Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period: Proceedings of the 12th Annual Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium 9781407356501, 9781407356518

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2019

The Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium was created in 2007 to provide a platform for research students and early career archaeologists focusing on the early medieval period (c. AD 300 – 1200) to discuss and present their work. Over the years, the symposium has become a major event at which new and interdisciplinary research is presented in the field. The 12th Annual Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium (EMASS 2018) was held in Glasgow from 19 – 21 April and was jointly hosted by the University of Glasgow and the Glasgow School of Art. Twenty-one papers and four posters by a total of forty individuals were presented over two days, of which nine are included in this volume. These papers highlight interdisciplinary theoretical and methodological approaches which have led to new and innovative research on the early medieval period.

‘The papers all make useful contributions individually, and a solid collection of studies by early career scholars is a welcome addition to the literature.’ Dr Kate Mees, Durham University Heather Christie is a postdoctoral researcher for the University of Glasgow’s Digital Creativity for Regional Museums Project. Her research focuses on spectral photography in archaeology. Megan Kasten is a research affiliate at the University of Glasgow. Her research includes using digital imaging as research tools, particularly for early medieval sculpture. Contributors: Douglas Carr, Raul Catalán Ramos, Heather Christie, Christina Cowart-Smith, Patricia Fuentes Melgar, Abigail C. Górkiewicz-Downer, Megan Kasten, Nicola McNeil, Óscar Rodríguez Monterrubio, Giuseppe Russo, Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco, Tim T. M. van Tongeren.

BAR  S2951  2019   Christie & Kasten (Eds)   Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period

B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 2 9 5 1

Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Proceedings of the 12th Annual Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium Edited by

Heather Christie and Megan Kasten

B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 2 9 5 1

2019

Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Proceedings of the 12th Annual Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium Edited by

Heather Christie and Megan Kasten B A R I N T E R NAT I O NA L S E R I E S 2 9 5 1

210 x 297mm_BAR Christie&Kasten BW ARTWORK.indd 1

2019

8/10/19 10:05 PM

Published in 2019 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 2951 Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period isbn 978 1 4073 5650 1 paperback isbn 978 1 4073 5651 8 e-format doi https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407356501 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library © The editors and contributors severally, 2019 Cover image Interlace carvings on the face of Govan 2, an early medieval hogback stone at Govan Old Parish in Glasgow, Scotland. The Authors’ moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

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Related titles Culturas en contacto: conflicto, asimilación e intercambio Proceedings of the Third Postgraduate Conference in Studies of Antiquity and Middle Ages, Autonomous University of Barcelona, 23–25th November 2016 Editors: Núria Pacheco Catalán, Ignacio Díaz Sierra, Marina Fernández Monterrubio, Isaac Lampurlanés Farré, Ariadna Martínez Guimerà, Marc Mendoza Sanahuja, Manel Pica Torné, Montserrat Rovira Rafecas and David Vázquez Ruiz Publication Year: 2018

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Contents List of Figures..................................................................................................................................................................... ix List of Tables..................................................................................................................................................................... xiii Contributors...................................................................................................................................................................... xv 1. Introduction..................................................................................................................................................................... 1 Heather Christie and Megan Kasten 2. Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England – A Contextual Analysis......................................................................................................................................................... 3 Nicola McNeil Introduction: fluctuating funerary practices in seventh-century England........................................................................ 3 Decline in grave-good deposition .............................................................................................................................. 3 Gendered disparity in grave-good deposition............................................................................................................. 3 Buckles as barometers of shifting gender relations..................................................................................................... 4 Methodology: a contextual approach to capturing changing patterns in gendered buckle use........................................ 4 Results and discussion..................................................................................................................................................... 5 Gendered distribution of buckles................................................................................................................................ 5 Gendered buckle distribution and age......................................................................................................................... 7 Gendered distribution of buckle materials.................................................................................................................. 9 Gendered distribution of decorated buckles................................................................................................................ 9 Crosses, Christianity and chastity............................................................................................................................. 10 Animal ornament, martial rights and masculinity..................................................................................................... 11 Cautious conclusions...................................................................................................................................................... 14 Precarious political power......................................................................................................................................... 14 Increasing importance of the female reproductive role............................................................................................. 14 Foundations for a fuller understanding of seventh-century England?...................................................................... 15 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 15 3. What Are Amulets for the Early Medieval Dead?: Rethinking Cowries in Seventh-Century Anglo-Saxon and Alamannic Graves.............................................................................................................................. 19 Abigail C. Górkiewicz Downer Introduction.................................................................................................................................................................... 19 Characterising cowries as amulets................................................................................................................................. 20 Issues with amuletic interpretations............................................................................................................................... 21 The spatial and material variation of cowries in early medieval graves........................................................................ 21 Conclusion..................................................................................................................................................................... 26 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 27 4. Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology...................................................................................................................................................... 31 Tim T. M. van Tongeren The project..................................................................................................................................................................... 31 Currently available chronologies for Kent and the Netherlands.................................................................................... 32 An existing chronology for Anglo-Saxon artefacts in Kent...................................................................................... 32 Working with German and French chronologies in the Netherlands........................................................................ 33 The Dutch cemeteries in this research........................................................................................................................... 34 Correspondence Analysis, a useful method................................................................................................................... 36 Conditions for Correspondence Analysis and gender specific grave furnishings..................................................... 36 Preparing the database for Correspondence Analysis............................................................................................... 36 The final preparations for Correspondence Analysis................................................................................................ 37 Correspondence Analysis and results........................................................................................................................ 38 Towards an artefact typology specifically for the Netherlands...................................................................................... 38 Conclusion..................................................................................................................................................................... 43 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 44

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Contents 5. Beneath the Surface: Illuminating Bubbles in Ancient Glass................................................................................... 47 Heather Christie Introduction.................................................................................................................................................................... 47 Bubbles and Glass.......................................................................................................................................................... 47 Photographic Filters....................................................................................................................................................... 48 Methodology.................................................................................................................................................................. 50 Results............................................................................................................................................................................ 51 Bubble Concentrations and Glass Bead Manufacture and Trade................................................................................... 54 Conclusion..................................................................................................................................................................... 54 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 55 6. Digital Discoveries: New insights into the Govan-Inchinnan school of carving..................................................... 57 Megan Kasten Introduction.................................................................................................................................................................... 57 Early Medieval Govan................................................................................................................................................... 57 The Govan School.......................................................................................................................................................... 58 Digital Imaging Techniques........................................................................................................................................... 58 Recovering Worn Patterns with Photogrammetry and RTI............................................................................................ 58 Cross-proportions........................................................................................................................................................... 61 Conclusion..................................................................................................................................................................... 62 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 63 7. Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100........................................................................................................ 65 Christina Cowart-Smith Introduction.................................................................................................................................................................... 65 Data set........................................................................................................................................................................... 66 Overview of sculpture forms.......................................................................................................................................... 67 The early period, AD 400-700................................................................................................................................... 67 The middle sculpture period, AD 700-900................................................................................................................ 68 Case-study 1: The high cross assemblage at Abercorn............................................................................................. 69 The late sculpture period, AD 900-1100................................................................................................................... 71 Case-study 2: The Borthwick fragment..................................................................................................................... 74 Sculpture locations......................................................................................................................................................... 74 Conclusions.................................................................................................................................................................... 74 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 75 8. The reuse of an ancient metope in the castrum of Civita di Ogliara (Southern Italy): an example of ideological intent in the Longobardian architecture..................................................................................................... 77 Giuseppe Russo A short introduction about spolia................................................................................................................................... 77 The metopes of bucranium............................................................................................................................................. 78 Area of study.................................................................................................................................................................. 78 Discussion...................................................................................................................................................................... 79 Conclusions.................................................................................................................................................................... 80 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 81 9. Roman Warlords and the Early Medieval World...................................................................................................... 83 Douglas Carr Introduction.................................................................................................................................................................... 83 Warlordism in Roman Studies....................................................................................................................................... 83 Warlordism beyond the Generalissimo Model............................................................................................................... 84 Local Roman Elites as Warlords.................................................................................................................................... 84 Case Study: Militarisation and Roman Britain.............................................................................................................. 86 Conclusion..................................................................................................................................................................... 90 Notes.............................................................................................................................................................................. 90 References...................................................................................................................................................................... 90 10. Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula................................................................................................................... 95 Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist vi

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Contents Patricia Fuentes Melgar, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist Raul Catalán Ramos, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist Zamoraprotohistorica, the project. Associative Archaeology ‘El Castillón’, the archaeological site............................................................................................................................ 96 Chronologies and phases of occupation......................................................................................................................... 97 The excavations. Investigations at El Castillón............................................................................................................. 98 Interpreting the Late Roman Town................................................................................................................................ 99 The defences.............................................................................................................................................................. 99 The urban layout...................................................................................................................................................... 100 The furnaces............................................................................................................................................................ 100 The storehouse......................................................................................................................................................... 101 The granary............................................................................................................................................................. 103 The church............................................................................................................................................................... 104 Interpretation of the data to reconstruct the past.......................................................................................................... 104 The economy........................................................................................................................................................... 104 The society.............................................................................................................................................................. 107 Conclusions.................................................................................................................................................................. 108 References.................................................................................................................................................................... 108

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List of Figures Chapter 2 Fig 1: Distribution of sites included in study........................................................................................................................ 5 Fig 2: Frequency of buckles in male and female graves before and after AD 580............................................................... 6 Fig 3: BU8 from grave 225, Morningthorpe......................................................................................................................... 8 Fig 4: Bu9 from grave 388, Morningthorpe.......................................................................................................................... 8 Fig 5: BU6 from grave 144, Finglesham, featuring cruciform design................................................................................ 11 Fig 6: BU3-c from grave 16, Alton, featuring Style II animal ornament............................................................................ 11 Chapter 3 Fig 1: Grave 107 from Hégenheim (Haut-Rhin); cowrie located beside left tibia (marked with an arrow)...................... 22 Fig 2: Cowrie shell with iron wire loop from Grave 107 .................................................................................................. 23 Fig 3: Grave 59 from Illfurth ‘Buergelen’ (Haut-Rhin) (cowrie marked with an arrow)................................................... 24 Fig 4: Cowrie shell with a copper-alloy wire loop from Grave 59 Illfurth ‘Buergelen’ (Haut-Rhin)................................ 24 Fig 5: Grave 6 from Buckland Dover (Kent) (cowrie marked with arrow)........................................................................ 25 Chapter 4 Fig 1: Map of western Europe showing an indicative overview of the geographical areas of study for the chronologies and typologies by Müssemeier, Siegmund and Legoux................................................................................ 33 Fig 2: Map of the Netherlands showing the location of 21 Early Medieval cemeteries..................................................... 35 Fig 3: Output curve of the Correspondence Analysis on Dutch Early Medieval inhumations with a suspected male gender or no expected gender..................................................................................................................................... 39 Fig 4: Schematic impression of glassware type GLA 2.3................................................................................................... 40 Fig 5: Schematic impression of belt fitting type GÜR 4.8A............................................................................................... 40 Fig 6: Schematic impression of glassware type GLA 8.4................................................................................................... 40 Fig 7: Schematic impression of pottery vessel type KWT 3A............................................................................................ 40 Fig 8: Schematic impression of spear head type LAN 1.4................................................................................................. 41 Fig 9: Schematic impression of buckle type GÜR 6.2........................................................................................................ 41 Fig 10: Schematic impression of the typological sequence of some buckles from the French chronology....................... 42 Fig 11: Schematic impression of axe type FBA 1.2, with lightly s-shaped back................................................................ 42

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List of Figures Fig 12: Schematic impression of axe type FBA 1.3, with a straight back.......................................................................... 43 Fig 13: Schematic impression of seax type 1, the ‘narrow seax’ or ‘Schmalsax’.............................................................. 43 Fig 14: Schematic impression of seax type 2.1, the ‘light broad seax’ or ‘leichter Breitsax’............................................ 43 Chapter 5 Fig 1: Wound versus drawn glass beads and their bubble orientations.............................................................................. 48 Fig 2: Comparison between an image using digital settings derived from a physical filter, and an image using a physical filter on a replica glass bead................................................................................................................................. 49 Fig 3: The RGB colour model............................................................................................................................................ 49 Fig 4: A red filter (a) contrasted with a yellow filter (b) in its treatment of light............................................................... 49 Fig 5: Comparison between a standard colour image of a dark blue bead and one with a blue filter applied to the image............................................................................................................................................................................. 50 Fig 6: Division of regions in this study............................................................................................................................... 51 Fig 7: Regional bubble concentrations in glass beads from Iron Age and Early Medieval Scottish contexts.................... 52 Fig 8: Comparison of bubble concentration between bead colours (p=0.00000000104)................................................... 52 Fig 9: Regional bubble distributions among cobalt-blue bead glasses (p = 0.0068).......................................................... 53 Fig 10: Regional bubble distributions among copper-blue bead glasses (p = 0.000095)................................................... 53 Fig 11: Regional bubble distribution among opaque yellow bead glasses (p = 0.579). .................................................... 54 Chapter 6 Fig 1: The reconstruction of Govan 17 was relatively simple after removing the texture from the 3D model.................. 59 Fig 2: A still-image from Govan 23’s RTI was used to record newly identified carved sections as they were revealed by the changing light. These remnants were joined into a coherent pattern........................................................ 59 Fig 3: The preserved outward-facing Stafford knots pattern from Govan 28 worn digitally using Zbrush....................... 60 Fig 4: Govan 14 with the highlighted remnants identified through RTI with the outward-facing Stafford knot pattern reapplied.................................................................................................................................................................. 60 Fig 5: The types of patterns frequently employed by the Govan carvers, specifically Stafford-knot related patterns and Free-ring interlace.......................................................................................................................................... 61 Fig 6: Recumbent Cross-slab typology............................................................................................................................... 61 Fig 7: Govan 12’s cross outline imposed over Inchinnan 1’s cross.................................................................................... 62 Chapter 7 Fig 1: Sites with sculpture in south-east Scotland, AD 400-1100...................................................................................... 66 Fig 2: Sites with incised pillar stones and inscribed slabs in south-east Scotland.............................................................. 68 Fig 3: Sites with early high cross components in south-east Scotland............................................................................... 69 Fig 4: Abercorn 1................................................................................................................................................................ 70 x

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List of Figures Fig 5: Abercorn 2................................................................................................................................................................ 71 Fig 6: Comparison of early versus late high cross components in south-east Scotland..................................................... 72 Fig 7: Sites with ‘hogbacks’ and kindred recumbent monuments in south-east Scotland.................................................. 72 Fig 8: Borthwick 1.............................................................................................................................................................. 73 Chapter 8 Fig 1. Walls of the Longobardian castrum called Civita di Ogliara................................................................................... 79 Fig 2. Metope of bull’s head and flower at Porta Salerno, Civita di Ogliara (Serino, AV – Italy). Detail of the bucranium and the not well-identified rose on the external right side of Porta Salerno..................................................... 79 Chapter 9 Fig 1: The distribution of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings in Britain............................................................................. 87 Fig 2: The number of finds of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings from Roman sites by site type...................................... 87 Fig 3: The number of finds of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings from Roman rural sites by rural site type.................... 88 Fig 4: The distribution of crossbow brooches in Britain.................................................................................................... 89 Fig 5: The number of finds of crossbow brooches from Roman sites by site type............................................................. 89 Fig 6: The number of finds of crossbow brooches from Roman rural sites by rural site type............................................ 90 Chapter 10 Fig 1: Location of the site in the Iberian Peninsula............................................................................................................ 96 Figs 2a and 2b: Different aerial views of the site............................................................................................................... 97 Fig 3: Chronologies and main artefacts dating the phases of occupation........................................................................... 97 Fig 4: Distribution of the excavation areas......................................................................................................................... 98 Fig 5: Location of the identified buildings.......................................................................................................................... 99 Fig 6: Hypothetical pattern of the defensive wall and its accesses..................................................................................... 99 Fig 7: Structure and internal techniques of construction of the wall. 7a. Western wall. 7b. Northern wall.......................99 Fig 8: Metallurgical area. 8a. Furnaces 8b. Aerial view of the annexed building............................................................ 100 Fig 9: Location of the storehouse in the site over aerial picture....................................................................................... 101 Fig 10: Planimetry of the storehouse. .............................................................................................................................. 102 Fig 11: Elements found in the storehouse. 11a and 11b. the osculatory. 11c. the large oven or ceramic kiln.................. 102 Fig 12: Ritual burial of a sheep in Room4........................................................................................................................ 103 Fig 13: Location of the granary in the site........................................................................................................................ 103 Fig 14: Planimetry of the granary..................................................................................................................................... 104 Fig 15: Findings in the granary.15a. Pottery containing grain. 15b. Grain found in the silos of the ground................... 105 xi

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List of Figures Fig 16: Location of the religious building in the site........................................................................................................ 105 Fig 17: Aerial view of the religious building. The lines mark the hypothetical layout of the building............................ 105 Fig 18: Detail of one of the tombs found inside the religious building............................................................................ 105 Fig 19: Reconstruction of the agricultural activities: tools, millstone, cereal.................................................................. 105 Fig 20: Reconstructing the livestock farming. 20a. Distribution of the animal bones. 20b. Cheese strainer................... 106 Fig 21: Sample of fish bones. ........................................................................................................................................... 107 Fig 22: Drawing of the fibula type Vyskov....................................................................................................................... 107

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List of Tables Chapter 2 Table 1: Frequency of buckles in male and female graves by regions before and after 580AD.......................................... 6 Table 2: Frequency of buckle types in particular positions in female graves before 580AD............................................... 7 Table 3: Frequency of buckles in male and female graves according to age before and after 580AD................................. 7 Table 4: Frequency of materials on buckles found in male and female graves before and after 580AD............................. 9 Table 5: Frequency of decorative motifs on buckles found in male and female graves before and after 580AD.............. 10 Table 6: Frequency of buckle types found with specific categories of grave-goods before and after 580AD................... 13 Table 7: Frequency of buckle types found with particular weapon types in male graves after 580AD............................. 13 Table 8: Frequency of buckle types in particular positions in male graves after 580AD................................................... 13 Chapter 4 Table 1: List of the 21 Early Medieval cemeteries featuring in this research..................................................................... 32 Chapter 5 Table 1: Number of bubble samples per colour.................................................................................................................. 50

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Contributors Douglas Carr, Newcastle University. Raul Catalán Ramos, Archaeological Society ZamoraProtohistórica. Heather Christie, University of Glasgow. Christina Cowart-Smith, Durham University. Patricia Fuentes Melgar, Archaeological Society ZamoraProtohistórica. Abigail Górkiewicz Downer, University of Chester. Megan Kasten, University of Glasgow. Nicola McNeil, University of York. Óscar Rodríguez Monterrubio, Archaeological Society ZamoraProtohistórica. Giuseppe Russo, Nazionale delle Ricerche, Istituto di Biologia Agroambiente e Forestale. Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco, Archaeological Society ZamoraProtohistórica. Tim van Tongeren, Canterbury Christ Church University.

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1 Introduction Heather Christie and Megan Kasten

The Early Medieval Archaeology Student Symposium was created in 2007 to provide a platform for research students and early career archaeologists focusing on the early medieval period (c. AD 300 – 1200) to discuss and present their work at the professional level. It serves to connect these students and early career researchers to each other and to a wider network of early medieval archaeologists. In recent years, the symposium has become a major event at which new and interdisciplinary research is presented.

Moving away from mortuary practices and into discussions of new analytical approaches to archaeology, Christie demonstrates the use of photographic filters in understanding surface and subsurface features of glass beads. Differences in bubble concentrations demonstrate significant differences in manufacture and trade between regions of early medieval Scotland and provide meaningful insight into an object category about which relatively little is known. Kasten then uses reflective transformation imaging and photogrammetric 3D modelling to understand the effect of wear on carved stone monuments in early medieval Scotland. Based on this understanding, she has been able to identify the patterns that originally decorated stones now worn beyond recognition.

Given the degree of new research presented in the field and the importance of students and early career researchers to our academic inquiry of the past, the EMASS 2018 Organising Committee felt it important that the conference proceedings be published. Many speakers presented their research from Masters and Doctorate degrees, many of which are still in progress. Consequently, not all speakers could publish their work openly and many could not publish their results in full. Nevertheless, the research presented in this volume demonstrates strong and significant contributions to the field on the part of students and early career researchers.

Cowart-Smith examines the distribution and iconography of early medieval high crosses and other stone sculpture in south-east Scotland between AD 400 – 1100. She demonstrates differences in recumbent slabs used to mark elite graves versus the more publicly visible high crosses. Russo also discusses iconography of stone sculpture through the reuse of metope in Longobardian Italy. He argues the incorporation of these sculptures in Longobardian structures and the association of the included symbols with power and strength helped to affirm Longobardian rule over the lands they invaded.

EMASS 2018 was held in Glasgow from 19 – 21 April and was jointly hosted by the University of Glasgow and the Glasgow School of Art. Twenty-one papers and four posters by a total of forty individuals were presented over two days, of which nine are included in this volume. The presentations ranged in topic from re-evaluating concepts of warlordism in post-Roman Britain to discussions of ideological reuse of metope in Italy. McNeil identifies significant changes in the deposition of buckles and buckle forms in Anglo-Saxon mortuary practices as indicators of significant societal changes during the 7th century, particularly the rise of a burgeoning elite and the adoption of Christianity. Górkiewicz Downer continues in the vein of 7th century Anglo-Saxon mortuary practices by cautioning against broadly classifying certain objects as ‘amulets’ and demonstrates that many of these objects, such as cowrie shells, were treated and deposited differently in these burial contexts. Van Tongeren echoes words of caution in his assessment of mortuary chronologies through artefact typologies in the Netherlands. He finds that German and French chronological frameworks do not always match the occurrence of mortuary objects in the Netherlands and that some objects can be classed as transitional types between other recognised continental object categories.

Continuing with the military prowess, Carr re-evaluates the traditional contrasting of late Roman provincial civilian elites to the violent ‘superthugs’ of the early medieval period. Carr argues instead that late Roman elites played a significant role in this perceived transition to violence and warlordism and were active agents in the transition to early medieval Europe. Finally, Rodríguez-Monterrubio and colleagues provide the first detailed report and analysis of ‘El Castillón,’ a site of continuous occupation from the Late Iron Age to the medieval period in Santa Eulalia de Tabara, Zamora, Spain. This report has helped to extend the traditional limited picture we had about Visigoths and Suevi in this region. We would like to extend our warmest thanks to all presenters at EMASS 2018 and all contributors to this volume for making it successful.

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2 Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England – A Contextual Analysis Nicola McNeil University of York Abstract: Recently revealed disparities in funerary investment suggest that a significant shift in gender relations took place in England during the seventh century. Since gender is a fundamental principle of social organisation, understanding this shift is key to understanding this period of unprecedented social change. Little ground, however, has been gained in explaining this change. This is because the male and female mortuary assemblages that demonstrate this disparity are largely distinct and have not therefore been compared. Buckles are one of only two items that occur frequently in both male and female burials, enabling us to compare these chronologies and explore the shift in gender relations they reveal. This chapter discusses the key results of a diachronic analysis of gendered buckle use in Anglo-Saxon mortuary contexts. It describes a distinct disparity in distribution and a dramatic reversal in this pattern after 580AD, substantiating the suspected shift in gender relations. Contextual clues confirm a link between elite models of masculinity and martial rights whilst hinting at the polarisation of the female body and forms of femininity constructed in relation to it. Evidence permits me to posit a precarious socio-political situation and the introduction of Christian ideology as impetuses for these shifts and so contribute to a clearer picture of the social change that characterises this period. Keywords: Anglo-Saxon England; seventh-century; social change; gender; mortuary practice; furnished burial; buckles

Introduction: fluctuating funerary practices in seventh-century England

conversion thesis has loomed large. Most recently, a return to the religious model has been heralded by Hoggett, who recommends that we consider the presence of ‘Germanic’ grave-goods in this period proxy for an unconverted population (2010, 167).

Decline in grave-good deposition The seventh century marks a decisive point in the development of early medieval England. It sees the culmination of several social changes, including the emergence of early states and their rulers (Bassett 1989), a resurgence in long-distance trade (Hodges 1982) and the arrival of Christianity (Blair 2005). Alongside these social shifts, changes in mortuary practice have often been observed. Most significantly, this period sees a dramatic decline in the deposition of grave-goods (Hines 1992, 83)—the custom that had characterised North-sea communities since the fifth century (Härke 2014, 2). The reasons for this change have been a constant source of contention. Traditionally, though, it has been attributed to the conversion chronicled by Bede. Scholars regarded residual grave-goods, accordingly, as either pagan remnants (Leeds 1936, 96-114; Meaney and Hawkes 1970, 29) or, conversely, expressions of emerging Christian belief (Evison 1956, 108; Hyslop 1963, 193; Lethbridge 1936, 48; Ozanne 1962, 32). Though the rise of processualist paradigms later in the century prompted some attempts to explain this decline in socio-economic terms (Arnold 1980, 101; Carver 1989, 157; Shephard 1979, 77), the

Gendered disparity in grave-good deposition Recent chronological research, however, has revealed that this decline took place closer to 580 AD (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 476-9)—two decades earlier than Augustine’s arrival—and is unlikely, therefore, to be the result of the conversion. More crucially, this project also demonstrated a marked disparity between male and female funerary investment during this period. A combination of correspondence analysis and Bayesian modelling revealed that, while the number of male burials containing gravegoods continued to decline, the frequency of female furnished burials began to increase dramatically during the seventh century (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 529). Though no conclusive explanations for this disparity exist (Hamerow 2016; Hines, Scull and Bayliss 2013; Scull 2015), that it occurs between males and females does demonstrate that gender was implicated in this phenomenon. Alongside political, economic and ideological structures, then, gender relations also underwent dramatic changes during this period. This is unsurprising since, as Sørensen 3

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period reminds us, shifts in gender relations are inevitable during the kinds of social upheaval sweeping north-west Europe in the seventh century (2009, 253). Moreover, since gender is a key principle of social organisation (Barrett 1988, 12), understanding these changes should enable us to understand not only this disparity but also this period of social change more generally.

implicated in the construction and maintenance of gender relations, buckles are perfectly placed to shed light on similar shifts suspected in seventh-century England. Methodology: a contextual approach to capturing changing patterns in gendered buckle use For postmodern thinkers, gender is constructed through performance or ‘the stylized repetition of acts’ (Butler 1990, 191). Crucially for our purposes, Butler’s pervasive theory of performativity places precedence on material culture. When repeated in the same contexts, certain behaviours become symbolically associated with specific sexes. These associations give rise to behavioural expectations for either sex: the basis of genders. Since they inevitably become implicated in these performances, objects also come to be symbolically associated with either sex through repeated use in the same contexts. In this way, objects become not only symbols of sexual difference but also placeholders of gendered norms, enabling individuals to fulfil these expectations when used in accordance with them (Butler 1993, 232). To reveal gender relations in a given society, then, we must discover how material culture is used differently by either sex, since, according to this theory, sex-specific patterns in object use and association should verify the existence of culturally-specific gender norms. By the same token, changes in these patterns should expose changes in existing gender norms and the relations they give rise to.

Buckles as barometers of shifting gender relations Previously, though, we have been prevented from exploring the change in gender relations indicated by this disparity since the sex-specific artefact sequences that evidence it are largely distinct and have not, therefore, been compared (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 459). Buckles, however, are one of only two items that appear regularly in both male and female graves (Høilund Nielsen 2013, 136), enabling us to compare these chronologies. Despite their profitable position in the mortuary corpus, though, these items have stimulated scant discussion. Anglo-Saxon buckles and the belts they are proxy for have mostly been considered as cultural and chronological indices (Brown 1915, 28; Åberg 1926, 117; Hawkes and Dunning 1961, 17). Their social significance has remained subordinate to classification and chronology even in the post-processual period. The only full-length treatment of Anglo-Saxon buckles to date, for instance, promises to shed light on early English social structure using buckle distribution as a barometer (Marzinzik 2003, 15), but, compared with classification, such social analysis appears as an afterthought. Likewise, Høilund Nielsen’s contribution to the chronology project (Bayliss and Hines et al. 2013, 136-47)—an integrated typology for buckles in AngloSaxon graves—is preoccupied with classification at the expense of social inferences. The project’s authors also tend to pass over buckles because they consider many types ‘chronologically insignificant’ and so superfluous to the study’s aims (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 136).

In order to understand how such relations changed in seventh-century England, therefore, this study examined how buckles were used differently between the burials of Anglo-Saxon males and females and how this shifted from the fifth to seventh century. Since buckles are the most common find in Anglo-Saxon graves from the fifth to eighth century (Marzinzik 2003, 3), it was necessary to select a sample of the available evidence. To ensure this sample would shed light on the shifting material construction of sexual difference over time, inhumations were included on the basis that they contained at least one identifiable buckle, were accompanied by reliable date and sex determinations and were well-documented enough to enable the contextual analysis summarised in the following paragraph. Given these criteria, the corpus collated as part of the Anglo-Saxon chronology project (Bayliss and Hines et al. 2013) formed a suitable source. Many burials were assigned radiocarbon dates—making them amenable to the study’s diachronic aims—whilst a programme of osteological reassessment produced the reliable sex determinations required to draw meaningful conclusions about the material construction of sexual difference. This strategy generated a geographically representative sample of 325 burials sourced from 38 sites across lowland Britain (Figure 1).

It is their long currency, however, that makes buckles an especially useful tool for social analysis. Buckles feature frequently in migration-period graves and even survive the final cessation of furnished burial at the end of the seventh century (Geake 1997, 39). In this way, they enable us to compare male and female mortuary treatment over a wide timespan and so explore this disparity in deposition and the change in gender relations it indicates. Recent radiocarbon dates (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 232), moreover, mean that graves containing buckles with long currencies can now be considered as part of such studies. That buckles have special social significance for this period in particular and are therefore worth studying is suggested in seventhcentury, Merovingian Gaul, where gendered changes in buckle use have been taken as evidence of a dramatic shift in gender relations. Specifically, Halsall takes the appearance of plaque-buckles—which previously demonstrated an exclusively male distribution—in female graves from the seventh-century as support for his thesis that Merovingian gender relations moved towards a monopolar model during this period (2010, 381). Since material culture is

Specific data on the burials selected were drawn directly from the relevant site reports. Recording a wide range of spatial, depositional and typological data enabled me to discover which mortuary practices demonstrated patterning 4

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Fig 1: Distribution of sites included in study

with sex and therefore played a role in the construction of early English mortuary masculinities and femininities. In order to reveal these patterns, variables were entered into Access in separate tables and linked to produce a relational database that allowed me to cross-tabulate—and thus observe correlations between—gendered patterns in buckle use and other aspects of the funerary rite. Since my aim was to understand how gender relations changed after the archaeological horizon revealed by the revised chronology and into the seventh century, burials were assigned based on available evidence to either before or after 580AD—the most probable date for this horizon (Bayliss and Hines et al. 2013 476-9). This enabled me to identify any diachronic changes in these patterns and thus in the gender norms they evidence. These patterns and their implications for our understanding of gender in seventh-century, Anglo-Saxon society are outlined in the following section.

with the material culture that emerged towards the end of this time-span. Indeed, when the distribution of buckles in male and female mortuary contexts is examined diachronically, this picture is very different. Of the 215 buckles deposited before 580AD, 68 per cent (n=146) were found in female graves whilst 32 per cent (n=69) occurred in male graves (Figure 2). More than double the number of buckles, then, were found in female graves than in male graves before 580AD. This fact confirms that, contrary to current thinking, gender was implicated in the distribution of Anglo-Saxon buckles and that they do, therefore, have something to tell us about gender in early English society. In an almost direct reversal of this distribution, however, only 36 per cent (n=40) of the 110 buckles found in mortuary contexts after 580AD featured in female graves, meanwhile the remaining 64 per cent (n=70) were recovered from male graves (Figure 2). Though buried with twice as many buckles as males prior to this period, females clearly came to be provided with only half the amount afforded to their counterparts after this horizon. These results, then, reveal not only that the distribution of buckles in Anglo-Saxon graves was gendered but also that this gendered distribution changed dramatically. They therefore indicate a reversal in the gender relations that gave rise to this earlier distribution. That it is paralleled nationwide (Table 1), moreover, makes it likely that this reversal in distribution does indeed represent a widespread shift in gender like that hypothesised at the outset. More significantly, though, this analysis also demonstrates that the reversal took place at the time of the cultural horizon identified by the revised chronology (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 464-5). Consequently, it suggests that this reversal is likely to be linked to the recently demonstrated disparity in gendered funerary provisioning and the change in gender

Results and discussion Gendered distribution of buckles Those few commentators who have considered the social significance of Anglo-Saxon buckles conclude that they are ‘gender neutral’ (Lucy 1997, 50) and therefore have little to tell us about gender relations. Marzinzik’s brief social analysis of early English buckles, for instance, finds that ‘no strong discrepancies between the sexes are visible’ (2003, 88). Likewise, in her consideration of conversion-period grave-goods, Geake maintains that most buckles ‘were buried with men and women in fairly equal numbers’ (1997, 78). Both studies were, however, synchronic. Marzinzik treated the fifth to eighth century as a homogenous period, whilst Geake was only concerned 5

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Fig 2: Frequency of buckles in male and female graves before and after AD 580. Table 1. Frequency of buckles in male and female graves by regions before and after 580AD Before 580AD Region

After 580AD

Female

Male

Female

Male

East Anglia

26

9

4

12

Essex

9

7

0

0

Kent

19

7

12

14

Mercia

23

4

4

14

Northumbria

11

2

7

11

Sussex

13

9

6

12

Wessex

43

13

3

20

relations we have established it indicates. Explaining this gendered shift in buckle distribution, therefore, is vital if we are to understand how gender in this period changed.

128; Geake 1997, 108). Crucially, this costume is simpler. Single brooches, for instance, replaced the migrationperiod fashion for multiple brooches (Walton Rogers 2007, 184). Significantly, the disappearance of brooches from the archaeological record in the seventh century has been linked to functional changes as a result of these new fashions. Owen-Crocker, for instance, suggests that the open-fronted cloaks evidenced in contemporary art did not require brooches as fasteners unlike the rectangular cloaks of earlier centuries (2004, 148-50), and Høilund Nielsen’s thinking is that buckles, likewise, became superfluous with the introduction of these new, simpler garments (2013, 367).

