of medieval harness pendants and pendant suspension mounts (c. late eleventh-mid-­ twelfth century) showing a widespread distribution across Europe; a concentration in England is due to long-­ standing work of the Portable Antiquities Scheme recording metal-detected finds. (Map: Robert Webley)

confirmed by archaeological evidence, suggests that we are not simply witnessing a tendency towards representations of simple forms, such as circular pendants. That said, smaller media such as bracteates (see Fig.  9.7, top right), but also seal matrices, might on occasion encourage the use of an artistic trope. Such a widespread distribution appears to suggest that a horse-riding stratum was utilising equestrian adornment in the same forms across Europe to emphasise status in the years around 1100, and up to at least the middle of the twelfth century. This can be contrasted with later evidence for variety. Dating from the second half of the twelfth century onwards, examples of diversity have been presented above for insular forms, on the one hand, and largely central European forms on the other (Fig. 9.5). Overall, we can now contextualise the more familiar divergence of forms used in the late Middle Ages within a preceding unity. A contributory factor in diversification may have been the spread of harness pendants downwards through the social hierarchy, with a shift occurring around 1150 from almost exclusive loss at castle sites to increased loss particularly in urban contexts. Further work could examine context of use within Krabath’s (later) dataset, to establish whether this trend continued through time and whether it varied across late medieval Europe.

9.6 Conclusion Harness pendants offer much potential to contribute to discussing the question of whether there was a united material culture in late medieval Europe. Arguably in contrast to dress accessories, they have been shown, by Krabath not least, to have had a variability of form and use within a common market for such objects in medieval Europe, especially north of the Alps. The contribution of the present chapter is to frame this variability within a preceding context of unity, giving analysis a much-needed chronological dimension. Krabath’s own attempt to characterise this later variability, observed by him in other types of object, by dividing northern and central Europe into seven ‘large trading zones’, does not seem to be supported by the evidence of harness pendants, at least. Perhaps our analytical method (of division by form) lacks subtlety, but the majority of forms can be shown to straddle these medieval zones, especially before c. 1200, and even afterwards in the case of the types detailed in Fig. 9.5. Indeed, only a few, rare, types were confined only to a single ‘zone’. Acknowledgements  I would like to thank the organisers of the first of the ‘A United Europe of Things’ sessions (see preface, this volume) – which took place at the 25th Annual Meeting of the European

9  It Depends: The Use of Harness Pendants in Medieval Europe

95

Fig. 9.7  Early representations of medieval harness pendants (eleventh-twelfth centuries). These depictions occur in a variety of media and are present across a large area of Europe. (Map: Robert Webley) Association of Archaeologists in Bern – for accepting the proposal for the presentation that forms the core of this chapter. I am also grateful to Laura Burnett for reading the chapter in draft and for making many suggestions for improvement.

References Ashley, S. (2002). Medieval armorial horse furniture in Norfolk. East Anglian Archaeology (Vol. 101). Norfolk Museums and Archaeology Service. Baker, J. (2015). The earliest armorial pendants. The Coat of Arms, 229, 1–24. Berthon, A.  A. (2013). Les objects métalliques aux XIIIe–XIVe siècles, aspects de la culture matérielle. In M. Bois (Ed.), Au Moyen Âge entre Provence et Dauphiné, Archéologie et histoire autour de Lachau en Baronnies (pp. 85–94). Alpha. Carver, M. (1986). Contemporary artefacts illustrated in late Saxon manuscripts. Archaeologia, 108, 117–146. https://doi.org/10.1017/ S0261340900011735 Cherry, J. (1991). Harness pendants. In P.  Saunders, & E.  Saunders (Eds.), Salisbury and South Wiltshire museum medieval catalogue (Part 1, pp. 17–28). Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum. Fiedler, U. (2002). Ein wappenförmiger Pferdegeschirränhanger des 13. Jahrhunderts aus der Havelberger Innenstadt. Jahresschrift für mitteldeutsche Vorgeschichte, 85, 305–326. Goßler, N. (2011). Reiter und Ritter: Formenkunde, Chronologie, Verwendung und gesellschaftliche Bedeutung des mittelalterlichen Reitzubehörs aus Deutschland. Beiträge zur Ur- und Frühgeschichte

Mecklenburg-Vorpommerns (Vol. 49). Landesamt für Kultur und Denkmalpflege. Griffiths, N. (1986). Horse harness pendants. Finds Research Group (Datasheet 5). Finds Research Group. Griffiths, N. (2004). Harness pendants and associated fittings. In J.  Clark (Ed.), The medieval horse and its equipment c. 1150–c. 1450 (pp. 61–71). Medieval Finds from excavations in London (Vol. 5). Boydell Press. Krabath, S. (2001). Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde nördlich der Alpen (Vols. 1–2). Verlag Marie Leidorf. Schousboe, K. (Ed.). (2012). A peytrel from Caherduggan near Cork. Medieval Histories, 11(2), 9–11. Shiroukhov, R. (2020). Prussian horse forehead pendants with bird of prey images, their analogies and dating. In O. Grimm (Ed.), Raptor on the fist  – Falconry, its imagery and similar motifs throughout the millennia on a global scale (Vol. 2.1, pp. 417–438). Wachholtz Verlag. Thuaudet, O. (2021). De senals e de cascavels. Orner le harnachement des équidés à la fin du Moyen Âge (XIIIe–XVe siècle) dans le Sud-­ Est de la France. In S.  Raux (Ed.), Les modes de transport dans l’antiquité et au Moyen Âge. Mobiliers d’équipement et d’entretien des véhicules terrestres, fluviaux et maritimes (pp.  265–282). Drémil-Lafage. Ward Perkins, J. (1940). London Museum medieval catalogue 1940. London Museum. Webley, R. (2020). Conquests and continuity: Portable metalwork in late Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman England, c. AD 1000–1200 [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. University of York. Webley, R. (forthcoming). Horse equipment. In O.  H. Creighton, R. Liddiard, A. K. Outram, & C. Ameen (Eds.), Warhorse. A medieval revolution? Liverpool University Press.

Import or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)

10

Bianka Gina Kovács

Abstract

Graphite ware was a common pottery type used in the western Danube Region during the Middle Ages. This was used in large quantities in the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, along with other non-graphitic ceramics fired in a reducing atmosphere from the second half of the thirteenth century. Previously it has been thought that both these products were imported from neighbouring Austrian provinces, but recent studies have suggested that some (at least) was produced locally; this is based primarily on the significant survival of these ceramics in the archaeological record. Nevertheless, the strong influence of imported goods on local pottery is still evident. This chapter examines the distribution and influence of these pottery types in late medieval central Transdanubia (Hungary), where they also had a particularly strong influence on local potters. Keywords

Central Transdanubia (Hungary) · Graphite ceramics · Late medieval pottery · Local pottery · Material culture · Trade networks

complex than this. Not only does this pottery occur in the western areas of the Danube Region, but it is also found around the Vértes Mountains (central Transdanubia, Hungary). This is of interest because graphitic products in this area had a major impact on locally made ceramics that do not contain graphite. Although this chapter primarily focuses on graphite pottery from central Transdanubia, as well as the local pottery that was influenced by it, it will also consider the spread of graphite ceramics in Hungary during the late medieval period. Central Transdanubia is one of the regions of present-day Hungary, which covers the north-eastern and central parts of Transdanubia. It includes the ‘counties’ of Fejér, Komárom-­ Esztergom and Veszprém. The territory is topographically divided: in the north, the Small Plain (Kisalföld) and the ranges of the Transdanubian Mountains (Dunántúli-­ középhegység) define the landscape; in the south, there are the Transdanubian Downs (Dunántúli-dombság); while in the middle, the Great Hungarian Plain (Alföld) stretches into the area (Marosi & Somogyi, 1990). Thus, in addition to exploring the characteristics of imported and local pottery, it is also possible to understand how the geographic and topographical conditions limited and defined pottery manufacture, as well as the spread of pottery-making techniques.

10.1 Introduction

10.2 Graphite Ceramics

Graphite ware was commonly used in western Danube Region during the Middle Ages. Because most researchers have understood this to be an imported fabric type, graphite ware is of great interest for understanding pottery development in Hungary. However, it is clear the picture is more

Mixing graphite into clay advances some properties of ceramic vessels. In particular, graphite considerably increases the thermal conductivity of the clay, but also reduces its thermal expansion, which (in turn) improves resistance to temperature fluctuations. In practice, this means that vessels made from this clay heat up faster, which is particularly advantageous for making, for example, cooking pots, stove tiles and casting crucibles. In addition, when adding more than 15% graphite, vessels become hydrophobic, which means they do not absorb (so much) water (Duma, 1980:

B. G. Kovács (*) Institute of Archaeology, HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities, Budapest, Hungary e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_10

97

98

22–23). This makes graphite pottery particularly suitable for storing liquids. In the territory of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, there was no natural graphite deposit (Duma, 1980: 18), but in the eastern part of present-day Austria and the southern part of the present-day Czech Republic, this raw material occurs in several places. Ceramics containing graphite were produced as early as the eighth-ninth centuries (Scharrer-­ Liška, 2007: 15–16, Fig.  1). By the mid- to late- Middle Ages, graphite ware was already commonly being used in the western areas of the Danube Region (e.g. Huber et al., 2003), as testified by the archaeological evidence along the Danube from Ulm (Germany) to Belgrade (Felgenhauer-­ Schmiedt, 1993: 53–54). Here the main places of production were towns along the Danube that were located close to raw material deposits, such as Vienna (Holl, 1963: 168). Many written sources (see Molthein, 1905; Holl, 1955: 163–66), discuss the potters of Vienna, and (in the context of this study) they are especially important. The Potters’ Guild Regulations of 1412 show that their products were being transported by water to more distant markets –‘darnach sullen sy die verkauffen nur an den schiffen auf dem wasser und als von alter herkommen ist’ (Holl, 1955: 163). The importation of graphite goods into the Kingdom of Hungary is also well attested, such as by the surviving customs records of Bratislava from 1457–58 (Feld, 2008: 310). Furthermore, the workshop marks used by Viennese potters are mentioned in written sources from 1431. These appear both on simple grey pottery and vessels containing graphite, but such marks (though much simpler) are also observed on earlier pieces from the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries. They also occurred upon both types during the later medieval period (Holl, 1955: 166; Feld, 1987: 262–63).

10.3 Challenges The first detailed works on Hungarian ceramics were published by Holl (1955, 1963, 1975), whose research remains influential. He identified both graphite ceramics and grey ceramics,1 both with similar shapes, as imported goods coming from Austrian areas. Later Feld (2008: 310–11) and Takács (1996: 160) suggested that these ceramics could have been made (partly) in the Kingdom of Hungary due to the large quantity surviving from the thirteenthfourteenth century, presuming the import of graphite. The most likely places of production within the kingdom (other than the main centre, Buda, in the Medium Regni) were thought to be the towns in the north-western part of I use the term grey ceramics to refer to pottery fired in a reducing atmosphere. This is an oxygen-depleted firing process used by potters in which the ceramic is not fired red, but usually grey. 1 

B. G. Kovács

medieval Hungary, such as Pozsony (Bratislava, Slovakia) and Nagyszombat (Trnava, Slovakia), based on the very high proportion of graphite ware in the assemblages discovered in these areas, combined with the lack of different, good-quality, pottery types (e.g. Hoššo, 1983: 220–21). This research suggested that local production may be connected to German potters who settled in the area, but no written source can confirm this, and thus, the local imitation of the pottery from Austrian provinces is equally possible (Feld, 2008: 311). Recent researchers have been more cautious about whether or not this pottery was imported due to the conflicting views of earlier researchers (e.g. Bárdi, 2014; Mészáros, 2016), hence further work is needed. The issue of stamps/workshop marks is also problematic. Holl (1955: 177–84) linked several stamps to specific Austrian towns, but more recent research has doubted these attributions, suggesting the issue is more complex (e.g. Endres, 1998). Vizi’s (2000) experiments demonstrated that the same seal could produce different patterns due to the convexity and different dimensions of the rims of the pots upon which they were stamped, which further complicates our knowledge of where these ceramics were made. Composition analysis could provide important clues to understanding these issues, but so far there have been very few opportunities to do this work. Analysis of very early pieces from the tenth-twelfth centuries has proven that some pottery originated from Czech territories, rather than Austrian ones. For later pieces, there is no such clear evidence so far (Duma, 1980; Kreiter & Viktorik, 2016).

10.4 Distribution of Grey and Graphite Wares in the Medieval Kingdom of Hungary Currently, it is thought that graphite ceramics appeared in the medieval Kingdom of Hungary in the tenth-twelfth centuries, but in very small numbers. Along the Danube they occur in villages, but in areas further away from the river, such as the South Transdanubian region, they are only known from ecclesiastical sites (Merva, 2016: 1, Fig. 1). Evidence from archaeological excavations shows their use becomes much more frequent from the second half of the thirteenth century, along with non-graphitic grey vessels of similar forms fired in a reducing atmosphere. The latter were more common in the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries, but graphite ware becomes more dominant later, in the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries. That said, throughout the Middle Ages, the occurrence of both types was relatively abundant along the western border and the Danube; only smaller quantities appeared in other areas of the kingdom.

10  Import or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)

10.5 Methodology The evidence presented here includes graphite and grey pottery from more than 93 archaeological sites and other local pottery from more than 150 sites, concentrated predominantly in the central Transdanubian region and mostly dated to the fifteenth-sixteenth centuries. Also studied has been scholarly literature, archive material and the pottery itself.2 While analysing this material, it has been observed that there is a remarkably high proportion of yellow pots of ‘Austrian shape’ among the finds from north-eastern Transdanubia. This suggests that they might be locally produced and therefore are included in this study (along with the grey and graphite pottery). This study focuses mainly on pots, as they are the most common vessels found in excavations. Furthermore, their large number makes them the most suitable for detecting trends. During the research, several questions have been raised. An important aspect is the study of the distribution of grey and graphite ceramics in and around central Transdanubia, and the changes in distribution over time, which can provide information on the former trade and shed light on the factors that determined it. Another interesting question is how much these high-quality imported goods have influenced local ceramics, and where and to what extent their local imitation can be expected. Local imitation also raises the question of how technology is transferred: whether new technologies were adopted by local potters, or their emergence was linked to the arrival of foreign (hospes) potters. Finally, it is also absorbing to examine who used these imported products and their imitations: whether any social differences can be observed.

10.6 Thirteenth-Fourteenth Century Grey and Graphite Ware in Central Transdanubia

99

have a shiny graphitic coating on the surface. Graphitic examples occur only in very low numbers. The pots usually have rounded and folded back rims and their bodies are stocky (Fig.  10.1: 1–3). That said, this pottery type is not common in the region studied; their main concentration is in and around the central parts of the country (Fig. 10.2). This suggests that local production here is unlikely, although (because research is still ongoing) firm conclusions cannot be made. Nonetheless, such wares are missing from the assemblages of even the relatively well-researched castles further from the Danube. In contrast, these grey ceramics are found in large numbers from the towns along the western border (with Hungary) and along the Danube during this period; their proportion was close to 40% of all the pottery finds recovered. The ratio of graphite-containing pieces among the grey ceramics in those areas was around 25% (Holl, 1955: 172). The large quantity of this grey pottery near the western border has been explained by possible local production or imitation (Feld, 2008: 310– 11). Transporting local products on the river to the inner areas of the country would be logical and would enable those trading in such goods to avoid paying border duties. However, there is no evidence of local production; no kilns used to produce this type of ware have been located. Nor are there any suitable quality clays in this part of the kingdom. In the towns of the central region, the grey pieces are much better quality than the local, light-coloured, ceramics. In the case of Vác, composition analyses attested that the pots were not made of local clay, with one exception, which, by itself, offers little solid proof for local production. As the vessels from Vác were only compared with local pottery there is no information on whether they were produced within the kingdom, near the western border or abroad (Kreiter & Viktorik, 2016; Mészáros, 2016: 106–10). To clarify this issue, conducting composition analyses on specimens found near and outside the western border would be necessary.