Since they were most frequently found with textile remains, it is clear that the majority of these buckles functioned as clothing fasteners. The first explanation that we might advance to account for this decline, therefore, is that buckles were no longer functional or fashionable for females from the seventh century. Indeed, Høilund Nielsen explains the relative paucity of buckles that she observes in the later female artefact sequence in this way, speculating that contemporary fashion changes meant female dress required fewer buckles (2013, 367). Certainly, a new dress style is attested in England around this date. Mediterranean styles appear in female graves from the mid sixth-century courtesy of Merovingian contact (Owen Crocker 2004,

There are multiple problems with functionalist explanations for this phenomenon, though. Firstly, this particular argument is circular. The reasoning cited to 6

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Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England Table 2. Frequency of buckle types in particular positions in female graves before 580AD Type

Head

Chest

Arm

Waist

Leg

BU

0

1

0

1

0

BU1

0

0

0

2

0

BU2

0

0

2

10

1

BU4

0

1

0

0

0

BU7

0

0

0

3

0

BU8

0

5

3

37

0

BU9

1

4

3

35

5

Table 3. Frequency of buckles in male and female graves according to age before and after 580AD Female Age

Male

Before 580AD

After 580AD

Before 580AD

After 580AD

Youth

15

2

4

2

Adult

85

26

43

32

Mature

19

8

17

19

explain the archaeological absence of buckles that has suggested to commentators buckles may have no longer been required to fasten the new fashions is based on the very absence of buckles recovered from archaeological contexts. For Owen-Crocker—whose hypothesis Høilund Nielsen cites as support—the ‘decline in the popularity of the buckled belt’ is ‘suggested by the conversion period and early Christian cemeteries’ (2004, 153). This is not to say, however, that buckles are not implicated in contemporary costume changes. On the contrary, buckles become smaller during the seventh century (Marzinzik, 2003, 233), in response, Owen-Crocker reasons, to the introduction of thinner belts (2004, 143). More crucially, Walton Rogers finds ample evidence for the adoption of the Mediterranean buckle-less girdle that she posits to explain this same decline (2007, 219-20). But, as this analysis demonstrates, the buckles that are most frequently found at their waist (Table 3)—BU8 and BU9 (Figures 3 and 4)—not only remain the most common types buried with females but actually increase in popularity after 580AD, rising from 79 (n=119/150) to eighty-two per cent (n=32/39) of all buckles found with females.

with males since it wrapped around the wearer and so, unlike the earlier slip-on tunic, required a belt to fasten it (Owen-Crocker 2004, 180), few buckles are ever found at the waist with this garment (Walton Rogers 2007, 214). Clearly, then, these changes cannot be explained functionally or attributed to fluctuating fashions. Instead, the fact that buckle use shifted simultaneously for both males and females supports the contention that a wider change in gender relations took place during this period. Gendered buckle distribution and age To reveal the gender relations that these results suggest were shifting, we need to know how age was implicated in these distributions since distinct gender norms exist not only for individuals of different sexes but also for individuals of the same sex at different stages in the life-course (Sofaer 1997, 485). With this in mind, it seems significant that, whilst buckles found in female graves before 580AD were distributed almost equally between older and adolescent females, mature females became four times more likely to receive a buckle than their adolescent counterparts after this date (Table 3). This pattern in provisioning, moreover, is at odds with that observed in early medieval cemeteries. Here older females frequently received fewer grave-goods: specifically, girdle items and necklaces (Halsall 1996, 11; Stoodley 2000, 467). If we bear in mind Stoodley’s suggestion that biology played a key role in defining early medieval femininity (2000, 465) and, in particular, the contention that certain items—including girdle groups— symbolised such since they drew attention to the female reproductive body (1999, 74), it becomes difficult not to see this shift in investment from a biological point of view. The likelihood that buckles also began to be afforded to

More importantly, this reasoning does not explain why male buckle use changed at the same time. Though the overall gendered distribution of buckles seems to suggest that buckle frequency in male graves remained virtually consistent into the seventh-century (Figure 2), when viewed regionally (Table 1), these same results reveal that buckles became a more frequent feature of the male funerary kit in most regions from 580AD. Costume changes cannot explain this shift either. Whilst we might expect that the introduction of the ‘warrior jacket’ in this period would account for the increase in buckles buried 7

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Fig 3: BU8 from grave 225, Morningthorpe (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 146, Figure 5.31)

Fig 4: Bu9 from grave 388, Morningthorpe (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 146, Figure 5.32)

female sub-adults after this date (Hawkes and Grainger 2003, 133) allows us to read this shift, more specifically, as one from females of reproductive age to those before and beyond this biological threshold. Crucially, if this is the case, then this change in buckle distribution hints at the emergence of a new form of femininity in the seventh century focused less on the female reproductive body.

examine funerary investment by age, where adolescent males only receive the weapons that typify the male mortuary assemblage once they reach majority (Stoodley 2000, 461). The same studies likewise reveal that funerary provision for mature males was, conversely, plentiful. In fact, Gowland finds that the more complete weapons sets are only found with older males (2006, 151-2). These facts lead Stoodley to suggest that it was not biology, as for femininity, but proximity to a warrior lifestyle that defined the dominant form of elite, early medieval masculinity (2000, 467). Since they shared the same distribution, it seems probable that buckles were bound up with the funerary symbolism predicated of weaponry and likely to

Prior to this period, a similar disparity in buckle distribution was demonstrated between male youths and their mature counterparts, who received twenty-seven per cent to the younger group’s scant six (Table 3). This distribution is consistent with the findings of studies that 8

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Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England be implicated, therefore, in the construction of the martial masculinity that Stoodley suggests such items symbolised.

the supply of garnets was closely controlled by the regional elites that emerge by this period (Hamerow 2017, 81). If this is the case, then the masculinity symbolised by the buckles inlaid with these stones is likely to be not only an elite one but, more specifically, one with close connections to regional rulers.

Unlike in female graves, though, this distribution did not alter after 580AD but became more pronounced. The proportion of buckles afforded to mature males increased from twenty-seven to thirty-six per cent after this date (Table 3). Certainly, in the seventh century, when funerary investment was declining as a whole but most notably in male graves (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 4769), mature males were the last group to relinquish their grave-goods. Given that these goods were predominantly weapons (Härke 1990, 162), it seems that symbolising the masculinity signified by weaponry—and potentially buckles— became increasingly important in this period. If so, then the status of the males afforded this restricted rite either increased or, alternatively, according to the competitive display hypothesis (Carver 2001, 8-9; Halsall, 2010, 203-60), was under threat in the seventhcentury.

Females, conversely, received not only fewer buckle materials than males after this period but, crucially, fewer examples composed of precious commodities. No female graves, for instance, produced any buckles plated with gold or inlaid with garnets (Table 4). Walton Rogers links the fall in feminine buckle investment that this study substantiates to the shift of precious textiles from female to male graves observed in seventh-century cemeteries. Significantly, she takes this shift as a sign that women’s status declined in favour of men’s during this period (2007, 241). Whilst an absence of precious materials might reasonably be taken as evidence of comparably low social status since it signals a lack of access to restricted resources, female graves in this period are not in fact devoid of prized commodities. Gold and garnet jewellery is a defining feature of the seventh-century surge in female funerary investment (Geake 1997, 110)—a phenomenon that has actually been taken as evidence of women’s increasing status in this period (Hamerow 2016, 447; Scull 2015, 80). This fact serves as a reminder that alternatives to buckles as forms of funerary investment existed for females and indicates that such alternatives were in use in the seventh century. In this way, it also hints that buckles were somehow incompatible with the symbolic meaning of these gilded, garnet-adorned accessories.

Gendered distribution of buckle materials If, as archaeology so often demonstrates, differential access to resources is implicated in the creation and maintenance of social inequalities, it seems significant for our purposes that buckles buried in male graves after 580AD featured more than double the number of materials attested on those interred with their female counterparts (Table 4). This disparity is characterised by the presence of precious materials—in particular garnets—on buckles in male graves. Sourced from the Far East, these exotic items indicate access to restricted resources and thus superior social status. Indeed, Hamerow announces garnets as ‘one of the most instantly recognisable emblems of the elite culture that emerged in the North Sea zone during the fifth to seventh centuries’ (2017, 71). Specifically, studies of garnet cache distribution demonstrate their highly restricted dispersal: clustering around known and suspected central places (Harrington and Welch 2014, 163), which are often associated with royal administrative activities (Blair 1996, 121; Ulmschnider 2000, 58-9). This distribution has therefore been taken as an indication that

Gendered distribution of decorated buckles A key corollary of the fact that females were buried with more small, simple buckles after 580AD is that they received fewer ornamental ones. Indeed, after this date females were afforded fewer buckles featuring decoration. Where previously 65 per cent (n=37/57) of all buckles featuring ornament were found in female burials, after 580AD female graves produced only 29 per cent (n=12/41) of all embellished examples. One potential explanation for

Table 4. Frequency of materials on buckles found in male and female graves before and after 580AD Before 580AD Material

After 580AD

Female

Male

Female

Male

Iron

69

38

13

34

Copper Alloy

36

16

17

23

Gold

0

0

0

2

Garnet

0

0

0

6

Glass

1

0

0

1

Shell

1

0

0

2

Silver

2

1

2

7

9

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period this decline in decoration is that these buckles were no longer designed to be displayed. Archaeological evidence leads Walton-Rogers to suggest that the feminine fashions embraced in this period meant that buckles were more likely to be worn under costume, rendering any decoration redundant (2007, 124). As with the functionalist arguments assessed earlier, however, this reasoning does not explain why buckles buried with males became more likely to be decorated during this period (Table 5). This situation, moreover, is at odds with the thinking that Anglo-Saxon women were associated with adornment (Härke 2011, 101). If, as we have established, bodily adornment symbolised the female reproductive role and the embodied femininity this role gave rise to (Halsall 1996, 23; Stoodley 1999, 74), then a lack of ornamentation on buckles buried with females would indicate that this reproductive potential was being downplayed in mortuary contexts. This would certainly support my suggestion— hinted at by the change in age-based buckle distribution—that the seventh century saw a shift away from the female reproductive role and the embodied femininity it informed.

been posited. Marzinzik alludes to the cult of the girdle, in which the belt worn by the Virgin Mary was venerated as a religious relic (2003, 5). Walton Rogers, meanwhile, ascribes similar symbolism to the very buckles used by Anglo-Saxon females in the seventh-century when she contends that the Mediterranean belts they adopted during this period came replete with their Roman Christian connotations of chastity (2007, 221). Whilst the prevalence of such symbolism in seventhcentury England is speculative, the new religion does offer a context for the changes in age-based buckle distribution demonstrated above. Specifically, it provides a possible ideological impetus for the increasing number of buckles afforded to juvenile and mature females at the expense of their adolescent counterparts. Elite, seventhcentury, Anglo-Saxon society, as depicted in hagiography and historiography, is populated by widowed queens who become abbesses, such as Eanflæd, and juvenile oblates, like her daughter, Ælfflæd, who was ‘consecrated to Christ in perpetual virginity’ when ‘scarce a year old’ (Historia Ecclesiastica, III, 24). That the new religion placed a premium on chastity is well known (Yorke 2006, 227). Crucially, though, this precept problematised the reproductive role that we have established was a key feature of early Anglo-Saxon femininity. Sex even became contentious for married women. In De Virginitate, written at the turn of the following century, Aldhelm construes marriage as ‘captivity’ in contrast to the ‘freedom’ that is virginity (75). Likewise, Ælfric, praises the seventhcentury saint, Æþelþryð, for remaining ‘an uncorrupted maiden in marriage to the king’ (Life of St. Æþelþryð, l. 6). Their distance from this biological threshold evidently rendered widowed women and female children exemplary in the eyes of the emerging church. With this in mind, it is not hard to see how the adoption of Christian ideologies in the seventh-century might prompt a shift in attitudes towards the female body like that indicated by the altered

Crosses, Christianity and chastity A clue to this conundrum can be found on those few ornamented buckles that do continue to be deposited in female graves after this period. The only motif found exclusively on buckles buried with females after 580AD is a cross (Table 5; Figure 5). Cruciform motifs begin to appear on portable objects in Anglo-Saxon England from the late sixth century (Owen-Crocker 2004, 130). The significance of this symbol continues to divide commentators, though, with some taking it as clear evidence of Christian belief (Crawford 2004, 98; Gaimster 1992, 19-21) and others suggesting its presence was simply an inevitable consequence of commercial connections with the Christian Franks (Geake 1997, 10). Links between buckles and Christianity have nevertheless

Table 5. Frequency of decorative motifs on buckles found in male and female graves before and after 580AD Before 580AD Decorative motif

After 580AD

Female

Male

Female

Male

Animal head terminals

4

1

1

1

Animal ornament (Style I)

0

4

0

0

Animal ornament (Style II)

0

0

0

6

Cruciform

0

0

4

0

Geometric

0

2

1

2

Parallel lines

7

3

1

3

Ring-and-dot

11

4

2

8

Triangles

6

2

1

6

Vs

2

0

1

1

Vinescroll

0

2

0

0

Zig-zag

7

2

1

2

10

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Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England

Fig 5: BU6 from grave 144, Finglesham, featuring cruciform design (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 145, Figure 5.29).

Fig 6: BU3-c from grave 16, Alton, featuring Style II animal ornament (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 140, Figure 5.14)

Animal ornament, martial rights and masculinity

age distribution demonstrated earlier and hinted at in the historiography. By extension, then, I suggest that it was this new doctrine and these attitudes towards the female body it likely inspired that triggered the emergence of the unembodied femininity indicated by this shift in agedependent buckle distribution. This femininity is best exemplified by the chaste widow, Æþelþryð, who clerics praised not only for defending her virginity but also eschewing the ‘necklaces’ that she ‘adorned her neck with in youth’ (Life of St. Æþelþryð, l. 14). If, as this statement seems to confirm, bodily adornment was bound up with female sexuality in the eyes of the early English church, then this ideological change might also begin to explain why buckles in female burials became increasingly undecorated during the seventh century.

In male graves, though, buckles began to be decorated more frequently from this date. The motif associated exclusively with their wearers was animal ornament (Table 5). Whilst earlier buckles types exhibit the abstracted animals of Style I, the triangular types that begin to be deposited with males after 580AD feature its sinuous successor, Style II. Unlike its earlier counterpart, which featured more frequently on feminine dress accessories, the subsequent style is distinguished by its presence on weaponry—a fact that has led scholars to suggest it symbolises conflict (Høilund Nielsen 1997a, 136). Though this ornament is extant here on buckles rather than weapons, the decorative scheme displayed on the BU3-c from Alton (Figure 6) 11

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period is paralleled on sixth-century, Scandinavian scabbard mounts (Speake 1980, 53). More crucially, the BU3s that most frequently feature this motif—exhibiting six of the seven examples—are the buckle type most likely to be found with weapons after the ubiquitous, ungendered BU8 and BU9 (Table 6). In fact, the graves that gave up these buckles are also second most likely to contain swords (Table 7). Certainly, although sword burials are rare by the seventh century—making up only twelve per cent of male interments from this period (Härke 1989, 54-55)— swords are well represented amongst these buckle burials. They feature in 22 per cent of graves containing this triangular type (n=4/18) and sixty-seven per cent (n=4/6) of those that produced Style II-embellished specimens. The belief that BU3s buckled sword belts or baldrics (Evison 1987, 21; Parfitt 1997, 89)—a suggestion supported by several instances recovered from the arm area (Table 8)—might explain this co-occurrence. More importantly, this association indicates that these buckles were implicated in the chain of military symbolism predicated of Style II and subsequently supports the emerging impression that the masculinity this seventh-century shift gave rise to had a martial basis.

individuals evidenced in furnished burials from the fifth to seventh century, for instance, continues to be corroborated (Halsall 2010, 358; Härke 2011, 103; Stoodley 2016, 150), despite repeated attempts to prove otherwise (Balzaretti 2015, 138; Effros 2000, 635; Lucy 1997, 38-9; 1998; 2011, 692). It is codified in contemporary laws, like that of Ine, which defines a freeman by his right to bear arms (Yorke 2006, 67). This link is, however, symbolic rather than straightforward: not all individuals buried with weapons necessarily wielded them. Härke, for example, finds evidence of pathologies that would have prevented these males from engaging in combat (1990, 37). Equally, for Halsall, the reverse is true. Not all males who wielded weapons were buried with them, since sources indicate that most early medieval males were involved in warfare, and, yet, the distribution of weapons in death remains increasingly restricted into this period (2003, 57). Clearly, then, these weapon assemblages do not symbolise participation in violence. For both commentators, they represent the right to bear arms in organised warfare—an elite and exclusive privilege defined by ethnicity (Halsall 2010, 361-6) and rank (Härke 2004, 11). Significantly, Halsall contends that this privilege is the basis of elite, seventh-century masculinity (2010, 364). The precarious political situation in this period and the precedence it placed on warfare gave rise not only to an elite group of males required to fight but also to a specific model of masculinity defined by these military responsibilities. This reasoning clarifies the correspondence between males and military paraphernalia in early medieval mortuary ritual and explains why, despite their association, weapons are not proxy for male sex. Specifically, these assemblages symbolise a culturally contingent interpretation of maleness or, in other words, masculinity characterised by military privileges and exemplified, therefore, by this group of elite males.

There is in fact a long-lived link between buckles and warfare. The belt-set, or cinglum militiae, was synonymous with late Roman military office. The association between military service and the regulation belt-set was so strong that it gave rise to the metonym ‘take the belt’ to describe the act of joining up (Marzinzik 2003, 4). Equally, the act of removing a belt signalled dishonourable discharge (Hoss 2012, 30). This military symbolism endured into the early medieval period with the Romans’ cultural successors, the Franks, who issued buckles to retainers as a reward for loyalty (Walton Rogers 2007, 221). That buckles held similar significance in Anglo-Saxon England is suggested by Evison. She speculates that the BU3-cs recovered from Alton and Taplow were symbols of military allegiance to Æþelbert, the king of neighbouring Kent (1988, 45).

The contextual evidence reviewed so far strongly suggests links between this elite group and certain buckles recovered from the graves of Anglo-Saxon males after 580AD. If this is the case, then it confirms not only that such buckles symbolise the martial masculinity we have established these males exemplify but, more crucially, that the shift in gender relations substantiated by this study gave rise to a martial model of masculinity. As we have seen, these buckles share a similar distribution to weapons, being buried most commonly with mature males. This suggests BU3s were symbolically compatible with weaponry, and the presence of Style II ornamentation on these items and its intrinsic link with conflict corroborates this correspondence. This military symbolism is further reinforced by the association between these buckles and swords. Given the restricted distribution of swords, this fact also indicates that their wearer was elite—a social designation supported by the style’s princely distribution in Anglo-Saxon England (Høilund Nielsen 1999, 195). The presence of garnets on these buckles, meanwhile, recalls the close link with regional rulers that characterised the retainer’s role since their supply was likely controlled by early kings (Hamerow 2017, 81).

As this hypothesis hints, warfare was prevalent in seventhcentury society. Privatised after Roman withdrawal, political power continued to be precarious into this period (Yorke 2006, 61). The princely burials of this era—replete with war-regalia—reveal that the rulers that rose to prominence in the seventh century were first and foremost warleaders (Halsall 2003, 27-32). These men relied on martial might to gain territory and the tribute required to recruit and reward the retainers needed to continue this cycle of power. Indeed, this political situation saw the rise of another group of elite males across north-west Europe: the retainers or retinue. Stereotyped in heroic texts like Beowulf, these males entered into a reciprocal relationship with regional rulers, in which they provided military service as part of a warband in return for recompense like land and a share of the tribute (Høilund Nielsen 1997b, 155). Significantly for our purposes, conflict was also a key component of early medieval masculinity. The wellrehearsed correspondence between weapons and male 12

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Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England Table 6. Frequency of buckle types found with specific categories of grave-goods before and after 580AD Before 580AD Type

Dress Accessories

After 580AD

Weapons

Tools

Dress Accessories

Weapons

Tools

BU

3

0

1

0

1

3

BU1

2

0

1

0

1

1

BU2

18

3

17

2

2

6

BU3

0

0

0

0

8

13

BU4

2

0

1

0

0

0

BU5

1

4

6

0

0

0

BU6

1

2

5

0

0

0

BU7

4

1

5

1

0

4

BU8

48

24

74

9

17

38

BU9

51

20

67

10

15

29

Table 7. Frequency of buckle types found with particular weapon types in male graves after 580AD

Type

Spear

Shield

Seax

Sword

BU

1

1

0

1

BU1

1

1

0

1

BU2

5

2

0

0

BU3

6

3

1

4

BU4

0

0

0

0

BU5

4

2

1

1

BU6

0

0

1

0

BU7

0

2

2

1

BU8

4

38

2

5

BU9

4

34

5

6

Table 8. Frequency of buckle types in particular positions in male graves after 580AD

Type

Head

Chest

Arm

Waist

Leg

BU

0

0

0

3

0

BU1

0

0

0

2

0

BU2

0

0

0

2

0

BU3

0

0

6

11

2

BU6

0

0

0

1

0

BU7

0

0

0

8

1

BU8

2

2

3

19

1

BU9

1

0

0

18

0

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Indeed, Høilund Nielsen’ study of Style II prompts her to posit a connection between objects decorated with this ornament and royal retainers. She observes that the emergence of Style II in southern Scandinavia coincides with the consolidation of kingdoms and resulting rise of the retainer system that supported such supremacies. Whilst their dispersed distribution already marks them out as diplomatic gifts, contextual analysis allows Høilund Nielsen to argue, specifically, that items decorated in this style were provided as part of the recompense required by the retainers who served the southern Scandinavian kings (1997a, 132; 1997b, 153- 4). That these individuals were likely to bring these rewards home on completion of their service and, subsequently, be buried with them as symbols of the status such service conferred on them, she reasons, explains their uneven distribution (1997b, 155).

similar situations in seventh-century England explain the prevalence of decorated buckles in the graves of AngloSaxon males demonstrated by this study. Certainly, we have established that political power in England during this period was inherently unstable. It seems probable, then, that Anglo-Saxon warleaders made use of political propaganda like their Scandinavian counterparts. Their long-lived martial significance and functional role as fasteners of sword belts makes buckles ideal vehicles for such propaganda. That buckles were implicated in similar schemes in the socially insecure England of the seventh-century would certainly account for the prevalence of politically-potent animal ornament on buckles buried in the graves of elite, Anglo-Saxon males. Their presence in burials in particular, moreover, can be explained with reference to Halsall’s social trauma hypothesis (2010, 210). The death of these elite males was likely to pose a threat to the already precarious social status they conferred on their kin. Such situations would make it imperative, therefore, for the families of these males to reinforce this status in the funerary rite— the arena in which anthropology suggests such social trauma could be mitigated (2010, 211). Taken together with the programme of propaganda posited as an attempt to mitigate it, the precariousness of this social group, then, would certainly account for the dramatic surge in masculine buckle decoration and investment that this study has revealed took place in England from 580AD.

The evidence presented in this chapter indicates that Høilund Nielsen’s hypothesis also holds true for AngloSaxon England. Specifically, it supports the belief that buckles were provided as part of similar loyalty exchanges in the kingly contexts beginning to emerge in seventhcentury England and so symbolised the martial masculinity concomitant with this culture. Though evidence indicates that weaponry typically comprised these diplomatic gifts (Høilund Nielsen 1997a, 165), their frequent cooccurrence and close functional association with swords as fasteners of baldrics makes buckles likely adjuncts to weaponry and thus ideal rewards for retainers. Certainly, we have seen that buckles fulfilled this precise purpose across the Channel (Walton Rogers 2007, 221). Moreover, since these buckles frequently feature garnets, and the control rulers exercised over this commodity means they were likely to be implicated in the creation and distribution of these items, it is probable that these buckles came directly from rulers. It is not unfeasible, therefore, that these items were commissioned by rulers for members of their comitatus. If so, Evison’s theory, that the BU3-cs in this corpus were gifts from the Kentish king, might not be as fanciful as it first seems. More crucially, as such, these buckles symbolise the military masculinity attendant on this aristocratic culture. Their prevalence in the funerary rite post-580AD, then, attests to the rise of this particular gender model in seventh-century England.

Increasing importance of the female reproductive role It is this same political situation, I suggest, that contributed, conversely, to the concurrent decline in buckle investment demonstrated in female burials. Coupled with the increasing social stratification often observed of seventhcentury England (Hines 2003, 147; Scull 2011, 853), this political insecurity placed increasing importance on the production of heirs and precedence, therefore, on the female reproductive role (Scull 2015, 80). Certainly, in periods where power was still up for grabs, the marriage alliances and unifying offspring that a woman of a certain age could promise were vital (Halsall, 2010, 305). This reproductive role was subsequently a key source of status for elite women and their families in the seventh century. According to Halsall’s hypothesis, then, the death of such women necessarily posed a threat to the social position of their family and so required this role to be reaffirmed through the mortuary rite (2010, 211). That the social status of Anglo-Saxon females was traditionally symbolised in death using dress accessories is well known. Their association with masculine politics—as indicated in the iconography—however, would likely render certain buckles less suitable to fulfil this role. In this way, I suggest that such shifts in symbolism might have contributed to the dramatic decline in buckle deposition demonstrated in female graves after 580AD.

Cautious conclusions Precarious political power The power that these individuals and their leaders derived from participation in military pursuits was, however, precarious. For Høilund Nielsen, this political uncertainty explains the prevalence of Style II ornamentation on weaponry in Scandinavia. Doubt over the validity of their supremacy, she explains, meant that emerging elites needed to legitimise their newly-won power publicly. The contexts in which it was found suggests to her that this particular iconography—emblazed on the weapons with which this power was won—enabled them to do just that (1997a, 141). By extension, I suggest that

Significantly, this social status was inextricable with feminine specificity. The reproductive role that invested elite females with increased social importance rendered 14

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Buckle Up! Buckle Use in Burials and Shifting Gender Relations in Seventh-Century England them distinct from rather than just the opposite of males. Halsall, for instance, sees the rise of this embodied femininity in post-Roman Gaul as marking the move from a monopolar gender model, in which individuals were defined by their distance from a single masculine pole, to a bipolar one with a distinct feminine pole (2010, 378). Signifying such specificity, consequently, was a necessary condition of communicating this social status. But, if, as the evidence suggests, buckles began to be adopted for political purposes in the seventh-century and so signify the masculinity associated with such agendas, it follows that certain buckles should become unsuitable to symbolise the feminine specificity inextricable with the social status elite families sought to signal. Such buckles should, subsequently, become less common in the graves of elite females during this period, as this study demonstrates was the case.

symbols selected by families of elite females to signal this specificity and the social status it engendered. Because the evidence indicates it prompted families to seek out these symbolic substitutes, by extension, I propose that the adoption of buckles by the Anglo-Saxon military elite contributed to this increase in the deposition of necklaces. Most crucially, if this is the case, then this shift in buckle use played a part in the seventh-century surge in female funerary investment that these necklaces characterise and was confirmed by the chronology project. Foundations for a fuller understanding of seventhcentury England? The study discussed here demonstrated a significant disparity in the gendered distribution of buckles in AngloSaxon burials and, crucially, a direct reversal in this pattern after 580AD. This was discernible as a dramatic decline in the number of buckles buried with females and concurrent increase in the quality and quantity deposited with their male counterparts. These findings confirm that gender relations did, as recent research suggests, shift dramatically during this pivotal period. Shedding light on these shifting relations was the study’s aim. To these ends, analysis of gendered patterns in buckle use indicated a link between elite varieties of masculinity and martial rights and responsibilities whilst hinting at the polarisation of the female body and forms of femininity constructed in relation to it. Contextual evidence permitted me to posit a precarious socio-political situation and the introduction of Christian ideology as impetuses for these shifts in gender relations and the disparity in buckle distribution that they gave rise to. Though the problem of partial evidence endemic to all archaeology means that many of these symbolic associations and the hypotheses they inform are unavoidably built on small samples and must therefore remain speculative, these results do demonstrate how the social changes sweeping north-west Europe in the seventh-century might have affected gender relations in early England.

The increasing importance of this reproductive role has also been offered as a reason for the gendered disparity in funerary investment revealed recently and which this study demonstrates coincided with this gendered shift in buckle distribution. Scull suggests that it was the increased social status that this reproductive role gave rise to that stimulated the surge in female funerary provisioning that defines this disparity (2015, 80). Previously, I suggested that this chronological coincidence meant that these shifts in funerary practice were linked and that explaining the reversal in gendered buckle distribution demonstrated by this study, therefore, should help us explain this decisive disparity. Taking Scull’s hypothesis as point of departure, I reason that this gendered shift in buckle use is potentially responsible, in part, for this ‘puzzling phenomenon’ (Bayliss and Hines 2013, 520). If, as I argue above, buckles became symbolically unsuitable to symbolise this reproductive role, families of elite females—faced with this role’s rising relevance— would have to substitute something else to signal this source of specificity and the social status it engendered. Certainly, the gendered distribution of buckle materials revealed by this study indicated the adoption of alternative forms of feminine funerary investment during the seventh century. Earlier, we witnessed evidence that buckles and feminine items—specifically necklaces and girdle adjuncts—appeared in near complementary distribution. That adolescent females were more likely than their elders to be buried with these items implied that necklaces and girdles were feminine insofar as they were associated with reproductive females. We saw this symbolism substantiated in contemporary hagiography, where necklaces come to stand for female sexuality. Tellingly, pendant necklaces are perhaps the most prevalent items to emerge in elite female burials after 580AD. Geake reveals that they replaced beads festooned between brooches as the key item in the female funerary kit (1997, 12). Since they symbolise this socially significant role and frequently feature the garnets that we deduced likely defined any alternative form of investment in this period (Geake 1997, 39-40), I suggest that necklaces were one of the substitute

Acknowledgements I am grateful to Guy Halsall for his helpful comments on the ideas expressed here. I would also like to thank John Hines for granting me permission to reproduce Figures 3-6.

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3 What Are Amulets for the Early Medieval Dead?: Rethinking Cowries in Seventh-Century Anglo-Saxon and Alamannic Graves Abigail C. Górkiewicz Downer University of Chester Abstract: Archaeologists often interpret a wide range of artefacts and material uncovered from early medieval graves as amulets. Not only does this practice originate well before the development of archaeology, it also extends across English, French, and German early medieval mortuary studies. In order to illustrate the prevalence of this interpretative trend and its misleading and problematic nature, this chapter examines how cowries, uncovered from furnished inhumation graves across Britain and Western Europe, have been interpreted as amuletic. By exploring the diverse spatial contexts in which cowries are placed in graves, this chapter will identify the necessity for a new theoretical framework for understanding cowries in Western European early medieval mortuary practices that escapes their labels as amulets, talismans, or charms. Focusing on the spatial associations of cowries permits us to move beyond ‘magical’ interpretations and consider their role in early medieval mortuary rites. Keywords: early medieval, amulets, cowrie, Alsace, talismans, charms, mortuary archaeology, spatial context

Introduction

ritual, nor cultural change over time. Even though we could interpret this as a product of antiquarian neglect of mortuary contexts, this practice is analogous to more recent characterisations of similar object types, either as ‘medicinal’ or ‘amuletic’ (Christlein 1978, 81; Meaney 1981, 84; Roes 1960, 33–34; Salin 1959, 94, 97–98; Theune 1997, 55–56).

Mortuary archaeologists of the Early Middle Ages have long had a penchant for applying the term ‘amulet’ to selected artefacts. This trend is seen in some early antiquarian studies, particularly that of Jean-Jacques Chifflet. Some researchers regard Chifflet as the author of one of the earliest burial reports (James 1988, 22, 61; Quast 2015, vii). Chifflet’s work is not only influential among current researchers but was widely received by contemporary scholars, including Sir Thomas Browne (1658, 24) and James Douglas (1793) (Content and Williams 2010, 188). Chifflet’s publication also inspired re-examinations of the grave’s material culture by some nineteenth-century archaeologists, such as Cochet (1859), followed by a more thorough excavation at the suspected burial site at Saint-Brice church, Tournai (Brulet, GhenneDubois, and Coulon 1986; Effros 2003, 120–21).

Many burial ground reports and syntheses define some objects as ‘amuletic’, and thus, magical, following a specific set of criteria shared across English, French, and German language sources. When certain artefacts are considered amuletic, they are considered as such from their portability (i.e. objects small enough to carry on one’s person, such as pendants, ornaments, and accessories) (Behr 2010, 35; Billoin et al. 2008, 276; Bouffard 1945, 84; Brookes 2007, 14; Dickinson 1993, 50; Fréville and Journa 1994, 110; Hilgner 2016, 4; Koch 1997, 36; Médard and Rohmer 2007, 312–13; Theune 1997, 66); their aesthetically pleasing appearance (bright, shimmery) (Dickinson 1993, 45–50; Meaney 1981, 189–90; Salin 1959, 97); their perceived symbolism, occasionally pars pro toto (i.e. miniature objects, deer antler terminals) (Behr 2010, 35; Bouffard 1945, 77–78; Christlein 1978, 73; Effros 2002, 110; Fréville and Journa 1994, 110; Jensen 2010, 42–43; Koch 2015, 65; Meaney 1981, 155–59; Salin 1959, 58); their material composition (amber, amethyst, jet etc.) (Behr 2010, 35; von Freeden 2015, 185; Geake 1995, 98– 99; Gilchrist 2013, 3, 9; Meaney 1981, 75–76; Sherlock 2012, 69; Theune 1997, 66); their physical relationship

Among the variety of artefacts uncovered from Childeric I’s grave, Chifflet viewed the crystal sphere as possessing some amuletic-like qualities. He argued that the crystal sphere was used to treat fever-heat by Childeric’s early medieval contemporaries by citing sixteenth- and seventeenth-century physicians Andreas Cæsalpinus and Anselmus Boëtius as suitable evidence (Chifflet 1655, 244–45; L. M. Cochet 1859, 300). However, Chifflet’s supporting evidence does not adequately substantiate these objects as medical devices in fifth century Francia, since it neither recognises the sphere’s position in mortuary 19

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period to supposed symbolically charged objects (e.g. antiques) (Brugmann 1997, 78; Sherlock 2012, 69); and/or their uncertain functions for early medieval peoples (tools vs. amulets, broken) (Barat 2001, 162; Brugmann 1997, 78; Meaney and Chadwick Hawkes 1970, 32–33; Salin 1959, 99). As with artefacts such as crystal/mineral spheres (i.e. ‘crystal balls’) and perforated Roman coins, cowries have also been defined as amulets following a number of these defining categories (Christlein 1978, 81; Gut 2010a, 142, 2010b, 147; Salin 1959, 70, 74; Sherlock 2012, 69; Theune 1997, 55, 66). Likewise, interpretations of cowries as amulets predates the twentieth century.

of cowries as amulets to support his argument. Lethbridge maintained his view in a later publication on AngloSaxon cowries, citing both ancient Egyptian evidence of cowries as ‘Evil Eye’ deterrents, as well as historical Fijian perceptions of cowries as items of value, equivalent to the value of human lives (Lethbridge 1941). In contrast to his argument, Lethbridge’s ethnographic, historical, and archaeological evidence only worked to demonstrate the contextuality of cowrie use. In France, Salin argued that cowries were amuletic due to their similar appearance to human female genitalia, thus serving as fertility amulets (Salin 1959, 73–74, 75). Joachim Werner (1964, 181) also supported an amuletic interpretation of cowries by suggesting they were employed as Fruchtbarkeitsamuletten or ‘fertility amulets.’ Werner made use of this widely accepted identity to argue that antler/bone pendants were also amuletic due to their occasional co-occurrence with cowries (Werner 1964, 181).

Characterising cowries as amulets Although some nineteenth-century antiquaries and archaeologists have considered cowrie shells more simply as ornaments or curiosities (Akerman 1855, 73; Roach Smith 1856, 68), others have proposed magical functions for these mollusc shells. Among some of the early supporters of this interpretative trend was James Douglas (1793) who referred to cowrie shells as ‘Ithyphallica,’ believing that they served as amulets and charms because of their use as such among eighteenth-century lower-class Neapolitans (Faussett 1757, 68). However, Douglas’s arguments were met by both supporters and critics.