In the thirteenth-fourteenth centuries, pots, flat lids, three-­ 10.7 Fifteenth-Sixteenth Century Grey legged pans, jugs, crucibles and stoves represent the grey-­ and Graphite Ware in Central coloured wares in central Transdanubia. These ceramics Transdanubia were usually tempered with small pebbles and sand. Grey ware comes in two main types: non-graphitic grey ceramics From the fifteenth century, the quantity of grey and graphite and vessels that do not contain graphite in their substance but ware significantly increased with pots, large jugs and (less frequently) casting crucibles arriving both in central Transdanubia and the rest of the medieval Kingdom of 2  In my work, I have relied on late medieval assemblages that I have Hungary. The pots of this period are solid in shape, with processed (Tata-Kossuth tér 16, Tata Castle, Várgesztes Castle, thick, rounded, folded-out rims and one or two incised lines Várgesztes-Kisvár [Small Castle], Csókakő Castle), as well as previon the shoulders (Fig. 10.1: 4–8). They were still generally ously published finds and assemblages. Furthermore, I have tried to view the finds of as many sites as possible. So far, I have inspected the tempered by adding sand and small pebbles to the clay, but in assemblages of 24 excavations and 42 field-walking surveys either par- several examples studied, relatively numerous and large bits tially or fully. I have been able to obtain further information based on of limestones were used for this purpose. The situation the datasheets of artefacts preserved at the repository of the Institute of reversed from the fifteenth century regarding the proportion Archaeology at the Research Centre for the Humanities.

100

B. G. Kovács

Fig. 10.1 Thirteenth-­ sixteenth-­century grey and graphite pots from the central Transdanubian region: (1) Várgesztes Castle; (2) Csókakő Castle; (3–5) Tata-Kossuth tér 16; (6–8) Tata Castle. (Photo and drawing: Bianka Gina Kovács)

Fig. 10.2  Distribution of thirteenth-fourteenth-century grey and graphite pottery in and around central Transdanubia. (See details in Table 10.1). (Map: Bianka Gina Kovács)

10  Import or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)

of graphite and non-graphitic grey ware in use; pots containing graphite became more widespread, but the amount and size of graphite granules used varied greatly. The aforementioned stamps (workshop marks) on the rim are an almost indispensable feature of these pieces, appearing on graphite and non-graphitic ware. The most common stamps in central Trandanubia are the marks previously defined as ‘Viennese’ by Holl (1955: Figs. 53–54). However, the stamped pieces found in the study area do not help to determine the place of production of the finds due to the difficulties mentioned above in identifying stamps and their possible imitation or counterfeiting; precise results could only come from composition analysis. Although the numbers of graphitic and non-­ graphitic types now known have increased slightly in the studied area (Fig.  10.3), there is still no question of their local production. It is worth mentioning that despite the Ottoman occupation of the central part of the kingdom, the transport of these pottery types was not interrupted in the sixteenth century; according to the archaeological data, examples of this pottery type continued to arrive in the central parts of the former Kingdom of Hungary until the first third of the seventeenth century. Finds from the settlement features of the territory occupied by the Ottomans show that significant quantities of graphite ceramics still arrived in the

101

castles, towns and villages along the Danube, attesting that trade between the two areas has not ceased despite the different administration, religion and culture (e.g. Kolláth, 2016: 114–15).

10.8 Influence of Graphite Ware in Central Transdanubia In the late medieval pottery finds of the eastern part of north-­ eastern Transdanubia, especially around the Vértes and Gerecse mountains, yellowish pottery dominates (65–90%). Pots imitating western forms appeared in the area as early as the fourteenth century, and from the fifteenth century, the shapes of most pots (rim and body) imitated the grey and graphite pots discussed above. Minor differences can be observed in the profiles of the rims (e.g. rounded, terminating in a sharp edge at the bottom, ending in a sharp edge at the top, terminating in sharp edges at the bottom and the top). Their colour is yellow, yellowish-white, and sometimes pink or orange. They were usually tempered with large-grained sand, often containing black grains as well. During the fourteenth century, pottery was still made on a slow wheel, but from the fifteenth century onwards pottery was wheel thrown,

Fig. 10.3  Distribution of fifteenth-sixteenth-century grey and graphite pottery in and around central Transdanubia. (See details in Table 10.1). (Map: Bianka Gina Kovács)

102

and this technology became exclusive from the second half of the century (Fig. 10.4). Yellow pottery was already present in large quantities among the ceramics of the twelfth-thirteenth centuries in the area (e.g. Kovács, 2018). Accordingly, it seems likely that the place of production of the group in question should be sought – at least partially – locally. This is also supported by the location of clay deposits recorded around the turn of the nineteenth-twentieth centuries (Fig.  10.5a). Around the Fig. 10.4 Fourteenth-­ sixteenth-­century yellow pots from the central Transdanubian region: (1–2, 4) Csókakő Castle; (3, 5–6) Várgesztes Castle; (7–9) Tata-Kossuth tér 16. (Photo: Bianka Gina Kovács)

B. G. Kovács

Vértes and Gerecse Mountains, several sites have been observed where good-quality, so-called refractory, clay was quarried (Mattyasovszky & Petrik, 1885; Kalecsinszky, 1905). Potters in Csákvár in the modern era used the clay mines lying to the south of the Vértes Mountains (Kresz, 1991: 537), but the high proportion of yellowish pottery in the area suggests that the high-quality clays found there were already used in previous periods, including the Middle Ages. This is also confirmed by pottery kilns and the traces of

10  Import or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)

103

Fig. 10.5  Production areas: (a) locally made late medieval yellow pots imitating grey pottery of ‘Austrian shape’; (b) types of excavated late medieval pottery kilns in and around central Transdanubia. (Map: Bianka Gina Kovács)

104

B. G. Kovács

workshops discovered in the investigated area (Fig.  10.5b; Kovács, 2021: Fig. 6). These pottery workshops all date back to the fifteenth century and the first half of the sixteenth century. Data is insufficient for establishing the local production of ‘Austrian-shaped’ pots in this region in the fourteenth century. Nevertheless, similar fourteenth-century pots also appeared in the assemblages of the sites along the Danube (e.g. Buda, Visegrád: Holl, 1963: 346, Fig. 73; Bárdi, 2014: 43, Table 45–46), which, according to Holl (1963: 346) were locally made. The high proportion of the type (in somewhat simplified form) in the area around Vértes and Gerecse Mountains indicates that local production started from the fifteenth century at the latest. The excavated pottery kilns and workshops mentioned above also produced this type of pot: one of them, at Bajna, contained unfired items as well. Vágner (2002: 332–33) experimented with firing them and demonstrated that the clay from which they were made has a yellowish colour after being fired. However, he also found that the unearthed finished vessels had a lighter colour than the items he fired, indicating that a reduced firing process

was used during their production. Presumably, the potters of other workshops in the region did the same. A particular type of this yellow ceramic has the pot stamped on the shoulder. This stamped decoration is also of western origin and made with a cylinder seal. These motifs are unlikely to be workshop marks, as a workshop could have used several cylinders with different designs, but the pieces with completely identical designs were undoubtedly made in the same workshop. The close observation of these stamped patterns can, therefore, reveal a workshop’s market area, even if the place of production is unknown (Kovács, 2021: 250, 265). The decorative character of these pots helps reduce the taphonomical error when defining the market area: even if only one fragment has been found at an archaeological site, they are most commonly mentioned in the historical record as well as publications. The collected data suggest that workshops around the Vértes and Gerecse Mountains were not only supplying pottery to the narrow region but that a larger territory belonged to their market area (Fig.  10.6). Their products appeared

Fig. 10.6  The market area of late medieval yellow pots of ‘Austrian shape’ and other ‘pottery regions’ in and around central Transdanubia: (a) example of a typical pot in the south-western Transdanubian region from Sarvaly. (Reproduced from Holl & Parádi, 1982: Fig.  157.2);

(b) example of a typical pot in the south-eastern Transdanubian region from Őcsény-Oltovány (Map: Bianka Gina Kovács, pottery redrawn after Miklós, 2007: Fig. 274.3)

10  Import or Imitation? Late Medieval Graphite Ware and Its Influence in Central Transdanubia (Hungary)

more frequently in the southern part of present-day Fejér County, in the northern part of Tolna County and on the eastern edge of Veszprém County, but some also reached more remote areas of the country (Kovács, 2021: Fig.  2). They seem to have been very popular in the central parts of the country, but were not subject to international trade. A small number of red pots of ‘Austrian shape’ are also present in the material under investigation, mainly at the edges of the regional market area for yellow pots. Due to their extensive spatial distribution, their characteristics are not uniform, but their shapes are generally similar and were wheelthrown. These vessels no longer seem to imitate the ‘Austrian pottery’ but rather the locally made, high-quality, yellow ceramics. It seems likely that these are the products of workshops that did not have access to the better quality, yellowfiring, clay but still aspired to imitate the nearby workshops producing yellow wares (Kovács, 2021: 259–60, Fig. 8). As discussed above, grey and graphite ceramics were less prevalent in the western part of central Transdanubia, and accordingly they do not seem to have significantly impacted local pottery. The locally-made pots are red in colour, and their shapes, especially their rims, are different from those mentioned above (e.g. Holl & Parádi, 1982: 92–96). The pottery kilns themselves create another interesting aspect of the investigation. It seems that the horizontal-­ draught kiln type was mainly spread around the Danube in the medieval Kingdom of Hungary (Fig.  10.5b, Vágner, 2002: Fig. 1). This type is probably of western origin (Vágner, 2002: 336), which makes it likely that the river and the surrounding routes also served as a mechanism for technological knowledge transfer. Nevertheless, this needs further investigation as different kiln types also exist.

10.9 Other ‘Pottery Regions’ of Hungary The variations in the shapes of local pottery in the studied area raises the question of to what extent graphite pottery was imitated in other regions of the country. As discussed above, in the north-western part of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary (present-day Western Slovakia), pots of ‘Austrian shape’ were widespread and most probably were also produced locally. The analysis of the grey and graphitic ware shows that their quantity decreases moving away from the Danube. They occur only sporadically in the southern part of Transdanubia and seemingly had no effect on local pottery. Due to the current state of research, there is little data available on this area from the fourteenth century, but based on the finds of the fifteenth-sixteenth-century date certain tendencies seem to be emerging (Fig. 10.6).

105

Based on the shapes of the vessels, it seems that the south-­ western part of Transdanubia may have formed a region within the territory of present-day Styria and Slovenia. In this area, high-quality, yellowish-coloured, vessels and their lower-quality, definitely locally made, versions appear (e.g. Holl & Parádi, 1982: 96, analogies from Slovenia: Guštin et al., 2001). In the south-eastern part of Transdanubia, local potters still made their products on a slow wheel. The pottery was usually brown, and the formal parallels of these vessels are clearly connected to the territories south of the country, in present-day Serbia and Croatia (e.g. Miklós, 2007: Fig. 274, analogies from Serbia: Bikić, 1994). Around the mountains of the north-east and south-east of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary (Northeast Mountains (Északi-középhegység), present-day Eastern Slovakia and Transylvania), potters produced white pottery with other shapes. Large quantities of refractory pots were transported to the Hungarian Great Plain (Alföld) from these areas, so the local pottery imitated their form (Kovács, 2022). Naturally, there was an overlap between the regions’ outlined trading areas. Evidently, the location of the appropriate raw material deposits determined the location of production and, thus, the market area. But what can be observed is that in the north-­ western part of the kingdom there was a greater ‘Austrian influence’ on ceramics, with a greater presence of grey and graphite pottery, and the imitation of these ceramics, which resulted in the development of distinctive local products with ‘Austrian shapes’. In other regions of the kingdom, the forms of local pottery were influenced by-products of other territories or were a result of individual development.

10.10 Social Aspects The different characteristics of the sites of the examined group allow some concluding remarks about society. Grey ceramics occurred mainly in urban areas in the fourteenth century. However, it is important to mention that very few excavations happened in rural central Transdanubia. Still, field-walking surveys have brought to light fifteenth-century graphite pottery, even if only in small numbers. These graphitic ceramics, mainly pots, seem to be widespread in various social groups in central Transdanubia during this period. The difference shows primarily in quantity, while rural and urban households usually used only one or two pieces, whereas in castles they appear in much larger numbers (see Fig.  10.3 and Table  10.1). Nonetheless, the distribution of fifteenth-sixteenth-century graphite goods and their predominant presence along the Danube and the main trade routes

106

B. G. Kovács

suggests that access to this pottery type depended more on the proximity to these than on social affiliation. The local pots of ‘Austrian shape’ were widely spread. They were used in the kitchens of royal and aristocratic residences and ecclesiastical buildings, as well as in towns, market towns and rural environments. This can be observed both near their sites of production and in more remote places in the kingdom. These locally produced ceramics are predominant in all late medieval sites in north-eastern Transdanubia. In the more remote parts of the kingdom, they are found only in smaller quantities, mainly the typical decorated (stamped) pieces. Just like the graphite ware, their distribution was not dependent on social affiliation but may have been linked to the former major routes, as exam-

ples are known from villages and market towns close to them (Kovács, 2021: 273).

10.11 Conclusions Grey and graphite wares were definitely not made by local potters in the central Transdanubian region but came from further afield. Statistical studies of the region’s pottery are still in progress, so may provide additional information about these objects and their networks. However, only further composition analyses can confirm or not whether the grey (and possibly the graphitic) products were made within the borders of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary or not. The pres-

Table 10.1  Types of archaeological sites with grey and graphite pots. (Table: Bianka Gina Kovács) Type of the archaeological site Castle – Royal residence

Castle – Royal residence/noble residence Castle – Noble residence

Monastery/other ecclesiastical building

Manor-house

Town

Market town

Site no.on maps 1. 2. 2. 3.

Name of the archaeological site Buda-Királyi palota Visegrád-Vár Visegrád-Királyi palota Tata-Vár

Research mode (E = excavation, FS = field survey) E E E E

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 1. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 1. 11. 25. 26. 27. 16. 28. 29. 18.

Csókakő-Vár Felsőnyék-Várhegy Kőszeg-Vár Ozora-Vár Salgóvár Várgesztes-Vár Vértessomló-Vitányvár Buda-Domonkos kolostor Esztergom-Sziget Kesztölcs-Klastrompuszta Márianosztra-Toronyalja Pilisszentkereszt-Pilisi apátság Pilisszentlélek-Kolostor Székesfehérvár-Sziget Somogyvár-Kupavár Tata-Nagykert utca 34–36. Városlőd-Fő tér Vértesszentkereszt – kolostor Baj-Öregkovács-hegy Bajna-Sándor-Metternich kastély Budapest-Hajógyári-sziget Pomáz-Klissza Buda (several sites) Esztergom (several sites) Győr (several sites) Pécs (several sites) Sopron (several sites) Székesfehérvár (several sites) Vác (several sites) Decs-Ete Tata – Kossuth tér 16.

E E E E E E E E E FS E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E E (continued)

Table 10.1 (continued) Type of the archaeological site Village

Site no.on maps 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 18. 83. 84. 85. 86.