Some more recent publications, such as Huggett (1988), have not proposed a function for early medieval cowries in Britain. Instead, Huggett (1988, 72) only refers to their distant origins, ranging from the Red Sea to as far as the Indian Ocean. In contrast, other studies, notably Meaney (1981) and Geake (1995), followed the work of Lethbridge (1936; 1941), Salin (1959), and Werner (1964), by preferring to label cowries as amulets,. Meaney’s (1981) study on Anglo-Saxon amulets and curing stones equates certain artefact-types as amuletic or talismanic utilising many of the criteria discussed above. In addition to crystal spheres, Roman-period coins, and perforated animal teeth found in Anglo-Saxon graves, she extends this function to cowries. Meaney’s discussion on cowries and her argument is likewise supported with anachronistic sources. This includes a cowrie found beside a silver phallus pendant from a late Roman female burial at Nîmes (Gard) (Meaney 1981, 123), as well as ancient Egyptian uses of cowries to counter the Evil Eye and sorcery (Meaney 1981, 128).

Both Akerman (1855, 73) and Roach Smith (1856, 68) voiced their disagreement with James Douglas’s argument, in the same way that Cochet (1859, 300) expressed his preference for Bernard de Montfaucon’s (17291733) interpretation of early medieval crystal spheres as ornaments over Chifflet’s (1655, 244-45) stance. For instance, in his discussion of a ‘3-inch diameter’ box collection from Kingston Down (Kent), containing both a cowrie and two Roman coins, Akerman writes that cowries, belonging to the species Cypræa pantherina, may instead be “…objects of interest or curiosity” (Akerman 1855, 64). Likewise, Roach Smith (1856, 68) interpreted cowries found in Saxon graves as “personal or domestic” ornaments in contrast to Douglas’s view. Other nineteenthcentury archaeologists have highlighted the distant origins of cowries from warmer climes as indicative of extensive commerce between early medieval Britain and Continental Europe (Wright 1854, 23); a topic which was later visited by Huggett (1988, 72). Still, other scholars, like Lindenschmit (1886, 468), simply regarded cowries as ornaments. These early archaeological debates illustrate competing polar views on the presence of early medieval amulets as early as the nineteenth century.

Weakening the strength of her argument, Meaney also presents examples where an amuletic function for cowrie shells is unclear. This is most apparent in the employment of cowries as eyes in Neolithic Middle Eastern plasteredskulls (Meaney 1981, 125–27). Nonetheless, Meaney maintains that cowries acted as amulets due to their resemblance to female genitalia, or pudenda, as well as their frequent deposition in graves of sexually mature females (Meaney 1981, 125–27). Although, ethnographic comparisons are useful for entertaining possibile object meanings and functions from different geographic and temporal contexts, they can also demonstrate the diversity of object meanings.

Despite the criticism of Wright (1854), Akerman (1855), Roach Smith (1856), and Lindenschmit (1886), an amuletic purpose for the deposition of cowrie shells in early medieval graves prevailed among academic circles. For instance, Lethbridge (1936, 31) argued that cowries were utilised by Anglo-Saxons to stimulate female fertility and assist in parturition due to their use as such among many ‘Old World’ cultures. However, Lethbridge did not cite contemporary early medieval European data on the use

Geake (1995) references Meaney (1981) to support an apotropaic argument for cowries in early medieval British and Continental European graves. Like Meaney, her argument rests upon the co-occurrence of cowries with other supposed ‘amuletic’ artefacts, such as pendants and ornaments adorning necklace assemblages (Geake 1995, 118). Not only is this trend observable in English 20

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What Are Amulets for the Early Medieval Dead? publications, some French and German sources continue to highlight cowries’ resemblance to eyes and pudenda as well as their spatial proximity to other ‘amuletic’ artefacts as suitable evidence for their amuletic identities (Effros 2003, 138; Guillaume, Rohmer, and Waton 2004, 44; Gut 2010a, 142, 2010b, 147; Hamerow 2016, 429; Koch 2015, 71; Putelat 2013, 420–22; Sasse 1989, 38; Sherlock 2012, 69; Theune 1997, 56; Woolhouse 2010, 91). In contrast to this trend’s perpetuation, criticism remains scarce (Ellis Davidson 1983, 131; Herdick 2001, 8; Huggett 1988).

residents of Naples by Douglas (1793) (Faussett 1757, 86), or Salin’s (1959, 74) citation of Tiberi’s (1879) finds of cowrie shells at Pompeii, are not directly related to the presence of cowries in graves. Instead, they reflect their employment among living populations. In this light, mortuary archaeologists neglect these artefacts as burial offerings and promote a uniform cross-cultural purpose for cowries. Objects and material in any cultural context can possess multiple alternate or simultaneous identities and functions depending upon time or place (Halsall 2010, 219). An object’s identities or meanings are not only dependent upon their uniquely acquired biographies, but the ritual context within which they are applied (Effros 2003, 97). What may have been utilised to bolster one’s overall health in eighteenth-century Naples may not have functioned as a prophylactic for eighteenth-century Neapolitans in death. This extends to the inclusion of cowries in early medieval graves, where there is no evidence to support the claim that they were amulets for the dead.

Issues with amuletic interpretations The first issue with an amuletic interpretation for early medieval cowries, as with many other early medieval objects, is that there are few contemporary historical references to amulets. Many of the sources that relate to the use of amuletic objects among Western European peoples are reported and denounced by various early medieval Christian authorities. Some of these writers also expressed support for the magical capabilities of objects. For instance, the seventh-century Bishop Deodatus of Nevers said that the tunics belonging to him and his friend Hildulph could relieve the land of drought, flood, and pestilence (Flint 1991, 181). The varied use of objects in magical rites is recorded in the ninth century AD, De Divortio Lotharii et Tetbergae by Archbishop Hincmar of Reims. This entry states that the local population would divine utilising human detritus (hair, bones), snail shell fragments, coloured threads, herbs, and/or snakes with ascribed or appropriate chants (Flint 1991, 64). Earlier still, the sixth-century Bishop Gregory of Tours recounted in the De Vertutibus Sancti Martini that magicians would fasten various ligatura, or ‘amulets,’ to the bodies of clients to heal unspecified ailments (Flint 1991, 60–61). In contrast to the strongly held belief that cowries functioned as fertility amulets in early medieval graves, none of these early medieval sources on amulets specifically refer to cowries, nor to the employment of amulets in funerary rites.

Evidence for historic and ethnographic uses of amulets demonstrates that they are heavily context dependent. For example, a relatively common amulet type popular among hunters in nineteenth-century southern Germany were Hirschkranln, or ‘stag-teeth’ (Ettlinger 1965, 112). Ettlinger argues that Hirschkranln were originally worn in the nineteenth century to prevent heart palpitations (Ettlinger 1965, 112). However, their function changed in the twentieth century to treat toothache and to bring good luck to its bearer (Ettlinger 1965, 112). Therefore, amulet-types do not necessarily possess the same function across time or space and their purposes may be multiple or singular. It should be remembered that their applications remain culturally as well as contextually dependent, and an argument for amuletic cowries in early medieval graves cannot be validated. Age-dependent functions are also attached to some varieties of historical amulets, such as keys or Schlüssel. As with Hirschkranln, keys neither possess a universal nor singular function in the region of modern Germany. Ettlinger suggests that keys were a longstanding ‘magic symbol’ for permitting or forbidding ‘free passage’ (Ettlinger 1965, 111–12). She argues that a single key was placed in the cradle of infants to avert the ‘Evil Eye’ or Böse Blick, while young children were encouraged to hold a key in the hand to alleviate seizures (Ettlinger 1965, 112). Applications of the term ‘amulet’ by mortuary archaeologists does not allow for amulets’ tremendous diversity.

Secondly, many mortuary archaeologists utilise anachronistic sources that favour amuletic interpretations. Some researchers have referred to cowries from ethnographic sources unrelated to early medieval mortuary data (Lethbridge 1941; Meaney 1981, 125–27). Even if alternate uses and meanings for cowries are mentioned, such as their historical monetary or commercial value among Fijians (Lethbridge 1941), or in nineteenth-century Kongo (Johnson 1970, 18), a preference for an amuletic function persists without adequate chronologically and geographically related evidence. This ultimately neglects all other data available in early medieval mortuary contexts that can provide insights into mortuary rites.

The spatial and material variation of cowries in early medieval graves

A third issue with this trend is that many of the ethnographic and historic sources cited to forward an amuletic interpretation are unrelated to mortuary ritual. For instance, the accounts of cowries as charms/amulets among contemporary eighteenth-century lower-class

Cowries are unanimously considered foreign objects in Merovingian and Anglo-Saxon graves, with origins ranging variously from the Indian Ocean to the Red Sea and the Sea of Aden depending upon the species discussed (Akerman 1855, 64; Huggett 1988, 72; Koch 2015, 6921

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period belonging to the genus Cypraea (Putelat 2007, 115; 2013, Table 2) and was found laid on the outside of the deceased’s left leg below three copper-alloy rings with preserved leather fragments, and an iron knife (Billoin et al. 2007, 172). The cowrie was also perforated near the smaller end of the shell with a broken iron ring (see Figure 2).

72; Putelat 2007, 115; Wright 1854, 23). Cowries have also remained a prominent accessory to funerary rites spanning across Europe, from third/fourth century AD burial contexts at Mtskheta (Georgia) to seventh century Britain (Hines, Scull and Bayliss 2013, Fig. 8.16; Reese 1991, 169–71, 180–82). In addition to their inclusion in graves from many different periods and regions, their spatial positioning within graves does not permit a universal Evil Eye averting and fertility-bestowing function. Furthermore, the spatial position and treatment of cowries within grave contexts varies considerably even within Central and Western Europe. This section will demonstrate this spatial diversity with an examination of cowries from early medieval Alsace and Kent.

Between Grave 107’s legs, a second series of objects was uncovered in a position that suggests it was likely suspended from a separate waist-belt. This strand of unpreserved material supported 49 glass beads of varying sizes and colours, a small bronze chain, and a pyrite sphere encased in bronze within a wooden shell (Billoin et al. 2007, 172). Unlike interpretations of cowries as magical by archaeologists, there is no evidence here to suggest that this cowrie functioned in this manner. Instead, the cowrie was employed as an element of late sixth to early seventh century funerary fashion. Additionally, there is no way of knowing if the cowrie belonged to the deceased or had been a mourner’s gift to a lost loved one. Nonetheless, it only represents one of the ways cowries served as mortuary dress accessories in Alsatian graves.Another burial at Hégenheim, Grave 34, was identified as an

In Alsace, a total of 19 cowries have been uncovered ranging in date from the early sixth century AD through to the midseventh century (Putelat 2013, 421). Although many of these cowries are from adult female burials, the late sixth to early seventh century Morken-type chambered grave 107 from Hégenheim (Haut-Rhin) contains the remains of an adolescent (see Figure 1) (Billoin et al. 2007, 253; Putelat 2013, Table 2). This cowrie is broadly classified as

Fig 1: Grave 107 from Hégenheim (Haut-Rhin); cowrie located beside left tibia (marked with an arrow). Redrawn from Billoin et al. (2007, 253)

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Fig 2: Cowrie shell with iron wire loop from Grave 107 at Hégenheim (Haut-Rhin) conserved and housed at the Centre de Conservation et d’Étude (CCE) at Archéologie Alsace, courtesy of Dr Héloïse Koehler

adult female, buried shortly after Grave 107 between AD 600/610 and 630/40, within a Morken type burial chamber accompanied by a châtelaine decorated with a cowrie shell broadly identified as an example of the genus Cypraea (Billoin et al. 2007, 37, 85; Putelat 2013, Table 2). As with the cowrie from Grave 107, Grave 34’s cowrie was also perforated and suspended from a long châtelaine stretching down to the left side of the left fibula. However, the shell was accompanied by a completely different collection of objects. Just below the cowrie was a decorated openwork bronze disc within a bone ring, while a double-sided bone comb, likely suspended from the same châtelaine, laid just above the cowrie shell (Billoin et al. 2007, p. 83). Unlike the cowrie from Grave 107 which was perforated with an iron wire ring, this cowrie was adorned with an aeruginous wire ring, suggesting that it contained some amount of copper. These examples from Hégenheim illustrate that cowries were not treated identically even within the same burial site and are unlikely to have had the same meanings for different groups at different times.

Zehner and Cartier 2007, 74) (Figures 3 and 4). This shell thus shares its own unique relationship to other objects and serves as a distinct emulation of a dominant left-leg châtelaine fashion. Although the Alsatian examples of cowries presented here were all contained on a lengthy châtelaine, these cowries were neither adorned in the same manner nor found alongside the same artefacts. At Hégenheim, the cowrie in Grave 107 was perforated with a broken iron ring decorating one of the châtelaines that supported an iron knife and three copper-alloy rings. Unlike the other cowrie examples presented here from Alsace, the grave contained an adolescent. Hégenheim’s Grave 34 contained a cowrie shell that was deposited in conjunction with a comb and openwork bronze disc, neither found on the châtelaine in Grave 107. In contrast, the young adult from Grave 59 at Illfurth was found with a cowrie perforated with copper-alloy wire on a long châtelaine decorated with bronze appliqués. Amuletic interpretations of these cowries would casually imply that their functions were the same and dismiss the ability for these artefacts to acquire different meanings when employed as fashion for the living, and when selected for submission with a cadaver.

In contrast, three graves from nearby Illfurth ‘Buergelen’ (Haut-Rhin), dating from the late sixth to mid-seventh centuries AD were accompanied by cowries (Putelat 2013, Table 2). One of these graves is worth examining in this context. As with both Graves 107 and 34 at Hégenheim, the deceased young adult female in Grave 59 at Illfurth was also deposited within a funerary chamber with a cowrie shell identified specifically as Cypraea pantherina (Putelat 2013, Table 2). Similar to Grave 34 at Hégenheim, Grave 59 was constructed sometime between AD 600/610 and 630/640 (Putelat 2013, Table 2; Roth-Zehner and Cartier 2007, Fig. 51). The shell in this grave was suspended at the end of a long leather châtelaine decorated with eight rectangular appliqués descending along the deceased’s left leg, starting at the pelvis beside an iron knife (Roth-

Not only were cowries deposited whole in graves or perforated for suspension, in Britain cowries were more commonly formed into beads. At least 73 cowrie beads have been uncovered from 30 burial assemblages and are only found in British mortuary contexts (Hines et al. 2013, Table 10.1; Høilund Nielsen 2013, 208). According to Hines et al. (2013, Table 10.1), cowrie beads are encountered from graves dating as early as Phase AS-FC (beginning between AD 555 and 585) and remained in fashion until AS-FE (ending between AD 660 and 685) (Bayliss, Hines and Høilund Nielsen 2013, Fig. 8.16). In 23

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Fig 3: Grave 59 from Illfurth ‘Buergelen’ (Haut-Rhin) (cowrie marked with an arrow). Redrawn from Roth-Zehner and Cartier (2007, 74)

Fig 4: Cowrie shell with a copper-alloy wire loop from Grave 59 Illfurth ‘Buergelen’ (Haut-Rhin) conserved and housed at the CCE at Archéologie Alsace, courtesy of Dr Héloïse Koehler

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What Are Amulets for the Early Medieval Dead? comparison, Høilund Nielsen (2013, 215) records a total sample size of 11 whole cowrie shells (PE10-a), deposited in early medieval British graves. Hines, Scull and Bayliss (2013, Table 10.1) determined that whole cowrie pendants are found in British graves from Phases AS-FD and ASFE. Converting these phases into calendar dates utilising Bayliss, Hines and Høilund Nielsen (2013, Fig. 8.16), largely intact cowries were only deposited in graves from around AD 580/640 to 660/85. Therefore, cowrie beads predate the deposition of whole cowries and are also more prevalent than complete cowries in British graves.

Cowries in the Kentish examples described here present a more diverse array of manipulations ranging from modified fragments to almost complete shells. The examples from Graves 67 and 6 at Dover Buckland do not conform to the same spatial arrangement as those from Alsace. Grave 67’s cowrie examples were fashioned into beads as elements of a necklace, while Grave 6 contained a cowrie shell organised within a container alongside a spindle whorl, a nail, and a glass beaker. Even though it is tempting to argue that the ‘sawn off’ teeth of Grave’s 67’s cowrie were utilised to manufacture beads, there could be multiple alternate possibilities. Above all, the depositions of cowries at Dover Buckland express links with contemporaneous mourning communities across the Channel, that correspond according to local and individual mortuary fashions.

What distinguishes cowrie beads from other shell beads is the preservation of cowrie ‘teeth’ along the bead edges. This suggests that they were intentionally cut along the cowrie’s crenelated aperture. Two examples of these cowrie shell beads were found in Grave 67 at Dover Buckland (Kent), dated between AD 580/600 and 650/675 (Brugmann 2012, 323). Utilising Høilund Nielsen’s (2013) typology, the necklace’s beads and pendants from Grave 67 suggest that the grave was constructed sometime within Phases AS-FC and AS-FD (between AD 555/85 and 625/50) (Bayliss, Hines and Høilund Nielsen (2013, Fig. 8.6). They were suspended around the neck of a 20-30 year old female who was buried in an unusual position for the site: the torso and pelvis were prone, the left arm lay along the left side of the body, the right leg was flexed and the left leg extended, while the skull was turned left and laying supine (Evison 1987, 234-5). Alongside the two cowrie shell beads were nine glass beads, four rectangular shell beads, three almondshaped amethyst beads, three ‘bronze bead halves’, three silver scutiform pendants, and one smaller rectangular garnet-inlaid gold pendant (Evison 1987, 234-5). Since these two cowrie shell beads were fashioned as part of a larger necklace assemblage, cowries did not only serve as châtelaine accessories for the early medieval dead. In addition to the deposition of cowries as beads, some British graves contain whole cowries distinguished from their Continental European counterparts. Dover Buckland, Grave 6, is dated from AD 650 to 750 by Brugmann (2012, Table 8.6), but would belong to Phase AS-FD (AD 580/640 to 625/50) utilising Høilund Nielsen’s (2013) typology. This grave contained an adult female wearing a necklace assemblage decorated with a cowrie shell bead, which was described by Evison (1987, 217) as a shell bead with “corrugated edge.” Aside from this bead, a largely whole cowrie was found below the feet of the deceased alongside three other artefacts: a green glass-blown ‘bell-beaker’, a spindle-whorl, and an iron pin (Evison 1987, 217) (see Figure 5). The mostly intact cowrie’s teeth (running beside the shell’s aperture) were removed (Evison 1987, 217). The assortment of objects within its immediate spatial vicinity was also completely different from the graves discussed above, while its spatial position below the corpse distinguishes it from roughly contemporary Alsatian cowrie examples. Although these artefacts may or may not have been contained in a box, the impetus required to concentrate these items in this position suggest alternative singular or plural meanings.

Fig 5: Grave 6 from Buckland Dover (Kent) (cowrie marked with arrow). Redrawn from Evison (1987, Fig. 66)

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period The diversity of cowrie arrangements within Alsatian funerary contexts also does not permit a uniform explanation. In Alsace, the earliest cowrie example presented here from the late sixth to early seventh century (Hégenheim, Grave 107) was perforated with an iron ring and placed along the left side of the cadaver’s leg. This formula was replicated with a different motley of objects at the same burial site in subsequent Grave 34. Only c. 25 kilometres north-west of Hégenheim at Illfurth, Grave 59’s cowrie exhibited similar treatment to contemporary Grave 34, as both shells were perforated with copper-alloy wire rings. Their spatial position and suspension devices suggest that these different interments conformed to a general pattern of mortuary ritual showing a preference for cowries laid alongside the left leg, with a later replacement of iron wire rings with copper-alloy ones.

Characterising amulets among early medieval burial offerings is not solely a practice of designating undefinable or ambiguous objects. It has become a rigorous and repeated formula for placing selected artefacts into categories that escape functional descriptions (i.e. ‘sword’, ‘brooch’, ‘seax’). These artefacts are subjectively and variously interpreted as amulets by archaeologists based upon a great number of criteria, including their portability, aesthetics, perceived symbolism, material composition, and/or antiquity. Support for an amulet argument cited by mortuary archaeologists is also garnered from often anachronistic and culturally irrelevant historic and ethnographic sources. By supporting an amuletic argument in this fashion, archaeologists are transposing concepts and ideas that inadequately relate to the available data. Above all, attributing artefacts as amulets in mortuary archaeology neglects the immediate burial context from which they must be studied for clearer interpretation.

Despite the noticeable regularity in cowrie position, their proximity to different objects suggests that they formed unique arrangements selected by mourners, ranging from double-sided bone combs to bone rings encircling openwork bronze discs. In Kent, the change in cowrie deposition was markedly different with shells being deposited as beads fashioned from smaller cowrie fragments in the mid-sixth century, while others were deposited whole among feasting equipment. The suspension of cowries on châtelaines from mid-sixth to mid-seventh century graves suggests that they were revised by successive generations to formulate individual expressions of identities. However, the Kentish examples express a more diverse array of individual expressions utilising the common cowrie ‘tongue’ shared on both sides of the Channel. The popular amuletic interpretation of cowrie shells in early medieval graves overlooks these subtle differences and neglects their potential meanings for different communities at different times.

Cowries serve as a case in point and were among some of the early artefacts considered by antiquarians as magically potent (Faussett 1757, 68). A re-examination of cowries within their immediate spatial contexts would serve to remove cowries, among other similarly treated artefacts, from a careless classification, and would illuminate their relationally inferred significances. It is important to recognise that cowries, as many similarly treated artefacts, are seldom found isolated in burials and are employed differently. Some cowries, such as that from Grave 6 at Dover Buckland (Kent) are largely unmodified and placed below the feet of the deceased while others are manufactured into beads (Grave 6 and Grave 67, Dover Buckland). On the Continent, cowries are relatively complete and are perforated with a metal ring (i.e. Graves 107 and 34 at Hégenheim and Grave 59 at Illfurth) but are accompanied by different object collections. Alongside cowries, my research is revisiting the spatial context of early medieval inhumations to demonstrate that these artefacts have multiple identities that cannot be adequately or rigorously expressed as amulets.

Conclusion The practice of identifying amulets in early medieval graves predates the development of archaeology as a discipline (Chifflet 1655, 244–45; L. M. Cochet 1859, 300). Alongside the development of methods for understanding early medieval mortuary rites, such as typologies, this practice gained a much more solid base from the nineteenth century and persists in present studies. Early interpretations of artefacts as amulets were originally confined to certain scholars like James Douglas (Akerman 1855, 73; Faussett 1757, 68), but became more frequent among twentieth-century early medieval mortuary archaeologists (Christlein 1978, 81; Meaney 1981, 84; Roes 1960, 33–34; Salin 1959, 94, 97–98; Theune 1997, 55–56). During the twentieth century, the term ‘amulet’ eventually established itself as a verified artefact category frequently referenced in burial reports among an array of other artefact types (Effros 2003, 138; Guillaume, Rohmer, and Waton 2004, 44; Gut 2010a, 142, 2010b, 147; Hamerow 2016, 429; Koch 2015, 71; Putelat 2013, 420–22; Sasse 1989, 38; Sherlock 2012, 69; Theune 1997, 56, 66; Woolhouse 2010, 91). 26

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Flint, Valerie I. J. 1991. The rise of magic in early medieval Europe. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Freeden, Uta von. 2015. ‘Pot and amulet pendants in the early mediaeval Grave 130 at Frankfurt-Harheim’. In Small things, Wide Horizons. Studies in Honour of Birgitta Hårdh, edited by Lars Larsson, Fredrik Ekengren, Bertil Helgesson, and Bengt Söderberg, 182–87. Oxford: Archaeopress Publishing Ltd.

Brulet, Raymond, Marie-Jeanne Ghenne-Dubois, and Gérard Coulon. 1986. ‘Le Quartier Saint-Brice de Tournai à l’époque mérovingienne’. Revue Du Nord 68 (269): 361–69. Chifflet, Jean-Jacques. 1655. Anastasis Childerici I, Francorum Regis, Sive Thesaurus Sepulchralis Tornaci Neruiorum Effossus, & Commentario Illustratus. Antwerp: Ex Officina Plantiniana Balthasaris Moreti. 27

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and Christopher Scull, 518–71. London: The Society for Medieval Archaeology. Høilund Nielsen, Karen. 2013. ‘Typology’. In AngloSaxon graves and grave goods of the 6th and 7th centuries AD: a chronological framework, edited by Alex Bayliss, John Hines, Karen Høilund Nielsen, Gerry McCormac, and Christopher Scull, 133–229. London: The Society for Medieval Archaeology.

Geake, Helen. 1995. ‘The use of grave-goods in Conversion-period England c. 600 - c. 850 A.D.’ DPhil, York: University of York. Gilchrist, Roberta. 2013. ‘The materiality of medieval heirlooms: from sacred to biographical objects’. In Mobility, meaning & transformation of things. Shifting contexts of material culture through time and space, edited by H. P. Hahn and H. Weiss, 170–82. Oxford: Oxbow Books.

Huggett, Jeremy W. 1988. ‘Imported grave goods and the early Anglo-Saxon economy’. Medieval Archaeology 32: 63–96. James, Edward. 1988. The Franks. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

Guillaume, Jacques, Pascal Rohmer, and MarieDominique Waton. 2004. ‘Accessoires du costume, objets de parure et de la vie quotidienne’. In Trésors mérovingiens d’Alsace. La nécropole d’Erstein (6e7e siècle après J.-C.), edited by Madeleine Châtelet, Franck Dekanter, Jean-Yves Feyeux, Patrice Georges, Jacques Guillaume, Fabienne Médard, Patrick Périn, et al. Fouilles récentes en Alsace, Tome 6. Strasbourg: Éditions des Musées de Strasbourg.

Jensen, Bo. 2010. Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe. Oxford: BAR Publishing, International Series 2169. Johnson, Marion. 1970. ‘The cowrie currencies of West Africa, Part I’. Journal of African History 11 (1): 17– 49. Koch, Ursula. 1997. ‘Die Hierarchie der Frauen in merowingischer Zeit, beobachtet in Pleidelsheim (Kr. Ludwigsburg) und Klepsau (Hohenlohekreis)’. In Königen, Klosterfrau, Bäuerin: Frauen im Frühmittelalter, edited by Helga Brandt and Julia K. Koch, 29–54. Münster: Agenda Verlag.

Gut, Andreas. 2010a. ‘Das Gräberfeld von Kirchheim a. Ries (Ostalbkreis)’. In Die Alamannen auf der Ostalb. Frühe Siedler im Raum zwischen Lauchheim und Niederstotzingen, edited by Andreas Gut, 138–43. Archäologische Informationen aus Baden-Württemberg 60. Esslingen: Landesamt für Denkmalspflege. ———. 2010b. ‘Tracht und Bewaffnung der Alamannen’. In Die Alamannen auf der Ostalb. Frühe Siedler im Raum zwischen Lauchheim und Niederstotzingen, edited by Andreas Gut, 144–51. Archäologische Informationen aus Baden-Württemberg 60. Esslingen: Landesamt für Denkmalspflege.

———. 2015. Wilde Völker am Rhein und Neckar: Franken im frühen Mittelalter. Reiss-EngelhornMuseen 65. Regensburg: Verlag Schnell & Steiner GmBH.

Halsall, Guy. 2010. ‘Burial writes: graves, “texts” and time in early Merovingian Northern Gaul’. In Cemeteries and Society in Merovingian Gaul: Selected Studies in History and Archaeology, 1992-2009, edited by Guy Halsall, 215–31. Leiden and Boston: Brill.

Lindenschmit, Ludwig. 1889. Handbuch der deutschen Alterthumskunde. Übersicht der Denkmale und Gräberfunde frühgeschichtlicher und vorgeschichtlicher Zeit. Erster Theil: Die Alterthümer der Merovingischen Zeit. 3 vols. Braunschweig: Friedrich Vieweg und Sohn.

Lethbridge, Thomas C. 1941. ‘37. The meaning of the cowrie: Fiji, Egypt, and Saxon England’. Man 41: 48.

Hamerow, Helena. 2016. ‘Furnished female burial in seventh-century England: gender and sacral authority in the Conversion Period’. Early Medieval Europe 24 (4): 423–447.

Meaney, Audrey L. 1981. Anglo-Saxon amulets and curing stones. British Archaeological Series, British Series. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports.

Herdick, Michael. 2001. ‘Mit Eisen gegen die Angst. Überlegungen zur Interpretation vor- und frühgeschichtlicher Mineralien-Amulette und Bemerkungen zu einer Gruppe merowingerzeitlicher Kugelanhänger’. Concilium Medii Aevi 4: 1–47.

Meaney, Audrey L., and Sonia Chadwick Hawkes. 1970. Two Anglo-Saxon cemeteries at Winnall. The Society for Medieval Archaeology Monograph Series 4. London: The Society for Medieval Archaeology. Médard, Fabienne, and Pascal Rohmer. 2007. ‘La nécropole mérovingienne d’Erstein (Bas-Rhin) : études des textiles minéralisés au contact des fibules’. Revue Archéologique de l’Est 55: 307–22.

Hilgner, Alexandra. 2016. ‘The gold and garnet chain from Isenbüttel, Germany: a possible pin suite with AngloSaxon parallels’. The Antiquaries Journal 96: 1–22. Hines, John, Christopher Scull and Alex Bayliss. 2013. ‘The results and their implications’. In Anglo-Saxon graves and grave goods of the 6th and 7th centuries AD: a chronological framework, edited by Alex Bayliss, John Hines, Karen Høilund Nielsen, Gerry McCormac,

Putelat, Olivier. 2007. ‘Les restes animaux’. In Illfurth 2005 - Buergelen, by Muriel Roth-Zehner and Émilie Cartier, 111-43. Vol. 2 Description et inventaire des tombes mérovingiennes. Habsheim: Antea Sàrl. 28

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What Are Amulets for the Early Medieval Dead? ———. 2013. ‘Les restes animaux en contexte funéraire dans l’Alsace du premier Moyen Âge et ses marges géographiques’. Anthropozoologica 48 (2): 409–45. Quast, Dieter, ed. 2015. Das Grab des fränkischen Königs Childerich in Tournai und die Anastasis Childerici von Jean-Jacques Chifflet aus dem Jahre 1655. Mainz: Verlag des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums. Reese, David S. 1991. ‘The trade of Indo-Pacific shells into the Mediterranean Basin and Europe’. Oxford Journal of Archaeology 10 (2): 159–96. Roach Smith, Charles. 1856. ‘Introduction’. In Inventorium sepulchrale: an account of some antiquities dug up at Gilton, Kingston, Sibertswold, Barfriston, Beakesbourne, Chartham, and Crundale, in the County of Kent, from A.D. 1757 to A.D. 1773, by Bryan Faussett, edited by Charles Roach Smith, i-1vi. London: T. Richards. Roes, Anne. 1960. ‘Talismans mérovingiens en pierre’. Revue Archéologique de l’Est et du Centre-Est 11, Facsimile 1: 32–38. Roth-Zehner, Muriel, and Émilie Cartier. 2007. Illfurth 2005 - Buergelen. Vol. 2 Description et inventaire des tombes mérovingiennes. Habsheim : Antea Sàrl. Salin, Édouard. 1959. La Civilisation Mérovingienne d’après les sépultures, les textes et le laboratoire. Vol. IV: Les Croyances; Conclusions, Index Général. Paris: A. et J. Picard. Sasse, Barbara. 1989. Leben am Kaiserstuhl im Frühmittelalter. Ergebnisse einer Ausgrabung bei Eichstetten. Archäologische Informationen aus BadenWürttemberg 10. Stuttgart: Gesellschaft für Vor- und Frühgeschichte in Württemberg und Hohenzollern. Sherlock, Stephen J. 2012. A royal Anglo-Saxon cemetery at Street House, Loftus, North-East Yorkshire. Tees Archaeology Monograph Series, No 6. Hartlepool. Theune, Claudia. 1997. ‘Nützliches und unnützliches am langen Band. Bemerkungen zu einer germanischen Trachtsitte der Merowingerzeit’. In Königin, Klosterfrau, Bäuerin. Frauen im Frühmittelalter, 55– 72. agenda Frauen 8. Münster: Agenda Verlag. Werner, Joachim. 1964. ‘Herkuleskeule und DonarAmulett’. Jahrbuch Des Römisches-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 11: 176–97. Woolhouse, Thomas. 2010. ‘Saxon and medieval activity at Scotts Close, Hilton’. Proceedings of the Cambridge Antiquarian Society XCVIX: 97–102. Wright, Thomas. 1854. A lecture on the antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon cemeteries of the ages of Paganism, illustrative of the Faussett Collection of Anglo-Saxon antiquities, now in the possession of Joseph Mayer, F.S.A, F.E.S., F.R.A.S. Liverpool: T. Brakell.

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4 Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology Tim T. M. van Tongeren Canterbury Christ Church University [email protected] Abstract: Interest in the Early Medieval archaeology from the Netherlands is currently growing. Recent years have seen many cemetery sites (re-)studied and the results published. For the first time, it is now possible to include Early Medieval funerary data from the Netherlands in panEuropean comparative research. The focus of this doctoral study is the holistic comparison of funerary archaeology in the Netherlands and Kent. It aims to identify indicators for contact and relationships between both regions in the period AD 400-750. One component of the overall research is the creation of the first artefact typology and chronology especially for the Netherlands, as a stable framework for comparison with Kent. The new typology is created by analysing data from 21 cemeteries and more than 600 individual inhumations, with the help of Correspondence Analysis. This paper focusses on the process of creating the typology and chronology for inhumations with a suspected male gender. Some tentative findings are presented regarding the Early Medieval find record in the Netherlands and the way this archaeology compares to known artefact typologies from the German Rhineland region and from northern France. Keywords: Anglo-Saxon, Merovingian, Early Medieval, Kent, the Netherlands, cemeteries, graves, cross North Sea contact, chronology, artefact typology, grave furnishings, burial practice, funerary archaeology, Correspondence Analysis.

The project The study presented in this paper covers a small section of a doctoral research into contact and relationships between the Netherlands and Kent in the period AD 400750. In order to understand the purpose of this study, it is important to provide the reader with a short introduction to the project as a whole. Then, the focus of the paper will shift towards a specific section of the research project, regarding the creation of a chronology for Dutch early medieval artefacts with evidence from inhumations with a suspected male gender.

relationships in Europe. These primarily reflect different interpretations of historical sources, place-name and language evidence, skeletal remains and artefact typology. The model of mass migration from Continental Europe to England has been a very controversial subject. Partly as a result of methodological advances in osteoarchaeological analyses, recent years have seen a more positive attitude towards considering migration as one important component of the relationships that existed in the period. The migration debate is reflected in many sources which include, but are not limited to: Basset (1989), Cox (1976), Härke (2011), Higham (1994), Nicolay (2014) and Sims-Williams (1983).

During the period between AD 400 and 750, Europe saw large-scale cultural upheaval and demographic change. Archaeologists specialising in this period postulate largescale contact between Germany, Scandinavia and England as a dominant factor in these changes — with the Low Countries playing a rather uncertain role in the centre. This research investigates the value of this general model though detailed evaluation and comparison of evidence from funerary archaeology in the Netherlands and Kent. Many theories have been advanced in the long-running debate over the interpretation of early medieval contact and

Research into early medieval cemeteries in England and north-western Europe is characterised mainly by excavations of individual cemeteries, of which some are published. Many further sites have never been published. This was especially the case for Merovingian cemeteries in the Low Countries, causing a gap in recognition of the role played by the Netherlands in Continental relationships with England. Due to the shortage of available data from the Netherlands, the area does not feature prominently in major pan-European surveys of the period, such as those by Wickham (2005) and Halsall (2007). 31

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period During the last eight years, however, much has changed with the publication of the cemeteries of Rhenen (Wagner and Ypey 2011), Bergeijk (Theuws and van Haperen 2012), Maastricht (Theuws and Kars, 2017), Elst (Verwers and van Tent 2015) and various others. Publications of these sites at last allow archaeologists to include the Netherlands in comparative research into funerary archaeology of the early medieval period. Herein lies great promise for new insights relevant to the archaeological debates concerning relationship and migration.

the Netherlands and Kent, correspond as much as possible in terms of chronology. An existing chronology for Anglo-Saxon artefacts in Kent Over many years, British archaeology has witnessed and benefited from studies into typology and seriation of AngloSaxon grave goods (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 13-20). Whilst providing valuable insights, these developments have highlighted issues regarding the establishment of a suitable chronological framework in which multiple artefact-types come together. A large project, executed by John Hines, Alex Bayliss and colleagues, compared chronological data from 224 Anglo-Saxon cemeteries across England. Of these, the densest cluster of circa 30 cemeteries is located in Kent (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 2-3). The results of their research are published in a monograph which presents a firmly established framework for the assigning of date phases to a wide range of artefact types from Anglo-Saxon grave assemblages. These phases, in turn, are connected to calendrical dates (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 485). This established chronological framework forms the basis for dating the Kentish cemeteries in this research.

Currently available chronologies for Kent and the Netherlands The research as a whole focusses on a holistic comparison of funerary practice between the Netherlands and Kent. This comparison includes various factors such as grave furnishings, cemetery layout, relationships between cemetery and surrounding landscape, burial practice, grave size and orientation and demography. The aim is to make the comparison as accurate and detailed as possible. To accomplish this, it is of upmost importance to make sure the objects of comparison, in this case the graves in

Table 1: List of the 21 Early Medieval cemeteries featuring in this research. The numbers in the first column correspond with those on the map of the Netherlands in Figure 3.1. #

Province

Municipality

Locality or Toponym

Abbreviation

Total number of contexts

01

Friesland

Oosterbeintum

-

OB

162

02

Drenthe

Wijster

Spier

WS

217

03

Drenthe

Zweeloo

-

ZL

128

04

Gelderland

Lent

Azaleastraat

LA

120

05

Gelderland

Wageningen

-

WA

224

06

Utrecht

Rhenen

Donderberg

RD

1169

07

Utrecht

Elst

‘t Woud

EW

260

08

Zuid-Holland

Den Haag

Solleveld

DS

36

09

Zuid-Holland

Katwijk

Klein Duin

KK

69

10

Zuid-Holland

Rijnsburg

De Horn

RH

73

11

Zuid-Holland

Valkenburg

Castellum

VC

53

12

Noord-Brabant

Bergeijk

Fazantlaan

BF

135

13

Noord-Brabant

Hoogeloon

Broekeneind

BH

26

14

Noord-Brabant

Veldhoven

Oeienbosch

VO

27

15

Noord-Brabant

Meerveldhoven

Cobbeek

CM

63

16

Limburg

Posterholt

Achterste Voorst

PA

94

17

Limburg

Borgharen

Pasestraat

BP

7

18

Limburg

Sittard

Kemperkoul

SK

88

19

Limburg

Obbicht

Oude Molen

OO

65

20

Limburg

Stein

Groote Bongerd

SG

75

21

Limburg

Maastricht

Vrijthof

MV

415

32

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology Working with German and French chronologies in the Netherlands

and France (Hines et al. 1999, 3-22). This has resulted in regional typologies for areas within those two countries which are, to some extent, useful for application in the Netherlands (Figure 1).

Compared to Britain, archaeology from the early medieval period in the Netherlands has never enjoyed the same level of attention. Dutch archaeology shows important traditions of research into Prehistory and the Roman period, whilst the early medieval period was largely neglected for many decades. As mentioned earlier, recent years have seen major improvements in the number and quality of cemetery publications and a more positive attitude towards exploring the rich archaeology from the early medieval period.

An important typology and chronology for the German Rhineland region was published by Siegmund in 1998. This work includes a detailed typology of various types of grave furnishings including, but not limited to, pottery, armoury, brooches and glassware. The artefacts are placed in 11 chronological phases which together span a period between AD 400 and 740. This typology is very extensive and provides a clear description of each artefact type listed. To improve ease of use, however, the publication would have benefitted from drawings of the artefact types for extra guidance.

As most publications of Dutch early medieval cemeteries are only recent, no artefact typology exists which is specifically designed for the Low Countries. Over the past decades, however, research into early medieval cemeteries has been more intensive and detailed in nearby Germany

Roughly five years later, a typology and chronology was published for the German region located between the

Fig 1: Map of western Europe showing an indicative overview of the geographical areas of study for the chronologies and typologies by Müssemeier, Siegmund and Legoux.

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period left bank of the river Rhine and the northern Eifel area (Müssemeier et al 2003). The geographical research area of this publication includes, like the former, a large part of the Rhineland region but stretches further southwest, towards the Eifel national park and the German-Belgian border. The Müssemeier typology is largely based on the framework as presented by Siegmund and most artefact types and their descriptions have been fully taken over. The phasing used by Müssemeier is slightly different, resulting in a total of 10 phases rather than Siegmund’s 11 phases. Some artefact types and descriptions as presented by Siegmund, however, have been modified. Sometimes a further typological division was made or regional types or characteristics were added or removed. The largest difference between both typologies can be noticed in their approach to pottery. Siegmund analyses different pottery types focussing on the shape and arithmetic ratios of the vessel (Siegmund 1998, 128). The typology provides the researcher with formulas to calculate in which group a vessel belongs, based on height, diameter of the opening and diameter of the pot’s belly. This results in all vessels, small or large, with or without decoration, being placed in the same type-group, as long as ratios are similar. Only on a small scale, for some types, a distinction is made between vessels with grooves or other, mostly early forms of decoration (Siegmund 1998, 128). Furthermore, a distinction is made between the presence of an old or a younger type of roll stamp decoration (Siegmund 1998, 130-31).

spearhead’s blade, as we see in the German typologies (Legoux et al. 2016, 33-34). Pottery is categorised on the basis of shape and decoration. In some cases, however, the size of a vessel is regarded significant, without working with set ratios. The typology by Legoux and colleagues is, in general, less specific than its German counterparts. The drawings of the different artefact types are the main guidance and are only supported by very short typological descriptions. In case of doubt about a determination, experience shows that it is very complicated to identify the original artefacts which are represented by the category in the typology, or to retrace in which specific cemeteries the types were found. The Legoux typology works with seven chronological phases, each being broader than in the German chronologies. Together they span the period between AD 440 and 710 (Legoux et al 2016, 5-8). Although all three typological sequences presented here are, to some extent, useful for Dutch archaeology, they focus on different areas with different regional specifics. From the research undertaken so far for this PhD, it appears that the early medieval archaeological record in the Netherlands shows a mixture of finds which feature in the German and/or in the French typology. Making sense of a Dutch artefact assemblage therefore comes down to comparing various sources from different countries and shifting between multiple languages and research traditions.

The typology by Müssemeier et al. approaches pottery by focussing on different characteristics. The sequence from older to younger in this publication is based on the evolution of the decoration, and divisions are also made between larger and smaller vessels. The ratio between height, diameter of the opening and diameter of the belly is not seen as a specific indicator for typological determination (Müssemeier et al 2003, 56-68).

It becomes clear from the situation outlined above that early medieval archaeology in the Netherlands is in need of its own local, clear and detailed typology and chronology. Such a typology can be used to ensure an equal comparison of Dutch archaeological contexts from the period with contemporary contexts elsewhere in Europe. In the case of this research, I will focus on contemporary collections in Kent.

Within this research, the typology by Müssemeier and colleagues is taken as a framework for referencing the determination of Dutch grave furnishings. Only in cases when an artefact could not be matched with any type in the Müssemeier chronology was an alternative determination sought in the sequence by Siegmund.

For the creation of this typology and chronology, use is made of a statistical method named Correspondence Analysis (CA). This method has proven useful in various academic disciplines and has also made an appearance in archaeological research. Application of the method, by Hines and his colleagues, on Anglo-Saxon funerary data from England was an important component of the research which led to the chronology published in the above discussed 2013 monograph (Hines and Bayliss 2013).

Besides referring Dutch early medieval artefacts to typologies from Germany, it is equally possible to consider the existing typology for northern France and to explore its usefulness in Dutch archaeology. This typology, by Legoux, Périn and Vallet, includes a large geographical area stretching the north of France from the Channel coast in Hauts-de-France and Normandy to the FrenchGerman border in the Alsace region (Legoux et al 2016, 9-10). The typological classification is mainly based on the visual appearance of the artefacts. In some cases, a division is made between different production materials. For weaponry, measurements are often leading in the determination (Legoux et al. 2016, 31-37). The typology does not further specify according to the shape of the

The following part of this paper will discuss the method used to develop a similar, albeit relative, chronology for the Netherlands. The Dutch cemeteries in this research This research is the first to compare data from 21 different early medieval cemeteries, spread over different parts of the Netherlands (Figure 2). This group of 21 represents the majority of the cemeteries in the country which are 34

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology

Fig 2: Map of the Netherlands showing the location of the 21 Early Medieval cemeteries which are included in this research.

published to date and also includes a number of cemeteries that have not yet been published or which are only published in part. The cemeteries that are included in the study can be found in Table 1.

Although many Dutch cemeteries have recently been published, most of them were excavated some time ago. This varies between the late nineteenth century and the 1970s, with some exceptions, such as Den Haag – Solleveld cemetery, which was excavated in 2004 (Waasdorp and Eimermann 2008, 2). The various time periods of excavation translate into significant differences in the way the excavations were executed and how findings were documented. There are various cemeteries, throughout the country, for which excavation reports are available but for which finds are not documented per grave. Having an inventory per individual grave context, however, is necessary for a grave to be able to feature in this research. The publications of Leersum and Garderen show examples of cemeteries providing a general list of artefacts but do not assign them to a specific context (Ypey 1966 and de Boone 1971). Problematic for the northern and eastern provinces is that the mentioned small clusters of graves are often not published or not recorded in enough detail to be taken into account in this research.

When viewing Figure 2 it becomes clear that most of the excavated early medieval cemeteries in the Netherlands are located in the southern half of the country. The prevailing image in the south is of relatively large cemeteries in which the graves are positioned in neat rows. These cemeteries are the so called Merovingian rijengrafvelden or Reihengräberfeldern. From the provinces in the north and east of the country, less evidence is available for similar large cemeteries. The phenomenon is not unknown in this area, as evidenced by Oosterbeintum and Wijster cemeteries, but the prevailing image is one of small clusters of graves which are more dispersed (Knol et al. 1996, 245416 and van Es 1967). 35

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period An attempt was made to include data in the research which is based on proportionate distribution throughout the country. As mentioned above, this is a difficult task, as data from the north is much scarcer than from the south. With the currently included 21 cemeteries, however, seven out of twelve Dutch provinces are represented in the research.

of available funerary contexts was divided into human inhumations and other grave types. The latter category includes separate cremations in urns, cremated remains found separate but without a container, cremated remains within inhumation graves and inhumations of animals. To preserve a clear overview of the large amount of data, it was decided to only include human inhumations in the research. This choice ensures clarity about the nature of the grave contexts in a later stage, when comparison is needed with similar grave contexts in Kent. By making this choice, not much data was left out because for the successful execution of CA, a grave needs to contain at least two grave goods (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 251). Most separate cremations and animal inhumations in the Netherlands do not meet this condition.

Correspondence Analysis, a useful method Correspondence Analysis (CA) makes it possible to create or refine seriations in a relatively rapid and consistent manner. This is one of the reasons why the method is very useful in archaeology. To establish a typological seriation of artefacts within archaeology, the development of a certain artefact is viewed over time. For example, in an early phase, a buckle starts simply, as an oval loop with straight tongue and made of iron or bronze. Over time, a shield- or club-shaped tongue comes into fashion. This development is followed by the arrival of a plate, initially square, later triangular and with a growing amount of decoration. All artefact types such as spearheads, shield bosses, beads and brooches, follow unique routes of development. The simplest brooch, for instance, is contemporary with the simple oval buckle. One hundred years later, different brooch types are in fashion which are contemporary by, for instance, buckles with a triangular plate and silver-inlaid decoration.

The next step in the process is to divide the human inhumations into suspected male or female gender or unknown gender contexts, following the widely accepted theory which states that it is possible to determine the gender of the deceased through specific grave goods (Härke 1989, 144-48 and Stoodley 1999). Gender specific grave goods are for instance weaponry as an indicator for male gender and brooches, beads, pendants, combs, pins and spindle whorls as indicators for a female gender (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 241-42, 356). Artefact types such as buckles, glassware and pottery appear in graves of both suspected male and female gender and are therefore non-gender specific (Stoodley 1999).

With the help of CA it becomes possible to determine the presence frequency of each individual object type within a cemetery context and to view in which combinations, with other artefact types, they often occur in individual graves. These combinations of artefact types are also known as grave assemblages. Artefacts within one grave assemblage can be considered more or less contemporary, following the above principal of serial replacement. However, exceptions exist. In some cases, for example, very early artefacts can be found in later graves. These exceptions should of course be picked up by the archaeologist as outliers to the overall picture and dealt with accordingly. When determining the presence frequency of artefacts or assemblages in multiple cemeteries, it becomes possible to establish a relative timeline for a larger area on which every artefact has its unique place. This timeline represents a sequence or seriation like the seriation for England made by Hines et al. In the case of the seriation by Hines, exact date phases have been assigned to the relative timeline, with help from dating methods such as radiocarbon dating, but also coin finds and dating through objects imported from the European mainland (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 328-36).

The sequencing, with help of CA, is completed separate for both gender groups. Combining both genders in one analysis would use too many types of grave goods to provide a clear and accurate outcome. It is possible to conduct a separate CA for graves to which no gender could be assigned. In this research, however, it is decided to take this group into account in both the male and the female sequence, in order to view both possible outcomes. Through this, it might be possible to speculate about the gender of the people in these graves, based on which sequence they most naturally fit into. Preparing the database for Correspondence Analysis For the next phase of data gathering, only graves with a suspected male gender and those with no assigned gender are used. As mentioned earlier, graves with a suspected female gender will be analysed with CA separately and are not included in this paper. A Microsoft Excel spreadsheet was designed with a column dedicated to every male gender specific or non-gender specific artefact type from the Müssemeier typology for Germany. The various artefact types were placed in chronological order from left to right in the spreadsheet. For this part of the research, the artefact types include: buckles and belt fittings, pottery, glassware, spear heads, axes, seaxes, shield bosses and metal vessels. A second,

Conditions for Correspondence Analysis and gender specific grave furnishings The data collection for this study started with analysing publications and notes from the different cemetery excavations. As mentioned before, only bodies of data were included from which it was possible to extract the inventory per individual grave. The total amount 36

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology similarly laid out, spreadsheet was made, but with the various artefact types from the French chronology.

Most graves had a coherent set of artefacts in them which could all be assigned to types belonging to more or less the same period. The content of an individual grave often spans one, two or three phases as designed by Müssemeier and colleagues.

The next step was to go through all suspected male gender and non-gender specific inhumations in the 21 cemeteries of this research, in order to analyse each object within each individual grave. Every object was compared to both the German and French chronology and assigned to a type where possible. Every individual grave is noted in a separate row in the spreadsheet, indicating the available artefact types with a ‘1’ in the corresponding field.

Whilst compiling the spreadsheet, it became clear that the German typology is of more use to Dutch archaeology than the French chronology. For a limited group of graves, however, it seems that the Legoux chronology is more suitable. For all other graves, classification with the French chronology leads to very broad date ranges per individual grave. Dating the same graves with help of the German chronology leads to a more precise chronological indication. Noticing this at an early stage resulted in the reconsideration of the originally planned research method of executing CA for both the German and the French chronology. The latter unfortunately did not turn out to be suitable for this purpose, after which it was decided to only analyse the graves with CA based on the Müssemeier chronology.

In a third Excel spreadsheet, the general data per inhumation was noted wherever available. This spreadsheet included columns for grave pit dimensions, dimensions of the coffin (if present), orientation and a last field for any remarks to go with each grave. In the latter column, remarks were noted such as stratigraphical information, osteoarchaeological data, radiocarbon dates and any other striking feature. The final preparations for Correspondence Analysis After analysing all available inhumations and compiling the Excel spreadsheet, the next step was the execution of CA. For CA to work correctly, it is vital that every grave in the spreadsheet has at least two objects in it that could be classified in the typology. Equally, every artefact type in the spreadsheet should be present in at least two graves of the total dataset. Whilst compiling the spreadsheet, graves with none or only one object that could be classified were already omitted. Artefact types with less than two occurrences, however, were taken out at this stage.

It should be clear, however, that the above stated does not mean that the chronology for northern France is of no use at all for most Dutch contexts. On individual artefact level, in various cases, the French chronology provides insights that cannot be obtained from the German typology. Some examples thereof are the silver decorated iron buckle in Rhenen grave 662, the decorated shield-on-tongue buckles as present in Rhenen grave 80 and cone beakers (Sturzbecher) with a spherical base-finish as found in Rhenen graves 628 and 758 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 462, 92-94, 442, 496-98).

The 219 suitable graves remaining after this process, which could potentially feature in the chronological sequence, were given a date based on the artefact typology of their furnishings. This date is based on the typology by Müssemeier and consists of two components. The first part is a date which spans the total possible chronological range. For example: if a grave contains artefact A dated to phases 3 to 5 and artefact B dated to phases 5 to 8, the total possible date range is between phases 3 and 8. The second component is the expected date range. This is the most likely date that can be assigned to a grave. In the above example, the expected date range is phase 5, as this is the only phase of overlap. In the spreadsheet, the graves where given a phasing and dates for both components.

Compiling a suitable basis for CA is a trajectory of trial and error. The best way forward is to start on a small scale, with only two artefact types. In this case, spear heads and axes were initially chosen, both artefacts that have a clear chronological spread covering the complete period of research. When adding more graves, the number of artefact types automatically increases. Shield bosses were added as well as buckles and glassware. Pottery types were added in a later stage as the dating of this category of finds, together with seaxes, is more problematic than for other object types. Although the typologies for pottery and seaxes are sufficiently developed and detailed, the lifespan of many common types extends across multiple phases, resulting in these artefact types being less reliable chronological indicators.

Assigning these relative dates beforehand provides for a correct expected chronological order in the database, prior to CA. After the analysis, the dates provide a relative framework for the outcomes.

Not every grave is suitable to be part of the CA, and from some graves only a part of their inventory can be used. Some graves clearly have clusters of artefacts from a younger and an older period in them. It can be a choice to add them according to one of these two groups, whilst leaving out the other cluster of artefact. In those cases, it can be suggested that the youngest group of artefacts should be leading. The older artefacts in the grave probably reflect a long lifespan and are possibly passed down from one generation to another as heirlooms.

Based on their assigned date, the graves were placed in chronological order in the spreadsheet. Hereby the youngest available object in each grave was leading. The result was a data sheet with artefact types in chronological order from left to right in the columns and graves in expected chronological order from top to bottom in the rows. 37

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period From the total of 219 grave contexts that were added to the spreadsheet, only 116 were found suitable to feature in the CA. The main reason for omission was the presence of a limited number of artefacts or the presence of artefacts which do not show a chronological overlap.

of the seriations (the content of a cemetery) over time. With this, the parabola shows only a relative timeline with the oldest graves on the right and the youngest on the left. Figure 3 shows the outcome of the CA for the Dutch inhumations with a suspected male gender.

Correspondence Analysis and results

The figure shows the expected parabola-shaped curve and is built up of green dots and red triangles. The green dots represent the individual graves, the red triangles represent the individual artefact types. The right half of the parabola contains fewer graves than the left half and represents the earlier phases of the early medieval period. A small cluster of graves is visible at the very beginning of the curve on the right. This cluster is mainly made up of graves which have very early Medieval finds in them, combined with Roman types. A second remarkable cluster can be seen in the top left corner of the figure. This cluster is made up of graves which have more or less the same find combination and which are therefore showing less distance from each other on the y-axis. The youngest graves in the research, to the left of the figure, are high in number but show a relatively regular chronological sequence.

When the Excel spreadsheet is fully prepared, the CA can commence with the use of an add-in for Microsoft Excel called CAPCA, developed by the Danish professor Torsten Madsen. The exact mathematical calculations that underlay CA are complex and cannot be fully explained in a paper of this length. For a detailed description of the exact working of CA and its underlying calculations, it is advisable to read the following publication: Hines and Bayliss 2013, 63-73. Over the years, archaeologists, but also academics in other disciplines, have written about the principals and uses of CA. Some publications which provide useful information on the subject are: Baxter 1994, 100-39. Shennan 1997, 308-52. Greenacre 1984 and 1994, 3-22. Clausen (1998). Especially the studies by Baxter and Shennan are conducted from an archaeological point of view.

Earlier it was mentioned that every grave was given a relative date, based on the typology of its contents, prior to CA. Those dates are now useful for providing a chronological basis for the CA outcomes. The CA outcomes, in turn, provide more certainty for the postulated dates and add more detail to them. If there are, for instance, five graves dated to the period AD 500-570, the outcome curve now visualises where each of these graves are in comparison to the complete dataset and to the four other graves with the same date. Based on the visual outcome curve, it can be seen which of the five graves is the oldest, which one is the youngest and how their chronological follow-up is organised. Whilst minor differences in grave content result in five equal dates based on typology alone, the CA brings statistics to the process of dating, which reveals smaller chronological differences.

The output of the calculation with the CAPCA add-in is shown in a two-dimensional plot formed by a horizontal x-axis and a vertical y-axis. In this, the horizontal x-axis gives insight into the greatest element of variation within the dataset. In this research, the greatest element of variation is the difference that can be made between the several grave assemblages within the total matrix. If the analysis should be done with two non-related assemblages, they will be displayed far away from each other on a straight horizontal line in the output plot. The more related to each other, the closer together they appear. The vertical y-axis represents the second-largest element of variation within the dataset, namely the serial replacement of artefact types within the grave assemblages.

Towards an artefact typology specifically for the Netherlands

When working with a complex dataset, comprising of multiple seriations, the output shows clusters of more closely inter-associated artefact types and grave assemblages while those less strongly linked to these clusters will lie at greater distance from their nearest neighbour.

Although the project of revising the artefact chronology of Dutch early medieval archaeology was initiated by the need for a clear chronological sequence for the purpose of comparison with contemporary contexts from AngloSaxon Kent, it opens other important possibilities. The project is of a large nature and includes data from 21 cemeteries and over 600 individual inhumations in the Netherlands, which makes it unique in its kind. The project therefore provides a rare opportunity to test the usefulness and applicability of German and French chronologies in Dutch archaeology. Doing so will eventually lead to the creation of a chronology especially for the Netherlands which includes various artefacts also mentioned in the German and/or French typologies, but with a date more suitable for the Netherlands. Besides, this new typology and chronology will include artefacts that are local to the Netherlands. To create this typology, research is needed

The output plot of a perfect seriation will yield a parabolic curve on the two principal axes. When working with real datasets from archaeological excavations, however, a perfect outcome is not to be expected. The plot will, in most cases, roughly approach the shape of a parabola. An output plot can either combine variables and objects or both can be shown in separate graphs. The outcomes of CA itself do not provide dates for graves or artefacts. The parabola, therefore, cannot be read as an absolute timeline. The position of the objects and variables relative to the y-axis provide an insight into serial replacement within the dataset and thus into development 38

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology

Fig 3: Output curve of the Correspondence Analysis on Dutch Early Medieval inhumations with a suspected male gender or no expected gender. The green dots represent the individual inhumations. The red triangles represent the individual artefact types from the chronology by Müssemeier et al.

into both graves with a suspected male and female gender and is therefore still under development as part of the larger doctoral research. As a result of the currently presented component of the research, on graves with a suspected male gender, however, some initial thoughts can be presented which start to adapt the German and French chronologies to the archaeological reality in the Netherlands. The following examples represent a first step in interpreting the outcomes of the research undertaken so far and are therefore preliminary.

earlier occurrence of the type in France than in Germany. Based on the three examples found in Katwijk, as well as on the French date, it can be suggested that this type of cup should be placed in the Dutch chronology between AD 610/20 and 640/50 and therefore earlier than in Germany. Buckle type GÜR 4.8A (Figure 5) is said to occur in phase 8 (AD 640/50–670/80) of the German chronology only (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 21). Based on the evidence from the Netherlands, it can be suggested that this 30year bracket is not long enough here. The type occurs five times in Dutch male graves, twice in the Stein cemetery, in graves 56A and 64 (Kars et al. 2016, 482 and 490-91), twice in the Maastricht cemetery, in graves 15 and 278 (Theuws and Kars 2017, 420-21 and 521-22), and once in the Lent cemetery near Nijmegen, in grave 7215 (van Es and Hulst 1991, 227-29). In case of grave 64 in the Stein cemetery, it is unclear if the buckle of type GÜR 4.8A truly belongs here, or if its location was incorrectly recorded in the original documentation (Kars et al. 2016, 491). If the recording is correct, the dating of the object shows a similar problem to the one in grave 56A. In both cases it is found in combinations with finds belonging to phase 7 or earlier (AD < 640/50). Also in the Maastricht cemetery, in grave 15, the buckle is found in combination with an artefact that is earlier, namely axe type FBA 2.1. This type

Glassware type GLA 2.3 (Figure 4) occurs in the German chronology in phases 8 and 9, between AD 640/50 and 710 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 70). Cups of this type were found in the Netherlands, but together with artefacts dated to phase 7 (AD 610/20–640/50) or even late phase 6 (AD 590–610). The presence of this type of cup, together with finds from phase 7, can be seen in the Katwijk cemetery in graves 30 and 33 (Dijkstra 2011, 238-42). A third similar cup in this same cemetery is found in grave 32, accompanied by finds from phases 7 and 8 (Dijkstra 2011, 241). Glassware type GLA 2.3 is represented in the French chronology as type 454 and dates between AD 600 and 670 (Legoux et al. 2016, 58). This date postulates an 39

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period

Fig 4: Schematic impression of glassware type GLA 2.3. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

Fig 6: Schematic impression of glassware type GLA 8.4. (H. Wortmann, 2018). Fig 5: Schematic impression of belt fitting type GÜR 4.8A. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

of weaponry occurs in phases 5 and 6 (AD 565-610/20) and only sporadically in phase 7 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 51). Other artefacts in the grave do occur in phase 8, but also earlier. In the remaining two graves, Maastricht 278 and Lent 7215, the dating of GÜR 4.8A in phase 8 seems to be correct. Based on these various graves, it can be suggested that the earliest occurrences of the buckle type in the Netherlands should be placed in phase 7 rather than phase 8. A date for this artefact should therefore be between AD 610/20 and 670/80, rather than a start date for occurrence as late as AD 640/50.

Fig 7: Schematic impression of pottery vessel type KWT 3A. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

the reliability of the created typologies and chronologies. This should be taken into account when determining the relation of a pottery vessel with its larger grave context.

The glass bell beakers found in grave 64 of the Bergeijk cemetery is unique in male graves in the Netherlands to date (Theuws and van Haperen 2012, 246-47). It is a type GLA 8.4 (Figure 6) which is dated to phase 5, between AD 565 and 580/90 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 72). The other dateable find in this grave, a shield boss of type SBU 5A, however, suggests that that the grave belongs in phase 6 or later. Although the evidence is feeble in this case, the period of existence of bell beaker type 8.4 should be considered longer than phase 5 only and should possibly include phase 6 (AD 565–610/20). In the chronology for the German Rhineland, Siegmund noted a later occurrence for this beaker type than Müssemeier and colleagues do in their chronological framework. He suggests a Rhineland phase 7, between AD 585 and 610, which is more in accordance with the find of this type in the Netherlands (Siegmund 1998, 171-72).

Biconical pot type KWT 3A (Figure 7) is assigned to phases 4 and 5, between AD 510/25 and 580/90, in the German chronology (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 59). In many cases, this date seems to be correct as the type occurs in combination with other artefacts from the same phases. In eight cases, however, this type of pottery was found in graves with artefacts belonging mainly to phase 6 or later (> AD 580/90). This is the case in grave 215 from the Elst cemetery (Verwers and van Tent 2015, 264), grave 20 from the Obbicht cemetery (Kars et al. 2016, 404-07), graves 233 and 609 from the Rhenen cemetery (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 197-98 and 432-34), Maastricht grave 88 (Theuws and Kars 2017, 448-49) and Sittard graves 29, 33 and 49 (Kars et al. 2016, 344-45, 352 and 364-66). A reason for this type of vessel occurring later than the initially postulated phases 4 and 5 can be related to the idea that artefacts can be passed down from one generation to another as heirlooms. Because pottery is typically just a utensil, it is debatable whether this find category represents sufficient personal value to reach the status of heirloom. With this in mind, it is possible to suggest that

As mentioned earlier, the dating of some pottery types, across all chronologies used in this study, is less specific than the chronology of many other artefact types. Furthermore, the variety of ways for categorising and classifying pottery vessels leads to uncertainty regarding 40

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology the relatively common pottery type KWT 3A should be assigned a longer period of existence in the Netherlands, namely between AD 510/25 and 610/20.

chronology. All spear heads in the above graves belong to the French types 30, 31, 32 dating to AD 440/50–600/10 or 33, dating to AD 470/80–600/10 (Legoux et al. 2016, 33). This postulates, in most cases, a start date as early as the German phase 2 and therefore in accordance with the early dates of the Dutch graves.

Spear head type LAN 1.4 (Figure 8) is found on 25 occasions in the dataset and is therefore a relatively common type. The spear is dated to the German phases 5 and 6, between AD 565 and 610/20 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 48). Although this date seems correct in many cases, on six occasions it shows a large gap with other artefacts in the same context. In the Elst cemetery, the spear head was found in grave 40, accompanied by finds from phases 1 and 2, datable between AD 400 and 460/80 (Verwers and van Tent 2015, 149). In graves 675, 819 and 829 from the Rhenen cemetery, the spear head is found solely accompanied by finds from phases 1, 2 and 3, dated to AD 400–510/25 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 478-80, 582-84 and 594-97). In Elst grave 178 (Verwers and van Tent 2015, 240-42) and Rhenen grave 443 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 324), LAN 1.4 occurs with finds no older than phase 4, but likely earlier (AD < 565). In Rhenen graves 76, 89, 678 and 697, the spear head is found with artefacts that could be of similar age but with others that are set to be pre-phase 5 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 88-89, 100-01, 48182 and 490-92).

Another possible scenario is Roman influence. It is striking that spear head LAN 1.4 only occurs in graves with very early finds in two cemeteries, which are both situated only seven kilometres apart from each other. Both cemeteries are situated along the river Rhine, the Roman frontier (Limes) in the centre of the Netherlands. Although the cemeteries were found on the northern bank of the river and thus technically on the Germanic side of the frontier, there has been a lot of interaction between Romans and their neighbours in this area. It is therefore possible that the spear heads found in the above mentioned graves actually represent a similar Roman type or local adaptation of a Roman type rather than the early medieval type LAN 1.4. A similar situation is possibly reflected in grave 833 of the Rhenen cemetery, where a spear head with a characteristic middle rip was found (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 600-04). Also this spearhead is accompanied by Roman finds, whilst the type occurs in the early medieval chronology only between AD 565 and 610/20 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 48-49). In case of this ribbed spear head, it is highly likely that the example found in Rhenen is a Roman type rather than a Merovingian one. A similar confusion, based on a Roman type that looks very much alike, is possibly the case for LAN 1.4.

Based on these findings, it can be suggested that this type of spear head should have an earlier start date in the Netherlands than suggested in the German chronology. It seems odd, however, that there is such a large gap between the dating in the German chronology and the occurrence in graves dated to phases 1, 2 and 3 in the Netherlands.

It would be interesting to see if this phenomenon is also present in the Leersum cemetery, which is located another 10 kilometres further down the river along the northern bank. Unfortunately, as mentioned earlier, only a finds inventory exists from this cemetery, without a description of the contexts of the artefacts.

An argument in favour of the need to revise the overall dating of the spear head can be found in the French

Buckle type GÜR 6.2 (Figure 9) is found on seven occasions and is, according to the German chronologies, a late type dating to phases 9 and 10, between AD 670/80 and 750 (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 22). From the type description by Siegmund, however, it becomes clear that this type is rare in the German Rhineland and that

Fig 8: Schematic impression of spear head type LAN 1.4. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

Fig 9: Schematic impression of buckle type GÜR 6.2. (H. Wortman, 2018).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period the dating is based on only a very limited number of examples (Siegmund 1998, 38-39). The buckle shows clear similarities with buckle BU7, as identified by Hines and Bayliss for Anglo-Saxon Kent, but has two rivets. The Anglo-Saxon type dates to AD 550/70-660/80 (Hines and Bayliss 2013, 146 and 562). A similar type of buckle is not known from the French chronology. Out of seven occurrences of GÜR 6.2 in the Dutch male graves, four are in combination with other artefacts predating phases 9 and 10. In three cases, Rhenen cemetery graves 341 and 592 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 250-51 and 416-17) and Bergeijk cemetery grave 24 (Theuws and van Haperen 2012, 20308), all accompanying finds are pre-phase 9. Rhenen grave 592 is most striking here, as all accompanying finds date to phases 4 and 5, between AD 510/25 and 580/90. This date, however, is still largely in accordance with the presence of buckle type BU7 in Anglo-Saxon Kent.

FBA 1.2 and 1.3. The phasing for this transitional type thus should be phases 3 and 4, between AD 460/80 and 565, which is in accordance with the French chronology.

Based on this information, it can be suggested that buckles of type GÜR 6.2 can be found relatively more often in the Netherlands than in the German Rhineland and they also seem to occur much earlier. This could possibly be indicative for a certain level of contact with AngloSaxon England. Although the types are not exactly the same, the continental type with two rivets could well be a local Dutch interpretation. In the first instance, contact with Anglo-Saxon England does not seem to be the most obvious explanation for the relatively frequent discovery of this buckle type in the Netherlands. This is caused by the fact that we do not regard it to be an iconic AngloSaxon artefact type, like we do with the so called buckle urn and the claw beaker. It is, however, important to look beyond the known indications for interaction and to keep an open mind for less obvious signals. Within the typological sequences of buckles in the German as well as the French chronologies, it is evident that there are transitional types. Probably the clearest example of this is formed by the transition between buckles with a simple straight tongue and buckles with a shield shaped tongue base. This transition is clearly visualised in the evolutionary course of French buckle types 112, 113, 115 and 118 (Figure 10) (Legoux et al. 2016, 38).