Name of the archaeological site Ács-Vaspuszta Bábolna Bajna-Csima Bajna-Sárás Bajna-Paperdő Balatonfűzfő-Máma Bia-MRT 1/43. lelőhely Bicske-Puszta pince Budakeszi-MRT 4/9. lelőhely Csép-István hatod Csobánka-6/10. lelőhely Dabrony-MRT 13/1. lelőhely Dág-Binder-tanya Döbrönte-MRT 24/1. lelőhely Esztergom-Nyír Galgagyörk-MRT 7/2. lelőhely Gencsapáti-Besenyő Győr-Gyirmót-Sebes-tag Győr-Homokgödrök Gyulafirátót-Pogánytelek Lábatlan-Pusztapiszke Lébény-Bille-domb Lébény-Kaszás-domb Maglód-1. lelőhely Magyargencs-Felgencs Mocsa-Billegi-lapos Mocsa-Tömördpuszta Mogyoród-MRT 17/1. lelőhely Mosonszentmiklós-Egyéni-földek Nádasdladány-11. lelőhely Naszály-Grébicspuszta Naszály-Négyes Nyergesújfalu-Pusztamarót Paks-Cseresznyés Pátka-9-10. lelőhely Pátka-18. lelőhely Pécsvárad-Gorica Pilismarót-Alsómarót, Miklós Deák völgye, Nagy Hábod alja Pilisszántó-MRT 17/9. lelőhely Sárkeresztes-1. lelőhely Sárkeszi-3. lelőhely Sárszentmihály-13. lelőhely Sümeg-Sarvaly Szabadbattyán-11. lelőhely Szabadbattyán-21. lelőhely Szentendre-MRT 28/3. lelőhely Tác-Föveny Tahitótfalu-MRT 30/12. lelőhely Tahitótfalu-MRT 30/15. lelőhely Tardos-Ófalu Tárkány-Istvánházapuszta Tárkány-Pusztaszentegyház Tát-Általános Iskola Tata-Kálváriadomb Üllő-7. lelőhely Vecsés-67. lelőhely Zámoly-13. lelőhely Zirc-Kistemplom

Research mode (E = excavation, FS = field survey) E FS FS FS FS E FS FS FS FS FS FS FS FS FS FS E E E FS FS E E E FS FS FS FS E FS FS FS FS E FS FS FS FS FS FS FS FS E FS FS E E FS FS E FS FS E FS E E FS E

108

ent state of research suggests that in the case of relatively cheap goods produced in large quantities, such as ceramics, the extensions of the regions were not determined by country borders but by geographical and topographical conditions and the trade road network that has developed accordingly. Based on the types and forms of pottery products, the north-­ western part of medieval Hungary, including north-eastern Transdanubia, was connected to the western Austrian-­ Moravian areas from the thirteenth-fourteenth century onwards. Regarding how pottery was transported and traded, the Danube clearly played a central role, but it also facilitated technology knowledge transfer, as the imported pottery had a powerful impact on local potters. Acknowledgements  I would like to thank my PhD thesis supervisor, István Feld, for his useful advice. Hereby, I thank the following colleagues and institutions for allowing me to inspect their assemblages personally: Kuny Domokos Museum in Tata (Sándor Petényi, Richárd Schmidtmayer), Szent István Király Museum in Székesfehérvár (Krisztián Pokrovenszki, Tamás Belegrai), Balassa Bálint Museum in Esztergom (Mónika Merczi, Anita Kocsis), Mátyás Király Museum in Visegrád (Edit Kocsis), Laczkó Dezső Museum in Veszprém (Vivien Gönczi, Ádám Pátkai), Wosinsky Mór Museum in Szekszárd (Márta Vizi), Danube Museum in Komárno (András Csuthy), Ferenczy Museum Centre in Szentendre, Tatabánya Museum, as well as Elek Benkő, Adrián Berta, Gábor Hatházi, Ágnes Kolláth and Gyöngyi Kovács. The datasheets of artefacts in the Repository of RCH Institute of Archaeology and the data collection of the Siklósi Legacy helped me in collecting the pieces from Székesfehérvár, for which I am also grateful. Furthermore, I am grateful to the editors, Jakub Sawicki, Michael Lewis and Mária Vargha for their careful proofreading.

References Bárdi, B. (2014). 14. századi városi leletanyag Visegrádról. Visegrád Duna-parti út 1. lelőhely kerámiaanyagának feldolgozása. [Unpublished Master’s thesis]. Eötvös Loránd University. Bikić, V. (1994). Srednjovekovna keramika Beograda. Arheološki Institut. Duma, G. (1980). Cserépedények grafittartalmának gyakorlati jelentősége. Múzeumi Műtárgyvédelem, 7, 13–17. Endres, W. (1998). Ritterburg und Fürstenschloß (Vol. 2). Verlag Friedrich Pustet. Feld, I. (2008). Importtárgyak mint a középkori Magyarország gazdaságtörténeti forrásai. In A. Kubinyi, J. Laszlovszky, & P. Szabó (Eds.), Gazdaság és gazdálkodás a középkori Magyarországon. Gazdaságtörténet, anyagi kultúra, régészet (pp.  297–316). Martin Opitz Kiadó. Felgenhauer-Schmiedt, S. (1993). Die Sachkultur des Mittelalters im Lichte der archäologischen Funde. Peter Lang. Guštin, M., Jezeršek, M., & Prošek, N. (2001). Katalog ceramicnih najdb iz Celja. In M.  Guštin (Ed.), Srednjeveško Celje (pp.  195– 238). Filozofska fakulteta, Oddelek za arheologijo. Holl, I. (1955). Külföldi kerámia Magyaroszágon (13–16. század). Budapest Régiségei, 16, 147–197. Holl, I. (1963). Középkori cserépedények a budai várpalotából, XIII– XV. század. Budapest Régiségei, 20, 335–394. Holl, I. (1975). Angaben zur mittelalterlichen Schwarzhafnerkeramik mit Werkstattmarken. Antaeus, 5, 129–150. Holl, I., & Parádi, N. (1982). Das mittelalterliche Dorf Sarvaly. Akadémiai Kiadó.

B. G. Kovács Hoššo, J. (1983). Die Dekoration der Keramik im Hoch- und Spätmittelalter in der Slowakei. Musaica, 17, 127–144. Huber, E. H., Kühtreiber, K., & Scharrer, G. (2003). Die Keramikformen des Hoch- und Spätmittelalters im Gebiet der heutigen Stadt Wien sowie der Bundesländer Niederösterreich und Burgenland. In W. Endres & K. Spindler (Eds.), Beiträge vom 34. Internationalen Hafnerei-Symposium auf Schloss Maretsch in Bozen/Südtirol 2001 (pp. 43–66). Universitätsbuchhandlung Golf Verlag. Kalecsinszky, S. (1905). A magyar korona országainak megvizsgált agyagai. Franklin-Társulat Könyvnyomdája. Kolláth, Á. (2016). Between two worlds – The pottery of Buda (Ofen) in the early Ottoman era. In S.  Hans-Georg (Ed.), Keramik und Töpferei im 15–16. Jahrhundert. Beiträge des 47. Internationalen Symposiums für Keramikforschung vom 8. bis 12. September 2014  in der Lutherstadt Wittenberg (Hallesche Beiträge zur Mittelalterarchäologie (Vol. 2)) (pp.  105–117). Verlag Beier & Beran, Archäologische Fachliteratur. Kovács, B.  G. (2018). Adatok Tata középkori településtörténetéhez  – Feltárás Tata, Kossuth tér 16. szám alatt. In I. Ringer (Ed.), A Fiatal Középkoros Régészek VIII. konferenciájának tanulmánykötete (pp. 29–50). Petőfi Irodalmi Múzeum & Kazinczy Ferenc Múzeum. Kovács, B. G. (2021). Late medieval ceramics with stamped decoration in central Transdanubia. Antaeus, 37, 249–282. Kovács, B. G. (2022). Középkori kerámia és ékszerek Hódmezővásárhely északi határrészén. In E.  Benkő, A.  Berta, & M.  Bondár (Eds.), Hódmezővásárhely északi határrészének régészeti topográfiája (pp. 173–180). BTK Régészeti Intézet. Kreiter, A., & Viktorik, O. (2016). Kerámiák petrográfiai vizsgálata. In O. Mészáros (Ed.), Régészeti kutatás a középkori Vác német városrészében. A Piac utcai mélygarázs területének megelőző feltárása (pp. 341–362). Martin Opitz Kiadó. Kresz, M. (1991). Agyagművesség. In O. Domonkos, P. Nagybákay, & I. Tomisa (Eds.), Magyar Néprajz Vol. 3 – Kézművesség (pp. 524– 613). Akadémiai Kiadó. Feld, I. (1987). Keramika. In E. Marosi (Ed.), Magyarországi Művészet 1300–1470 körül (Vol. I) (pp. 261–281). Akadémiai Kiadó. Marosi, S., & Somogyi, S. (1990). Magyarország kistájainak katasztere I–II. Magyar Tudományos Akadémia – Földrajztudományi Kutató Intézet. Mattyasovszky, J., & Petrik, L. (1885). Az agyag-, üveg-, cementés ásványfesték-iparnak szolgáló magyarországi nyersanyagok részletes katalógusa. Franklin-Társulat Könyvnyomdája. Merva, S. (2016). ‘Rejtélyes bélyegű cserépedények’. Adatok a kisalföldi kora középkori grafitos kerámia régészeti és archaeometriai kutatásához. In L.  Kovács & L.  Révész (Eds.), Népek és kultúrák a Kárpát-medencében. Tanulmányok Mesterházy Károly tiszteletére (pp.  521–541). Magyar Tudományos Akadémia  – Régészeti Intézet, Magyar Nemzeti Múzeum, Déri Múzeum, and Szegedi Tudományegyetem – Régészeti Tanszék. Mészáros, O. (2016). Régészeti kutatás a középkori Vác német városrészében. A Piac utcai mélygarázs területének megelőző feltárása. Martin Opitz Kiadó. Miklós, Z. (2007). Tolna megye várai. Históriaantik Könyvesház Kiadó. Molthein, A.  V. W. (1905). Beitrӓge zur ӓlteren Geschichte des Hafnergewerbes in Wien und Niederösterreich. Kunst und Kunsthandwerk, 8(11), 553–576. Scharrer-Liška, G. (2007). Die hochmittelalterliche Grafitkeramik in Mitteleuropa und ihr Beitrag zur Wirtschaftsgeschichte. Forschungsstand  – Hypothesen  – Offene Fragen. Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums. Takács, M. (1996). Formschatz und Chronologie der Tongefässe des 10–14. Jahrhunderts der Kleinen Tiefebene. Acta Archaeologica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 48, 135–195. Vágner, Z. (2002). Medieval pottery kilns in the Carpathian Basin. European Journal of Archaeology, 5(3), 309–342. Vizi, M. (2000). Grafitos kerámia Decs-Etéről és Ozoráról. Wosinsky Mór Múzeum Évkönyve, 22, 177–252.

Long-Distance Relations Reflected in the Medieval Urban Material Culture of Baia Mare (Nagybánya), Satu Mare (Szatmár) and Mintiu (Németi) (Romania)

11

Péter Levente Szőcs

Abstract

This chapter discusses a sword with inscription and marks, and a three-legged cauldron, both discovered in a medieval urban context. The sites of their discovery are located in present-day north-western Romania, once situated in medieval Kingdom of Hungary, but they originate from the territories of the former Holy Roman Empire. The sword was dated to the period between 1250 and 1350, considering its typology and the inscription; while the cauldron was dated to the fourteenth and fifteenth century. Their way to the place where were discovered is not clear, but certainly they are important witnesses of the long-distance relations between Germany and the former north-eastern parts of medieval Hungary. In order to assess the nature of these long distance-relations, the historical contexts of the artefacts are examined, and several possible interpretations analysed. Keywords

Grapen · Inscriptions and marks on blades · Medieval · Passau wolf and unicorn · Sword · Three-legged cauldron

11.1 Introduction Considering the similarities in the material culture of medieval Europe, several objects bear special significance: they are identical or have similar characteristics, but they were discovered over large areas, a distribution which demonstrates particular relations among distant places and regions. Two such items are discussed here: a sword with inscription and other marks, and a three-legged cauldron (German:

P. L. Szőcs (*) Satu Mare County Museum, Satu Mare, Romania

Grapen), both originating from the territories of the former Holy Roman Empire and discovered in present-day north-­ western Romania. Along with a closer examination of the two artefacts, a brief analysis is made of their historical context, in order to clarify how these objects may reflect the nature of long-distance contacts. Three towns, now in Romania, were once situated in the north-eastern part of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary (Fig. 11.1). These are quite close to each other: Satu in the lowlands, while hills and forests surround Baia Mare. Their history is similar in many aspects, but there are significant differences, too. Indeed, it is through the archaeological finds discovered at these places, that there is an opportunity to learn more about inter-regional connectivity and even long-distance relations between such urban settlements. The two medieval towns of Satu Mare (Szatmár) and Mintiu (Németi) form the modern town of Satu Mare (Hungarian: Szatmárnémeti). They were situated on the opposite bank of river Someș (Szamos), located close to each other, but they were distinct settlements during the Middle Ages, with separate administrations. The earliest mention of Satu Mare dates back to the end of the twelfth century, while Mintiu was first mentioned at the beginning of the thirteenth century. Both gained urban privileges from the Hungarian crown relatively soon after: Mintiu in 1230 and Satu Mare in 1264. The privileges granted significant juridical and economic autonomy to both towns: the communities could elect their own judges who could exert authority freely with no involvement of the county officials, in direct subordination to the king. Moreover, the privileges included the right to hold a weekly market and annual fairs, and the town traders were exempted from the payment of tolls and customs. These privileges were confirmed and extended in the following centuries, and the two towns flourished as regional centres of trade and craftsmanship. The economic development was sustained primarily by the transportation of salt on the Someș River; even the regional office of the royal salt administration was seated here during

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_11

109

110

P. L. Szőcs

Fig. 11.1  Map of the region with the towns of Satu Mare, Mintiu and Baia Mare. (Map: Péter Levente Szőcs)

the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries. Satu Mare and Mintiu became the property of private landlords from the first quarter of the fifteenth century, but they retained their extensive privileges and housed numerous craftsmen and merchants. During the Ottoman Wars of the sixteenth-seventeenth centuries, military raids heavily ­ damaged Satu Mare and Mintiu. Both were burnt down several times and their population declined, but they kept their economic significance. Satu Mare and Mintiu merged into a single town in 1712 (the town’s Hungarian name, Szatmárnémeti, reflects this unification), which became a free royal town in 1721 (Maksai, 1940: 67–72; Németh, 2008: 199–201, 281–83; Szőcs, 2018a: 213–14). The town of Baia Mare was first mentioned in 1327, later than Satu Mare and Miniu, but it had rapid and spectacular growth due to the mining of gold and silver. It had various name variants due to the multiple linguistic communities which settled there. The earliest privileges of the town are known from the royal charter of King Louis Anjou ‘the Great’, issued in 1347, which was confirmed and extended in 1376. According to these charters, the community of the town enjoyed similar liberties to Satu Mare and Mintiu: they had judicial autonomy, including on capital cases, and their commercial privileges included the right to keep a weekly market and an annual or country fair. Due to the rich mineral

resources and these liberties, the town became one of the most important mining and minting centres of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, and was a quite populous and prosperous settlement at the end of the fifteenth century. During the early modern period, the town was well protected by its stone walls; thus, it survived with minor losses during the Ottoman Wars. Nevertheless, the mines were gradually exhausted, and because of this, Baia Mare stagnated (Maksai, 1940: 98–102, 182–83; Németh, 2008: 8–9, 17, 249–51; Balogh, 2018: 318–24; Szőcs, 2018b).

11.2 A Sword with Inscription from Mintiu During construction works of a gas pipeline in 1973, a fragment of a sword was found by chance in the centre of Mintiu (Bader, 1985: 257, Abb. 1–2). The sword is now part of the collection of the Satu Mare County Museum (inv. no. 32547, Fig. 11.2), but the exact circumstances of its discovery were not recorded. All that is known is that it was found with human remains near the former parish church of Mintiu, and therefore it is presumed that building works disturbed a grave in the town’s medieval churchyard cemetery (Bader, 1985; Pinter, 2007: 37, Pl. 18; Agrigoroaei, 2013). Despite the unclear context, the discovered artefact itself is worthy of attention.

11  Long-Distance Relations Reflected in the Medieval Urban Material Culture of Baia Mare (Nagybánya), Satu Mare (Szatmár…

111

Fig. 11.2  The sword of Mintiu. (Photo: Belbe Sebastian, courtesy of Satu Mare County Museum)

The fragment belonged to the upper half of the blade of the weapon, with a small part of the grip (49.6 cm – length of the fragment; 44.4 cm – length of the blade; 5.8 cm – ­maximum width of the blade: Marta & Szőcs, 2007: 208). The blade is double-edged, with a median fuller, in which three golden letters and an animal figure are engraved on both sides. The pommel, the crossguard, and the lower half of the blade are missing, so the typological attribution is uncertain. Bader (1985: 258), however, suggested the fragment belonging to group III of the Bruhn-Hoffmeyer sword typology, while Žákovský (2008: 476) linked it to a sword from Broumov (Czech Republic, the collection of Municipal Museum, inv. no. 6958), identified as Oakshot type XIIIa. The letters upon the sword were deciphered by Bader (1985: 259) as ‘S H R/A O V’, and interpreted as an abbreviation for ‘S(ANCTI) H(RISTI) R(EGIS)/A(RMA) O(MNIA) V(INCIT)’. This interpretation was questioned by Agrigoroaei (2013: 210) based on epigraphic considerations and similar messages written on swords. He proposed two variants for the text: ‘S(ALVATOR) (I) H(ESV) R(EDEMPTOR)/A(NIMARVM) D(OMINI) V(NIVERSARVM)’ or ‘S(ALVATORIS) N(OMINE) R(EDEMPTORIS)/A(LTISSIMI) D(OMINI) V(NIVERSORVM)’. For the purposes of this chapter, the sword’s legend and meaning bear lesser importance than the animal figures engraved upon it: a wolf (on the side with ‘S H R’) and a

unicorn (on the other side with the letters ‘A O V/A D V’). All specialists agree with the interpretation of the figures and link them to the sword-smith workshops of Passau (Bavaria, Germany), as the heraldic charge of the town’s coat-of-arms: the running wolf became the sign used by local swordsmiths to mark their products. Žákovský (2008: 472–78) supposes that the unicorn is a mark too, which was used by an individual master or workshop. He cites several swords with similar marks from the eastern territories of the Holy Roman Empire, suggesting that these items are linked to the Ostsiedlung, the German eastward colonisation (Žákovský, 2008: 472–78). This interpretation was formulated earlier by Bader (1985: 263), who hypothesised that the sword from Mintiu belonged to a German settler. It is certain that the sword originates from Passau, although how it reached Mintiu is probably more complicated than how the aforementioned scholars suggest. First of all, there are disagreements in its date: Bader (1985: 263) suggested it dates 1150–1241, while Žákovský (2008: 472– 78) a century later, so from the second half of the thirteenth-­ first half of the fourteenth century. Bader established his chronology merely according to historical considerations: the earliest point being the start of German colonisation in the region, while the latest date was the Mongol invasion of Hungary in 1241, which destroyed Mintiu, Satu Mare, and all the eastern part of the Hungarian Kingdom. Žákovský (2008: 472–78) instead, linked the sword of Mintiu with that

112

of Broumov and dated, more soundly, on sword typology and epigraphic considerations. In agreement with him (and Agrigoroaei) there is good reason to accept this chronology, as all the similar items date from 1250–1350. Furthermore, the sword cannot be linked with a German settler, as in the north-eastern parts of the Hungarian Kingdom the process of colonisation started during the second half of the twelfth century and ended during the first decades of the thirteenth century: the end of the process being marked by series of royal privileges granted to the colonists who settled (Szende, 2015: 39–40; for further references see Szende, 2019: 2, note 2). Among these privileges, there is one issued in 1230 for Mintiu. Before the Mongol invasion, the documents record specifically the German settlers (Villa Teutonicorum or rights granted more saxonum), while later charters do not mention German people in Mintiu and Satu Mare (Maksai, 1940: 71). Furthermore, the German settlers of Mintiu seem to be Saxons, while several names in Satu Mare indicate that the settlers here came from the Low-Countries (Maksai, 1940: 68–69), and there is no evidence that Bavarians settled in the area. All this makes it less likely that a settler brought the sword to Mintiu. Nevertheless, its origin from Passau is evident, and it somehow made its way there sometime between 1250–1350. One of the possible ways the sword got there is through long-distance trade, but since it is a rather singular and personalised object it makes it less likely that the sword was a trade good. The process of how the sword got to Mintiu is not altogether clear, and it needs further consideration, but nonetheless, it illustrates the long-distance relations of the region.

P. L. Szőcs

Fig. 11.3  The three-legged cauldron of Baia Mare. (Photo: Gavril Moldovan, courtesy of the Maramureș County Museum of History and Archaeology, Baia Mare)

The three legs are angular shaped, while the two handles are angular also (24 cm – total height of the vessel). The surface of the cauldron is corroded, but in several areas traces of jointing of the separately cast cauldron’s parts can be During a rescue excavation in 2009, a three-legged bronze observed; this joining line is perpendicular to the axis detercauldron was discovered in the centre of Baia Mare. The site mined by the handles. of the discovery is a burgher’s house of medieval origin, situThis type of vessel is quite rare in medieval Hungary ated at the main square of the town (the so-called Harácsek-­ (Polgár, 2008–2010: 263), but it is frequent in German terhouse: see Pop, 2009 for the report on the rescue excavation; ritories, especially in the northern parts, where they were the results of the research are mentioned by Kacsó, 2011: used from the twelfth century to modern times (Drescher, 240–41; Kacsó, 2015: 159). The cauldron was found in a 1968). In nearby Transylvania, only a few examples are modern fill layer, which also contained artefacts belonging to known: a cauldron was discovered at Săulești (Sárfalva), the medieval household: namely late medieval and early Hunedoara County; another at Baraolt (Barót), Covasna modern stove tiles, fragments of ceramic vessels, and objects County; a broken leg from a third cauldron at Cristuru of everyday use (Pop, 2009). Although the archaeological Secuiesc (Székelykeresztúr), Harghita County (Benkő, context does not provide precise dating, Kacsó (2011: 240– 2003: 47–50; Popa, 2010); while other items from collec41) suggested that the cauldron dates to the fourteen-fifteenth tions of Transylvanian museums, with uncertain provecentury based on its typological features. The body of the nience, along the fragments from a rather big cauldron, cauldron is spheric (Fig.  11.3), though it is a little oblate, discovered at the monastery of Bizere (Frumușeni) was disbeing wider than its height (maximal diameter – 29–31 cm). cussed by Rusu (2013: 128–35). The chronology of these The walls of the vessel are thin. The rim is wide and oblique items has been established based on the evolution of their to the body of the vessel (diameter of the mouth – 20 cm). form: the thickness of their walls, the wideness of the rim

11.3 A Three-Legged Cauldron from Baia Mare

11  Long-Distance Relations Reflected in the Medieval Urban Material Culture of Baia Mare (Nagybánya), Satu Mare (Szatmár…

and its position, and the shape of the rims and the handles. According to this, the cauldron discovered at Baia Mare is a later piece than the ones from Săulești, Baraolt and Cristuru Secuiesc, which all date to the end of the twelfth century to the first half of the thirteenth century: its wall is thinner, its rim is wider and not rounded, while the legs and the handles are not round in cross-section, but instead are triangular. The earlier examples were all discovered in the southern part of Transylvania and are linked to German communities which settled in the area during the period when the cauldrons were made. Kacsó (2011: 240–41) imagined a similar situation in Baia Mare, where the German community settled during the first decades of the fourteenth century (Maksai, 1940: 98–102), somewhat earlier than the cauldron’s age (i.e. dated to the fourteenth-fifteenth centuries). Whilst it is clear that the origin of the cauldron is from northern German territories, as in the case of the sword from Mintiu, it is not clear how it made its way to Baia Mare.

11.4 Conclusions Considering the origins and the chronology of the discussed objects, they are significant for understanding contacts between Germany, especially its southern and northern territories, and the former north-eastern parts of medieval Hungary. But what do these objects really represent, and how do they reflect these contacts? Are they witnesses to extensive trading links or are they suggestive of one-off contacts? Answering these questions is complicated, and, as in the case of every isolated artefact, their perception is not unequivocal. The difficulties of the interpretations remain even considering that these objects were found in relevant contexts; the sword is a grave good, while the cauldron belongs to the objects of everyday life in a burgher’s household. Knowing the context is fortunate: most unique artefacts discovered in the region came to light as accidental finds, with no information about the circumstances of their discovery. The distinct character and the singularity of the objects lead scholars to exclude the possibility that these items arrived by trade. This seems a significant conclusion, as too few items of German origin are discovered at these sites, and they are too distinct to imply any meaningful commercial activity. In the past, scholars have often linked these cauldrons and swords to ethnic groups, particularly as a sign of settlement of German people (and among them, more precisely Saxons). Reviewing these interpretations, Benkő (2003: 47) suggested that recent contributors treat such ethnic attributions cautiously, pointing out that the issue of distribution is much more complex, ranging from the carrying of personal belongings to the transfer of technologies of craftsmen or complete workshops, as well as besides, the import of goods.

113

The sword of Mintiu and the three-legged cauldron of Baia Mare require a much more complicated interpretation than a simple ethnic attribution. Nevertheless, they are unlikely to be the result of manufacturing, trade or consumption relations. Both pieces are distinct and quite unique, therefore it seems more plausible to perceive them as personal belongings. The inscription, and the grave good character of the sword, strengthen its interpretation as a personal item. For the cauldron, such perception is suggested only by its uniqueness among the archaeological finds. Furthermore, the engraved golden letters and the quality of the sword of Mintiu, indicate that its owner was of high status. In the case of the cauldron from Baia Mare, there are no such signs, except for the inherent value of the object. How the sword and the cauldron arrived in the region is unclear. Still, they attest to some contact with Germany centuries after the arrival of the German settlers to the region. Hopefully, new discoveries and further research can shed more light on how unique objects represent non-traditional contacts and reveal more about the nature of these long-distance relations.

References Agrigoroaei, V. (2013). Un nouveau regard porté sur l’épée à inscription de Satu Mare (XIIIe–XIVe siècles). Apulum, 50, 205–215. Bader, T. (1985). Ein mittelalterliches Schwert mit Inschrift aus Satu-­ Mare. Studijné Zvesti, 21, 257–264. Balogh, B. (2018). Nagybánya város története. In G.  Reszler (Ed.), A történeti Szatmár vármegye (Vol. II, pp.  316–373). Kölcsey Társaság. Benkő, E. (2003). Bronz és történelem. In S.  Pál-Antal, G.  Sipos, A.  W. Kovács, & R.  Wolf (Eds.), Emlékkönyv Kiss András születésének nyolcvanadik évfordulójára (pp.  46–58). Erdélyi Múzeum-Egyesület. Drescher, H. (1968). Mittelalteriche Dreibeintopfe aus Bronze. In J. G. N.  Renaud (Ed.), Rotterdam papers. A contribution to medieval archaeology (pp. 23–33). Deventer. Kacsó, C. (2011). Die frühe sächsische Präsenz in Baia Mare und in der Maramuresch. Marisia. Arheologie, 31, 339–346. Kacsó, C. (2015). Repertoriul arheologic al județului Maramureș (Vols. I–II). Ethnologica. Maksai, F. (1940). A középkori Szatmár megye. Stephaneum Nyomda. Marta, L., & Szőcs, P. L. (Eds.). (2007). Catalogul colecției de arheologie. Editura Muzeului Sătmărean. Németh, P. (2008). A középkori Szatmár megye települései a XV. század elejéig. Jósa András Múzeum. Pinter, Z.-K. (2007). Spada și sabia medievală în Transilvania și Banat (secolele IX-XIV). Muzeul Naţional Brukenthal. Polgár, B. (2008–2010). Két háromlábú bronzedény töredék a Mátyás Király Múzeum gyűjteményéből. Folia Archaeologica, 54, 257–265. Pop, D. (2009). Raport de cercetare arheologică preventivă, Baia Mare, ‘Casa Harácsek’  – ‘Piaţa Libertăţii Nr. 13’, manuscript. Maramureș County Museum of History and Archaeology. Popa, I.  C. (2010). Vasul medieval de bronz (grapen) de la Săuleşti. Terra Sebus, 2, 235–242. Rusu, A.  A. (2013). Religios şi non-religios în cultura materială a abaţiei Bizere. Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 17(II), 123–154.

114 Szende, K. (2015). Power and identity. Royal privileges to the towns of medieval Hungary in the thirteenth century. In M. Paully & A. Lee (Eds.), Urban liberties and citizenship from the middle ages up to now (pp. 27–68). Porta Alba Verlag. Szende, K. (2019). Iure Theutonico? German settlers and legal frameworks for immigration to Hungary in an east-central European perspective. Journal of Medieval History, 45, 360–379. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/03044181.2019.1612195 Szőcs, P.  L. (2018a). Szatmár és Németi középkori topográfiájáról. In M.  Lupescu Makó, I.  Costea, O.  Ghitta, E.  Rüsz-Fogarasi, &

P. L. Szőcs G.  Sipos (Eds.), Cluj–Kolozsvár–Klausenburg 700. Várostörténeti tanulmányok. Studii de istorie urbană (pp.  213–219). Erdélyi Múzeum-Egyesület. Szőcs, P. L. (2018b). Adatok Nagybánya és vidéke középkori egyházi topográfiájához. In D.  Mérai, Á. Drosztmér, K.  Lyublyanovics, J. Rasson, Z. P. Reed, A. Vadas, & C. Zatykó (Eds.), Genius loci. Laszlovszky 60 (pp. 103–107). Archaeolingua. Žákovský, P. (2008). Značené vrcholně a pozdně středověké dlouhé meče ze sbírek Městského muzea v Broumově. Archaeologia Historica, 33, 471–490.

Masses of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)

12

Pieterjan Deckers

Abstract

Since the implementation of the Treaty of La Valetta in 1993 (by the Council of Europe), and especially as developer-­funded archaeology started flourishing about a decade later, thousands of excavations have taken place in Flanders (Belgium), not least in the region’s historic towns featuring a rich medieval past. However, further study of the combined results of this ‘Malta archaeology’ in Flanders has been limited, and this is specifically true for medieval metalwork. This chapter introduces the ‘Medieval Metal’ project, which aimed to collate and make accessible two decades’ worth of finds data pertaining to medieval metalwork from urban excavations in Flanders. It outlines the background, aims and approach of this project, presents the preliminary results of a quantitative analysis, and offers some perspectives towards both improving the (digital) accessibility of artefact data in the future, and the uses for such data in a European context. Keywords

Consumption · Digital humanities · Material culture · Medieval · Urban archaeology

12.1 Introduction While development-led archaeological fieldwork has led to a substantial documentary record and a huge body of excavated material, not all categories of evidence have been explored and exploited in equal measure. Pottery, for example, is usually well-preserved and present in large amounts, and therefore takes centre stage in both the analysis of the P. Deckers (*) Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Leuven, Belgium e-mail: [email protected]

chronology and stratigraphy of excavated sites and the interpretation of archaeological observations as evidence for past activities (see introduction, this volume). As a result, most archaeologists in Flanders have a good working knowledge of the principal categories of (medieval) pottery. This collective knowledge is encapsulated in, and maintained through, the institutional memory and database applications of archaeological services and excavation companies. Furthermore, published reference works are widely known and used during post-excavation processing (e.g. De Groote, 2008), and the services of established experts in archaeological ceramics are readily available. Metalwork small finds, by contrast, are much less common. This is partly due to preservation conditions that affect various metals and alloys to different degrees (Nord et  al., 2005), but also because recycling of metals was standard practice in medieval towns (Thomas & Saussus, 2020). Furthermore, the presence of large numbers of corroded, damaged, cut-up or otherwise unidentifiable fragments limits the perceived information value of metalwork assemblages. Because of their great diversity in form, ornament and function, those metal artefacts that can be identified, need to be recorded and studied individually, implying a substantial research effort through a dispersed and partly inaccessible literature. In the case of corroded iron, x-ray photography is often needed to select preserved and identifiable artefacts in the first place. Combined, these factors severely limit the capacity for, and potential return of, post-excavation analysis of metalwork finds. Most assemblages are small and yield very limited information on their own. Occasional larger assemblages are often too costly to thoroughly examine within the available budget of a normal excavation. On top of this, there is the additional effort and expense of conservation. As a result, metalwork assemblages are a neglected category in Flemish development-led archaeology (Fig.  12.1). This lack of attention at the level of site reporting – barring the occasional use of a particularly evocative metal artefact

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_12

115

116

P. Deckers

Fig. 12.1  Exemplary recording: drawings and photograph of metalwork small finds, found in a cesspit in Mechelen dating to the second half of the sixteenth century, including: (1) pricket; (2) coin weight; (3) strap end. (Reproduced from Bakx, 2021: Fig. 249)

in communication to both the professional community and the wider public – has hindered the development of the interpretive potential of this category. Hardly any recent research has been undertaken that places (medieval) metalwork from Flemish sites front and centre, partly due to the difficulty in collating and organising disparate data.