Fig 10: Schematic impression of the typological sequence of some buckles from the French chronology. Type 112 (top) with a simple tongue, type 113 with a rectangular tonguebase, type 115 with a proto shield tongue-base and type 118 (bottom) with a shield tongue-base. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

Besides buckles, the occurrence of transitional types is also visible in axes and seaxes. The axe found in Maastricht cemetery grave 310 is a good example thereof (Theuws and Kars 2017, 535). This axe can be viewed as a type between FBA1.2 (Figure 11) and FBA 1.3 (Figure 12). The back of the axe is slightly s-shaped - not as much as is typical for type FBA1.2 but slightly more than the standard for type FBA1.3. Type 1.2 can be dated to phases 2 to 4, between AD 435/50 and 565 and type 1.3 to phases 3 to 5, between AD 460/80 and 580/90. Within the French typology, the Maastricht axe can be placed in type 3 which dates to phases MA1 to MA3, between AD 470/80 and 600/10 (Legoux et al 2016, 31). Although the axe found in Maastricht grave 310 does not fit precisely into the German typology, it can be suggested that the axe should be dated somewhere in the centre of the phases covered by types

Fig 11: Schematic impression of axe type FBA 1.2, with lightly s-shaped back. (H. Wortmann, 2018)

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology The precise dating of seaxes, as stated earlier, has been problematic in both the German and French chronologies. This is reflected in the often broad date ranges that are assigned to the different types. Especially the earlier seax types, SAX 1, 2.1 and 2.2 have broad date ranges spanning phases 3 to 7 (AD 460/80–640/50), 6 to 9 and 6 to 9 (AD 580/90–710) respectively (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 4546). The different seax types in the German chronologies are mainly based on the ratios between total length, blade length and width of the blade. Any decoration is not considered (Müssemeier et al. 2003, 44-45). The French chronology views seaxes in the same way but without considering the width of the blade and with some attention to decoration (Legoux et al 2016, 35-36).

245-46) a seax is found whose ratio of measurements does not decide to which type it belongs. In Rhenen grave 333 for example, the seax’ blade is 4.2 centimetres wide, this is too wide for type 1 but very narrow for type 2.1. In grave 233, the blade’s width suggests type 1 but its length suggests type 2.1. The four seaxes that show similar issues all occur in combination with finds which can be dated to phases 4 and 5 (AD 510/25–580/90) and sometimes to phases 5 and 6 (AD 565–610/20). A fifth seax which is eligible to be part of the transitional phase is one found in Rhenen grave 609 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 432-34). This seax is slightly longer and wider than the other four, but still very large for a type 1 and very small for a type 2.1. It can be suggested that seax type 1, for the Netherlands, should be split into a type 1.1 and 1.2. Such a division adds to the usability of seaxes in Correspondence Analysis and in dating of individual grave assemblages in general.

With broad date ranges for seaxes 1 (Figure 13) and 2.1 (Figure 14), it can be expected that there is a form of transition between both types. This is not recognised in any of the German cemeteries but does become visible in the Netherlands. In Sittard cemetery graves 14 and 31 (Kars et al 2016, 330-32 and 348-50) as well as in Rhenen cemetery graves 233 and 333 (Wagner and Ypey 2011, 197-98 and

Conclusion

Fig 12: Schematic impression of axe type FBA 1.3, with a straight back. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

As the research set out in this paper is only a small component of a larger study, it is not yet possible to present any overall conclusions. From this part of the research, however, it becomes clear that Correspondence Analysis (CA) is a useful method which is valuable to the creation of an artefact typology and chronology, especially for Dutch early medieval artefacts. The method was successfully applied to a large dataset, containing artefact information from over 200 individual funerary contexts in the Netherlands. Initial study of the dataset has led to the assignment of a relative date to each individual grave in the research, based on the artefacts it contains and with reference to the existing chronological frameworks for the German greater Rhineland region. With help from CA, the assigned dates were further refined, leading to the discovery of various instances in which the Dutch archaeological record does not match the situation as described in existing European typologies. For various artefact types, the postulated dates in the German and/

Fig 13: Schematic impression of seax type 1, the ‘narrow seax’ or ‘Schmalsax’. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

Fig 14: Schematic impression of seax type 2.1, the ‘light broad seax’ or ‘leichter Breitsax’. (H. Wortmann, 2018).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Halsall, G., 2007. Barbarian Migrations and the Roman West 376-568. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

or French chronologies are too specific, too early or too late in comparison to the artefact’s occurrence in Dutch soil. Furthermore in some cases, transitional types were discovered in the Netherlands, which sit between the two recognised types in the German chronologies. As stated, the research is currently at an early stage. The preliminary findings, however, are promising and show with certainty the necessity for a more detailed study into the artefact chronology of the early medieval Netherlands. After completion of a similar chronological revision for Dutch graves with a suspected female gender, a typology and chronology can be compiled which provides a solid basis for comparison with Anglo-Saxon Kent. The typology and chronology will allow for the rich Dutch early medieval archaeology to play a role in future pan-European studies. Furthermore, it will contribute, in a positive and useful manner, to the ongoing debate regarding contact and relationships between England and Continental Europe during the Migration Period.

Härke, H., 1989. Knives in Early Anglo-Saxon burials: blade length and age at death. Medieval Archaeology, 33, 144-148. Härke, H., 2011. Anglo-Saxon immigration ethnogenesis. Medieval Archaeology, 55: 1–28.

and

Higham, N., 1994. The English Conquest: Gildas and Britain in the Fifth Century. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Hines, J. and K. Høilund Nielsen and F. Siegmund, 1999. The pace of change; Studies in Early Medieval chronology. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Hines, J. and A. Bayliss (Eds.), 2013. Anglo-Saxon graves and grave goods of the 6th and 7th centuries AD. A chronological framework – monograph 33. London: The Society for Medieval Archaeology.

References

Kars, M., and F. Theuws and M. de Haas, 2016. The Merovingian cemeteries of Sittard-Kemperkoul, Obbicht-Oude Molen and Stein-Groote Bongerd. Bonn: Habelt-Verlag.

Bassett, S., (ed.), 1989. The Origins of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms. Leicester: Leicester University Press. Baxter, M., 1994. Exploratory Multivariate Analysis in Archaeology. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Knol, E. and W. Prummel and H. Uytterschaut and M. Hoogland and W. Casparie and G. de Langen and E. Kramer and J. Schelvis, 1996. The Early Medieval cemetery of Oosterbeintum (Friesland). Palaeohistoria 37/38: 245-416.

Boone, W. de., 1971. “An Early Mediaeval Grave Field on the Beumelerberg near Garderen, Province of Gelderland.” In Berichten van de Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek - Volume 2021. Edited by W. van Es, J. van Regteren Altena and W. Mank, 249-92. Amersfoort: Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek.

Legoux, R. and P. Périn and F. Vallet, 2016. Chronologie normalisée du mobilier funéraire Mérovingien entre Manche et Lorraine. Saint-Germain-en-Laye: Association Française d’Archéologie Mérovingienne – Musée d’Archéologie nationale.

Clausen, S-E., 1998. Applied Correspondence Analysis: An Introduction. London: Sage. Cox, B., 1976. Place-names of the earliest English records. Journal of the English Place-Name Society, 8:12–66.

Müssemeier, U. and E. Nieveler and R. Plum and H. Pöppelmann, 2003. Chronologie der merowingerzeitlichen Grabfunde vom linken Niederrhein bis zur nördlichen Eifel. Köln: Rheinland Verlag.

Dijkstra, M., 2011. Rondom de mondingen van Rijn & Maas: landschap en bewoning tussen de 3e en 9e eeuw in Zuid-Holland, in het bijzonder de Oude Rijnstreek. Leiden: Sidestone Press.

Nicolay, J., 2014. The splendour of power: Early Medieval kingship and the use of gold and silver in the southern North Sea area (5th to 7th century AD). Groningen: Barkhuis Publishing.

Es, W. van, 1967. Wijster, a native village beyond the imperial frontier 150 – 425 A.D. Palaeohistoria 11: 28595.

Shennan, S., 1997. Quantifying Archaeology (2nd edition). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Es, W. van, and R. Hulst, 1991. Das Merowingische gräberfeld von Lent. Amersfoort: Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek.

Siegmund, F., 1998. Merowingerzeit am Niederrhein – Die frühmittelalterlichen Funde aus dem Regierungsbezirk Düsseldorf und dem Kreis Heinsberg. Köln: Rheinland Verlag.

Greenacre, M., 1984. Theory and Applications of Correspondence Analysis. London: Academic Press. Greenacre, M., 1994. “Correspondence Analysis and its Interpretation.” In: Analysis in the Social Sciences. Edited by M. Greenacre and J. Blasius. London: Academic Press.

Sims-Williams, P., 1983. The settlement of England in Bede and the Chronicle. Anglo-Saxon England, 12: 1–41.

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Dating a Deceased Dutchman: The Application of Correspondence Analysis in Dutch Funerary Archaeology Stoodley, N., 1999. The spindle and the spear: a critical enquiry into the construction and meaning of gender in the Early Anglo-Saxon burial rite. Oxford: British Archaeological Report (British Series 288). Theuws, F. and M. van Haperen, 2012. The Merovingian cemetery of Bergeijk-Fazantlaan. Bonn: Habelt-Verlag. Theuws, F. and M. Kars, 2017. The Saint-Servatius complex in Maastricht – The Vrijthof excavations (1969 – 1970). Bonn: Habelt-Verlag. Verwers, W. and W. van Tent, 2015. Merovingisch grafveld Elst-’t Woud (gemeente Rhenen, provincie Utrecht). Amersfoort: Rijksdienst voor het cultureel erfgoed. Waasdorp, J. and E. Eimermann, 2008. Solleveld - Een opgraving naar een Merovingisch grafveld aan de rand van Den Haag. Den Haag: Afdeling Archeologie Dienst Stadsbeheer gemeente Den Haag. Wagner, A. and J. Ypey, 2011. Das Gräberfeld auf dem Donderberg bei Rhenen. Leiden: Sidestone press. Wickham, A., 2005. Framing the Early Middle Ages – Europe and the Mediterranean, 400 – 800. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ypey, J., 1966. “Das frühmittelalterliche Graberfeld in Leersum, Prov. Utrecht.” In Berichten van de Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek - Volume 15-16, Edited by W. van Es, H. Halbertsma, J. van Regteren Altena and W. Mank, 145-67. Amersfoort: Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek.

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5 Beneath the Surface: Illuminating Bubbles in Ancient Glass Heather Christie University of Glasgow [email protected] Abstract: In the early medieval period, glass was used as bangles, beads, vessels, window panes, and inlays for metalwork. There are several studies of glass objects in Britain and Ireland during the Early Medieval period, largely concerning vessels or beads, as well as numerous chemical studies attempting to determine the object’s origins. Unfortunately, there are few if any mentions of Scottish collections in these volumes, because there are few studies of glass beads from Scottish contexts. This is due to both a perceived lack material in Scotland and the destructive nature and high cost of chemically testing glass. All ancient glass has bubbles, the amount and nature of which are directly determined by the chemical composition of the glass and the processes of manufacture used to create the object. Unfortunately, there is little discussion in glass studies about the differences in bubbles concentrations between objects. Yet, variation in bubble concentrations reflect differences in either the manufacture process or the chemistry of the glass, thereby indicating differences in trade networks. This paper examines the bubble concentration for 433 glass bead samples from Iron Age and Early Medieval contexts in Scotland, acquired through analysis of strategically filtered digital images. These samples were then statistically analysed to determine whether differences in bubbles correlated to differences in trade networks. While results will never be as detailed as those gleaned from chemical testing, this non-destructive and affordable methodology allows for a more thorough examination of a greater number of objects, particularly those in more remote regions. Keywords: beads; glass; digital imaging; photography; Scotland; trade; manufacture

Introduction

Bubbles and Glass

In archaeology, images are largely documentary (Moser and Smiles 2005, 5; Bateman 2005, 192; Lyons 2005, 39; Griswold and Crow 2005, ix; Szegedy-Maszak 2005, 9; Shanks 1997, 74, 82). Archaeologists use photographs to capture and remind them of what they saw and to communicate that information to others (Cookson 1954, 13; Howell and Blanc 1995, 1; Lyons 2005, 25; Moser and Smiles 2005, 6; Shanks 1997, 73 – 74; Wright 1982, 176). This style and use of photography is highly beneficial for archaeology and we should continue photographing objects in this manner. Photography can capture more than what the human eye sees, however, and using photography analytically can uncover previously unknown information. This study uses digital visible-range photographic filters to examine and analyse relative bubble concentrations in glass beads recovered from Iron Age and early medieval contexts in Scotland (800 BC – AD 800). The preliminary results presented here reveal previously unknown regional differences between otherwise typologically similar beads, indicating differences in trade and manufacture for glass beads in Iron Age and early medieval Scotland.

Bubbles in glass beads are any pocket of air trapped inside the glass. All pre-modern glass has bubbles; producing glass without them requires equipment and furnaces that were not available in the Iron Age and early medieval periods (Shelby 2005, 40). Bead specialists have long recognised the importance of examining bubbles to identify possible manufacture techniques: wound beads have elongated bubbles oriented perpendicular to the perforation while drawn beads have elongated bubbles oriented parallel to the perforation (Figure 1). This is generally the extent of discussion on bubbles in glass, however, in large part because bubbles are difficult to see in opaque or dark, translucent glasses. Bubbles form in glass when air becomes trapped in a melt (Shelby 2005, 40). Chemical reactions between the ingredients often form bubbles, as well as dust, sand, or other particles entering the melt (Shelby 2004, 40 – 41). Bubbles can form through stirring, because the stirring creates air pockets in the mixture and because the tools can react with certain ingredients in the glass create bubbles

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Fig 1: Wound versus drawn glass beads and their bubble orientations.

(Shelby 2005, 40). These bubbles therefore provide clues about glass manufacture (Shelby 2005, 40). However, many of these processes also occur during glass working in addition to glass making. Additionally, there are wellknown modern techniques for intentionally adding bubbles into the bead, techniques that would have been available in pre-modern times (CheekyTorchGlass 2009; Chrys Art Glass 2015a; Chrys Arc Glass 2015b, Williams 2015). Thus, bubbles always form as part of the manufacturing process, but can do so at any phase and can be intentional or unintentional.

medieval Europe, then the individual or workshop making the glass may have different preferences than the person making the object as well as the person using it. Yet, there are many beads in Scotland for which bubbles appear intentional and important. Some are saturated with bubbles while others have very few. Some have trails of what appears to be white glass, but on further inspection could be an intricate design created through skilful control of bubbles. Each of these bubble patterns were difficult to achieve in pre-modern times and required considerable skill and forethought (Shelby 2005, 40-42). Since these bubbles reflect both the techniques used in manufacturing the object and the possible preferences of individuals using the beads, analysing these bubbles provides valuable insight into both the manufacture and use of glass beads during the Iron Age and early medieval period in Scotland.

In addition to producing bubbles, glass- and beadmakers can reduce bubbles in several ways. Allowing the bubbles to rise to the surface will eventually release bubbles due to the lower density of the bubbles compared to the glass mixture (Shelby 2005, 42). This is inefficiently slow but can be sped up through continuing to heat the object (Shelby 2005, 43). Adding certain chemicals, or fining agents, introduces gasses into the glass that can release more bubbles to combine with the pre-existing smaller bubbles and float to the surface, or can extract oxygen from bubbles in the glass to make them smaller (Shelby 2005, 43). Arsenic and antimony oxides are the most efficient modern fining agents, both of which were available in the Iron Age and early medieval periods (Shelby 2005, 43). Reducing bubbles can be either intentional or unintentional, depending both on the ingredients and techniques used to make the glass.

Photographic Filters The reason many bead specialists do not speak of bubble concentrations in glass beads is because this characteristic is often difficult to see. This is where photographic filters come in. Practically, a filter either is a physical attachment to the lens of a camera that only allows it to capture certain wavelengths of light or consists of digital settings applied in photo-editing software to create the same effect. Digital filters can be applied to any digital image, regardless of when it was captured, and are no different from those using physical ones for visible-range photography (Figure 2).

Many techniques or factors that affect the concentration of bubbles in glass are therefore either intentional or unintentional on the part of the craftsperson, but the degree to which those in the past cared about the bubbles in their glass likely varied from person to person. Many bead-makers today do not worry about bubbles, while many others do. It is difficult to know how much attention craftspeople in the past paid to bubbles in the making of a single object, and if so, at what phase. Also, if glass making and glass working occurred at separate sites, as is the currently accepted model for Iron Age and early

Visible-range filters (e.g. red, green, blue) operate using the RBG colour model, just as cameras and human eyes do (Figure 3). Filters of the primary colours (i.e. red, green and blue) will only allow that light to pass, so a red filter only allows red light through to the camera sensor (Figure 4) (Optical Society of America et al. 1968, 172). Filters of the secondary colours (i.e. yellow, cyan, magenta) allow the two primary colours through that create that secondary colour, so a yellow filter allows both red and green light through to the camera (Figure 4). 48

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Fig 2: Comparison between an image using digital settings derived from a physical filter (left), and an image using a physical filter (right) on a replica glass bead.

Fig 3: The RGB colour model.

Fig 4: A red filter (a) contrasted with a yellow filter (b) in its treatment of light.

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Photographers generally view filtered images in greyscale, so light that a filter allows to pass to the image sensor appears brighter while light it blocks appears darker. Photographing a red object with a red filter will lighten the object in the image, because it is transmitting the red light while blocking others. Practically, this means that when we apply a filter that is the same colour as the glass we are examining, the interior matrix of the glass becomes clear, showing bubbles, inclusions, and even the perforation (Figure 5). Applying such a filter therefore allows us to see the bubbles we have been yearning to examine for so long.

in Adobe Lightroom to best examine the bubbles within the glass, usually a filter that matched the colour of the glass (e.g. blue filter for blue beads, yellow for yellow, etc.) Table 1: Number of bubble samples per colour.

Methodology

Colour

No. Samples

Diaphaneity

Cobalt-blue

96

Translucent

Copper-blue

54

Translucent

Yellow

119

Opaque

There are few, if any, discussions of bubble concentrations within bead studies, and there is no current system of categorising them. This study uses a three-category system of “Few,” “Moderate,” and “Many” bubbles in this paper because this system, while subjective, has relatively clear distinctions between each category while minimising possible error. Only opaque yellow, translucent cobaltblue, and translucent copper-blue glass beads were included because they were the only colours with enough samples for comparison. This study is also limited to only those samples forming the core material of the bead rather than any decorations. Fusing glass together creates significantly more bubbles in the glass such that the yellow samples forming the designs of polychrome beads would skew the results if combined with yellow samples forming the core of monochrome beads, for example.

A total of 294 glass beads from Iron Age and early medieval contexts in Scotland were used in this study. Ninety of these objects were examined as part of previous research (Christie 2014) and were unavailable for re-examination, so the images from 2014 were used. The beads present a range of colours, the totals for which appear in Table 1. Cobalt-blue and copper-blue beads were separated because they differ in the colourant used to create them, with cobalt-blue beads being quite dark and copper-blue beads having a lighter, blue-green colour. These beads are currently housed at the National Museum of Scotland, the Marischal Museum, the Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery, the Kilmartin House Museum, the Iona Abbey Museum, and the University of Glasgow Department of Archaeology. Images made in 2014 were captured with an iPhone 4s, while those captured specifically as part of this study used a Nikon D3100 dSLR with a 40mm macro lens. Objects were placed on a neutral background with a scale and lit with an LED torch and the ambient fluorescent lighting in each museum study space. Images were saved as .jpg files of similar quality to ensure that any comparison between images was a product of the beads and not of the quality of the image. An appropriate visible range filter was applied

The site and region of Scotland for each bead was recorded, which comes from the associated museum records. The difference in regions was determined very loosely (Figure 6). The northeast comprises sites from north of the Forth River into Perthshire and Aberdeenshire and up towards Inverness. The southeast includes the Scottish Borders, the Lothians, Falkirk and parts of North and South Lanarkshire. The west includes the western highlands and

Fig 5: Comparison between a standard colour image of a dark blue bead (left) and one with a blue filter applied to the image (right) (Replica bead).

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Fig 6: Division of regions in this study.

islands down to Dumfries and Galloway. This study has combined these regions due to low numbers of beads in both regions that were eligible for this study. The north includes the northern region of Caithness and the isles of Orkney and Shetland, which have also been combined here due to the lack of examples.

confirm the significance of any visible patterns. Any test scoring under 0.05 was treated as a significant pattern and any test scoring under 0.1 was treated as being very likely. The results provide significant new insight into Scottish bead manufacture and trade during the Iron Age and early medieval period.

Unfortunately, there is no current scope for analysing this data chronologically or contextually between the Iron Age and early medieval periods. The vast majority of glass beads from these periods found in Scotland are stray finds are often found in spoil heaps (Christie 2014; Christie 2019). Additionally, many of the types that are said to be Iron Age or early medieval actually span the both periods, which can be seen when comparing corpuses of beads in Europe (or even Britain) for this period (e.g. Brugmann 2004; Callmer 1977; Guido 1978; Guido 1999; Mannion 2015). Consequently, there is not enough chronological or contextual information for these objects to allow for such a study.

Results Visually, there appear to be possible regional differences in bubble concentrations on a general level (Figure 7). Bead glass in the northeast (n=169) and southeast (n=50) tends towards few to moderate concentrations of bubbles, while most bead glass in the west (n=31) has fewer bubbles. Beads in the north (n=14) tend to have moderate or many bubbles, but there are also fewer beads in this region that were available for study. However, these differences between regions are not statistically significant (p=0.225). Bubbles do differ significantly between different colours and diaphaneities, but in a somewhat unexpected manner. We might assume that opaque glasses will have fewer bubbles on average while translucent glass has more, because we can see further into the matrix of translucent glass than we can for opaque glass. Instead, translucent

The data was first analysed subjectively by examining relative differences in percentages between bubble concentrations for different regions and colours. A Pearson’s chi-square test of independence was used to 51

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Fig 7: Regional bubble concentrations in glass beads from Iron Age and Early Medieval Scottish contexts.

Fig 8: Comparison of bubble concentration between bead colours (p=0.00000000104).

copper-blue beads tend towards more bubbles, but opaque yellow and translucent cobalt-blue beads have fewer (Figure 8).

Copper-blue bead glass has significantly more bubbles than the cobalt-blue glass in Scotland, with 53% of the overall copper-blue bead glasses having many bubbles (compared to 20% for cobalt-blues). There are also statistically significant regional differences in copperblue bead glass (p = 0.000243) (Figure 10). The northeast has significant numbers of many-bubbled copper-blue beads (59%) with a further 35% moderately-bubbled. The southeast, on the other hand, has few copper-blue beads, most of which have few bubbles (75%). The west also has

Cobalt-blue glass favours few (43%) and moderate (38%) bubbles (n = 112). There are statistically significant differences in cobalt-blue beads between regions (p = 0.0068), particularly between the west and the northeast on the one hand and the southeast and the north on the other (Figure 9).

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Fig 9: Regional bubble distributions among cobalt-blue bead glasses (p = 0.0068).

Fig 10: Regional bubble distributions among copper-blue bead glasses (p = 0.000095).

a higher percentage of sparsely bubbled beads (60%), but there are only five copper-blue samples from this region included in this paper.

examples of other core bead colours to use for comparison. Interestingly, there are no visible nor statistically significant differences between regions (p = 0.956) (Figure 11). This may be due to the low number of samples in the south (12 and 9 for the southeast and west respectively) compared to the northeast (n = 97), but it suggests the possibility that yellow glass beads were made in similar manner across Scotland.

Yellow bead glasses tend towards fewer bubbles. This could result from the opacity of the glass rather than actual differences between yellow beads and those of other colours, and unfortunately there were not enough

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Fig 11: Regional bubble distribution among opaque yellow bead glasses (p = 0.579).

Bubble Concentrations and Glass Bead Manufacture and Trade

Regional differences in bubble concentrations also indicate possible differences in trade connections between different regions of Scotland. The west and northeast of Scotland have similar bubble concentrations in their cobalt-blue beads, for example, but the copperblue beads in the northeast differ greatly from those elsewhere in Scotland including the west. Despite these contrasts, there is no significant regional difference in bubble concentration between yellow glass beads across Scotland. These differences between colours suggest that each region may have had its own import routes for glass beads, and possibly its own manufacture technique(s) if objects were made within the region itself. Import routes may have overlapped when multiple regions acquired glass either from the same trade partner or from each other. Without contextual information for the objects in question, however, the specifics of these routes may be difficult to discern.

These results give preliminary evidence for the intentional manipulation or selection for or against bubbles in glass. First, the differences in bubble concentrations between translucent copper-blue and translucent cobalt-blue beads suggest there is some difference in bubble concentration that is not inherently caused by the general glass recipe for each colour. Whether this regional difference results from intentional choices on the part of the beadmaker, the consumer, or both is impossible to tell with the current data, but it suggests either the intentional manipulation of bubble concentrations in glass beads by the beadmaker or the intentional selection of objects for certain bubble concentrations by the consumer. Yet, not all bead colours show significant regional differences in bubble concentrations. Opaque yellow beads exhibited highly similar patterns across all regions. While these results may be affected by different sample sizes across regions, they do preliminarily indicate that yellow beads in Iron Age and early medieval Scotland either were made with the same technique or came from the same workshop. While it could also suggest similar recipes for yellow glass at this time, many chemical studies of yellow glass in Iron Age and early medieval Scotland indicate multiple recipes were in use at the time. The notion that the yellow beads were made similarly or at the same workshop differs significantly from the results of the cobalt-blue and copper-blue beads, which suggest they were made either using different techniques and probably at different locations depending on the region.

Conclusion Visible-range filters have provided new insight into the glass bead assemblage for Iron Age and early medieval Scotland, demonstrating the value of investigating more analytical uses of digital photography. The application of visible-range filters to archaeological photography is not a new technique. Archaeological photography manuals written prior to the advent of colour photography often dedicated entire chapters to the use of visible-range filters, but usually not in relation to object photography (Conlon 1973; Cookson 1954; Dorrell 1994). The technology is readily available and only requires the original digital image files. Many of the images in this study were taken

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Beneath the Surface: Illuminating Bubbles in Ancient Glass in 2014 without any knowledge of this technique, for example, and was still successful in its application.

Chrys Art Glass. 2015b. “How to Make an Encased Bubble Lampwork Glass Bead.” Last modified 19 April 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6vQGh-DPFI.

We can apply this technique to a wide range of materials, too. Filters can highlight surface wear on lithics or ceramics, carvings or surface wear on stone sculpture, wear and corrosion on metalwork, cropmarks in the landscape or differences in stone or mortar in buildings. Nor is this technique limited to archaeology. Filters work the same no matter the subject of the image. Spectral photography can highlight wear or weathering in anything from rocky outcrops to gemstones or wear on mechanical elements or other metalwork in vehicles or machines. It can forensically identify markings on bone or weapons. If something is worth imaging for analytical purposes, it is worth examining through filters to emphasise or discover details in the process.

Conlon, V. 1973. Camera Techniques in Archaeology. London: John Baker. Cookson, M. 1954.  Photography for archaeologists. London: Max Parrish. Dorrell, P. 1994.  Photography in Archaeology and Conservation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Griswold, W. and T. Crow. 2005. “Forward.” In Antiquity & Photography: Early Views of Ancient Mediterranean Sites, edited by C. Lyons, J. Papadopoulos, L. Stewart, and A. Szegedy-Maszak, ix-x. London: Thames & Hudson. Howell, C. and W. Blanc. 1992. A Practical Guide to Archaeological Photography. Institute of Archaeology, University of California.

This study uses filters to examine a single characteristic of a single, specific set of archaeological objects: bubble concentrations in Iron Age and early medieval glass beads found in Scottish contexts. Even limited in this way, the technique provides significant conclusions about glass beads that lead to an advancement in possible conclusions concerning trade and manufacture of these objects within Scotland during this time. Additional data will certainly help, but the preliminary conclusions resulting from this brief study provide more information than has previously been available. By merely looking at images in an analytical way, then, we can draw significant conclusions that were not previously possible.

Lyons, C. 2005. “The Art and Science of Antiquity in Nineteenth-Century Photography.” In Antiquity & Photography: Early Views of Ancient Mediterranean Sites, edited by C. Lyons, J. Papadopoulos, L. Stewart, and A. Szegedy-Maszak, 22-65. London: Thames & Hudson. Moser, S. and S. Smiles. 2005. “Introduction: The Image Question.” In Envisioning the Past: Archaeology and the Image, edited by S. Smiles and S. Moser, 1-12. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.

Acknowledgements

Optical Society of America, & Committee on Colorimetry. 1968. The Science of Color. Washington, D.C.: Optical Society of America.

I would like to thank the National Museum of Scotland, the Kilmartin House Museum, the Marischal Museum, the Hunterian Museum and Art Gallery, the Iona Abbey Museum, and the University of Glasgow Department of Archaeology for allowing me to examine their glass bead collections.

Shanks, M. 1997. “Photography and Archaeology.” In The Cultural Life of Images: Visual Representation in Archaeology, edited by B. Molyneaux, 73-107. London: Routledge.

References

Shelby, J. 2005.  Introduction to Glass Science and Technology. Cambridge: Royal Society of Chemistry.

Bateman, J. 2005. “Wearing Juninho’s Shirt: Record and Negotiation in Excavation Photographs.” In Envisioning the Past: Archaeology and the Image, edited by S. Smiles and S. Moser, 194 – 203. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.

Szegedy-Maszak, A. 2005. “Introduction.” In Antiquity & Photography: Early Views of Ancient Mediterranean Sites, edited by C. Lyons, J. Papadopoulos, L. Stewart, and A. Szegedy-Maszak, 2-23. London: Thames & Hudson.

CheekyTorchGlass. 2009. “Glass Art: Easy Air Bubble Inclusions.” Last modified 26 October 2009. https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=oooF0S0Japg.

Williams, J. 2015.  “Trapping Air Bubbles.” Last modified 21 January 2015. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=7hUz89_yLMg.

Christie, H. 2014. “Got Swag? Investigating Beads and Bead Trade in Scotland During the First Millennium AD.” MLitt dissertation. University of Glasgow.

Wright, R. 1982. “Archaeological Photography.” In A Manual of Field Excavation: Handbook for Field Archaeologists, edited by W. Dever and H. Lance, 175195. New York: Hebrew Union College.

Chrys Art Glass. 2015a. “How to Make a ‘Champagne’ Glass Bead with Bubbles.” Last modified 19 April 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mi9c3_nyVw.

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6 Digital Discoveries: New insights into the Govan-Inchinnan school of carving Megan Kasten University of Glasgow/Glasgow School of Art [email protected] Abstract: The proliferation of digital imaging techniques has clearly made early medieval sculpture more accessible to researchers and the public alike. However, it is important to recognise that these approaches are also valuable, but underutilised, research tools. This paper will discuss new insights into the Govan-Inchinnan tradition of sculpture that have been achieved using both Structure-from-motion photogrammetry and Reflectance Transformation Imaging (RTI). Govan Old Parish Church in Glasgow currently houses thirty-one early medieval carved stones dating to the 9th-11th centuries AD, including a sarcophagus, five hogbacks, two cross-shafts, two upright cross-slabs, and twenty-one recumbent cross-slabs. However, many of the recumbent monuments suffer from varying degrees of wear, which makes it difficult to develop a comprehensive arthistorical typology. By digitally eroding 3D models of the well-preserved monuments from the Govan collection and comparing them to the remnants of decoration on worn carved stones, it becomes possible to identify and reconstruct panels of ornament. This paper will focus on the digital reconstruction of one of the eroded recumbent cross-slabs from Govan. By taking these newly reconstructed monuments into account and referring to other design and structural elements of the sculpture, the potential for one or more centralised workshops of the GovanInchinnan school of carving will be considered. Keywords: Digital, 3D, sculpture, Glasgow, schools

Introduction

of excavations took place between 1994 and 1996; these revealed the foundations of an early church which lay over the remnants of an Early Christian cemetery. Two of these burials were radiocarbon dated to the 6th century AD (Driscoll 2004, 8). However, it was not until the 10th and 11th centuries that the site became archaeologically visibly significant as a political and ecclesiastical centre, an observation which rests entirely on the sculpture. Not only does the collection of carved stone date to this later period, but the site appears to have been associated with a royal residence across the river in Partick and what was probably a moot hill, known as Doomster Hill (Davidson Kelly 1994, 1–3; Driscoll 2004, 17). The current interpretation of the site is that it was a favoured church and place of burial for the royal household.

As a discipline, archaeology is no stranger to threedimensional recording; in recent years, increased accessibility to these techniques has led to their proliferation. However, three-dimensional recording techniques are too often seen primarily as methods of conservation, illustration, and public engagement. While these are all important endeavours, the opportunity to exploit these digital outputs as research tools to answer specific archaeological questions has rarely been attempted. The value of these models derives from the precision of the data they capture, their nearly infinite reproducibility and their malleable nature. This paper will discuss the digital imaging techniques considered in my PhD thesis, highlighting the benefits and drawbacks to each approach. One of the many research applications of these digital imaging techniques will be discussed as applied to an assemblage of early medieval carved stone at Govan, Glasgow, specifically addressing their use in recovering worn decorative motifs from the recumbent monuments.

Currently there are thirty-one carved stones located at Govan Old church, one of the largest collections from the Viking Age in Britain. Today the collection consists of one sarcophagus, two cross-shafts, two upright cross-slabs, five hogbacks, and twenty-one recumbent cross slabs. Hitherto, the recumbent monuments have not received much research, partially because many are heavily worn, but also because scholars were uncertain how to approach these rare monuments. An additional challenge is that

Early Medieval Govan Govan is the site of an early medieval Christian church located on the southern banks of the River Clyde. A series 57

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period many have been reused in later periods and were subjected to much more wear than the other monument types.

al. 2011). Because the software has calculated how each pixel reacts to light, the resultant RTI file allows the user to manipulate the light source in any direction. The variety of settings built into the software provide different perspectives into the surface that has been recorded;in this case, this increases the contrast between faint remnants of carving and the uncarved surface.

The Govan School Much of Strathclyde’s early medieval sculpture is said to belong to the ‘Govan school of carving’ (Macquarrie 2006). In an art-historical context, a school ‘is used to describe works which share common aesthetic themes, forms, decorative treatments and techniques and it implies the existence of a central workshop where artists are trained’ (Driscoll et al. 2005, 141). However, there is no documentary evidence for this in Strathclyde, nor has a location for this centralised workshop been identified archaeologically. The question has since remained whether a single workshop was responsible for the monuments of Strathclyde, if multiple workshops drew inspiration from the same source, or if independent, itinerant carvers were at work. Because each piece of sculpture is the result of several phases of production (including but not limited to the commissioning, quarrying, designing, and carving), they each represent a significant investment of resources. Large concentrations of these carved monuments are then taken as indicators of secular and/or ecclesiastical power centres and, if there are visible similarities in the aesthetics of the monuments, it is often thought this signals the presence of a common school of carving or centralised workshop (Gondek 2006, 107–110). Before drawing any definitive connections between the different sculptural sites of Strathclyde, however, a more thorough understanding of the collection at Govan is needed.