12.2 Middeleeuws Metaal: A Project Outline This chapter is a first report on the 18-month project ‘Middeleeuws Metaal’ (Medieval Metal). The project (2020– 22) was based at Vrije Universiteit Brussel and funded by the Flemish government under a programme encouraging synthesising studies of the outcomes of development-led archaeology in Flanders. Middeleeuws Metaal specifically aimed to collect the available data on metal finds (excluding coins) dating from the period AD 1000–1600 from dispersed archaeological reports and databases, perform a typological assessment and a quantitative analysis of the dataset, and make it available in a way that benefits both professional archaeologists and other researchers, as well as wider, interested audiences including metal-detector users.

12.3 Collecting and Exposing Finds Data 12.3.1 Data Collection In order to establish the dataset, finds data was collected from archaeological reports on medieval excavations in

historic towns, largely dating between 2000–2020 and mostly available in digital format through the ‘Open Archive’ of Flanders Heritage Agency.1 In addition to scouring the available ‘grey literature’ (i.e. excavation reports), finds data was collected by project partners based in several of the most important medieval towns in historical Flanders and Brabant. The town archaeological services of Ghent and Antwerp, the regional heritage service CO7 responsible for Ieper and nearby Poperinge, and the Center for Artefact Research in Mechelen, contributed over half of the finds records in the database. These data were collated from internal databases and other unpublished records, and, in many cases, new photographs were taken for inclusion in the database. Three large finds assemblages from the town of Bruges were manually recorded and photographed as part of this project. Finally, a database export of almost a thousand finds records from smaller medieval towns in the part of the upper Scheldt and Dender valleys, offered by the regional heritage service SOLVA, was included. The datasets were highly diverse, both in form and content. Some datasets were available in digital formats, with others only available on paper or as unstructured digital text files. In some, finds were described in detail and included multiple photographs, while others featured only the bare minimum of metadata. In order to allow for a coherent analysis, all data was collected in three standardised forms concerning excavations, finds, and their contexts. Typically, each artefact received a See oar.onroerenderfgoed.be; here, search for the series ‘Rapportage Onroerend Erfgoed Vlaanderen’. 1 

12  Masses of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)

117

separate finds record, but grouped records were used to describe larger sets of similar objects (such as iron nails) from the same context. Structured fields were used to capture data, which inevitably led to a loss of nuance in some cases. For instance, information on materials was reduced to the large groups that can reliably be identified visually: copper and its alloys, lead/tin and their alloys, silver, and gold. In order to capture detailed information that may otherwise have been lost through this approach, and to allow for the easy inclusion of additional information readily available from digital records, optional descriptive text fields were also provided.

‘05-01-­02’ is a specific subtype of buckle (05-01), which in turn belongs to the group of belt and leather accessories (05). The hierarchical system based on functional and technical attributes has certain limitations, but it offers distinct advantages in that it is flexible and open to expansion, as well as easily machine-readable, thus facilitating queries and analysis. The attribution of finds to reference types was based, in the first step, on the classification provided by the data source. However, the classification of finds for which photographs are available is checked and re-evaluated as part of the project (a process still ongoing at the time of writing).

12.3.2 Context

12.3.4 Digital Infrastructure

Due to the stratified nature of the urban archaeological record, contextual information associated with artefacts holds great value for research, including functional and chronological characterisation of finds. In order to limit the data load and digitisation effort, a flexible, hierarchical approach was taken, emphasising the relevance of contextual data to the individual find. At the highest level, each find is associated with a site context, which has an interpretive characterisation (e.g. domestic, public space, religious, funerary) and a date. Where more precise chronological or interpretive information was available, this contextual attribution could be refined by adding nested contexts within the site – be they phases, areas, structures or individual features. This afforded flexibility in recording fully detailed and less granular contextual data, depending on (digitally) available information and its relevance. In the database, archaeological dates are usually approximative ranges based on pottery, but other formats (exact dates and termini based on, for example, historical or numismatic evidence) were also used.

In order to make this dataset available to the archaeological community and wider audiences, it was imported into the existing digital infrastructure of MEDEA (Deckers et  al., 2016). This platform was launched to record detector finds in Flanders. While the descriptive finds data could readily be imported, the data model (a graph implementation of CIDOC-CRM) was expanded and adapted to accommodate data on excavations and contexts (Fig. 12.2) as well as the typological data conforming to the PAN reference typology. A new user interface was built to offer access to the Medieval Metal dataset, keeping access to it separate from the detector finds data in MEDEA.  Besides other faceted search options, this interface includes a ‘typology browser’, offering easy access to the hierarchical classification of the reference typology. Upon request, access to the full datasets of excavations, contexts and finds can also be granted through an API. At the project’s end, the data will be archived in an appropriate scientific repository.

12.3.3 Typology Classification posed a second challenge. To ensure that individual records are findable in the database, and to enable quantitative analysis, a coherent categorisation of the finds is crucial. In this project, the existing ‘reference typology’ created by the Dutch detector finds recording scheme, Portable Antiquities Netherlands (PAN), was adopted. The PAN reference typology offers an encompassing, hierarchically organised classification adapted to the recording of archaeological metalwork (Kars & Heeren, 2018). While already expansive, the PAN reference typology remains a work in progress. The aim of Medieval Metal was to contribute to it by refining type descriptions (including dates) and creating new (sub)types where required. An additional advantage is that each PAN reference type has a unique numerical code, which reflects its place in the hierarchy. For example, code

12.4 Preliminary Results At the time of writing, 5,220 finds records were collected through the project, amounting to a total of over 11,000 individual artefacts from over 200 excavations in 29 medieval towns across Flanders (Fig. 12.3). In this section, the method and some of the outcomes of a preliminary analysis are presented.

12.4.1 Artefacts to Data Points The most common approach to recording metalwork artefacts in archaeological reports and publications is through detailed analysis: it is mainly concerned with the minutiae of (a selection of) individual finds, often from a single excavation, identifying the objects’ function, closest typological parallels and date. Here, however, the aim is a ‘big data’

118

P. Deckers

Fig. 12.2  The data model of the graph database harbouring the project data. Nodes are colour-coded to indicate central entities (red), attributes of central entities (yellow) and events (blue). (Image: Nastasia Vanderperren/Bert Lemmens/meemoo)

Fig. 12.3  Map of Flanders showing the distribution of catalogued finds by town. (Map: Pieterjan Deckers)

analysis: a distant, quantitative reading, taking advantage of the size of the dataset to study not just identifiable and classifiable small finds, but also finds groups that are often (or might be) ignored. Many facets of the dataset can be productive targets for analysis, but the temporal dimension is both amongst the most valuable and most challenging. A simple form of aoristic analysis was employed in order to cope with the divergent and overlapping contextual dates that are

typical for archaeology (Crema, 2012). This method divides finds across set time brackets, proportionately to their full dating range. It allows for a unified quantification and visualisation of finds data, and affords great weight to more closely dated artefacts. Figure 12.4 presents such an aoristic timeline, using 25-year brackets, of the full dataset by major functional group (i.e. an ad hoc grouping of the highest-level classes in the reference typology).

12  Masses of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)

119

Fig. 12.4  Aoristic plot offering an overview through time of the composition of the Middeleeuws Metaal dataset. (Graph: Pieterjan Deckers)

For further analysis (Figs.  12.5 and 12.6), aoristic sums were normalised against the total dataset in graphs reflecting the prevalence of single artefact categories. The Y-axis thus becomes no more than a relative index of the prevalence of a category in the dataset during any given time bracket. This latter step of normalisation was necessary not just to take into account the varying number of recorded artefacts through time, but also the varying completeness of recorded assemblages: while for some site assemblages, finds were recorded down to the last piece of metal scrap, for others a selection was made of identifiable artefacts, or those preserved in archaeological depositories. Short of excluding every incomplete assemblage, this can be mitigated by expressing the prevalence of artefact categories in a semi-­quantitative way. Finally, chronological analyses were refined by selecting only finds with a date range of 200 years or less. This reduces the dataset to about 3,500 individual objects (c. 31%). Given the small number of eleventh-century finds, resulting in severe over-representation of those artefact classes that are present, this period has been left out for further consideration – note that the twelfth century is to some extent affected by this small-numbers effect as well. The graphs presented in this chapter have been created in R, using data uploaded through the Medieval Metal API. One

prominent function used is ‘aorist’ from the ArchSeries package (Orton et al., 2017). The quantification is based on the number of individual finds, not the number of finds records.

12.4.2 Metal Material Culture in Medieval Towns As Fig. 12.4 shows, the dataset contains a substantial number of records pertaining to unspecified objects. This includes many unidentifiable fragments, but also artefacts that have no easily determined function. One such example, quite numerous in the database, are simple metal rings, mostly of copper-alloy, usually with a rounded cross-section and undecorated. Presumably due to the lack of identifying ­features, such rings are rarely listed in published catalogues, despite their apparent numerical importance. Egan and Pritchard (1991: 57–58) identify copper-alloy rings with a pin folded around the loop as buckles, but suggest that rings found without a pin may have served a multitude of functions, including as part of horse gear, as belt attachments or furniture mounts (also see Goodall, 1991: 94). The strong prominence of these rings in the fourteenth and fifteenth cen-

120

P. Deckers

Fig. 12.5  The frequency through time of selected find categories in the Middeleeuws Metaal dataset. (Graph: Pieterjan Deckers)

tury, observable in the dataset under consideration here, implies that they had a restricted (set of) functions relating to a relatively short-lived technology or fashion. As such, it is plausible that the majority can indeed be accorded a single function, notably as annular buckles. More broadly speaking, the dataset allows us to assess changes in medieval material culture at various degrees of granularity. Figure 12.5 summarises the frequency of several categories, relating to dress and household practices. A shift in dress fashions can be identified through the popularity of strap-ends, belt/leather mounts, and sheath chapes and other elements of daggers and swords (c. 1200–1400); religious accessories such as pilgrim’s badges (up to 1400); hooks and eyes, as well as lace chapes (aglets) (from c. 1300); and small buckles, most likely for shoes (c. 1400–1550). With the exception of badges (which are typically dated up to the mid-sixteenth century: Koldeweij, 2007: 148), these observations align reasonably well with the historical and archaeological literature, including the great practical

and symbolic importance attached to the belt up to the fifteenth century (Willemsen, 2012); the introduction of the laced pourpoint (Sturtewagen, 2016: 303 [fifteenth century]; Egan & Pritchard, 1991: 281 [mid-fourteenth century]); and the appearance of shoes with one or two buckles, sometime after 1290 and certainly by the fifteenth century (Moens, 2019: 264–70). Additionally, an increase in needles and pins is noticeable after 1500. Distinguishing between records pertaining to needles and pins used for sewing and other purposes is not possible due to the lack of detail with which this category is often recorded – if these objects can be ­differentiated in the first place. However, the growing number no doubt partially reflects the appearance of covering headdresses for women consisting of multiple layers of textile pinned together. This change is (art-)historically dated to the mid-fifteenth century (Sturtewagen, 2009: 61–62). In the domestic sphere too, a few trends are worth highlighting. This includes the use of candleholders by the mid-­

12  Masses of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)

121

Fig. 12.6  The frequency through time of copper alloy and lead/tin in identifiable and unspecified artefacts in the Middeleeuws Metaal dataset. (Graph: Pieterjan Deckers)

thirteenth century, as candles replaced oil lamps as the main sources of light, not least in urban contexts. Egan (1998: 126) situates this increasing use of candles in the late twelfth-­ thirteenth century in London, somewhat earlier than elsewhere in England (also see Lewis, 2016: 174–80). At the table, metal spoons, although small in number, were introduced in Flemish towns by the late twelfth century as evident from a single, closely dated example with characteristic fish decor found in a high-status domestic context in Ghent (https://middeleeuwsmetaal.be/finds/245797; Billemont et  al., 2019). Further examples date from the mid-thirteenth century onwards. The Ghent spoon finds a place amongst the earliest recorded medieval spoons (Egan, 1998: 245–46; Krabath, 2001: 96), but overall, this pattern conforms to the archaeological and historical evidence for both England and the Low Countries (Nijhof & Janssen, 2007: 198; based on historical evidence, Dubbe, 2012: 138–39 suggests that metal  spoons were generally rare still in the fifteenth century).

Overall, these emerging patterns can be related to an emerging consumer culture in late medieval society. Generally speaking, this is observable in an increase in the consumption of material goods overall; the diversification and specialisation of material culture; the specialisation and standardisation of craft production and the mass production of cheap goods; and a growing desire amongst consumers for goods that increase comfort and esthetic pleasure (Roesdahl & Verhaeghe, 2014: 222–24; Tys & Deckers, 2021: 83–86; for metalwork specifically see Oksanen & Lewis, ­forthcoming). In many cases, these developments are to be understood as part of a growing need for self-expression, social distinction as well as conformity (e.g. Smith, 2009; Jervis, 2017). Besides foregrounding a consumer perspective on urban material culture, this first quantitative analysis of the dataset also provides insight into the craft economy of the medieval town. For example, the deposition of artefacts in lead, tin and

122

their alloys (including pewter) gradually declines during the period under consideration (Fig.  12.6). Unspecified and unidentifiable objects in lead/tin, including scrap fragments, follow a comparable path, until the latter category as good as disappears around 1500. This is most directly a result of processes including accidental loss, intentional discard, as well as material value (notably, for recycling), but more generally it undoubtedly reflects a diminishing circulation of the material (contra Oksanen & Lewis, forthcoming, but in line with Polish data: J. Sawicki personal communication, September 2022). By contrast, unspecified items in copper alloy see a rise in the sixteenth century. This pattern, albeit with smaller numbers of objects, is visible also when only fully inventoried assemblages are considered. Evidently, a shift took place in the urban craft economy around the turn of the sixteenth century, as the production of cheap lead/tin artefacts in urban workshops, fuelled by recycling, fell into decline. From then onwards, only a small range of specialised purposes remained for these materials, including in building materials such as roofing and stained glass fittings, for cloth and other seals, and for table utensils including spoons, plates, drinking vessels and lids for stoneware jugs (see Weinstein, 2011).