Recovering Worn Patterns with Photogrammetry and RTI These two imaging techniques have contributed a significant amount to the study of the early medieval carved stones at Govan. While past research has primarily focused on the unique monument types found at Govan, including the sarcophagus, crosses and hogbacks, the recumbent crossslabs have been largely ignored due to the amount of wear and damage they have experienced since their original creation. One of the primary challenges of my PhD research (Kasten 2019) has been to bring Govan’s worn recumbent monuments back into the discussion. Because they make up such a large proportion of the collection of carved stone, a more complete understanding of the decorative motifs used in the design of the recumbent cross-slabs is essential to understanding the artistic repertoire of the Govan carvers and may reveal distinct phases of carving that have previously gone unnoticed in existing typologies (Allen et al. 1903; Cramp 1994). Photogrammetry and RTI have allowed for the identification and recovery of these worn patterns. Three-dimensional models can be thought of as digitised casts of the stone – they capture the geometry of the surface of the monument, allowing researchers to focus on the pattern (and ignore the colour of the stone). Sometimes the removal of the texture is enough to identify the patterns, as long as one can recognise the shape of the carved features and the relationships between strands of interlace. This can be seen in the reconstruction of the ornament on Govan 17 (ECMS 35) below (Figure 1).

Digital Imaging Techniques To gain more insight into the carved stones at Govan, digital imaging was used. There are many technologies that can be used to create a three-dimensional model, but for many reasons, Structure-from-Motion photogrammetry was chosen, along with the 2.5-dimensional Reflectance Transformation Imaging (RTI). Photogrammetry required the capture of many photographs perpendicular to the surface of the object from different positions; approximately sixty per cent overlap was required between adjacent photos. The software was then able to calculate and reconstruct the geometry of the object from these photographs, which resulted in the production of a threedimensional model (AgiSoft PhotoScan Professional 2016).

Other stones have been more thoroughly worn and require a bit more analysis, which can be provided by Reflectance Transformation Imaging. In the case of Govan 23 (ECMS 31), RTI produced enough contrast between the natural banding of the stone material and the carved sections that a clear interpretation of the shape of the remnants was possible (Figure 2). There have been a few recumbent cross-slabs in the collection where RTI was not sufficient on its own to identify the ornamentation.

Reflectance Transformation Imaging, or RTI, has proved useful when investigating worn or damaged carved stone. While photogrammetry involves taking pictures in different positions around the stone, the opposite is true of RTI – the camera remains in one position, while moving a light source in different positions, creating various angles of raking light. A reflective ball is positioned within the frame, as it reflects the position of the light and allows the software to calculate how each pixel in the photograph interacts with the changing light positions (Malzbender & Gelb 2001; Malzbender, Gelb, et al. 2001; Gabov et

One creative use of these models is to simulate erosion to recognise heavily worn features. By importing the threedimensional models of well-preserved monuments from the assemblage into a software called ‘Zbrush’ (Alon et al. 2015), it is possible to digitally simulate the wear of the ornament until only the deepest parts of the carving remain, effectively creating a comparative collection of known worn patterns. These newly ‘worn’ patterns can then be compared to the unknown, effaced stones in the 58

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Digital Discoveries: New insights into the Govan-Inchinnan school of carving

Fig 1: The reconstruction of Govan 17 was relatively simple after removing the texture from the 3D model.

Fig 2: A still-image from Govan 23’s RTI (left) was used to record newly identified carved sections as they were revealed by the changing light (centre). These remnants were joined into a coherent pattern (right).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period collection to attempt to recover the faded pattern (this process is discussed more thoroughly in Kasten (in press)).

shaft of Govan 14 (ECMS 32) and highlighting their shapes in a still image of the stone in Adobe Photoshop, it quickly became apparent that these patterns were the same (Figure 4). While this process cannot recover all worn patterns from the Govan collection, it has reclaimed many previously unidentified decorative motifs and has significantly broadened our knowledge of the ornament used in the construction of these monuments. These recovered patterns have formed the foundation for a new

In the case of this stone, Govan 28 (ECMS 28), the outward-facing Stafford knot patterns on either side of the cross-shaft are quite clear. After these are worn down, we are left with distinctively-shaped pits which can guide in interpreting actual worn samples (Figure 3). After using RTI to identify the carved remnants on the cross-

Fig 3: The preserved outward-facing Stafford knots pattern from Govan 28 (right) worn digitally using Zbrush (left).

Fig 4: Govan 14 with the highlighted remnants identified through RTI (left) with the outward-facing Stafford knot pattern reapplied (right).

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Digital Discoveries: New insights into the Govan-Inchinnan school of carving Cross-proportions

typology of the recumbent cross-slabs, dividing the extant collection into four basic groups: those exhibiting key pattern, Stafford knots, Free-ring interlace, and Stafford knots with Free-ring interlace (Figure 5). By considering these groups with two other traits, cross proportions and the structural layout of the decoration, these features have highlighted potential sub-phases of carving for this monument type in the Govan collection (Figure 6). The cross proportions specifically have implications for stones elsewhere in the Govan school, specifically Inchinnan 1.

As mentioned above, one of the traits considered in the creation of the new recumbent cross-slab typology is the proportional relationship between the lengths of different elements of the cross. In these comparisons, it became apparent that there is a subset of paired recumbent crossslabs that exhibit identical cross outlines. Two pairs are wholly within the Govan collection, but another pair of identical crosses consists of Govan 12 and Inchinnan 1

Fig 5: Illustrations of the types of patterns frequently employed by the Govan carvers, specifically Stafford-knot related patterns (above) and Free-ring interlace (below).

Fig 6: Illustration of the Recumbent Cross-slab typology.

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Conclusion

(Figure 7). By scaling the outline of Govan 12’s cross down, it fits neatly over the outline of Inchinnan 1’s cross. Although this pairing has been identified between three pairs of stones in the Govan school, it is still unclear why their carvers would have made this distinct connection between the stones. Initially it had been assumed that this would be an indication that the same carver worked on the two stones. However, as a part of my PhD, the application of Groove Analysis (a statistical analysis of carved grooves developed by Laila Kitzler Åhfeldt to identify individual carving techniques (2002)) has indicated that these two monuments were carved by two different individuals. It appears, then, that this unique design choice was made for another reason. Were the two carvers referencing an existing cross with these same proportions? Or was there a social connection between the people being commemorated by these monuments that the carvers wished to draw attention to? The reason for this connection is unclear, although it seems to support the concept of multiple carvers communicating with each other and purposefully producing monuments sharing multiple design elements.

In conclusion, the application of digital imaging techniques to the recumbent cross-slabs at Govan has led to the reidentification of patterns that were initially thought to be too worn to recover. A more thorough understanding of the decoration, cross shape and layout of the ornament on these monuments has led to the identification of several trends and two prominent phases of standardization within the Govan collection of recumbent cross-slabs. One of the recumbent slabs from Inchinnan fits neatly within one of these sub-phases of carving, supporting the possibility for a ‘Strathclyde School’. Overall this research has outlined a framework for understanding which elements of design were significant to the carvers at Govan, which will guide future approaches to stones elsewhere in this ‘school’. These digital imaging techniques not only act as a record for conservation and illustration, but also have the potential to make significant contributions to research in the study of early medieval sculpture.

Fig 7: Govan 12’s cross outline imposed over Inchinnan 1’s cross (3D model of Inchinnan 1 produced and provided by Spectrum Heritage (2017)). 62

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Digital Discoveries: New insights into the Govan-Inchinnan school of carving References

Malzbender, T, and D Gelb. 2001. Reflectance Transformation Imaging. HP Laboratories.

AgiSoft PhotoScan Professional. 2016. AgiSoft Photoscan Professional (version 1.2.6 build 2834 (64 bit)). St. Petersburg, Russia: Agisoft LLC.

Malzbender, T, D Gelb, and H Wolters. 2001. “Polynomial Texture Maps.” In Special Interest Group on Graphics and Interactive Techniques (SIGGRAPH) conference. Los Angeles, USA: ACM. www.hpl.hp.com/research/ ptm/papers/ptm.pdf.

Allen, J. Romilly, and Joseph Anderson. 1903. The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland. 2 vols. Reprint. Balgavies, Angus: The Pinkfoot Press.

Spectrum Heritage. 2017. “Inchinnan - a 3D Model Collection by Spectrum Heritage.” Inchinnan - a 3D Model Collection by Spectrum Heritage. 2017. https://sketchfab.com/SpectrumHeritage/collections/ inchinnan.

Alon, Ofer, and Jack Rimokh. 2015. Zbrush (version 4R7). Windows. Pixologic. http://pixologic.com/zbrush/ features/overview/. Cramp, R. 1994. “The Govan Recumbent Cross-Slabs.” In Govan and Its Early Medieval Sculpture, edited by A Ritchie, 55–62. Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing Limited. Davidson Kelly, T.A. 1994. “The Govan Collection in the Context of Local History.” In Govan and Its Early Medieval Sculpture, edited by Anna Ritchie, 1–18. Stroud: Alan Sutton Publishing Limited. Driscoll, S T, O O’Grady, and K S Forsyth. 2005. “The Govan School Revisited: Searching for Meaning in the Early Medieval Sculpture of Strathclyde.” In Able Minds and Practised Hands, edited by S Foster and M Cross, 135–58. Scotland: Historic Scotland. Driscoll, Stephen T. 2004. Govan from Cradle to Grave. Glasgow: Friends of Govan Old. http://eprints.gla. ac.uk/3147/. Gabov, Alexander, and George Bevan. 2011. “Recording the Weathering of Outdoor Stone Monuments Using Reflectance Transformat (RTI): The Case of the Guild of All Arts (Scarborough, Ontario).” Journal for the Canadian Association for Conservation 36: 3–14. Gondek, Meggen. 2006. “Investing in Sculpture: Power in Early-Historic Scotland.” Medieval Archaeology 50 (1): 105–42. Kasten, Megan. (In press). “Shadows of a Legacy: The Use of Reflectance Transformation Imaging in the Reconstruction of the Govan Stones.” In Proceedings of the Virtual Heritage Network: Ireland Conference. University College Cork. Kasten, Megan. 2019. “The Govan Stones Revealed: Digital Imaging in the Analysis of Early Medieval Sculpture.” Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Glasgow, Scotland: University of Glasgow. Kitzler Åhfeldt, Laila. 2002. “Work and Worship: Laser Scanner Analysis of Viking Age Rune Stones (Summary).” Doctoral Dissertation, Stockholm: Stockholm University. https://www.academia. edu/3445594/Work_and_Worship_Laser_Scanner_ Analysis_of_Viking_Age_Rune_Stones_Summary_. Macquarrie, Alan. 2006. Crosses and Upright Monuments in Strathclyde: Typology, Dating, and Purpose. Glasgow: The Society of Friends of Govan Old.

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7 Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100 Christina Cowart-Smith Department of Archaeology, Durham University [email protected] Abstract: This paper provides an overview to the distribution and development of early medieval sculpture across south-east Scotland, possible for the first time given the recent completion of a definitive sculpture catalogue by the author. While it is outwith the paper’s scope to propose a nuanced sculptural typology, particularly of the region’s high crosses, it looks at broad trends in the form, chronology, and siting of the monuments. To this end, it (a) discusses the types of monuments found in the region, arranging them into broad chronological categories; (b) assesses the varying locations at which stone sculpture has been found in south-east Scotland; and (c) uses two case-studies to examine iconographic themes in high cross carving in particular. The paper concludes with a reflection on the underutilised potential of early medieval sculpture across southern Scotland and suggests areas of future research. Keywords: Sculpture; South-east Scotland; Southern Scotland; Monumentality; Iconoclasm; Early medieval; Borderlands

Introduction

rather critical portrayal of the Northern Britons and their neighbours the Picts, as has been the topic of many recent historical reappraisals (Woolf 2007; Foley & Higham 2009; Fraser 2009)

Early medieval south-east Scotland was a crossroads of cultures. To the north of the River Forth lay the Pictish heartland; to the south of the River Tweed stretched the rest of the Kingdom of Northumbria; to the west sat Dál Riadic territory with its Irish Sea links; and to the east gathered ocean swells carrying ships to Scandinavia and the Continent.

Cognisant of the limitations of the historical sources, how might south-east Scotland’s rich sculpture record fill in its fragmented and, at times, silent textual narrative? Even for those sites for which some information is known, sculpture can serve as tangible evidence of early medieval activity (as at Jedburgh, Roxburghshire). At other times, sculpture acts as a counterpoint to these textual sources, particularly those which might pigeonhole a certain site into a static ethnic label (as at Aberlady, Haddingtonshire): ‘Anglo-Saxon’ (or ‘English’) and ‘Celtic’ (‘Scottish’ or ‘Irish,’ broadly defined) among the most overused and problematic of all Insular labels.

While its history is central to understanding the movement of peoples, ideas, and belief in pre-twelfth-century Europe, the region has received little comprehensive archaeological study. This, in large part, stems from a more general lack of excavation in the region as well as the dearth of textual witnesses which might speak to south-east Scotland’s early medieval past. Apart from a few contemporaneous historic, hagiographic, and poetic voices—among them Bede, Adomnán, and the writer of Y Gododdin—there is little (as of yet) contemporary evidence which can indicate larger patterns of settlement or political and ecclesiastical boundaries within south-east Scotland, particularly at the beginning of our period.

As a result, this paper builds upon multi-disciplinary methodology piloted in an M.Litt. dissertation in the Department of Medieval History at the University of Glasgow and revisited in a subsequent M.A. dissertation in the Department of Archaeology at Durham University. It engages with scattered textual, place-name, and associated archaeological evidence in an effort to provide a holistic study of early medieval sculpture. Sculpture is the result of many intertwined processes of interaction: from the initial patronage and procurement of stone to the completed monument’s daily viewing and use (Gondek 2003). Indeed, a sculpture’s ‘life’ does not end even after the conditions and contexts of its initial construction are complete. As seen in south-east Scotland, where fragments

Moreover, though Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica helpfully chronicles a handful of key players and places in southeast Scotland, including Bishop Trumwine and his famous bishopric at Abercorn (I.12), most sculpture sites remain undocumented in the Historia. Additionally, the work is itself not without its own biases and agenda, particularly as it pertains to those ‘non-Anglo-Saxons’ living in southern Scotland. Nowhere is this more evident than in Bede’s 65

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period of Scotland (RCAHMS), a handful of publications of the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland (PSAS), doctoral theses, and Scotland’s online Canmore Database (with recent sculpture updates made between 2016-17 by Anna Ritchie).

of early medieval cross-shafts are frequently found having been built into the walls of central and later medieval parish churches, the monument biography and afterlife of southeast Scotland’s sculpture proves as interesting and varied as the environments in which it might have first been used. This phenomenon again speaks to south-east Scotland as a living landscape—not only in the movement of its peoples but also in the physical history of its sculptured stones.

The lack of a modern south-east Scottish sculpture catalogue until this point can be attributed to three main issues. First, southern Scotland’s absence from the pages of the British Academy’s forty year-running The Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Stone Sculpture has in some ways set in stone that its sculpture is ‘beyond’ the reaches of the Northumbrian heartland. Ironically this leaves out some of the finest and most instantly recognisable ‘Anglo-Saxon’ sculpture, including the Ruthwell Cross (Dumfriesshire) and the so-called Jedburgh ‘Shrine’ (Roxburghshire). Second, and building upon the first point, early medieval sculpture is most often studied along the lines of modern political boundaries: the Scottish material remaining distinctly ‘Scottish’ and the English material labelled as unequivocally ‘English.’ The result is national schools of scholarship which rarely interact with one another. This is to the detriment of the material which, in a period before the formation of the Anglo-Scottish border, belonged to what might be termed ‘Central Britain’ rather than to either England or Scotland. Third, even the most general Insular art historical studies rarely include southern Scottish sculpture. This has again created little impetus for compiling a modern sculpture catalogue. While a handful of the monuments have figural imagery, most southern Scottish early medieval sculpture does not. A great majority of the carved decoration is non-figural ornament, including various types of interlace, knotwork, and keypattern. Art history’s privileging of human and animal iconography over these types of non-figural decoration has only continued to side-line these significant monuments.

Data set This study has been made possible following the construction of a first modern catalogue of the sculpture (Cowart-Smith 2017). All of the references to sculpture in this paper use the numerical scheme derived from this catalogue, which assigns numbers (beginning with ‘1’) to sole pieces of sculpture or sculpture in assemblages. For example, Abercorn 4 indicates that there are at least three other early medieval sculptured stones at Abercorn. The catalogue defined south-east Scotland as the area between the River Tweed and the River Forth, i.e. the seven historic counties of Linlithgowshire (West Lothian), Midlothian, Haddingtonshire (East Lothian), Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, Selkirkshire, and Peeblesshire. In all, thirty-eight sites with a combined total of seventy-seven stone sculpture fragments were catalogued, depending on how problematic fragments are (or are not) related to one another (Figure 1). The sculpture corpus was drawn from a variety of sources. These include John Stuart’s The Sculptured Stones of Scotland (1856), John Romilly Allen and Joseph Anderson’s The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland (1903), various regional volumes of The Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments

Fig 1: Sites with sculpture in south-east Scotland, AD 400-1100 (Map by author, Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright/ database right 2018).

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Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100 In all, this paper chooses to use these three ‘issues’ as a springboard rather than a setback to its study of southeast Scottish sculpture. Sculpture of a ‘border’ zone is in some ways different than in other places. This is evidenced in stylistic hybridity, and in the curious adaptations of familiar forms that seem to defy any ethnic or temporal label (as at Innerleithen, Peeblesshire). Yet at the same time, ‘border’ sculpture is in no way peripheral or disconnected from movement around it. High crosses arguably provide the most convincing example for southeast Scotland’s place at the crux of artistic innovation. The region’s first high crosses, dated to the seventh to ninthcenturies and situated at ecclesiastical foundations along the North Sea coast, would appear to belong to the earliest wave of high cross construction anywhere in Britain. High crosses are a class of monument unique to Britain and Ireland in this period and mark out a phenomenon wholly absent on the Continent. Moreover, that high crosses were constructed by diverse communities spanning the length and breadth of Britain—from Cornwall to the Western Isles—reflects the shared significance of the sculptural form. As a result, studying south-east Scottish sculpture is critical for understanding the British high cross’ creation and development.

periods. This has been done to sidestep the difficulty of individually dating the non-epigraphic material, since few if any of the monuments can be securely dated based on their archaeological contexts. As a result, and without archaeological dating for the non-inscribed monuments, we must rely on iconographic and stylistic comparison. This type of chronology is not without its own set of biases and issues, particularly for those monuments with non-figural carving (as discussed above). While this study recognises that this chronological scheme is overly simplistic, it hopes that future research will be able to refine and rework dating—one monument at a time. The aim now is to get south-east Scottish sculpture into mainstream archaeological discussions, and this can be done at present without detailed chronological assessment. The early period, AD 400-700 South-east Scotland’s earliest extant early medieval sculpture are the six incised pillar (fifth to sixth-century) and Latin-inscribed slabs (sixth to seventh-century) in Midlothian, Peeblesshire, Roxburghshire, and Selkirkshire (Figure 2). All are found on their own and are not part of assemblages, contrasting with later sculpture forms. Along with those in south-west Scotland, these south-east Scottish monuments serve as ‘the most northerly branch of a sculptural phenomenon which ranges throughout the western part of the Brittonic-speaking world’ (Forsyth 2005, 113). Katherine Forsyth’s research on these sculptures has shown that they might be divided into two separate epigraphic strands: one secular/proprietorial (Kirkliston 1) and the other ecclesiastical (Manor Water 1 and Over-Kirkhope 1). Landscape settings appear particularly important to these early monuments.

Overview of sculpture forms South-east Scotland’s sculpture repertoire is rich and varied. At the beginning of the period, simple incised and inscribed pillar stones and slabs are found in the western margins of the distribution (in Roxburghshire and Selkirkshire). Some of these monuments appear to have served as personal memorials or grave-markers, while others might still have marked out familial or territorial boundaries in the landscape, either ecclesiastical or political. The seventhcentury marked a significant shift away from personal or familial monuments of commemoration. Instead, the close of that century witnessed the relatively rapid construction of the region’s first high crosses, all situated at coastal locations (in Berwickshire, Haddingtonshire, and Midlothian). Presumably most of these high crosses would have been connected to ecclesiastical sites, many of which were likely monastic.

For example, the so-called ‘Cat Stane’ which commemorates Vetta, a daughter or son of Vitricius, stands as the focal point for a long-cist cemetery near to the boundary of a later medieval parish (Rutherford and Ritchie 1975, 183). Though it appears to have served funerary function in a burial context, the inscription is more importantly tied to an emergent Christianised secular elite. This is evidenced in the inscription’s emphasis on familial ties as well as Kirkliston’s own place-name which merges the Welsh word llys for ‘court, hall’ with the Gaelic word lios meaning ‘domestic enclosure’ (Forsyth 2005, 118). This indicates that this monument, like a similar one found at Yarrow (Yarrow 1), was not simply a statement of faith but also a powerful proclamation of secular authority. In contrast, the sculptures at Manor Water and Over-Kirkhope are decidedly ecclesiastical. The Manor Water stone commemorates a certain ‘Coninia the Martyr,’ accompanied by small pecked cross, while the figure in ‘orans’ pose on the uninscribed pillar from Over-Kirkhope might indicate a place of worship or cult focus.

High cross construction continues well into the ninth and tenth-centuries, at which time free-standing cross forms become more varied and appear to have less regularised dimensions (particularly of the cross-shaft). In addition to changes in the shape of high crosses, other types of new sculpture forms emerge alongside these free-standing crosses. This includes a proliferation of cross-incised slabs, which are admittedly difficult to date, as well as more unique forms: upright cruciform stones and upright relief cross-slabs. The tenth and eleventh-centuries also see the presence of so-called ‘hogback’ stones and varying types of coped and flat recumbent slabs across the region.

The epigraphically and stylistically latest of these early south-east Scottish sculptures are two unrelated monuments from Peebles (Peebles 1) and another at Coldingham (Coldingham 2). The Coldingham inscription,

In order to look at changes in sculpture form and siting over time, the following sections make use of broad temporal categories: the early, middle, and late sculpture 67

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Fig 2: Sites with incised pillar stones and inscribed slabs in south-east Scotland (Map by author, Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright/database right 2018).

from Berwickshire, is the only south-east Scottish early medieval sculptural inscription to be found outside of Selkirkshire and Roxburghshire. Like the ecclesiastical epigraphic strand of monuments mentioned above, the dedications of these two monuments indicate decidedly Christian contexts. The kite-shaped ‘Neitano Stone’ (Peebles 1) fits most closely with its predecessors given its ‘Neitano Sacerdos’ inscription, which has been translated as ‘[Here lies] Neitan, the priest/bishop’ (Charles-Edwards 2012, 148-9). These words are inscribed around a barredterminal cross pecked with wide lines in the centre of the top of the stone.

region, characterised almost entirely by ecclesiastic (if not monastic) contexts of production and use. The middle sculpture period, AD 700-900 South-east Scotland’s middle sculpture period is marked out from what comes before it with a wholly new sculptural innovation: the free-standing high cross. The role played by south-east Scotland in this monument’s development cannot be underestimated, particularly when one considers that the form is known only in the Insular world and stands out amongst the backdrop of European sculpture at large. Certainly the region’s role in supplying the overland routes to two of the most important monastic centres in Northern Britain (Lindisfarne to the south and Iona to the west), each known for their unique high cross traditions, bears added thought. Furthermore, high crosses mark out a significant investment of resources and labour. Like the inscribed stones of a Northern British milieu, these crosses similarly express an ‘urge to express in stone’ (Forsyth 2005, 131). Yet the scale and detail of their overall shape and carving suggests stone sculpture investment on a scale unseen in the region until this point.

In contrast to the other monuments listed and described in this section, the Coldingham inscription (Coldingham 2) is the only inscribed stone to have been found as part of a broader assemblage which also includes one (or two, if counting a now-lost figural high cross fragment known only through a nineteenth-century drawing: Carr 1836, 318) extant high-cross shafts. Unearthed in 1973 during excavations near to St Michael’s Knowe, possibly from the site of a Northern British cemetery, the stone’s inscription reads ‘Abbatissa’ or ‘belonging to/of the abbess’ (AliagaKelly 1986, 402). Given the inscription’s use of a script akin to eighth-century Northumbrian bookhand, it is tempting to relate this monument to Abbess Æbbe and the double-monastery she founded at St Abb’s Head in the seventh-century. Whether or not this monument is actually a reference to Æbbe in particular is perhaps less important than the fact that it is the first and only extant example of an abbess or abbot receiving commemoration in name on south-east Scottish sculpture. This monument also ushers in a new period of sculpture forms and contexts in the

If the proposed dates are to be broadly accepted, the stylistically earliest high crosses in south-east Scotland almost single-handedly appear along its North Sea coast. This includes high cross-components (shafts, arms, heads, and bases) found at the ecclesiastical foundations of Abercorn, Aberlady, Auldhame, Tyninghame, and Coldingham (Figure 3). Morham and Borthwick also have early high cross shafts but are not situated along the coast. All of these sites went on to become later medieval 68

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Fig 3: Sites with early high cross components in south-east Scotland (Map by author, Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright/database right 2018).

parishes, indicating their continued significance well into the Middle Ages. Apart from Auldhame which also has at least two recumbent cross-slabs (Auldhame 1 and 2), likely burial markers, high crosses are the first piece of sculpture produced at these locations. Whether or not these sites were uniformly monastic is uncertain, given the difficulty of archaeologically determining what constitutes a ‘monastery’ in the absence of a textual witness.

human-sized or even taller, as at Eassie and Aberlemno— bolster the argument for ‘homegrown’ influences. In fact, south-east Scotland’s only two upright relief cross-slabs at Tormain Hill (Tormain Hill/Dalmahoy 1) and Kinneil (Kinneil 1) are located at sites in proximity to the Firth of Forth. This would seem to point to significant sculptural influences of a northerly direction. Setting aside the uniqueness of upright relief cross-slabs in this corpus, there is one south-east Scottish high cross assemblage in particular which can help in challenging the dominant ‘Anglo-Saxon’ narrative: Abercorn. Abercorn, called Æbbercurnig by Bede, was established in 681 as the chief episcopal seat of Bishop Trumwine (HE, IV.12, 1V.16). A monastery was set up on the site and inhabited until 685, at which time Abercorn was temporarily abandoned in the wake of King Ecgfrith’s defeat at the Battle of Dun Nechtain. As A.C. Thomas’ brief excavations in the 1960s have shown, Abercorn was reoccupied at some time in the eighth-century (1984, 324-7). It is to this second stage of Abercorn’s early medieval history that its magnificent collection of late eighth and early ninthcentury high cross fragments most likely belong.

Regardless, the high status of those sites with textual references is undoubtable, including the bishopric at Abercorn and the rebuilt double-monastery at Coldingham, both of which are mentioned by Bede. It is thus relatively unsurprising that the region’s earliest high crosses would be associated with successful ecclesiastic sites. Not only were these the communities able to summon resources of time, wealth, and skill necessary for constructing high crosses, but they were also sites intent upon asserting their primacy within an increasingly changing, complex, and ordered ecclesiastical world. Case-study 1: The high cross assemblage at Abercorn It is perhaps all too easy to associate these first high crosses with a uniformly ‘Anglian’ or ‘Anglo-Saxon’ political or cultural influence. As this paper has shown through its inclusion of inscribed and incised monuments from the fifth to eighth-centuries, the skills needed to carve monumental stone sculpture need not have come solely from a southerly direction. South-east Scotland had a history of sculptural monumentality before and after the construction of its high crosses. Indeed, the upright relief cross-slabs of Pictland—a great many of which are

Abercorn has four intricately-decorated high cross-shafts (Abercorn 1-4) and one cross-head (Abercorn 8) dating to this period. Depending on how particularly problematic fragments are reconstructed, Abercorn ties with Jedburgh for having the largest grouping of high cross-components at any site in south-east Scotland. These high crosses, in addition to the site’s ninth-century cross-slab and later eleventh and twelfth-century monuments (three ‘hogback’ fragments and two recumbent relief slabs) fill in the 69

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period 1, Figure 4) combines a front panel of key-pattern on one face, sitting above two other panels of interlace and spiral design, with a side panel of vine-scroll. Though the vinescroll is not inhabited, unlike another of the extant crossshaft fragments (Abercorn 2, Figure 5), the motif is often linked to ‘Anglian’ visual culture, albeit Pictish art makes similar use of vine-scroll (Henderson 1983). Regardless, it is interesting that at Abercorn a high cross should combine both motifs, particularly when examined alongside the unusually high occurrence of key-pattern in the site’s sculpture record at large.

textual record’s silence on Abercorn’s status from the late seventh-century onwards. Furthermore, unlike its -ham and -inham place-name neighbours, Abercorn bears the Brittonic aber- prefix denoting a ‘river mouth’ (Fox 2007). Nearby Aberlady, with its own figural cross-shaft fragment (Aberlady 1), is the only other -aber site within this corpus to have extant early medieval sculpture. The aber- prefix becomes more interesting in light of patterns in the carving from Abercorn. Abercorn has the highest occurrence of keypattern anywhere in the region, a motif which occurs only on high crosses and on no other sculpture form in southeast Scotland. Three of the site’s four cross-shafts have the pattern. In contrast, key-pattern is found frequently on monuments in north-east Scotland, an area traditionally associated with the Picts. Within southern Scotland more broadly, other examples of high crosses with key-pattern (though probably post-dating the Abercorn assemblage) include the Barochan Cross (Renfrewshire), the Jordanhill Cross at Govan (Lanarkshire), and the Cambusnethan Cross (Lanarkshire). Each of these crosses sit within reach of the Clyde and the remit of the ‘Govan School.’

Does the inclusion of key-pattern (a motif familiar north of the Forth) alongside vine-scroll (a motif common on southerly Northumbrian monuments) denote some sort of political negotiation played out visually? In this, can we see the commissioning, production, and erection of high crosses with key-pattern at Abercorn’s bishopric as reflecting an interest in visually dialoguing with a geometric repertoire found frequently on sculpture to the north? While the pattern is familiar, it is now translated and fashioned into an entirely new monument form for the region: the free-standing high cross. Whether some of the same craftsmen created these monuments as ones to the north bears thought, as well as the relationship of these south-east Scottish high crosses to the small corpus of ‘Pictish’ free-standing high crosses (as at Mugdrum

Given the rarity of key-pattern in south-east Scotland, however, Abercorn’s high cross assemblage undoubtedly stands out. One of the high cross-shaft fragments (Abercorn

Fig 4: Abercorn 1 (Image by author, Abercorn Parish Church).

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Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100 and Dupplin). In all, Abercorn demonstrates the need to challenge assumptions and labels, particularly when it comes to the direction of artistic models and influence.

However, high crosses are not the only sculpture produced during this period. The tenth to twelfth-centuries saw new sites enter the sculpture corpus as well as ‘old’ sites producing new sculpture. New forms of sculpture like the so-called ‘hogbacks’ are produced, as well as other forms of coped and recumbent monuments some of which are plain and others of which have carving (Lang 1974). Hogbacks in particular provide interesting insight into the relationship of early medieval sculpture to sites that would go onto become later medieval parish churches. This study has catalogued fourteen complete or fragmented hogbacks (broadly defined) and kindred monuments spread out between nine different sites in south-east Scotland, all of which became medieval parish churches. The distribution of hogbacks follows a loose eastern arc, with a concentration at Abercorn on the Firth of Forth and scattered examples along the coast before skirting inland to sites located at the southwest corner of the distribution (Figure 7).

The late sculpture period, AD 900-1100 With the late sculpture period comes a continuation of high cross construction as well as further innovation in sculpture forms. While the first high crosses are located along the coast, usually as part of larger sculpture assemblages, later high crosses are in general dotted throughout the interior of the distribution (Figure 6). More curious is the fact that of these extant high cross fragments, almost all are found on their own rather than belonging to an assemblage. These sole, one-off crosses, unaccompanied by any other form of sculpture, would seem to indicate that the geographic shift in second ‘wave’ high crosses was accompanied by a simultaneous change in patronage. Whether this was a transition from ecclesiastical to lay patronage merits further study. So too the coastal ecclesiastical centres of the seventh to ninth-centuries appear to no longer produce sculpture by the ninth and tenth-centuries. This cessation in sculptural activity might well be the result of frequent Viking raids up and down that coast, beginning with the attack on Lindisfarne in 793.

Like the early and late high cross-components, hogbacks are not found in areas where the earliest incised and inscribed pillars and slabs are located—nor indeed almost any early medieval sculpture from the seventhcentury onwards. The exception to this is the hogback at

Fig 5: Abercorn 2 (Image by author, Abercorn Parish Church).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period

Fig 6: Comparison of early versus late high cross components in south-east Scotland (Map by author, Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright/database right 2018).

Fig 7: Sites with ‘hogbacks’ and kindred recumbent monuments in south-east Scotland (Map by author, Ordnance Survey data © Crown copyright/database right 2018).

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Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100 Kirknewton, not far from Kirkliston. Additionally, only three of the fourteen hogbacks (21%) are found as the sole monument at their site, demonstrating that almost all hogbacks in south-east Scotland are found in assemblages with other early medieval sculpture. Furthermore, of the hogbacks that are part of assemblages (79%), all have sculpture that precedes their construction. Yet, only two of these assemblages containing hogbacks actually have high crosses: Abercorn and Tyninghame. This statement is tenuous and depends upon whether Tyninghame’s hogback may indeed be associated with its parish (Lang 1974, 211-12).

have been viewed as burial monuments no hogback has actually been found with human remains interred below it (Barnes, pers. comm.). In contrast to these possibly personal commemorations, high crosses have been discussed as public monuments, owing primarily to the biblical and later secular figural scenes which might be ascribed teaching, preaching, and liturgical use (Hawkes 2002). In this, south-east Scotland’s own corpus of high crosses might well have had their place as objects of communal devotion and use. This statement must be said tentatively, however, given the present lack of an archaeological study of high cross distribution and context across the whole of Britain. An archaeological rather than art historical study would aid in beginning to unravel the social context of high crosses and the varied Insular communities that produced them. As the Barochan Cross in Renfrewshire demonstrates, owing to its probable use as a way-marker rather than being connected to a church or monastery, high crosses took on a variety of roles. Reducing high cross function to liturgical and preaching function alone detracts from the great diversity not only in the form of early medieval high crosses themselves but in the sites and people producing and using them. In all, future studies must continue to think about the changing role of sculpture, and how this might align with changes in monumental form throughout the early medieval period.

In all, the introduction of new monument types to southeast Scotland over the course of the tenth to twelfthcenturies calls to question the role of sculpture in this period. Does the period witness some sort of transition back towards personal memorials in stone rather than communal monuments? The corpus of small, simple cross-incised slabs from south-east Scotland in the seventh and eighth-centuries—at Auldhame, St Helen’s on the Lea (Old Cambus), the Hirsel, Ancrum, Berry Knowe, and Singdean—would point to an earlier trend towards personal commemoration. Some of these slabs might have been associated with early medieval burials, although their discovery contexts make this difficult to prove. Later decorated recumbent slabs, such as those found at Abercorn (Abercorn 9 and 10), could also have marked burials of important individuals. Hogbacks further complicate the picture, owing to the fact that though they

Fig 8: Borthwick 1 (Image by author, by kind permission National Museums Scotland).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Case-study 2: The Borthwick fragment

were not carried far from where they originally stood given their sheer heft, as seems particularly the case for high cross components. Built into the wall of a later medieval parish, these fragments probably came from an earlier church which sat on or nearby to the present foundation. Again, this assumption is not without its own issues, but in lieu of other evidence it remains the most plausible conclusion.