12.5 Conclusions This chapter aims to highlight the potential of a digital, quantitative approach to the metal component of medieval material culture. Due to several factors, medieval metalwork has tended to be neglected in fieldwork and research in Flanders (see introduction, this volume), and this is perpetuated by a systemic lack of awareness of recording standards/practices and of interpretation that impedes the full integration of this finds category in site narratives and higher-level interpretations. The project Medieval Metal aimed to break this cycle by collating and making accessible archaeological metalwork data from Flemish medieval towns and conducting a first, basic, analysis of the dataset. The examples above exemplify some of the ways in which a quantitative analysis of this dataset can shed light on the production and consumption of material culture in medieval towns. This approach not only places isolated, albeit high profile, finds in their context of metal material culture, but, more importantly, it opens the door to a renewed look at some of the most common find groups, the interpretive value of which is at present unrealised. This includes the aforementioned cut-offs, scrap and otherwise unidentifiable fragments, but also iron nails. Rarely discussed in site reports and other publications, iron nails account for no less than 39% of the individual artefacts in fully inventoried assemblages in the Medieval Metal dataset. This numerical importance is not surprising, given the pro-

P. Deckers

lific use of timber as a building material in medieval towns. At the large scale afforded by this dataset, a contextual analysis of iron nails should be a fruitful endeavour, for instance concerning the deposition and recycling of building materials in the medieval town (cf. Hansen, 2015). The project further accentuates the promise of connection and comparison with other datasets, such as PAN and MEDEA highlighted here. In one respect, this is a set of challenges related to professional practice and technical development, beginning with how finds are recorded in fieldwork reports and heritage management databases, up to how these data are digitised, connected and exposed. A basic challenge is to improve artefact recording. In order to collect the data for this project, the only option, in many cases, was to tediously trawl through the text and appended finds lists in archaeological reports, generally not available in a useful or even digitised format. Accessibility, but also richness and standardisation of metalwork finds data are important points for advancement in archaeological reporting. Ideally, this includes greater attention to recording facets of artefacts besides form, such as material, technology and ornament. While machine-reading is beginning to make grey literature less opaque (e.g. Brandsen & Lippok, 2021), the lack of accessible, structured recording of small finds trickles down to the archiving of data at the level of finds storage. Given the historical issues with archaeological reporting, the databases of finds stores, which centralise the products of fieldwork, could serve as ideal entry points for large-scale material culture study. In practice, this is rarely the case. Some organisations have performant internal databases, and there are laudable initiatives to present sizeable, curated selections of the collections to wider audiences (e.g. Raakvlak – database for Bruges and its surrounding region). In general, however, it is difficult to identify from a distance which (types of) artefacts are present in archaeological storage in Flanders. Archaeological stores offering quasi-full access to their collection database at artefact level are far and few between (one example is the SOL database, run by the Museum of Southwest Jutland in Denmark). A next step up is connecting finds databases to enable unified querying and analysis. As initiatives such as ARIADNE demonstrate, the development of Linked Open Data technologies makes this increasingly feasible. Here, the alignment of disparate typologies into a unified classification poses significant challenges (Deckers, 2021; Oksanen et al., 2022). Such technical advances will enable us to present archaeological finds to the professional community and to wider audiences in improved ways. Equally important is to fully exploit the opportunities digital artefact datasets offer to research. For instance, excavated finds data offers a valuable complement to the better-established detector finds recording schemes (Wessman et al., 2023).

12  Masses of Medieval Metal: A Quantitative Approach to Metalwork from Medieval Cities in Flanders (AD 1000–1600)

This is true not only because of the contextual and chronological metadata attached to excavated finds. Excavated and detector finds records also appear to differ in their composition. The numerical dominance in excavated assemblages of objects that are not readily identifiable or that raise only limited visual attraction, such as annular buckle frames, or nails and other artefacts in iron and lead, has already been pointed out. Such items are underrepresented in detector finds databases, as evidently, they are often not recovered or reported by public finders (e.g. Oksanen & Lewis, forthcoming). Raising awareness of the informational value of artefacts, especially in relation to context and assemblage, is one obvious motivation to make finds databases publicly accessible. Conversely, detector finds records include (in some number) finds categories that are relatively rare in excavated (urban) assemblages, such as decorative belt mounts and horse-riding gear. Is this simply the effect of the scale and selectivity of hobby detecting? Or is there a bias in the archaeological record itself, with such conspicuous, often shiny, or colourful objects less likely to be recovered from urban contexts by archaeologists, and more likely to be found in the specific circumstances targeted by hobby detecting? These include rural settlements (contradictory reports exist on the difference between urban and rural metalwork assemblages, e.g. Smith, 2009; contra Sawicki & Levá, 2022), accidental losses and other off-site finds, as well as refuse transported outside towns to be used as manure. Lastly, a broader digitisation of the medieval metalwork record will enable comparison on larger geographic scales. The European Middle Ages were a period of coalescing social and cultural trajectories, including urbanisation. Assessing how innovations and fashions in material culture spread and were received in this globalising environment, but also how cultural practices intersected, converged and diverged on a continental scale, are challenges to which the budding ‘big data’ approaches to archaeological small finds are eminently suited. Acknowledgements  I am grateful to the editors for their highly useful comments, and to Eljas Oksanen and Michael Lewis to share their manuscript on medieval metalwork data from PAS and English towns ahead of publication. Medieval Metal was a collaborative project; consequently, this chapter is further indebted to numerous people and institutions. The archaeological services of Ghent and Antwerp, Center for Artefact Research and CO7 – and in particular Maarten Berkers, Femke Martens and her colleagues, Dana Piessens, Stefanie Hoss and Jan Decorte  – have taken great effort in collecting standardised data and photographs of medieval metalwork. In addition, SOLVA and Raakvlak need to be thanked for providing access to finds assemblages and allowing the inclusion of existing datasets. Ron Bakx and Ingrid De Weert assisted greatly in entering and processing data from a variety of sources; Ron also generously shared his considerable expertise in the identification of medieval metal small finds. Bert Lemmens and Nastasia Vanderperren (meemoo), and Jan Vansteenlandt (WeOpenData) assisted with the design and development of the digital aspects of this project.

123

Stijn Heeren and Miriam Kars (Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam/Portable Antiquities Netherlands) ensured access to the PAN reference typology and collaborated in updating it. Valuable feedback and support during this project were given by Bart Lambert (Vrije Universiteit Brussel), Marnix Pieters and Jan Moens (Flanders Heritage), and Dries Tys. The project was funded by Flanders Heritage.

References Bakx, R. (2021). Metaal en metaalslakken. In O. van Remoorter (Ed.), Archeologische opgraving Mechelen, Korenmarkt 27–29-Onze-­ Lieve Vrouwestraat 22, project Hof van Cortenbach (BAAC Vlaanderen Rapport (Vol. 1649)) (pp. 251–255). BAAC Vlaanderen. Billemont, J., Terryn, B., & Vanoverbeke, R. (2019). Gent Sint-­ Michielsstraat. Vondsten achter de veste (BAAC Vlaanderen Rapport (Vol. 1230)). BAAC Vlaanderen. Brandsen, A., & Lippok, F. (2021). A burning question  – Using an intelligent grey literature search engine to change our views on early medieval burial practices in the Netherlands. Journal of Archaeological Science, 133, 105–456. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. jas.2021.105456 Crema, E. R. (2012). Modelling temporal uncertainty in archaeological analysis. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, 19, 440– 461. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10816-­011-­9122-­3 De Groote, K. (2008). Middeleeuws aardewerk in Vlaanderen. Techniek, typologie, chronologie en evolutie van het gebruiksgoed in de regio Oudenaarde in de volle en late middeleeuwen (10de–16de eeuw). Vlaams Instituut voor het Onroerend Erfgoed. Deckers, P. (2021). LOD typology: Land of opportunity? Germania, 98(2020), 222–225. https://doi.org/10.11588/ger.2020.85273 Deckers, P., Bleumers, L., Ruelens, S., Lemmens, B., Vanderperren, N., Marchal, C., Pierson, J., & Tys, D. (2016). MEDEA: Crowd-­ sourcing the recording of metal-detected artefacts in Flanders (Belgium). Open Archaeology, 2, 264–277. https://doi.org/10.1515/ opar-­2016-­0019 Dubbe, B. (2012). Huusraet: het stedelijk woonhuis in de Bourgondische tijd. PolderVondsten. Egan, G. (1998). The medieval household: Daily living c. 1150–c. 1450. Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Egan, G., & Pritchard, F. (1991). Dress accessories: c. 1150–c. 1450. Her Majesty’s Stationery Office (HMSO). Goodall, A. (1991). Objects of copper alloy. In P.  Saunders (Ed.), Salisbury Museum medieval catalogue (Part 4) (pp.  90–142). Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum. Hansen, G. (2015). After the town burned! Use and reuse of iron and timber in a medieval town. In I. Baug, J. Larsen, & S. S. Mygland (Eds.), Nordic Middle Ages  – Artefacts, landscapes and society: Essays in honour of Ingvild Øye on her 70th birthday (pp.  159– 174). University of Bergen. Jervis, B. (2017). Consumption and the ‘social self’ in medieval southern England. Norwegian Archaeological Review, 50, 1–29. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00293652.2017.1326978 Kars, M., & Heeren, S. (2018). Archaeological small finds recording in the Netherlands: The framework and some preliminary results of the project Portable Antiquities of the Netherlands (PAN). Medieval Settlement Research, 33, 21–30. https://doi. org/10.5284/1017430 Koldeweij, A.  M. (2007). Opgespeld geloof en bijgeloof. Geloof en magie. In H.  L. Janssen & A.  A. J.  Thelen (Eds.), Tekens van leven. Opgravingen en vondsten in het Tolbrugkwartier in ‘s-­Hertogenbosch (pp. 147–189). Matrijs. Krabath, S. (2001). Die hoch- und spätmittelalterlichen Buntmetallfunde nördlich der Alpen. Eine archäologisch-kunsthistorische Untersuchung zu ihrer Herstellungstechnik, Funktionalen und zeitlichen Bestimmung. Verlag Marie Leidorf.

124 Lewis, M. (2016). Mounts for furnishings, padlocks, and candleholders: Understanding the urbanisation of medieval England through metal small finds recorded by the Portable Antiquities Scheme. In B.  Jervis, L.  G. Broderick, & I.  Grau Sologestoa (Eds.), Objects, environment, and everyday life in medieval Europe (pp. 157–185). Brepols. Moens, J. (2019). De archeologie van leren schoeisel in de middeleeuwen en nieuwe tijden in Vlaanderen: Een chronologische, technische en typologische studie: Analyse en interpretatie. [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. Universiteit Gent. Nijhof, E., & Janssen, H. L. (2007). Huisraad. In H. L. Janssen & A. A. J. Thelen (Eds.), Tekens van leven. Opgravingen en vondsten in het Tolbrugkwartier in ‘s-Hertogenbosch (pp. 190–217). Matrijs. Nord, A. G., Tronner, K., Mattsson, E., Borg, G. C., & Ullén, I. (2005). Environmental threats to buried archaeological remains. AMBIO: A Journal of the Human Environment, 34, 256–262. Oksanen, E., & Lewis, M. (forthcoming). Evaluating transformations in small metal finds following the Black Death. Medieval Archaeology, 67(1), 159–186. Oksanen, E., Rantala, H., Tuominen, J., Lewis, M., Wigg-Wolf, D., Ehrnsten, F., & Hyvönen, E. (2022). Digital humanities solutions for pan-European numismatic and archaeological heritage based on linked open data. In K. Berglund, M. La Mela, & I. Zwart (Eds.), Proceedings of the 6th Digital Humanities in the Nordic and Baltic Countries Conference (DHNB 2022) (pp. 352–360) https://ceur-­ws. org/Vol-­3232/ Orton, D., Morris, J., & Pipe, A. (2017). Catch per unit research effort: Sampling intensity, chronological uncertainty, and the onset of marine fish consumption in historic London. Open Quaternary, 3, 1–20. https://doi.org/10.5334/oq.29 Roesdahl, E., & Verhaeghe, F. (2014). Material culture – Artefacts and daily life. In M.  Carver & J.  Klápště (Eds.), The archaeology of Medieval Europe Vol. 2 – Twelfth to sixteenth centuries (pp. 189– 227). Aarhus University Press. Sawicki, J., & Levá, K. (2022). Late medieval dress accessories in rural communities in Central-Eastern Europe. European Journal of Archaeology, 25, 61–79. Smith, S. V. (2009). Materializing resistant identities among the medieval peasantry. Journal of Material Culture, 14, 309–332. https:// doi.org/10.1177/135918350910642

P. Deckers Sturtewagen, I. (2009). ‘Een gouwen rync ende een ransse’: de gerimpelde hoofddoek in het modelandschap van de Lage Landen der late middeleeuwen: een interdisciplinaire studie. [Unpublished Master’s thesis]. Universiteit Gent. Sturtewagen, I. (2016). All together respectably dressed: Fashion and clothing in Bruges during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. [Unpublished Doctoral dissertation]. Universiteit Antwerpen. Thomas, N., & Saussus, L. (2020). Cycle de l’objet, recyclage de la matière : Réparer, détourner, fondre et refondre le cuivre et ses alliages (Ve–XVIIIe siècle). In Y. Henigfeld, P. Husi, & F. Ravoire (Eds.), L’objet au Moyen Âge et à l’époque moderne: fabriquer, échanger, consommer et recycler (pp.  355–368). Centre de recherches archéologiques et historiques anciennes et médiévales (CRAHAM). Tys, D., & Deckers, P. (2021). Economic objects: Economic objects in the European Middle Ages. In J.  Lund & S.  Semple (Eds.), A cultural history of objects in the Medieval Ages (pp.  71–95). Bloomsbury Academic Press. Weinstein, R. (2011). The archaeology of pewter vessels in England 1200–1700: A study of form and usage. [Unpublished PhD thesis]. Durham University. Wessman, A., Thomas, S., Lewis, M., Heeren, S., Dobat, A.  S., & Deckers, P. (2023). Hobby metal-detecting as citizen science: Background, challenges and opportunities of collaborative archaeological finds recording schemes. Heritage and Society. https://doi. org/10.1080/2159032X.2022.2098654 Willemsen, A. (2012). ‘Man is a sack of muck girded with silver’: Metal decoration on late-medieval leather belts and purses from the Netherlands. Medieval Archaeology, 56, 171–202. https://doi.org/1 0.1179/0076609712Z.0000000006

Internet databases Raakvlak – database for Bruges and its surrounding region -https://collectie.raakvlak.be SOL database, Museum of Southwest Jutland in Denmark -­http://sol. sydvestjyskemuseer.dk/.

Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)

13

Joakim Kjellberg

Abstract

Medieval Uppsala was one of the largest towns in central Sweden and the seat of the Swedish archbishopric from the late thirteenth century onwards. Within the archaeological records from the town, several excavations have yielded substantial amounts of material culture, reflecting the social and demographic compositions of the urban households. This chapter builds on a recently finalised PhD-project at Uppsala university that includes a major study of more than 5000 selected medieval objects, addressing issues of identities and social practices within medieval Scandinavian towns. Several different trends and variations could be observed by using classification and quantification of material culture in the archaeological assemblage from 13 archaeological excavations, including many more individual households. This provides new insights into the dynamics of Uppsala and other medieval towns in the region of Uppland. Keywords

Material culture · Medieval · Scandinavia · Social practice · Uppsala · Urbanism

13.1 Introduction In recent decades, discussions of a dominating and shared urban identity in the Swedish medieval townscapes have been prolific in Swedish urban archaeology (Carelli, 2001; Larsson, 2017; Roslund, 2018). Although there are still some different opinions of what such an alleged identity entails, internationally, it has largely been equated with the spread of a north-west European and Hanseatic material signature J. Kjellberg (*) Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden e-mail: [email protected]

(Gaimster, 2014; Linaa, 2016). This includes material culture, such as stoneware, stove tiles and dress accessories, as well as costly altar pieces used in private and public spheres of urban life. Goods like these were supplied in Swedish towns by merchants with personal networks to European cities such as Lübeck and Bruges. The project ‘The Dynamics of a Medieval Town’ (Kjellberg, 2021) investigated the material culture of Uppsala households in 1100–1550. Starting as a study of set categories of urban material culture over time, representing a supposed urban identity, it recognised that a more localised and regional classification and characterisation of a wider selection of material culture would be useful. Furthermore, this could be connected to different household settings and compared chronologically to the overall structural development of the town. Previous studies on Uppsala have focused on spatial development, urban topography and functions. Few categories of material culture, predominantly pottery, have been the focus of more substantial research (Ersgård, 1986; Gustavsson, 1986; Elfwendahl, 1999; Anund, 2008). Therefore, as part of the aforementioned study, it was necessary to explore the vast material from the main excavated sites in Uppsala through a multi-perspective study of several different groups of material culture.