A cross-shaft fragment from Borthwick (Borthwick 1, Figure 8), one of three extant cross-shaft pieces built into the wall of Borthwick’s twelfth-century parish church (RCAHMS 1988, 15), provides a moment to explore the argument for newfound lay patronage in the construction of later south-east Scottish high crosses. While it has been included on the map of early high cross-components given prior dating, its inland siting puts it in noticeable contrast to the coastal centres producing high crosses around it. This might also help bolster the case for its belonging to the second wave of south-east high cross construction.

Conclusions This paper has offered an overview of sculpture in southeast Scotland in the period between AD 400 and 1100. It has not had the space to go into detailed iconographic or stylistic analysis, owing to the fact that its main aim has been to bring sculpture not generally discussed into discussion. Subsequent studies will have the opportunity to do so, now that a complete sculpture catalogue has been made.

Borthwick’s parish church had initially been granted to Scone Abbey by King David I, a status which was confirmed by Malcom IV in 1163 (Scone Liber, Nos. 5, 18, and 44; Cowan 1967, 20). Its name comes from the word wic, an early Old English loan-word from the Latin meaning ‘dwelling, village, or farm’ (Williamson 1942, 1718). This stratum of place-name post-dates the earlier -ham and -ingham place-name elements scattered along southeast Scotland’s North Sea coast. Moreover, as Nicolaisen has commented, the name ‘seems to point to some kind of…overlordship or sporadic influence in the area’ (1976, 79-80). This idea is backed up by the first element of the place-name: bord-, which might be translated as ‘homefarm.’ A bord refers to the main farm which ‘supplied the board or table of the lord of the district’ (Williamson 1942, 18).

Future venues of research include the need to have a more in-depth understanding of the relationship between early medieval sculpture siting and later medieval parishes, given that this study has shown that there is a noticeable link, as well as the ways in which sculpture might help to delimit proto-parish boundaries. Additionally, in broadening the study’s geographic remit, wider comparisons could be made between the south-east Scottish material and that of south-west Scotland or north-east England. It would be particularly interesting to see if there is some sort of divide in form and iconography between the sculpture of northern Northumbria and that of southern Northumbria, particularly in high cross construction. Lastly, as mentioned above, a detailed study concentrating solely on the monument biography of south-east Scottish sculpture would be useful and interesting. This could meaningfully contribute to heritage projects in the region today, including that of ScARF and its regional framework on south-east Scotland which is due for completion in 2019.

Put together, this indicates that the site had a link to secular rulership, which might have supplied the resources to support the construction of Borthwick’s high crosses. Whether these crosses are associated with an early medieval church clearly linked to a local secular power centre remains unknown until more archaeological research can be done. Certainly Borthwick 1’s curious cloven-footed beast is reminiscent of animal figuration on contemporaneous sculpture from early medieval Strathclyde, such as the beasts seen on the back of the Govan Sarcophagus. Like Borthwick, Govan also held powerful links to secular rulers. In all, this particular cross-shaft from Borthwick shows the potential of uniting sculpture studies to other lines of evidence, including that of the place-name record.

Acknowledgements I am grateful for the advice and encouragement of my M.Litt. and M.A. supervisors these past two years: Dr. Katherine Forsyth (Department of Celtic & Gaelic, University of Glasgow), Dr. David Petts and Prof. Sarah Semple (Department of Archaeology, Durham University). The broad temporal arch of this paper is thanks to Katherine Forsyth, who encouraged me to investigate broader patterns and begin to problematise the ‘Anglian’ label. Additional thanks to Dr. Derek Craig at Durham for reading a draft of this paper and for his particular knowledge of, and enthusiasm for, the south-west Scottish material. Lastly, I am indebted to my family and to Calum MacKinnon, without whom I would never have met the physical, historical, and musical landscape of Alba.

Sculpture locations The above chronology has reflected the great variety of locations across south-east Scotland in which early medieval sculpture has been discovered. Evidently, there is the unavoidable difficulty of not knowing the original location of most fragments. It is presumed that fragments

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Sculpture in South-East Scotland, AD 400-1100 References

of Antiquities of Scotland, edited by Anne O’Connor and David V. Clarke, 243-68. Edinburgh, 1983.

Aliaga-Kelly, Christopher John. ‘The Anglo-Saxon Occupation of South-East Scotland.’ Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Glasgow, 1986.

Lang, James T. ‘Hogback monuments in Scotland.’ Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 105 (1974): 206-35.

Barnes, Jamie, pers. comm.

McGuigan, Neil. ‘Neither Scotland nor England: Middle Britain, c. 850-1150.’ Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of St Andrews, 2015.

Bede. History of the English People. Edited and translated by Bertram Colgrave and R.A.B. Mynors. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991.

Nicolaisen, W.F.H. Scottish place-names: their study and significance. London: Batsford, 1976.

Carr, Alexander. History of Coldingham Priory. Edinburgh: Adam and Charles Black, 1836.

Smith, Ian M. ‘The archaeological background to the emergent kingdoms of the Tweed Basin in the Early Historic period.’ Unpublished doctoral thesis, Durham University, 1990.

Charles-Edwards, Thomas M. Wales and the Britons, 3501064. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Collingwood, W.G. Northumbrian Crosses of the PreNorman Age. London: Faber and Gwyer, 1927.

Stuart, John. The Sculptured Stones of Scotland. Aberdeen: Spalding Club, 1856.

Cowan, Ian B. The Parishes of Medieval Scotland. Edinburgh: Neill & Co., 1967.

Thomas, A.C. ‘Abercorn and the Provincia Pictorum.’ In Between and Beyond the Walls; Essays on the Prehistory and History of North Britain in Honour of George Jobey, edited by Roger Miket and Colin Burgess, 324-7. Edinburgh: John Donald Ltd., 1984

Cowart-Smith, Christina. ‘Of Border Britons and Bernicians: A study of the distribution of stone sculpture in south-east Scotland, AD 400-1100.’ Unpublished M.Litt. dissertation, University of Glasgow, 2017. Foley, W. Trent and Nicholas J. Higham. ‘Bede on Britons.’ Early Medieval Europe 17.2 (May 2009): 154-85.

RCAHMS. First Report and Inventory of the Monuments and Constructions in the County of Berwick. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1909.

Forsyth, Katherine. ‘Hic memoria perpetua: the early inscribed stones of southern Scotland in context.’ In Able Minds, Practiced Hands: Scotland’s early medieval sculpture in the twenty-first century, edited by Sally Foster and Morag Cross, 113-24. Routledge: Historic Scotland, 2005.

RCAHMS. Sixth Report and Inventory of the Monuments and Constructions in the County of Berwick. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1915. RCAHMS. Eighth Report and Inventory on the Monuments and Constructions in the County of East Lothian. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1924.

Foster, Sally, Katherine Forsyth, and others. ‘Future Thinking on Carved Stones in Scotland: A Research Framework.’ Scottish Archaeological Research Framework. (accessed 1 September 2018).

RCAHMS. Tenth Report and Inventory of Monuments and Constructions in the Counties of Midlothian and West Lothian. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1929. RCAHMS. An Inventory of the Ancient and Historical Monuments of the City of Edinburgh: with the Thirteenth Report of the Commission. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1951.

Fox, Bethany, ‘The P-Celtic Place-Names of North-East England and South-East Scotland.’ A Journal of Early Medieval Northwestern Europe 10 (May 2007). (accessed 30 August 2018).

RCAHMS. An Inventory of the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Roxburghshire: with the Fourteenth Report of the Commission, 2 Vols. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1956.

Fraser, James E. From Caledonia to Pictland: Scotland to 795. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009.

RCAHMS. An Inventory of the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Selkirkshire: with the Fifteenth Report of the Commission, 2 Vols. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1957.

Gondek, Meggen. ‘Mapping sculpture and power: symbolic wealth in early medieval Scotland, 6th-11th centuries AD.’ Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Glasgow, 2003.

RCAHMS. Peeblesshire: An Inventory of the Ancient Monuments: with the Seventeenth Report of the Commission, 2 Vols. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1967.

Hawkes, Jane. The Sandbach Crosses: Sign and Significance in Anglo-Saxon Sculpture. London: Four Courts Press, 2002.

RCAHMS. The Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments and Constructions of Scotland. The archaeological sites and monuments of Midlothian (prehistoric to early historic), Midlothian District, Lothian Region. Edinburgh: HMSO, 1988

Henderson, Isabel. ‘Pictish vine-scroll ornament.’ In From the Stone Age to the ‘Forty-five. Studies Presented to R.B.K. Stevenson, Former Keeper, National Museum

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Romilly Allen, John and Joseph Anderson. The Early Christian Monuments of Scotland, 3 Pts. Edinburgh: Society of Antiquaries of Scotland. Facsimile reprinted with introduction by I. Henderson, 2 Vols. Balgavies: Pinkfoot Press, 1993. Rutherford, Anthony and Graham Ritchie. ‘The Catstane.’ Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 105: 183-8, 1975. Williamson, May G. ‘The Non-Celtic Place-Names of the Scottish Border Counties’. Unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1942. Woolf, Alex. From Pictland to Alba, 789-1070. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007.

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8 The reuse of an ancient metope in the castrum of Civita di Ogliara (Southern Italy): an example of ideological intent in the Longobardian architecture Giuseppe Russo Research Institute on Terrestrial Ecosystems (IRET), National Research Council (CNR), Porano, Italy [email protected] Abstract: The metopes of bucrania represented animal and flowers, respectively the effective sacrifice and the decoration of the altar in ancient times. The reuse of these architectural elements in Longobardian times assumes a precise significance inside the strategies of the new invaders in the South of Italy. The castrum of Civita di Ogliara (Serino, Italy) was a fundamental outpost for the Longobardian cavalry (IX-X century CE), a strategic passage through Apennines for the Duchy of Beneventum, during the battles against the Byzantines, located in the coastal territories. The metope of a bucranium and a not well-identified flower, composing the so called Porta Salerno in the archaeological site, assume a particular implication in the ideological intent of Longobards. This paper shows the characteristics of the metope and the archaeological site, hypothesizing the significance of its reuse. A botanical decoding of flower sculptures overlying the sculpture allowed for the evaluation of possible ideological meaning behind its realization. The bull’s head, a symbol of strength and power, is most likely related to the affirmation of Longobards, warrior invaders in the territories of Southern Europe. Keywords: ara funeraria; botany; bucrania; Campania region, Langobardia minor

A short introduction about spolia

reutilize were determined by the logistics and the position of the new places, but also the economic resources of the customer at the local level. Relatively little research has been carried out in the field of iconography on the reuse and reutilization of ancient Roman sculptures (Kumbaric and Caneva 2013). The spoliation showed a strong socioeconomic impact, but certainly it assumed an ideological value with the new spokesmen of power, moved by the necessity of legitimateness and auto-celebration. Furthermore, the reutilization favored the preservation of ancient heritage, according to the concept “the ancients had their past”. Though the sink of spolia was related to a local dimension of the territories and its masters, the coastal area was both predator and prey. In fact, the maritime Republic of Amalfi supplied from the abandoned site of Ostia, as Rome from the rich area of Pozzuoli. Precious marbles were utilized and also calcareous blocks, that needed low-cost manpower.

The Middle Ages were characterized by the trade of antiquities on a large scale. In Southern Italy this activity was started by the initiative of the new masters, the bishops, and the Church in general (De Lachenal 1995). The study of spolia is an interesting topic in the field of archaeology, because the only science of the past is not sufficient to recognize the wide dynamics of the history according to the phenomenon of reutilization. In the late Roman buildings, especially in the palaeochristian basilicae, the reutilization was an instrument of mass communication that attracted the interest in a deceitful way. The structures involved in the phenomenon were greatly diffused both in Lazio and Campania, respectively Central and Southern Italy, between the IV and V centuries CE (Hansen 2003). In the Roman period, reutilization was already common, as evidenced by Stabiae and Surentum, which utilized the ruins of Pompeii (abandoned in the 79 CE). However, the phenomenon did not reach the massive effect seen in the Middle Ages (Greenhalgh 1989; Frey 2015). In Benevento (Italy), with the coming of Longobards, entire districts were built on the ruins of classical architectures (Pensabene 1998). The reutilization was the access key to restore the continuity of the ancient urban centers, favoring new and more functional settlements. The choices of materials to

Despite the common practice of reutilization, the GreekGothic war (535-554 CE) totally separated the coastal and the inner-mountain territories of Campania region, as the current Irpinia sub-region, according to the Byzantine and Longobard dominions (Von Falkenhausen 1992). The different cultural matrix of the new élite in medieval Salerno (coastal area) preferred a constant utilization of 77

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period In Pompeii there is the case of small altars (arulae) with Doric frieze and alternating bucrania in the metopes. This kind of ara has a circular hole and traces of burning on the upper surface. This was considered a small portable altar for burning perfumes and incense, such as a simple ex-voto associated to domestic or funeral rites (Orlandini 1959).

marble materials of Adrian age (e.g. the palace of prince Guaiferio). In Benevento, Longobards joined the pagan culture, demonstrating a strong relationship of cultural and ethnic osmosis, though it was always considered difficult (Giardina 1999). Obviously, the reutilization method was not univocal. The calcareous blocks used to build the Rocca dei Rettori (Benevento, mountain area), incoherently disposed, did not present apparent ideological intent. Moreover, the abundance of spolia in the Duchy of Beneventum (the current Benevento), due to the monumental Roman-sannita center, characterized a different evolution of the phenomenon in the mountain and the coastal areas (Palmentieri 2010).

In Spoleto (Central Italy), another Duchy of Langobardia minor, there is an example of reutilization in the external wall of a building near the Saints John and Paul Church (XI-XII century CE), similar to the presumed “archaic” type. However, it does not appear in skull form and without decorations of the bull’s head. Since the VI century CE, Spoleto has other examples about the reuse of spolia, such as in the Church of S. Giuliano (Pani Ermini 2004). In the Campania region, there are many examples of metopes in the Roman period with fully intact heads with flesh, nostrils and eyes, tied with garlands and fruits, as from Villa San Michele in Capri or from Raviscanina near Caserta.

After a first phase following the fall of Roman Empire, the reutilization of spolia strongly reprised in the XI century CE, according to a precise project about renovatio of ancient times. This second phase of reutilization also characterized Longobardian art. In fact, in this case, the ideological intent of spolia persisted as an emblem of power to recall the bond of the customers with the ancient administration or military at the time of Roman Empire. Some examples are represented by the aforementioned Rocca dei Rettori and the tower in San Guglielmo al Goleto (Avellino, mountain area). Furthermore, the reutilization of all those materials saved by the Byzantine and Longobardian raids is remarkable.

Area of study The place known as Civita di Ogliara in Serino (NE lat. 40.83; long. 14.90; elev. 615 m a.s.l.), Avellino) was built in the VII-VIII centuries CE (Scandone, 1957). The walls of the Civita di Ogliara (Figure 1) constituted a defensive structure, erected in 839 CE, during the war in the Longobardian Principatus of Count Siconolfo against Count Radelchi. Though a Roman trace of a porticus, probably a vestibulum, believed originating from the ancient Sabatia, the Civita was utilized both to defend against the Visigoth invasion (Wooley 1910) and credit seat in a market by the medieval bankers around a compitum or quadrivium (Scandone 1957). Furthermore, the walls formed an enclosure of 2 km at 615 m above sea level, the maximum height of which was 8 m on the Southern side and the minimum of 1 m. Also, there is the presence of two doors, called Porta Salerno and Porta Benevento (respectively E and NO). The right external side of Porta Salerno (Figure 2.A) is characterized by the metope of a bull (Figure 2.B) and a flower (Figure 2.C), which in literature were indicated as “doric decoration with a bucranium and a little rose” (Ardovino 2007). Elsewhere, the Roman blocks reutilized for the wall are covered by lime. The metopes are about 40 cm in length and height each. A similar example is recognizable in the cathedral of Avellino. The characteristics of the site show the accuracy of the defensive structure, which is part of a quadrivium with Montella, Serino, Solofra (near Avellino) and Giffoni (near Salerno). The castrum protected the Valley of Sabato river and the mountain pass of Croce d’Acerno, the main road that merged the coastal area of Salerno with the mountain territories (Irpinia). Effectively, an ancient road under Porta Salerno was discovered but it is almost totally buried. It was constituted by the same cobblestones of the river that assemble the walls of Civita di Ogliara. Furthermore, a buried church and the remains of stables were present in the center of the walled area (Baranowski 2002).

The cheapest spolia characterized buildings in the areas with fewer economic resources. The presence of metopes can be considered this kind of reutilization. In the Campania region, the most relevant examples of reutilized Roman blocks are: the church of Ss. Apostoli in Nola, characterized by 11 metope with military feats and similar to those of the near Palazzo Covone (original structure datable to the XIII century CE) and an ancient episcopal farm with a zoomorphic metope of a feline and a chimera, most likely originating from a Roman forum (Scisciano, loc. Torricelle). The metopes of bucranium A metope was a rectangular architectural element that fills the space between two triglyphs in a Doric frieze. Later, the element was reprised in Roman art (Robertson, 1929). The original function of the metopes of bucrania, the head or skull of a bull destined for sacrifice, was an ara funeraria. The animal and flowers sculpted were respectively the effective sacrifice and the decoration of the altar (Rubin 2008). Archaic examples are from Greek temples in Sicily, exhibited in the Regional Archaeological Museum Antonio Salinas (Palermo, southern Italy), and from Samothrace temple (IV century BCE), with a skull form and a few garlands from the horns. The early symbolism of the bucrania was related to life and regeneration, essentially a female symbol, representing the divine power of the human female reproductive system (Relke 2015). Indeed, in Roman times this element was common, such as at Ara Pacis Augustae in Rome, the symbolism of which was to emphasize the theme of peace and prosperity (Pax Augusta). 78

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The reuse of an ancient metope in the castrum of Civita di Ogliara (Southern Italy)

Fig 1. Walls of the Longobardian castrum called Civita di Ogliara. A B C

Fig 2. Metope of bull’s head and flower (A) at Porta Salerno, Civita di Ogliara (Serino, AV – Italy). Detail of the bucranium (B) and the not well-identified rose (C) on the external right side of Porta Salerno.

Civita di Ogliara is similar to other coeval structures: the city walls of Beneventum, the Longobardian walls of Alife (Caserta) and the castrum of Sassone, at Morano Calabro, in Calabria region, the ancient Southern border (limes) of Longobardian territories. The Calabrian castrum is located at 658 m above sea level and presents the rest of a church dedicated to Saint Michael Archangel at a higher altitude, as reported by a XVII century author (Roma 2010). Other castra in the same defensive system of the Campania region were Tempa del Castello (Acerno, Salerno) and castrum Rotundae near Montella (Avellino).

The site of Civita di Ogliara is suitable in the first phase of reutilization phenomenon or between the first and the second phases, according to the current literature (Palmentieri 2010). The case of a reutilization of spolia in a castrum is not cited and this aspect appears as an element of novelty in the present research. The site is located about 13 km from the ancient colonia around the plain of Atripalda (NE lat. 40.91; long. 14.83; elev. 286 m a.s.l.), assigned to Regio I and registered to the Galeria tribe (Muscettola 1991). The spolia materials used to build the ancient Abellinum originated from Atripalda, about 7.5 km away. It is predictable that the colonia was also the source for the building materials of the Civita, at a distance of about 18 km from the current Atripalda. The ancient vestigia of Atripalda had a mortuary nature until the VI century CE, because the remains in Abellinum show only the reutilization of funerary monuments. The same characteristic is recognizable in the case of Beneventum, though the sack of villae rusticae nearby, it is not to be excluded. The recent

Discussion The metope of bucranium and flower in Civita di Ogliara was specifically analyzed to work out: 1) the characteristics of the architectural elements and the possible origin; 2) the significance (symbolism) of reuse in a Longobardian castrum; 3) a possible historical-environmental meaning. 79

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Longobardian culture was in deep transformation. The Italian Longobards are not considered Germans by the historian Paolo Diacono (Historia Langobardorum, VIII century CE), but simply “originating from” German people (Pohl 2003). Instead, the Franks were considered descended from ancient Germans. On the other side, a difference between Beneventian Longobards of Spoleto and Beneventum existed. Paolo Diacono referred to a poli-ethnicity of Longobards, composed by Gepides, Romans of Provinciae, Sarmates, Bulgarians, Saxons and other minorities. He also distinguished Longobards eius regionis, langobardorum civitates and Longobards of Beneventum (Pohl 2003). Despite a common phenomenon of tension between dominant and original identity (e.g. the Bulgarians learnt Latin but also spoke their original language), gens langobardorum is called in Beneventum, while in Spoleto Gregorius Magnus referred to “people in the territory without settlement”. Furthermore, after 774 CE, the Princes of Beneventum talked about themselves as “the remaining sovereigns of the Longobards”, expressing a real policy of identity. The significance of the metope in early medieval Campania (Southern Langobardia minor) is remarkable, related to a well-identified nation, rather than the similar kind of metope in Spoleto (northern Langobardia minor), the purpose of which is most likely only functional.

works of excavation related to the castle of Avellino have showed that the Roman materials were generally used for the defensive structures as well, and the case of Civita di Ogliara would confirm this (Ardovino 2007). The not well-identified mausoleum, the origin of the metope in Porta Salerno, is considered a local building. Furthermore, in Civita di Ogliara the decorations are not cancelled, though in the late Roman period the Atripalda area and also Cimitile or Nuceria, presented a systematic rejection of the ancient emblems. In fact, this habit most likely belonged to the clergy and not to the laical/military administration of a castrum. The iconographic scene was “accepted” by the new Christian society, if we consider the preservation of the block until the current days, suggesting a precise and persistent role of the emblem in a not-monumental structure (Baranowsky 2002). In the reuse of ancient architectural elements, two types of significance are recognizable: destructive (functional reuse) and re-reconstructive. In the latter case, the recycling of mobile elements can occur for the following reasons: a) symbolic, often magic-religious; b) aesthetic; or c) enforcement of the social status of the owner, keeping the functional aim of the architectural element (Lusuardi Siena 1998). The case of bucranium in the Longobardian age is rare but because it is in a military outpost between the Apennines and it is possible to exclude the “b” hypothesis. What did the bull represent for the Longobards? Symbolism and/or social status? The zoomorphic element assumes a significant role, indirectly preserved from the beliefs of Germans, but not mainly totemic (Francovich Onesti 2003). The anthroponymy, the choice of personal name, which can provide relevant aspects about symbolism. Among the animals considered by the Longobards, as mammals, birds and few insects, the significance is mythical-religious (Francovich Onesti 2003) but the bull and the flora are not present. Furthermore, the paganism of the Longobards, realized by the sacrifices or meat assumption, are not well-testified because the Dialogues of Pope Gregorius Magnus (VI century CE) show a limited Christian perception of the Longobardian religion in Central and Southern Italy (Pohl 2003). The remaining hypothesis is that the bucranium could represent a symbol of power and social status, shown at the entrance of a castrum of the cavalry. The cult of Saint Michael is an interesting case. It derived from the Germanic Odin figure and assumed a military virtus for the Longobards, a tight link between new territories and their warrior ideology. The Sanctuary of Saint Michael in Gargano (Puglia region, Italy) was connected to Beneventum by ancient itinera, the viae Traiana and viae peregrinorum (Dalena 2003). According to the Liber de apparitione Sancti Michaelis in monte Gargano (VIII century CE, original from a libellus of VI century), the bull is mentioned in the legend of the archer Gargano, who was entrapped in the current place of the cult (Trotta 2003).

The botanical decoding provided information about the flowers depicted on the metope, which has not been studied before. It is composed of two concentric whorls, one of Olea europaea (outer whorl) and one of Laurus nobilis (inner whorl). Examples are the representations of flowers of Olea and Laurus in the Augustus mausoleum in Rome and the mixed models at the sites of Roman forum and the ancient Ostia. In conclusion, the metope of the unidentified flower in Civita di Ogliara is considered an efflorescence of Laurus towards an anthesis in the center. The intent is related to the power, like the other symbol in the metopes of Civita di Ogliara, the bucranium. New invaders, the pagan Longobards in the southern Italy of VIII-IX centuries CE, needed to legitimate their power and conquer the local peoples (Christians) by ideological messages. The metopes represented a direct way that even the illiterate were undoubtedly able to read and interpret, because people live every day in nature, and its symbols are familiar (Caneva 2010). For this reason, it is hypothesized that the olive tree, the symbol of Christianity, was the subject of a production and commercial route, developed in the study area. Ancient and current toponyms related to olive trees and their cultivation generate a rich semantic network, especially in the mountainous area of Campania, where the olive cultivation was already well-developed (Di Muro 2005). However, Laurus in the Irpinian subregion does not present a semantic network like in the case of olive. Conclusions

Also, the specific ethnic identity of Longobards in the Campania region supports the above-mentioned hypothesis “c”. In the VII-VIII century CE, the

The present work about the metope in the archaeological site of Civita di Ogliara would provide new elements 80

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The reuse of an ancient metope in the castrum of Civita di Ogliara (Southern Italy) on the practice of reutilization of the ancient materials in medieval Campania. In fact, as a novelty it showed how a military settlement, not destined as monumental architecture, in Longobardian times hides an ideological intent. The botanical decoding of the unidentified flower adds important evidence about the archaeological site, an approach useful in future investigations about spolia. The symbolism of bucranium and the flower also could be hypothesized to be linked to commerce in and olive cultivation. This reminiscence could have survived even to current times, through a special imprinting on local toponymy. Further investigations about the local toponyms will provide precious elements to “read” the semantic network of the early medieval and current territories in Campania.

Scienze Fisiche e Naturali (2013): DOI 10.1007/ s12210-013-0279-4. Lusuardi Siena, S. Considerazioni sul reimpiego di manufatti nell’alto medioevo: dagli oggetti d’uso ai preziosi. In XLVI. Ideologie e pratiche del reimpiego nell’alto Medioevo, Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo (1998). Muscettola, A. Appunti sulla cultura figurativa in area irpina. In Romanization du Samnium (1991): 205-230. Orlandini, P. Arule arcaiche a rilievo del Museo Nazionale di Gela. R.M. 66 (1959): 97-103. Palmentieri, A. Civitates spoliatae. Recupero e riuso dell’antico in Campania tra l’età post-classica e il Medioevo (IV-XV sec.). Doctoral dissertation in Archaeological Sciences at University of Naples Federico II (2010).

References Ardovino, L. Le attività della Soprintendenza per i Beni Archeologici delle province di Salerno, Benevento e Avellino nel 2007. In ACT 2007, (2007) p. 901, Fig. 23.

Pani Ermini, L. Il ducato di Spoleto: persistenze e trasformazioni nell’assetto territoriale (Umbria e Marche), in I Ducati longobardi di Spoleto e Benevento. Atti del XVI Congresso Internazionale di studi sull’alto medioevo (Spoleto - Benevento, 20-27 ottobre 2002 pp. 701- 762, 741-747 (Spoleto, 2004).

Baranowski, T. Polish-Italian research in Southern Italy (Capaccio Vecchia and Civita di Ogliara). Archaeologia Polona, 40 (2002): 73-82. Caneva, G. The Augustus botanical code: Rome, Ara Pacis: speaking to the people through the images of nature. Eds. Gangemi (Roma, 2010).

Pensabene, P. Nota sul reimpiego e il recupero dell’antico in Puglia e in Campania tra V e IX secolo. Atti delle V giornate di studio sull’età romanobarbarica, pp. 181223 (1998).

Dalena, P. Dagli itinera ai percorsi. Viaggiare nel Mezzogiorno medievale. Eds. Adda Editore (Bari, 2003).

Pohl, W. Le identità etniche nei Ducati di Spoleto e Benevento. In Atti del 16° Congresso Internazionale di studio sull’Alto Medioevo: « I Longobardi dei Ducati di Spoleto e Benevento » (Spoleto, 20-23 ottobre 2002 - Benevento, 24-27 ottobre 2002), Eds. Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo pp. 1714, tavv. f.t. 588 (Spoleto, 2003).

De Lachenal, L. Spolia: uso e reimpiego dell’antico dal III al XIV secolo. Eds. Longanesi (Milan, 1995). Di Muro, A. La Piana del Sele in età Normanno-Sveva. Società Territorio e Insediamenti (ca. 1070-1262). Eds. Adda Editore (Bari, 2005).

Relke, J. Interpreting the Bucrania of Çatalhöyük: James Mellaart, Dorothy Cameron, and Beyond. Anthrozoös: A multidisciplinary journal of the interactions of people and animals 20 (4) (2007): 317-328.

Francovich Onesti, N. Gli antroponimi di origine longobarda in Italia meridionale. In Atti del 16° Congresso Internazionale di studio sull’Alto Medioevo: « I Longobardi dei Ducati di Spoleto e Benevento » (Spoleto, 20-23 ottobre 2002 - Benevento, 24-27 ottobre 2002), Eds. Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo pp. 1714, tavv. f.t. 588 (Spoleto, 2003).

Robertson, D. S. Handbook of Greek and Roman Architecture. Cambridge University Press (Cambridge, 1929). Roma, G. Nefandissimi Langobardi: mutamenti politici e frontiera altomedievale tra Ducato di Benevento e Ducato di Calabria. In I Longobardi del Sud, pp. 405463, Eds. Bretschneider (Rome, 2010).

Frey, J.M. Spolia in Fortifications and the Common Builder in Late Antiquity. Pp. 222. Eds. Brill (Leiden, 2015). Giardina, A. Esposizione di Tardoantico. Studi Storici 40(1) (1999): 157-189. Greenhalgh, M. The survival in Roman Antiquities in the Middle Ages. (London, 1989).

Rubin, B.B. (Re)presenting Empire: the Roman imperial cult in Asia Minor, 31 BC - AD 68. Doctoral dissertation in Classical Art and Archaeology (University of Michigan, 2008).

Hansen, M.F. The eloquence of appropriation Prolegomena to an understanding of spolia in early christian Roma. Analecta Romana Istituti Danici, Suppl. 33 (2003).

Scandone, F. Documenti per la storia dei comuni dell’ Irpinia. Amministrazione provinciale di Avellino (1957).

Kumbaric A., Caneva G. Updated outline of floristic richness in Roman iconography. Rendiconti Lincei.

Trotta, M. I Longobardi di Benevento e il santuario di S. Michele al Gargano: edilizia sacra e nuovi spazi 81

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period cultuali tra VII e VIII secolo. In Atti del 16° Congresso Internazionale di studio sull’Alto Medioevo: « I Longobardi dei Ducati di Spoleto e Benevento » (Spoleto, 20-23 ottobre 2002 - Benevento, 24-27 ottobre 2002), Eds. Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo pp. 1714, tavv. f.t. 588 (Spoleto, 2003). Von Falkenhausen, V. La Campania fra i Goti e i Bizantini. In Pugliese Carratelli G., Storia e civiltà della Campania. Il Medioevo, (1992): 7-35. Wooley, I.V. La Civita in the Valley of the Sabato. Papers of the British School at Rome (1910).

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9 Roman Warlords and the Early Medieval World Douglas Carr Newcastle University [email protected] Abstract: Early medieval societies are often characterised as pervasively militarised and, because of this, are fundamentally different in character to the Roman Empire’s supposed separation of civilian and military spheres. This perception of difference has resulted in a narrative where Roman provincial civilian elites were incapable of active participation in the creation of the early medieval world. This paper presents an interpretative framework constructed around the concept of warlordism and an archaeological case study as evidence for the potential of these elites to violently resist or support the transformations that turned the Western Roman Empire into early medieval Europe. Keywords: Warlordism; Elites; Roman-Medieval Transition; Britain

Introduction

MacGeorge (2002) and Wijnendaele (2016 and 2017) have cited the relinquishment of de facto but not de jure military command by the Emperor to powerful generals, who could no longer simply be dismissed as key to the development of a generalissimo style model of warlordism in the late Roman West. Wijnendaele (2017, 437-40) cites the behaviour of Aegidius, Marcellinus and Ricimer as examples of this process; their army’s loyalty to their commander provided the independent powerbase these generals required. The important distinction between these warlords and the usurpers of the third century is that these generals did not seek to acquire the imperial throne.

This paper is the result of both the initial work I presented at EMASS 2018 and further research that followed on from that work during my master’s degree. The aim of this paper is to situate the Roman civilian elites in their proper place as every bit the equal in terms of violence as the early medieval ‘superthugs’ described by Richard Reece (2000, 3). This paper consists of three parts: firstly, an examination of the place of warlordism in Roman studies and consideration of the term’s broader usage; secondly, the interpretative framework developed for Roman civilian elites; and thirdly, militarisation in late Roman Britain as an archaeological case study. Despite its Roman focus, this paper is highly relevant to understanding the transition to early medieval Europe, as it proposes an alternative view of the late Roman elite not as mere passive bystanders to, but rather active agents in that transition.

There has been a lack of critical engagement in Roman studies with what warlords are, beyond the application of Chinese warlordism discussed above, despite the usage of the terms warlord and warlordism by many authors1. This point should not be construed as disagreement on my part with the meaning those authors have intended, but merely that these complex terms require proper explanation. Collins’ (2012) work provides an example of this whereby the transformation of fifth century frontier communities along Hadrian’s Wall is understood archaeologically but there is no engagement with the literature surrounding warlordism. At best, as in the case of MacGeorge (2002) and Wijnendaele (2016 and 2017), warlordism provides a valuable tool for studying the political history of the late Roman Empire, but at worst it is merely a pejorative term used to describe complex and largely elusive figures of the late and immediately post-Roman world. Although rightly caution must be exercised when applying any modern conception of warlordism the ancient world (Wijnendaele 2016, 187-78), a critical understanding of the terminology allows a more appropriate description of figures within the

Warlordism in Roman Studies Previous application of warlordism to late Roman studies has been through the usage of what can be termed the generalissimo model, which draws upon the most welldefined form of warlordism (Hills 1997, 36-37), that of twentieth century China. This is termed the generalissimo model as it refers to Chinese military commanders using their control of violence to achieve political objectives (Pye 1971, 8) and maintain independent regional governance (Sheridan 1966). Chinese warlordism is interpreted as the result of a terminally weak state unable to prevent independent action by its servants (MacKinlay 2000, 53), and explanatorily functions as a bridge between a previously unified monolithic society and a diverse and disunited one (Pye 1971, 8). Both 83

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period late and post-Roman worlds. This does then leave us with the question, what exactly is a warlord?

alter that system (Ahram and King 2012, 172). Warlords can represent effective mediators between central authority and local actors, any such sub-contraction of power to warlords representing an admission that they can more effectively exert control at a regional or local level (Ahram and King 2012, 173-76). Warlords do also fulfil certain basic state functions, largely by providing order (Blair and Kalmanovitz 2016, 429), often in a way that is more acceptable to local requirements than that provided by a central authority (Ahram and King 2012, 173). This is not mere altruism, as warlords must enjoy a degree of legitimacy within the communities they claim to lead (Nourzhanov 2005, 110). Warlordism then can be understood less as an exploitation of chaos, but rather as a part of a local societal effort to restore stability in the midst of anarchy (Jackson 2003, 147).