13.2 The Town and the Networks of Uppsala Present-day Uppsala is located in a landscape rich in heritage monuments and settlements dating from as far back as the Bronze Age. The urban settlement, known in the oldest written sources as Östra Aros, is first archaeologically evidenced from the middle of the twelfth century. The settlement developed at a natural crossing of the ridge Uppsalaåsen and the mouth of the river Fyrisån into the Mälaren basin. These are all well-attested as communication nodes, reaching far back

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 J. Sawicki et al. (eds.), A United Europe of Things, Themes in Contemporary Archaeology, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-48336-3_13

125

126

in history and expanding into the forested and iron-­producing districts of inland Sweden. The oldest settlement in Östra Aros was most likely a harbour site connected to the famous Iron Age and early medieval royal estate and religious centre in present-day Old Uppsala. Östra Aros was increasingly urbanised during the thirteenth century and expanded quickly after the transfer of the archdiocese, town name and cathedral from Old Uppsala in 1273. By the end of the thirteenth-­ early fourteenth centuries, Uppsala had developed into a fully-fledged high medieval council town and the foremost ecclesiastical centre of the Swedish realm (Redin, 1976; Beronius Jörpeland, 2000; Gustafsson, 2006; Carlsson et al., 2010; Kjellberg, 2010; Ljungkvist & Kjellberg, 2018). The renewed compilation and processing of archaeological and written sources within the aforementioned study have shown that the variability within the settled area during the period was high, but that the overall trajectory from crossroads in the landscape to one of the most important Swedish towns is clear. Different source materials give varied interpretations of the urbanisation process and, archaeologically, several urban phenomena and functional criteria are evidenced long before they appear in written material. However, one type of source, any single event or individual agents, is not enough to explain the overall structural and urban development over time. Several phases of urban development can be identified (Fig. 13.1). These can be described in terms of the expansion and contraction of the settlement, as well as changes in functions and networks (Kjellberg, 2021: 127–31). The major shifts of the period, identified by archaeological and written source material, can be divided into four different main phases: the non-urban period up until 1150; the emerging central place 1150–1300; the established archdiocese and high medieval council town of 1300–1450; and, finally, the late medieval civic town of 1450–1550. In the period after 1550, there was a clear break and shift following the Reformation, marked by structural and functional reorganisation of the urban area, including the building of a new royal castle, marking the beginning of the early modern era. The role of individual Swedish towns in the international trade network of the Baltic and North Atlantic regions is chronologically diverse. For many places in the region of Uppland (Fig. 13.2), among them the towns of Uppsala and Sigtuna, there is evidence of established networks of trade with the eastern and southern Baltic during the late Iron Age and early Middle Ages (Roslund, 2007; Tesch, 2016; Callmer et al., 2017). During the later Middle Ages, trade was increasingly regulated centrally, and only Stockholm and Kalmar, further to the south, can be considered towns and ports in direct contact with the international trade networks, attracting larger groups of German merchants (Schück, 1940; Dahlbäck, 1995). Most Swedish towns were connected to international trade through a branched network. Local and

J. Kjellberg

regional trade was legally reserved for Swedish merchants, sometimes acting as agents for other merchants and institutions. The right to trade was regulated in certain areas, mainly surrounding the different towns, and was increasingly directed towards specific markets. Uppsala was the location of the biggest annual winter market in medieval Sweden, the so-called ‘Distingsmarknaden’, rooted in pre-Christian society (Sawyer, 2003; Nordberg, 2006). For Uppsala, it is known that agrarian surpluses dominated local trade and that regional trade was connected to the iron-producing districts of Bergslagen, northern Swedish inland (including the so-­ called ‘Lappmarken’ and today’s Sapmi), the gulf of Bottnia and the Finnish archipelago (Ljung, 1954; Anund, 1999). The Uppsala archdiocese also had tax income from many farms and villages throughout Uppland and neighbouring provinces (Dahlbäck, 1986: 175). In Uppsala, many records testify of conflicts as local merchants were left out of the lucrative trade with the archdiocese, which preferred to trade through agents directly with the international networks through Stockholm. The medieval town records mention names, various occupations and crafts as well as the origin of many burghers and other inhabitants in Uppsala. Besides persons from surrounding parishes in Uppland, it also mentions immigrants from the northern or eastern provinces, including present-­ day Finland. In smaller numbers, there are also people from further afield, such as western Sweden, Norway, Denmark, the British Isles, France and Germany (Ljung, 1954; Dahlbäck et al., 1984).

13.3 ‘The Dynamics of a Medieval Town’ – Methodology The study of material culture in medieval Uppsala as part of this study took the form of a comparative and chronological analysis of six functional object categories from 13 archaeological excavations. The material originated from different parts of the medieval town and from predominantly residential settings. The quality of the material documentation and the wider possibility of chronological synchronisation were the guiding premises in the selection. In the end, only ten excavations had good enough stratigraphic records for further analysis (see Figs. 13.1, 3). The aim was to capture individual and household consumption of a wide range of objects over time, in what is perceived as more private spaces than in the town’s public and institutional environments. Operational questions for the analysis of the finds were: What material signatures, social practices and consumption patterns can be traced in the town’s household settings? Which material expressions can be linked to social, cultural and urban identities? How are activity, status, gender and ethnicity materially expressed in

13  Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)

127

Fig. 13.1  Composite map of Uppsala with the present-day town plan (dotted lines), the historically earliest documented settlement area from a map dated 1643 (in light grey), the most significant monuments and medieval stone houses (in dark grey), and the excavations in the study marked (in black). Sites and monuments referenced in the chapter: (A)

Uppsala cathedral; (B) the medieval town-square; (C) the post-­medieval royal castle; (1) the excavations of Rådhuset block; (2) the excavations of Domen block; (3) the Rådstugan excavation; (4) the Bryggaren site; (5) and the excavation in Disa. (Map: Joakim Kjellberg and Dittrich Hallberg)

urban households, and how did these change over time? By comparing six functionally ascribed material culture groups, for example, objects associated with trade and economy (such as scales) or household activities, through to objects evidencing literacy and children’s toys, the study showed considerable variation in activities and practices among the examined household plots throughout the town. The six categories, listed in Fig. 13.3, yielded 5229 interpretable finds with an acceptable stratigraphic record and functional descriptive properties. The finds show quantitative and qualitative differences between different excavations, as well as differences between phases within the same excavation. The selected material was further combined into 20 analytical units consisting of objects associated with for example health and hygiene, textile crafts, the use of glass vessels and so forth, that could be defined as traces of material and social ‘practices’ in the terminology of Social Practice Theory (Shove et  al., 2012). The data were analysed by both frequency seriation and correspondence analysis (Kjellberg, 2021: 238, 245–47). The frequency seriations enabled a

visual aid in studying change in large archaeological material databases, identifying general trends and individual variables (Nordeide, 1989; Gräslund, 1996). The frequency seriation exemplified in Fig. 13.4 uses Social Practice Theory to show how different ‘urban practices’ are established, maintained and cease within the study period and how they relate to each other over time. The material is too extensive to be fully presented here and every definition and detail included in the analysis can, of course, be discussed much further (for a full discussion and all analysed categories, see Kjellberg, 2021: 236–39). However, from this rich material, some illustrating examples and observations can be highlighted. In the economy and subsistence category, the earliest identified practices are transport, agriculture and animal husbandry. These occur together with traces of pre-Christian cults before the establishment of the urban settlement. This can be interpreted as the site being a late Iron Age hub for the surrounding rural villages and the large centre of Old Uppsala. Craft is the only practice that occurs in all the

128

J. Kjellberg

Fig. 13.2  The urban landscape of Uppland with the location of Uppsala and other medieval towns mentioned in the text, showing Uppsala town (1) with its hinterland schematically outlined in zones of 25 and 50 km, district boundaries and rural farmsteads taxed under the Uppsala cathedral, the location of Sigtuna (2), Enköping (3), Östhammar/Öregrund (4) and Stockholm (5). To the right, a map show-

ing the Nordic countries and Baltic area with the borders of the Swedish kingdom at the end of the Middle Ages, c. 1550, in grey. Main areas of trading activity for Uppsala mentioned in late medieval sources: the region of Uppland (black), Bergslagen area (a), Northern inland Sweden (b) including ‘Lappmark’ area (c) and the gulf of Bottnia (d). (Map: Joakim Kjellberg, after Dahlbäck, 1986: 175)

analysed excavations. This applies to the town’s oldest layers and the late twelfth century, phase 1b. The first traces of trade and weapons occur to a lesser extent alongside the artisanal environment during the same period. For household activities there are established practices mainly associated with women and children in the households, such as tools for textile production and toys, that first appear around 1200 but then increased rapidly. Thus, an influx of more permanently resident families in the town can be detected. In the previous period and up until the early thirteenth century, patterns of craft, trade and the lack of ­families, together with the poorer standard of buildings, indicate that the town has its origins as a meeting place with activities of a more temporary nature rather than a permanent living environment. This can be linked to marketplace functions via written source material. During the thirteenth century, increasing numbers of imported objects and diversified household practices reflected a more urban and permanent population. Local material culture, north-western European imports together with objects associated with eastern-­ influenced dress fashion, indicates a culturally heteroge-

neous environment and an extensive network. Objects associated with health and hygiene, such as combs and medicinal jars, constitute, in addition to imported ceramics, the most widespread material in the town and are found in almost all the excavated household environments. Objects associated with literacy, faith and religion are less represented in the household assemblages than would be expected from an ecclesiastical urban environment such as Uppsala, with its own cathedral school. Glass, both in the form of imported glass vessels and window glass, is surprisingly common in most of the town’s household contexts, even over time and when compared with other Swedish towns of the period. Nonetheless, the most exclusive kinds of glass, such as enamelled beakers, are not present in the households studied. They do though occur in one other excavation and in an unspecified social context from the town (Stenström, 2022). Consumption of other luxury goods and prestige objects, in addition to ceramics and glass, largely follows the town’s shifting demographic and economic conditions. This shows that luxury goods constitute a relatively stable but minor element in most households.

13  Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)

129

Fig. 13.3 Functional categories of material culture and number of finds per phase analysed in the chapter. Numbers indicate individual entries from the finds registry and reports, sometimes but not always representing a number of individual finds. (Graph: Joakim Kjellberg)

In addition to the identified isolated practices, chronological co-variation in ‘bundles’ and ‘complexes’ of practices can be discerned (Shove et al., 2012: 120). Through several diagram series, additional patterns of interest can be demonstrated and further discussed, see Fig. 13.5. Tools and waste from various crafts, including smithing and bone-working, constitute the largest and most common artefact category from 1200–1350, decreasing drastically until about 1500. The curve for trade follows the ups and downs of craftworking, suggesting that the town’s trade was dominated by the sale of locally made products. Weapons also followed the craftworking curve and did not vary significantly with known periods of political unrest and strife, suggesting that weapons and armour were partially included in the town’s craftworking production. The agricultural curve follows that for trade with some minor ups and downs, indicating that agricultural production was primarily geared toward consumption in the town. Interestingly, there was an increase in transport when both craft and trade declined during the late fourteenth century, a time traditionally associated with the Black Death. In Uppsala, this period also coincided with an intensive construction period at the cathedral (Lovén et al., 2010). It is, therefore, possible that a supply of labour, including for heavy transport, existed in the town and at the same time that the cathedral was able to contribute to the households in a period otherwise characterised by crisis and/ or adjustment. Strong economic recovery and population

growth are reflected in the upswing of the late fifteenth-early sixteenth centuries, showing that the effects of the Black Death might be less dramatic in Uppsala than in other Uppland towns such as Enköping and Sigtuna. Regarding the categories representing household activities, the strong rise in textile craft objects in relation to toys, raises several interesting questions. In more recent periods with more abundant access to written sources, it appears that groups of workers, especially maids, were numerous in towns. Similarly, younger women and men often took paid work for a period of their lives before they had acquired the conditions for family formation and set up their own households. Some remained in the towns, while others returned to their original areas (Pihl, 2012; Linaa, 2021). The increase in textile crafts (if assumed to represent an increase in the number of female members in households) in relation to the reduced number of toys (if assumed to indicate the presence of children) may be interpreted as a manifestation of a higher proportion of women in the town living outside nuclear families. Several finds can be categorised as ‘consumer goods’. In practice terminology, they constitute material elements rather than practices themselves (Shove et al., 2012). These are imported goods produced in continental European towns. Together they indicate the variety of goods available to the town’s households via markets and trade networks. Imported ceramics in the form of mass-produced goods in redware and

130

J. Kjellberg

Fig. 13.4  Categories of material culture expressed as frequency seriation (presented in Kjellberg, 2021: 238). The width of the grey boxes indicates in percentages how common a category of finds (occurring or not occurring) is in all contemporary excavations. Note that the number

of contemporary excavations varies between the phases and that the number of observations is only counted once per excavation and phase, thus not representing 483 individual finds. (Graph: Joakim Kjellberg)

stoneware from continental Europe and the southern Baltic constitute, in absolute numbers, the largest group. Although there was a local and continued production from the late Viking Age and early Middle Ages of coarse ware cooking pots and storage jars, no pottery production was comparable to the imported material known in Uppsala before the very end of the period. Mass-produced stoneware and undecorated redware vessels can be compared with and partly supplemented by externally lead glazed and highly decorated redware that constitute a product available to, or coveted by, a smaller number of the town’s households. This is a clear example of how the practice of consuming imported ceramics, and thus also table and beverage culture, continued while the type of wares fluctuated with technology, fashion and

ideals. Windows and glass vessels are found in most excavation materials in the town. They seem to follow the general economic trends, similar to the overall category of exclusive and costly objects in interior decoration, albeit in smaller numbers than glass in general. One practice that instead shows a small but steady rise is the category of heating. The continental European tradition of smoke-free tiled stoves does not seem to have the same foothold and spread in the Uppsala households as in contemporary contexts in other towns, such as Stockholm (Qviström, 2019: 218). The introduction of the tiled stove in Uppsala households only took place after the period studied here, when a strong local ceramic production was established in the town. It does not seem to have been a primarily economic decision.

13  Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)

131

Fig. 13.5  Series diagrams showing the co-variation of different categories of practices identified through material culture. Observe that north-­ west European imports are reduced by five times to fit better graphically with other categories in diagram four. (Graph: Joakim Kjellberg)

Further insight into the town’s network of contacts and cultural influences is provided by the individuals who display elements of cultural identity, predominantly through objects associated with dress, but also partly through the choice of ceramics in households. In addition to continental European imports of merchandise, there is a clear eastern or Baltic-centred feature of the finds during the thirteen-­ fourteenth centuries (Fig.  13.6). Besides the continental European import and the Baltic elements, a strong local tradition continued in the material culture of the region, rooted in the late Iron Age, such as blackware or beads associated with female dress. Whether these objects constitute residual material, are intended as merchandise or have been included in the repertoire of certain persons or in specific households is not clear from the study as there are no examples of complete ‘sets’. The lack of Baltic and further eastern ceramic imports and the almost complete lack of English imported goods are apparent in Uppsala. It is, however, a pattern in the

early phases that differ from other nearby towns, such as Sigtuna and Enköping, indicating that the networks during this period were highly localised and maybe even highly personalised. This image also contrasts the late medieval period, as after the Black Death, when almost all traces of east-­Baltic and traditional categories of material culture disappeared in Uppsala. From the late fourteenth century onwards, the town of Uppsala seemed to be closely tied to the northwest European trade networks of mass production and consumption.

13.4 Conclusions From the study, it can be stated that there is a correspondence between find dating and stratigraphic phase divisions, although careful source-critical consideration is necessary at all stages of analysis. The contextual connection for a small

132

J. Kjellberg

Fig. 13.6  Examples of objects imported to Uppsala with, for those that north-west European imports and Sami traditional dress (fourteenth-­ century deposits). (Photos: Joakim Kjellberg and Helena owned them, possible significant social, cultural and ethnic meanings. sixteenth-­ Top row objects associated with the eastern Baltic area (twelfth-­ Rosengren, Swedish History Museum, CC-BY) fourteenth-­century deposits) and bottom row objects associated with

number of objects, between 5–10% in most categories, regardless of excavation method, can be questioned as clearly older or younger than the phases to which they are attributed. The method chosen for the comparative phasing, linking individual and longer excavation phases to the last 50-year period in the sequence, involves a certain temporal discrepancy and therefore, generally provides the latest possible dating of when a certain practice or certain group of objects first appears or disappears. The significant quantitative differences between excavation sizes, phases and object groups must be further processed and analysed in more detail before qualitative differences between object frequencies can be statistically reliable. Such data was not possible to extract from the archaeological records within the timeframe of the project. From the material, we can nevertheless discern great variability and several identifiable trends over time that significantly contribute to a deeper understanding of the town’s everyday life and heterogeneity. Moreover, the social topography of the urban area is reflected in the material culture at the household level. A general observation from the study is that change occurs synchronously over time, rather than diachronously from different contemporary excavations, in most material categories. For example, imported stoneware occurs in almost all contemporary sites and phases following the gen-

eral technical development from proto-stoneware to near-­ stoneware and proper stoneware. Thus, the mass-produced stoneware appears, compared to other ceramic materials, to be affordable for most households and not primarily as a signifier for a certain status or cultural identity. For other ceramic materials, such as the highly decorated red wares, the distribution is restricted to fewer households, indicating an actual awareness of quality differences among the households. Somewhat surprising is the abundance of both glass beakers and window glass already in the early phases of urban development. Although the most exclusive types of glassware are missing, a strikingly high proportion of households still possessed glass cups in various forms. This makes glass generally a poor instrument for judging the status of individual households in the town. The case study shows a broadly common table culture in medieval Uppsala, though also an awareness of both quality and status differences between functionally equivalent object groups. The distribution of the categories ‘economy and subsistence’ as well as ‘household activity’ show differences between excavations regarding the households’ economic orientations and demographic compositions. The interpretation is complicated by the difficulty in connecting some of the objects to individual structures, buildings or even plots from the archaeological records, especially for excavations carried out before the introduction of the proper contextual

13  Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550)

methodology in the late 1990s. Nevertheless, the case study provides a better picture of the town’s social topography on a macro-scale where a surprisingly large social and economic mobility can be demonstrated. No single excavation plot throughout the periods examined appears as a distinct high- or low-status environment. However, there are phases when different sites stand out as distinctive environments. This applies to the early medieval Bryggaren quarter, high medieval Disa, and late medieval Rådstugan quarters (see Fig.  13.2). Both the Domen and Rådhuset excavations appear as environments with many more object categories than others and are thus taken to ­represent many different activities already in the town’s earliest stages of development. During the late Middle Ages, the setting in Rådstugan stands out. For Rådhuset, there is evidence of one of the earliest stone-paved streets adjacent to the excavated area, the location of the later medieval marketplace. For the early settlement at the Domen site, a property later known to belong to the cathedral, and Rådstugan block there is less evidence to go by. One can ask whether these sites represent other types of meeting places in the town than pure household and residential environments. Perhaps we are dealing with areas not representing ordinary households, rather areas where more people were staying and had daily access or with households with more diversified practices and wider contact networks. Initially, it was assumed that a particular urban identity, with special characteristics of material culture, would emerge from the study. That has not happened. Elements of what can be perceived as a largely continental, urban and mercantile lifestyle are found in the town, albeit to a lesser extent compared to some contemporary Scandinavian towns. However, imported ceramics and a Central European table culture do occur in most households. As pointed out above, the difference is also chronological. Much of what has been portrayed in international literature as an urban or Hanseatic material culture belongs primarily to the late Middle Ages but is also related to the proximity of international trade networks (Gaimster, 2005, 2014). The study also shows that consumer culture goods associated with Hanseatic networks were available in the town and its networks, but only certain elements of that were absorbed into the town’s households. This pattern is recognised in other locations on the fringe of the Hanseatic networks in the northern Baltic and Atlantic regions (compare Immonen, 2007; Mehler, 2009). Written sources point in the same direction where a smaller proportion of foreign merchants appear in the late medieval written records of Uppsala than in the earlier stages of urban development. This has been explained by the concentration of international trade to Stockholm (Ljung, 1954: 145–46). The questions of personal and social identities expressed through material culture are difficult to fully answer with only a quantitative compilation of accumulated objects from

133

household contexts. Medieval town plots and domestic spaces were a combination of public and private spaces for work and leisure, where many people in the same household stayed either temporarily or permanently (Gilchrist, 2012: 114). Secure connections between single objects and identified individuals are absent from archaeological and historical records, even though there are instances of personal items. Gender-wise, in addition to children’s play activities, both primarily male and female activities appear in the material. No clear traces of age division in the child grouping were detected, though material culture associated with different stages of adulthood, such as engagement rings, were found. In addition to imported objects used in the household, such as glass and ceramics, dress accessories can be associated with cultural groupings originating outside of Uppland. This applies to objects of presumed Sami, Finnish and Baltic origin (see Fig.  13.6). These objects appear in the earlier phases alongside objects with a long tradition in the immediate Uppland area, such as glass beads. As there are no complete dress sets in the material, we cannot automatically assume that this reflects ethnic markers, but it is clear that elements from different costume fashions were present in several households. There are also signs that some of these objects had more extended object biographies and special significance for their holders, perhaps across generational boundaries, and only ended up in Uppsala after a relatively long time (see also Gilchrist, 2013). It is also noteworthy that Baltic ceramics, which constitute a significant element in the nearby and partly contemporary Sigtuna, are entirely missing in the Uppsala material. On a general level, the object study of Uppsala shows that urban material culture in Uppsala can be characterised and that traits of a possible collective urban identity can be discerned, albeit not a clear Hanseatic culture. Traces of Hanseatic architecture and material culture, as in Stockholm, or evidence of an eastern-oriented trade network, as in Sigtuna, is absent from Uppsala. The material culture can be characterised as a gradual transition. During the earlier stages, there was a Baltic-influenced material culture with continuity in the landscape around the town mixed with imports from western Europe, primarily pottery, which, after the Black Death, evolved into a more urban-oriented and pan-European consumer culture with a large proportion of mass-produced imported objects. The latter consumer culture is not found to the same extent outside the town and can thus be potentially labelled as a primarily ‘urban’ phenomenon. Further discussion of what constitutes a particular urban culture or identity requires a comparative study that also includes more well-researched rural contexts than has hitherto been available for the Uppsala area (see, for example, Linaa, 2016). From this study of Uppsala, it is clear that we can and should re-evaluate older excavation materials, and that we

134

need to continuously use these valuable resources to test established theories and interpretations with new methods and data. Throughout the Middle Ages, the interpretation of the household material culture and consumption in Uppsala cannot be described as either static or traditional in comparison with other towns and studies of individual categories of objects. Instead, a picture of a town and a time where the place and the people are in constant motion and change emerges. This process of constant change must have impacted the inhabitants’ identity and their experience of themselves and their everyday environment, being in itself a distinctively urban phenomenon (see also Jervis, 2018). How the constantly changing urban and material landscape affected the households of Uppsala in comparison with other places is left for future projects. A comparative analysis of such vast material from different towns requires further collaborations with like-minded researchers and object-­ oriented projects. As evidenced by the sessions at the European Association of Archaeologists conferences, as well as papers presented in this publication, there is great potential for future expansions in the field of material culture studies and social analysis of the past.

References Anund, J. (1999). Trade in Uppsala c. 1100–1700. In M.  Gläser, R.  Dunckel, & U.  Oltmanns (Eds.), Lübecker Kolloquium zur Stadtarchäologie im Hanseraum (Vol. II –Der Handel) (pp.  457– 467). Schmidt-Römhild. Anund, J. (2008). Uppsalas första två hundra år: när var det – och hur gick det till? In H. Andersson, G. Hansens, & I. Øye (Eds.), Første 200 Årene – Nytt blikk på 27 skandinaviske middelalderbyer (UBAS Nord) (Vol. 5, pp. 359–375). Universitetet i Bergen. Beronius Jörpeland, L. (2000). Vid Fyrisån: Arkeologi i Östra Aros. Projekt uppdragsarkeologi 2000 (Vol. 1). Riksantikvarieämbetet. Callmer, J., Gustin, I., & Roslund, M. (2017). Identity formation and diversity in the early medieval Baltic and beyond: Communicators and communication. Brill. Carelli, P. (2001). En kapitalistisk anda: Kulturella förändringar i 1100–talets Danmark (Lund studies in medieval archaeology, Lunds universitet). Almqvist and Wiksell International. Carlsson, R., Göthberg, H., Lovén, C., Bengtsson, H., & Dahlbäck, G. (2010). Uppsala domkyrka (Vol. 2 – Domkyrkan i Gamla Uppsala, nuvarande domkyrkans omgivningar). Upplandsmuseet. Dahlbäck, G. (1986). En stad i staden: Om domkyrkans ekonomiska betydelse för Uppsala under senmedeltiden. In N.  Cnattingus & T.  Nevéus (Eds.), Uppsala stads historia (Vol. 7, pp.  171–190). Uppsala kommun and Riksantikvarieämbetet. Dahlbäck, G. (1995). I medeltidens Stockholm. Stockholmia. Dahlbäck, G., Rahmqvist, S., & Ferm, O. (1984). Det medeltida Sverige (Vol. 1 – Uppland, 2 Tiundaland: Ulleråker, Vaksala, Uppsala stad). Vitterhets-, historie- och antikvitetsakademien. Elfwendahl, M. (1999). Från skärva till kärl: Ett bidrag till vardagslivets historia i Uppsala. Almqvist and Wiksell International. Ersgård, L. (1986). Expension och förändring i Uppsalas medeltida bebyggelse. In N.  Cnattingus & T.  Nevéus (Eds.), Uppsala stads historia (Vol. 7, pp.  42–77). Uppsala kommun and Riksantikvarieämbetet.

J. Kjellberg Gaimster, D. (2005). A parallel history: The archaeology of Hanseatic urban culture in the Baltic c. 1200–1600. World Archaeology, 37, 408–423. https://doi.org/10.1080/00438240500168483 Gaimster, D. (2014). The Hanseatic cultural signature: Exploring globalization on the micro-scale in late medieval northern Europe. European Journal of Archaeology, 17, 60–81. https://doi.org/10.117 9/1461957113Y.0000000044 Gilchrist, R. (2012). Medieval life: Archaeology and the life course. Boydell Press. Gilchrist, R. (2013). The materiality of medieval heirlooms: From biographical to sacred objects. In H.  P. Hahn & H.  Weiss (Eds.), Mobility, meaning and transformations of things: Shifting contexts of material culture through time and space (pp. 170–182). Oxbow Books. Gräslund, B. (1996). Arkeologisk datering. Studentlitteratur. Gustafsson, S. (2006). Svenska städer i medeltidens Europa: En komparativ studie av stadsorganisation och politisk kultur. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Gustavsson, J. H. (1986). Uppsalas medeltida stadsplan, sedd i ljuset av de senaste 20 årens arkeologiska undersökningar. In N. Cnattingus & T. Nevéus (Eds.), Uppsala stads historia (Vol. 7, pp. 191–220). Uppsala kommun and Riksantikvarieämbetet. Immonen, V. (2007). Defining a culture: The meaning of Hanseatic in medieval Turku. Antiquity, 81(313), 720–732. https://doi. org/10.1017/S0003598X00095685 Jervis, B. (2018). Assemblage urbanism. Becoming urban in late medieval Southampton. Archaeological Dialogues, 25(2), 135–160. https://doi.org/10.1017/S138020381800017X Kjellberg, J. (2010). Östra Aros: Bebyggelsen i Uppsala och dess utveckling fram till 1270 i arkeologisk belysning. Högskolan på Gotland. Kjellberg, J. (2021). Den medeltida stadens dynamik: Urbanitet, sociala praktiker och materiell kultur i Uppsala 1100–1550 (AUN) (Vol. 51). Uppsala Universitet  – Institutionen för arkeologi och antik historia. Larsson, S. (2017). Staden som idé. In M. Anglert & S. Larsson (Eds.), Växjö, Kalmar och Smålands tidigaste urbanisering (pp. 159–388). Arkeologerna. Linaa, J. (2016). Urban consumption: Tracing urbanity in the archaeological record of Aarhus c. AD 800–1800. Jutland Archaelogical Society. Linaa, J. (Ed.). (2021). Urban diaspora. The rise and fall of diaspora communities in early modern Denmark and Sweden. Aarhus University Press. Ljung, S. (1954). Uppsala under yngre medeltid och Vasatid. Uppsala stads historia (Vol. 2). Uppsala kommun Historiekommitén. Ljungkvist, J., & Kjellberg, J. (2018). Medeltidens landskapsförändringar. In J. Ljungkvist & A. Ekblom (Eds.), Framtidens naturvärden i kulturmiljöer. Fallstudie Gamla Uppsala. Uppsala Universitet  – Institutionen för arkeologi och antik historia. Lovén, C., Bengtsson, H., & Dahlberg, M. (2010). Uppsala domkyrka (Vol. 3 – Byggnadsbeskrivning, byggnadshistoria, domkyrkans konsthistoriska ställning). Upplandsmuseet. Mehler, N. (2009). The perception and interpretation of Hanseatic material culture in the North Atlantic: Problems and suggestions. Journal of the North Atlantic, 2, 89–108. https://doi.org/10.3721/037.002. s109 Nordberg, A. (2006). Jul, disting och förkyrklig tideräkning: Kalendrar och kalendariska riter i det förkristna Norden. Gustav Adolfs Akademien för svensk folkkultur. Nordeide, S.  W. (1989). ‘… De beste bønder i kiøbstaden …’: En funksjons- og aktivitetsanalyse basert på gjenstandsmaterialet. Meddelelser fra prosjektet Fortiden i Trondheim bygrunn. Riksantikvaren, Folkebibliotekstomten (Vol. 20). Utgravningskontoret for Trondheim.

13  Material Cultures and Social Practices in the Archaeological Assemblages of Uppsala (AD 1100–1550) Pihl, C. (2012). Arbete: Skillnadsskapande och försörjning i 1500– talets Sverige. Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Qviström, L. (2019). Rum utan utsikt: Fönster och ljus i medeltida byggnader. Stockholms universitet  – Institutionen för arkeologi och antikens kultur. Redin, L. (1976). Uppsala, medeltidsstaden (Vol. 3). Riksantikvarieämbetet/Statens Historiska Museer. Roslund, M. (2007). Guests in the house: Cultural transmission between Slavs and Scandinavians 900 to 1300 AD. Brill. Roslund, M. (2018). Stadsbor: Urbana aktörer, subjektiv interaktionism och social neurovetenskap i tidigmedeltidens Sigtuna och Nyköping. Meta, 2018, 21–46. Sawyer, P. (2003). Markets and fairs in Norway and Sweden between the eighth and sixteenth centuries. In T. Pestel & K. Ulmschneider

135

(Eds.), Markets in early medieval Europe: Trading and ‘productive’ sites (pp. 650–850). Oxbow Books. Schück, H. (1940). Stockholm vid 1400–talets slut. Geber. Shove, E., Pantzar, M., & Watson, M. (2012). The dynamics of social practice: Everyday life and how it changes. Sage Publications. Stenström, K. (2022). Medeltida och tidigmoderna lämningar i Vaksalagatan. Mellan Stora torget och Kungsgatan. Upplandsmuseets. Tesch, S. (2016). Sigtuna: Royal site and Christian town and the regional perspective, c. 980–1100. In L. Holmquist, S. Kalmring, & C. Hedenstierna-Jonson (Eds.), New aspects on Viking-Age urbanism c. AD 750–1100: Proceedings of the international symposium at the Swedish history museum, April 17–20th 2013 (pp. 107–132). Swedish History Museum.