Warlordism beyond the Generalissimo Model Warlord and warlordism are both somewhat vague terms (Freeman 2015, 791 and Ahram and King 2012, 170); to attempt to understand these terms it is necessary to look outside both archaeology and history. Various definitions that have been offered include: • Armed groups using violence and economic exploitation to rule independent fiefdoms (Vinci 2007) • Autocratic authorities with power rooted in a local monopoly on violence (McCormick and Fritz 2009, 83) • Personality-based, strongman-centred, patron-client networks that challenge the development of formal centralised state authority (Wong 2008, 174)

Local Roman Elites as Warlords The story of Ecdicius (Sidonius The Letters, 3.3) provides a good starting point; Ecdicius was a Gallo-Roman landowner who raised a private army and successfully broke the Gothic siege of Augustonemetum (ClermontFerrand, France). The importance of Ecdicius’s story is that a landowner raised an armed force and defended a territory outside of the formal structures of the Roman state. Whilst these actions could be dismissed as a singular event under strained circumstances, that would be to ignore the important role control of violence played in Roman civilian elite life. Whittaker and Garnsey (1997, 311) viewed warlordism developing in the late Roman West as a result of weakening imperial governance and a growth in rural patronage. Whilst agreeing with those underlying causes outlined by Whittaker and Garnsey (1997), these are not features exclusive to the late Roman period. The Roman Empire was a ‘truly minimal state’ (Bang 2007, 13); local magnates supplementing patronage with violence to bolster their power did not result from declining imperial control but was rather a long-term feature of a state largely uninterested in protecting the majority of its subjects. The smaller scale militarised society of the early medieval period (James 1997, 19) should be seen as an organic development from the late Roman West rather than an alien system imposed from outside.

The diversity of definition reflects the diversity in usage of these terms - he first English usage was by Emerson (1856, 176) - to describe the transition of aristocratic power away from military and towards political and economic strength and subsequently was popularised when used to describe military commanders active in twentieth century China. Between the 1960s and 1990s, warlord grew to encompass a wide array of sub-state actors, ranging from insurgents to criminals (Nourzhanov 2005, 109-10). The most comprehensive attempt at a definition has been by Marten (2007, 48), who identified four shared characteristics: 1. Armed men with which to seize control over small areas in the absence of central authority 2. Motivation rooted in self-interest rather than ideology 3. Authority based on personal charisma and ties of patronage 4. Personal rule resulting in the localisation of the economy The term warlord is a deeply pejorative one, evoking both brutality and criminality (MacKinlay 2000, 48). Warlords are taken to represent the archetypal illegitimate actor, but this relies on a paradigm in which the state is assumed to be the dominant and only legitimate societal form (Freeman 2015, 791 and Goetze 2016, 138). The warlord is reduced to a mere hindrance to a centralised authority’s presumed legitimate, legal and benevolent monopoly on violence (MacKinlay 2000, 53 and Ahram and King 2012, 171) and is cast as the stereotypical form of archaic social organisation (Blair and Kalmanovtiz 2016, 430). Understanding warlords in such a limited and negative way is unhelpful; like any form of societal organisation, they are neither inherently positive nor negative (Freeman 2015, 802).

The importance of local elites to the administration of the provinces they resided in was a fundamental feature of the Roman world (Bang 2007, 27 and Greatrex 2015, 36). These same elites drew their legitimacy from their local power (Vanderspoel 2009, 432) and their wealth from control of land and its produce (Bang 2007, 25 and Brown 2012, 3). Van Dam (1985, 14) characterised RomanoGallic society as one composed of local tyrannies ruled by those with local authority, with control of land, who surrounded themselves with armed retainers and upon whom the majority of the population were dependent. Such a characterisation is very reminiscent of the definitions of warlordism discussed above. Dependence upon local elites largely found its expression through patronage, a ubiquitous practice in the Roman world. Patronage refers

Whilst warlords operate independently of a central authority, this does not necessitate either an antagonistic or a non-existent relationship with that authority (Freeman 2015, 796). Warlords differ from revolutionaries in that they seek to acquire status within a system rather than 84

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Roman Warlords and the Early Medieval World to a powerful individual providing care and protection over a subordinate in return for their acceptance of their patron’s jurisdiction and providing physical or material support when required (Whittaker and Garnsey 1997, 293). At best, patronage provided a safeguard against economic or social upheavals (Garnsey and Woolf 1989, 154). Local elites exploited both state and local systems of patronage to bolster their position (Hopwood 1989, 184); local grievances in theory could be aired outside of small communities but, in reality, only with the support of the right patron (Kelly 1997, 156). Patronage was not only a vertical practice; the demonstration of status and the creation or renewal of alliances horizontally amongst elites through shared social activities is also important (Ellis 1991, 199 and Mathisen 1993, 14).

There are several other reasons why Roman elites might have chosen to surround themselves with armed retainers. In the late Roman world there existed large but scattered land holdings (Esmonde Cleary 2013, 436). Perhaps one of the best attested examples are the estates of Melania the Younger, whose land holdings dispersed across the Empire yielded an annual income of 120,000 solidi (The Life of Melania the Younger 10-15). Such a situation does raise the question of how that income raised from distant estates would be transported and put at their owner’s disposal. In a world rife with banditry, the movement of any wealth must have required armed and trusted servants. The generation of wealth from such lands was likely through rents and, whether paid in cash or kind, rents are ultimately enforced by the threat of unpleasant consequences (Bang 2007, 3940), consequences which a landowner would have to be able to enforce. That slavery existed in the late Roman world is without doubt, although its exact character is difficult to discern (Whittaker and Garnsey 1997, 295), and slavery as a system does require the capacity to inflict horrendous violence in order to keep other people enslaved. A case from fourth century Hispania aptly demonstrates this; two slaves were beaten to death on the orders of their mistress (Brown 2012, 61), and such an action reveals the existence of other employees willing to inflict violence at the behest of their employer. The role played by the forces of civilian elites in usurpations may be an overlooked phenomenon. Perhaps the best-known example is the resistance mounted against Constantine III by cousins of the Emperor Honorius in Hispania, who raised an army from amongst their tenants and slaves (Zosimus Nova Historia, 6.4.3). In Gildas (De Exidio Britanniae, 2.14) there is another possible example. It is stated that Magnus Maximus took all Britain’s ‘soldiery and armed bands’, perhaps referencing the employment of civilian supporters armed retainers to bolster a usurpers forces.

The assumption that the maintenance of law and order was the responsibility of the Roman army (Whitby 2001, 477) obscures the far greater role played by local authorities (Fuhrmann 2016, 300). Policing was the responsibility of a local magistrate, such as the praefectus arcednis latronciniis of Noviodunum (CIL 13.5010), and therefore the local elite (Brown 2012, 4-5). Whilst urban centres may have had some designated enforcers (Shaw 1993, 319), ad-hoc posses likely played the greatest role (Fuhrmann 2012, 52). The Roman legal system emphasised self-help; for example, it was the responsibility of the plaintiff to produce a defendant, by force if necessary (Harries 2007, 106). Such an emphasis on self-help and a lack of official law enforcement (Shaw 1993, 308) left a situation in which the only force available to fill this gap were private retainers (Fuhrmann 2016, 297). Low-level banditry was endemic throughout Roman history (Whittaker and Garnsey 1997, 308). The term bandit, though, included not just highwaymen, but also private feuding, urban rioters and the activities of usurpers (Shaw 1993, 307-09). Any group who used illegitimate violence risked acquiring the label of latrones (Fagan 2011, 477-78). Despite is widespread nature, banditry was dealt with mostly by local arrangements rather than by central authority (Shaw 1993, 308). The army would only intervene in truly exceptional circumstances (Carrié 2005, 287) and for the day-to-day suppression of banditry, the Roman state relied upon the armed retainers of local elites (Bachrach 1972, 490). Defending oneself against bandits was enshrined in Roman law as a legitimate reason for self-defence (Codex Theodosianus, 7.8.14 and 9.14.2). Travellers simply defended themselves; Galen (De Anatomicis Administrationibus, 1.2.221-22) dismissed a roadside corpse as merely a brigand killed in selfdefence; even the heavily taxed merchants of Palmyra had to provide their own protection (Bang 2007, 13-14). The relationship between local elites and bandits, however, was occasionally less clear-cut than that envisaged in law; elites could act to protect bandits (Hopwood 1989, 182) and even recruit them as instruments of private violence (Shaw 1993, 324). This practice of protecting bandits was apparently so widespread it necessitated specific laws (Codex Theodosianus, 9.29.1-2 and Codex Justinianus, 9.39.2).

Now I believe the case has been established that local civilian Roman elites required armed retainers, the question is did they possess them? Two things would have been required: 5. Arms – encompassing a great variety of artefacts from the sword to the wood axe 6. Retainers – that is followers capable of and willing to inflict violence There is a long-standing and incorrect view that the inhabitants of the Roman Empire not in the civil or military services were prohibited from possessing arms; this view was categorically refuted by Brunt (1975). The restrictions often quoted from the Digest (48.6.1-12) do not prohibit the possession of arms; they merely restrict the quantities and usages of those arms, but the use of arms for self-defence is both expected and condoned within the Digest. Restrictions on arms were likely a local peculiarity (Hopwood 1989, 179) and whilst it would have been unusual to be visibly armed in a city, to travel unarmed in rural areas was deeply unwise (Lintott 1968, 23 and Fuhrman 2016, 297). Hunting was highly popular amongst 85

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period late Roman elites (Esmonde Cleary 2013, 242); evident from the profusion of domestic mosaics featuring hunting scenes (Ellis 1991, 124). Hunting provides an entirely reasonable explanation for the possession of arms and the existence of a group of armed specialists surrounding elite figures (Drinkwater 2001, 143). Of course, the tools of the huntsman could easily be turned against intransigent tenants or local bandits if required.

evidence levied from throughout the Roman world. In order to apply this theoretical view a process has to be identified that represents an archaeologically visible manifestation of the aspects of Roman civilian elite life that allows them to be characterised as warlords. The process selected is militarisation, which has been defined by Esmonde Cleary (2013, 60-90) as the adoption by the wider population of military symbols and the expression of elite power through a military vocabulary at the expense of more traditional means. Roman Britain has been chosen as a case study for the application of the process as it lacks the textual evidence for figures such as Ecdicius.

Private retinues of armed servants are a well-attested phenomenon in the Roman world and were necessitated by widespread violence (Whittaker 1993a, 137). The size of these retinues is impossible to determine, but law codes of the successor kingdoms may give some indication and reference bands of up to five men (Rothairs Edict, 19 and The Laws of King Ratchis, 2.10.6), similar in number to the six Sarmatians Theophanes employed as escorts (Matthews 2006, 50). The most familiar model of retinue is the Germanic one, with a magnate exercising control over their kin group and calling upon family and clients to provide violent services (Gil Egea 2003, 493), but parallel developments within the Roman world demonstrate it was a Roman concept too (Whittaker 1993b, 290). In the employment of bucellarii by landowners, an increasingly blurred division between the forces of the state and the forces of powerful local magnates can be seen, although Gascou (1976) goes too far in arguing this represents the beginnings of feudalism. The term bucellarii originally referred to an elite cavalry unit but came to describe troops recruited and maintained privately by military commanders (Liebeschuetz 1986, 468). Landowners recruited these bucellarii at times despite official threats of punishment (Schmitt 1994, 167).

Burial practice formed a large portion of the evidence mobilised for Northern Gaul. Those well-known burials containing weaponry and dress fittings, which had been previously interpreted as Germanic warriors, Esmonde Cleary (2013) convincingly argues these were merely a minority variation on Gallo-Roman provincial burial practice. In Roman Britain, there are few burials containing supposedly official dress accessories and only two burials that possibly contain weapons2. The weapon burials are both from Dyke Hills. A disturbed grave with an axe (Booth 2014) is the most convincing, but as Theuws (2009) has highlighted, axes are not distinctly military equipment. The second burial is associated with some possible iron objects, which were disposed of by the discoverer in a river (Kirk and Leeds 1953, 67); some have chosen to view these possible iron objects as weapons despite the lack of evidence. Burials with official dress accessories are more common than those with weapons but are still far rarer than on the continent (Collins 2017, 31). The lack of burial evidence requires a more thorough examination of the distribution and context of finds of official dress accessories in Roman Britain to find evidence of militarisation. Two artefact types are examined here: Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings and crossbow brooches.

The Roman world was characterised by widespread violence, both privately and state orchestrated (Garnsey and Woolf 1989). The demilitarisation of late Roman local elites has been much overstated (Halsall 2007, 495), with both small and large landowners using violence to bolster their economic and social position. Emperors were not omnipotent (Kelly 1997, 157), and their desire, let alone ability, to enforce a total monopoly on violence is an ideological fiction; as long as taxes were paid and order maintained, local elites were granted an almost entirely free hand (Shaw 1993, 317). The definitions of warlordism provided by Marten (2007), Vinci (2007), Wong (2008) and McCormick and Fritz (2009) discussed above fit with the elements of Roman local elite life I have outlined here. Examples from the literary sources such as Ecdicius could be written off as isolated examples, but in reality reflect only those whose deeds were recorded (Liebeschuetz 2007, 489). Viewing late Roman local elites within the framework of warlordism is essential to dispelling the image of these elites as mere passive bystanders to the end of the Roman world.

The late Roman zoomorphic belt fittings found in Britain were first seriously worked on by Hawkes and Dunning (1961). Since then, a far greater number have become known, and a total of 430 were assembled for this research. These 430 examples consist of 237 Portable Antiquities Scheme finds and 193 from excavations that can, as a minimum, be assigned to a particular site. The distribution of these artefacts (Figure 1) shows a distribution largely away from the major military areas of Britannia, Hadrian’s Wall and the Saxon Shore forts. The sites that the excavated finds come from equally do not reflect a military interpretation (Figure 2), with most coming from either urban or rural contexts. The military finds are disproportionally represented by finds from Richborough; 62.5 per cent of the military finds are from this single site. The rural finds (Figure 3) are largely drawn from either nucleated settlements or isolated farmsteads or villas, hardly where the garrison of Britannia would be expected to be found. A further 27 finds come from 11 Roman burials and a further 35 examples from early medieval contexts, 29 of these from burials and six from non-burial contexts3.

Case Study: Militarisation and Roman Britain The section above outlined an interpretative perspective for the late Roman elite but is based largely on textual 86

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Fig 1: The distribution of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings in Britain.

Fig 2: The number of finds of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings from Roman sites by site type.

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Fig 3: The number of finds of Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings from Roman rural sites by rural site type.

Neither the distribution nor contextual information for the vast majority of these belt fittings demonstrates support for the suggestion that they are entirely military dress accessories. The assumption that they are has led to the invention of barbarian field armies (Hawkes 1974) and semi-official vicarius (Leahy 2007) or tribal (Laycock 2008) militias. Accepting any such interpretation means also accepting that the garrison of Britannia were dispersed throughout the villas and farms of the diocese. Some types are without doubt official, such as Type IVA, but these represent a truly tiny proportion of the dataset4. As the evidence does not reflect a military interpretation, I will suggest that the interpretative framework I have presented for late Roman civilian elites above does provide an explanation. These belt fittings are clearly emulating late Roman official dress, without directly copying it, and cannot be directly linked to any official group. Instead, what we can observe is the appearance of military style belts that are appropriating the symbolic language of military authority in late Roman dress and are deposited in non-military contexts. The presence of these official-esque artefacts in civilian contexts I would argue is evidence for the process of militarisation discussed above.

A look at the distribution of crossbow brooches (Figure 4) shows, as with Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings, a much broader distribution than where the garrison of Britannia might be expected. Of the 166 excavated finds, 165 come from Roman contexts (Figure 5), unsurprisingly mostly from military sites, but a not insignificant group come from rural sites. Finds of crossbow brooches from rural sites (Figure 6) are, as with Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings, almost entirely from nucleated settlements or isolated farmsteads and villas. Lankhills dominates the burial finds with just over half of the 27 finds from burials found at this one site. There is also a single early medieval find from a fifth century inhumation cemetery at Droxford (Aldsworth 1979, 136). Whilst the data does show a heavily military context for these finds, a military explanation does not account for examples found in villa sites in south-west England. If these finds, as is more likely, represent the paramilitary civil service, then it must be remembered that these were almost certainly members of the local elite. Even official usage of these dress accessories by these local elites as markers of office, I would argue, is militarisation. This is because there is an inherent fusion of local power with the visibility of state power represented by the crossbow brooch. That only one crossbow brooch is known from an early medieval context suggests that, unlike Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings, which occur not infrequently in Anglo-Saxon graves, crossbow brooches lost what import they had had as status markers.

Crossbow brooches were the principal brooch of the later Roman Empire (Johns 1996, 166), featuring heavily in artistic representations (Janes 1996, 129). Crossbow brooches were originally thought to be the product of fabrica in Pannonia or Illyricum (Van Thienen and Lycke 2017, 51), but Swift (2000) has demonstrated these brooches exhibit too much regional variation for this to be accurate. Crossbow brooches have long been associated with state officials, both military and civil5. This association is however not without doubt (Clarke 1979, 263). Crossbow brooches do represent a less ambiguous military symbol than Hawkes and Dunning belt fittings and, if found in civilian contexts, should be evidence of explicit adoption of symbols of military identity by civilians. A dataset of 488 crossbow brooches were assembled for this research, 322 from the Portable Antiquities Scheme and 166 site finds.

Did militarisation take place in late Roman Britain? Yes, the symbols of military authority were adopted amongst a wider section of the population than previously had been the case. The distribution alone, unless one believes that Britannia’s garrison was frittered away amongst farmsteads, suggests this. The argument that these represent veterans might be made, but we know so little about the fate of military equipment after discharge (Woods 1993, 355) that this is unconvincing. Whilst it has 88

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Fig 4: The distribution of crossbow brooches in Britain.

Fig 5: The number of finds of crossbow brooches from Roman sites by site type.

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Fig 6: The number of finds of crossbow brooches from Roman rural sites by rural site type.

Notes

been possible only to present a summary of the research carried out on militarisation in Roman Britain, it is hoped to fully publish it soon. The interpretative framework of warlordism allows militarisation to be understood as the visible manifestation of social practice. Social practice that required elites to maintain, albeit discretely, an identity linked to their ability to wield violence.

1

For examples see: Halsall (2007, 11 and 272); Liebeschuetz (2007); Gerrard (2013, 72, 115, 251 and 259-60) and Esmonde Cleary (2013, 14, 20 and 82).

Knives are excluded from the definition of weapons as used here.

2

Conclusion How then does an understanding of Roman elites as warlords and militarisation in late Roman Britain affect our understanding of the end of Roman Britain and more broadly the early medieval world that followed it? Interpretation of this transition has become ‘selfreferencing and tautological’ in that it views the end of the Roman period as characteristically violent (Gerrard 2013, 274), but in doing so it neglects the violent reality of the Roman world. It forces a view of late Roman provincial society as inherently passive and dependent on the Roman state for protection; however, Roman provincial societies with their own martial identity represent far from easy prey to incomers from outside the Empire. The characterisation of the early medieval world as pervasively militarised (e.g. James 1997, 19), creates a conscious divide from the Roman world supposedly typified by its distinct military and civilian worlds. A militarised late Roman world, however, presents itself very much as a precursor rather than something alien to be swept away.

3

Of these six, four are from grubenhäuser fills at Mucking (Hamerow 1993), one is from the Bishops Canning coin hoard (Guest et al. 1997) and the last is a surface find from Pen-y-Corddyn hillfort (Chapman 2005).

4

There are only four Type IVA examples in the dataset.

5

Whilst all state servants were milites the experience of an army officer and tax collector were unquestionably different.

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Acknowledgements My thanks must go to Heather and Megan both for giving me the opportunity to speak at EMASS 2018 and for organising the publication of the papers from that conference. I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer for their helpful feedback and encouragement. My supervisor James Gerrard and my MLitt examiners (Simon Esmonde Cleary and Rob Collins) have all provided immeasurable help and numerous insightful comments without which this paper would be the poorer.

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10 Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula (Archaeological site of ‘El Castillón’, Santa Eulalia de Tabara, Zamora) Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist [email protected]

Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist [email protected]

Patricia Fuentes Melgar, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist [email protected]

Raul Catalán Ramos, Zamoraprotohistorica Archaeologist [email protected] Abstract: The archaeological site of El Castillón is one of the best known Late Roman sites in the Iberian Peninsula, thanks to the research carried out since 2007 by the ZamoraProtohistorica Archaeological Society (a non-profit organisation in charge of archaeological preservation, investigation and dissemination in the Spanish province of Zamora). Thanks to the interpretation of its occupation since the Iron Age, archaeologists and historians have reconstructed not only its existence through the ages but also the identification of the cultural phenomena experienced by different communities throughout these periods as a persistent settlement passing through different phases: an abandoned Celtic hillfort; a Late Roman settlement reoccupying the hill; a Germanic-like town and finally as a secondary hamlet in the 13th Century. The heyday of El Castillón was during the fifth and seventh centuries when the Germanic tribes finally established themselves permanently in the landscape forming kingdoms. Findings in El Castillón have helped to extend the traditional limited picture we had about the Visigoths and Suevi: they traded with iron and manufactured items, they imported pieces of jewellery from eastern Europe, they decorated their clothing with jewels, fibulae brooches and buttons. Settlers had a varied diet based on cereal (wheat and barley), fish (trout), small and big game hunting (rabbits and wild boars) and livestock farming (cattle, sheep and poultry), and among many other activities we can point out the consumption of a rare species of fluvial oyster or the use of bear hides as the most remarkable. Keywords: Late Antiquity, Visigoth, Suevi, Iberian Peninsula, Landscape Archaeology

Zamoraprotohistorica, the project. Associative Archaeology

exhibitions, an archaeological short film and documentary festival, lectures, publications and many other activities that offer the opportunity to enhance and appreciate the archaeological heritage.

Founded in the year 2007, the Scientific-Cultural Association ZamoraProtohistorica is carrying out a work of scientific investigation and sociocultural diffusion which has as its main object of study the archaeological site of the Late Roman town of El Castillón (province of Zamora, Spain). Both investigation and dissemination are central points for the archaeological members of the association, who are involved not only in summer fieldwork camps, excavations and laboratory research, but also in leading workshops for children, archaeological photography

In 2007, the investigation projects of two Zamora archaeologists, Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco and Óscar Rodriguez-Monterrubio, met and merged into a single project that became the ‘Investigation and Dissemination of the Protohistoric Archaeological Heritage of the Province of Zamora Project’, known for its initials in Spanish as PIDPAPZ. Later, Zamora archaeologist Patricia Fuentes Melgar, joined the project. During the first two years the 95

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period project concentrated on two distinct archaeological sites: The Peñas de la Cerca Iron Age hillfort (Rionegrito de Sanadria, Zamora) and the previously mentioned Late Roman town of El Castillón (Santa Eulalia de Tabara, Zamora).

adapted to the new economic, cultural and productive necessities of a world in political and social crisis that favoured the rural areas to the detriment of the cities. In El Castillón it was possible to reconstruct different economic activities that give us a complete view of what was the life of its inhabitants was: evidence by the remains of fauna we know that they ate pork, beef and mutton, and that they knew horse-riding. They made tools and weapons of iron as evidenced by the large quantity of metallic remains encountered in the metallurgical furnaces; they knew the art of weaving thanks to the finding of loom weights; they produced different types of pottery to store, to cook or to put on their tables; they fished and ate river fish and shellfish; they produced cheese and cultivated wheat, barley and oats which, subsequently, they ground in manual mills to obtain flour with which to produce bread in their domestic ovens.

In 2009 the project converted to ZamoraProtohstorica, a Scientific and Cultural Association, by changing the original objectives and growing at the administrative level to access more funds and support. The excavations concentrated on the Late Roman Town of El Castillón, which would be the unique site excavated since 2009 by the members of the association. At this time, the team welcomed new archaeologists including Manuel Vasquez Fadón, Raul Catalan, Raquel Portilla and Miguel Brezmes among other specialists. The project in the site of El Castillón addresses the archaeological activity towards two concrete objectives: the investigation and the dissemination of the discoveries. The archaeological investigation focuses on the excavations where two buildings were found corresponding to a warehouse and a barn, two metallurgical furnaces for melting iron and three pieces of the wall built in three different phases and techniques, all dating back to the fifth and sixth centuries AD. Regarding the dissemination of the findings, the scientific association proposes to bring the archaeological excavations closer to an increasingly wider public through conferences, conferences dedicated to junior archaeologists, photography exhibitions, international congresses, competitions of compositions for Secondary School students and archaeology workshops for children of all ages. Each and every activity is planned, scheduled, performed and funded by the association itself with their own human and capital resources, putting into practice an active initiative based on the associative archaeology with scarce public funds but a solid structure both in investigation methods and material analysis.

The site is located in the north-western area of the Iberian Northern sub-plateau (Figure 1) on a mount facing the banks of the river Esla (Figures 2a and 2b), as it passes through the province of Zamora. Less than a kilometre southwest of the so called ‘Puente Quintos’ ridge and its right margin, it sits on top of a rocky cliff that provokes the narrowing of the riverbed, a strategic point to cross. The surrounding area is known as Dehesa de Tardajos, a large estate belonging to the modern town of Santa Eulalia de Tábara within the municipal district of Moreruela de Tábara (Zamora). It has an altitude ranging between 740 and 749 metres above sea level and its geographical coordinates are 41 º 51 ´ 20 “ North latitude and 5 º 47 ´ 25” West. It extends on an approximate surface of three hectares with a walled perimeter of about 600 meters in length, being a single defensive line that surrounds the settlement, except for the eastern area where an important rocky cliff makes this side inaccessible.

‘El Castillón’, the archaeological site El Castillón is a site that has been inhabited and reinhabited in different historic and prehistoric periods. The Late Antiquity period is a transitional phase between the Romanised world and the High Middle Ages, the moment when the late Roman society evolves towards the medieval one, preserving some architectural or artisan models and changing others, introducing innovations of the new inhabitants of Western Europe, the Germanic peoples. In this period, a Roman world, now in decline, welcomes the increasingly strong presence of the Germanic peoples who begin to settle in the territories of the Empire. In the Iberian Peninsula the two peoples who will begin the Germanic kingdoms are Suevi and Visigoths, who will soon enter into conflict and whose frontier is to settle in El Castillón. The site becomes a fortified town from which the social elites defend the community in a context of insecurities and conflicts. In the fifth and sixth centuries AD El Castillón was inhabited in two different phases. The heyday of the site coincides with when the ancient world

Fig 1: Location of the site in the Iberian Peninsula (Edited satellite image from LIDAR-PNOA 2018 CC-BY 4.0 ign.es).

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula Chronologies and phases of occupation

El Castillón has a privileged location controlling the river’s passage and is very close to the Roman road known in the Spanish tradition and historiography as the Silver Road, which owes its name to the metal trade connecting the Roman cities of Asturica Augusta (North of Spain) and Emerita Augusta (South). Asturica was founded after the peace achieved by the Emperor Augustus when the Celtic tribes in northern Iberian Peninsula were defeated and Emerita was the destination for the retired soldiers in the Iberian wars of Romanization (mainly against the Asturi). This last city was the capital of the Roman province of Lusitania and both were bishopric seats, so both nuclei were still relevant in the Late Roman period. This Silver Road runs parallel to its left margin. Its chronology ranges from the Bronze Age (Sastre Blanco 2006), identified from a rocky shelter with schematic paintings, until the Late Roman and Visigoth period (centuries fifth and sixth AD), though recent studies suggest an extension of its occupation until the tenth century. It was identified at first as an Iron Age hillfort belonging to the ethnic group of a pre-Roman tribe known as the Asturi and it was explored and studied by the University of Salamanca (Esparza Arroyo 1986). The most recent excavations were carried out by Zamoraprotohistorica Association from 2007 to 2009 (Rodríguez-Monterrubio and Sastre Blanco 2008).

Thanks to the archaeological remains we can make an accurate timeline (Figure 3) of the occupation of El Castillón. The most significant findings were the Schematic Rock Art (Bronze Age); the Celtic Iberian pottery (fourth Century BC); the Late Roman coins of Constantine II, the late Hispanic-Roman Samian pottery or the stamped pottery from the fourth to fifth century AD; the incised pottery (sixth century AD) and the burials (ninth - tenth century AD). In a shelter located below the inhabited hill the oldest remains of the site were found: Schematic Rock art (digitations, anchoriforms and anthropomorphics) from the Late Bronze Age (about the tenth century BC). During the Iron Age the site was inhabited for the first time in a sedentary and permanent way, though we have only found the remains of a wall corresponding to a domestic structure and pottery from the Early Iron Age (NW hillforts and Soto cultures from the eighth to the fifth century BC) and from the Late Iron Age (Celtic-Iberian pottery from the fourth to the second century BC). Apparently, this phase of occupation was obliterated by the Late Roman occupation. The site experienced its heyday in about the fifth century

Figs 2a and 2b. Different aerial views of the site (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

Fig 3: Chronologies and main artefacts dating the phases of occupation. (Timeline made by the authors).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period AD. The most important buildings and the majority of them are dated to this period: the furnaces, the storehouse, the granary and the construction of the wall, the ruins of which are visible today. This phase apparently finished with a fire documented in the storehouse with a layer of ashes. After this phase of destruction, the settlement was reconstructed at least twice during the Early Middle Ages, first in the sixth century as evidenced by the reconstruction of the wall and several rooms of the storehouse, the ritual burial of sheep and the construction of fireplaces and a ceramic kiln. The second phase of reoccupation was about the seventh century AD, when walls of different orientations and poorer technical construction were built. Finally, during the medieval period, the settlement changed into a religious nucleus (with the context of the Reconquest and Repopulation), and the tombs date from this period. To complete the set of medieval findings we found three medieval coins from the 12th to the 14th centuries. Pottery helps us to mark the differences between phases: TSHT (Late Hispanic Roman Samian pottery) and stamped pottery in the fifth century; incised pottery in the sixth century and great variation of cooking and storing pottery with few decorations in the medieval phases.

evidence led to the possibility of an important occupation during the Late Roman period (Esparza Arroyo 1986). It was in 2007 when the first actual excavations began in the hand of the archaeologists Jose Carlos Sastre Blanco and Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio (Rodríguez-Monterrubio and Sastre Blanco 2008), first within the actions framed in the Project of investigation and dissemination of the Protohistoric Archaeological heritage of the province of Zamora (2007-2009) and later with the Scientific and Cultural Association ZamoraProtohistórica (2009-2018). Since 2007, the research has focused on surveys and archaeological excavations in different areas of the site and the surrounding environment, with a total of 12 excavation areas and a total excavated surface equal to more than 950 m2 (Figure 4). The first two sectors excavated were located in the interior of the site, resulting in a metalworking area with two furnaces (Area 1) and a building whose function was unclear (Area 2). During the campaigns of the following years, the intervention was continued in these two sectors, especially in the housing area extended to the NE (Area 3), where the work lasted until the 2014 campaign. Areas 2 and 3 unearthed the structure of a building with several rooms. This was identified as a storehouse and where most of the archaeological finds were found, allowing archaeologists to reconstruct the daily life of the inhabitants of this Late Roman Town.

The excavations. Investigations at El Castillón The first to document the presence of the site was Virgilio Sevillano Carvajal in 1978 (Virgilio Sevillano 1978), who will make a brief reference to this site. The first major research was carried out by Esparza Arroyo (Esparza Arroyo 1986), who identified the existence of a fortified U-shaped enclosure, with three interruptions in the wall or access gates. He described that inside the enclosure, structures with both circular and rectangular plans could be seen, which were eventually altered by the presence of pens and huts constructed in the nearby areas to give service to livestock farming. The artefacts recovered in these preliminary studies were metal slag, some glass and abundant Samian pottery, more concretely TSTHT 37 (Terra sigillata Hispanica Tardia or Late Hispanic Samian pottery from the fourth and fifth centuries) instead of Iron Age pottery (north-western Cultura Castreña or Northwestern Iberian Peninsula Culture of Iron Age hillforts) as might have been expected for an Iron Age site. This

A new area of excavation was opened in 2008: the walls. Two sections were excavated on the wall, first in the western side close to the main entrance (Area 4), and a year later another area (5) was opened in the northern stretch of the defensive structure between the furnaces of Area 1 and the main entrance to the town. Campaigns from 2009 to 2011 were focused in the urban layout of the site; the warehouse was at the centre of all the investigation due to the fact that the number of artefacts and its capacity to be used in the reconstruction of the Late Roman daily life was unquestionable. In 2011, the first complete survey of the site was carried out by the archaeologists Alicia Tejeiro and Oscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio identifying and interpreting the remains of more than 30 buildings from the ruins they left, which were visible in that especially dry summer. Later in 2013, 25 of those buildings were confirmed by magnetometric techniques (Figure 5). From 2011 to 2016, new areas were opened trying to find the fifth/sixth century necropolis (Areas 6 and 9), more information in other buildings (Area 7) and around the metallurgical area where a third furnace and the remains of an Iron Age building were found (Area 8). The last phase of the investigation started in 2015 with a new project focused on two other major structures, one close to the furnaces (Area 10) and the other on the highest point of the site with a visible ruin covered by dry straw and a clear planimetry (Area 11). The search for the Late Roman necropolis continued fruitlessly in a section external to the site (Area 12).

Fig 4: Distribution of the excavation areas. (Edited satellite image from LIDAR-PNOA 2018 CC-BY 4.0 ign.es).

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula Due to the results obtained in the excavations of the wall, (Area 4) we know about its constructive technique (Figure 7a). The internal face of the wall is composed by great quartzite blocks like ashlars, perfectly shaped and joined using a reddish mortar of great hardness. This internal and solid structure provides the wall with a relevant consistency, making it apt for defensive purposes. The approximate dimensions of the wall were circa six metres weight. The walls of the casemates were directly connected to this internal face of the main defensive wall, meaning that both structures formed part of the same architectural construction or at least two different constructions elevated in two consecutive moments following the same purpose. Fig 5: Location of the identified buildings. (Topomotive, Image rights given up to Zamoraprotohistorica ).

In other areas of the wall (Areas 1 and 5), we found observable differences in the internal construction of the wall (Figure 7b), probably because the stretch of the wall was not so significant for the defence in this area. The faces of the wall were built with irregular and rough stones, in between, stones and the same reddish mortar were packed into the structure making it more stable. In this section, the weight of the wall was one metre inferior weight.

Interpreting the Late Roman Town The defences At the moment a perimeter wall is visible surrounding the entire site (Figure 6), except for the east, where it is protected by a rocky cliff. It is a large wall made up of large quartzite blocks (ashlars) of great size. In many sections parts of the internal and external faces of the wall are visible, giving us a clear idea of its dimensions. To the exterior of this enclosure, a second line of wall in its south-southwest zone was located in 2011. Two possible accesses have been located so far (arrows in Figure 6). The first is located in the southern sector, in an area of moderate descent, next to the river, and it has been considered as a secondary gate. A second access to the west, where the terrain presents the smoothest contours, has been identified as the main entrance. The strong slope to the North and the East makes direct access to the site difficult. It is possible to observe the existence of large structures attached to the wall, specifically in this western area where the main entrance has been identified. They are located on both sides of the gate; these structures are casemates (cassamatae) spaces annexed to the wall to store weapons (Sastre Blanco et alii 2018).

We confirm the reutilisation of the wall once it was in ruin after its period of use as a defensive wall, about the sixth and seventh centuries. The town was probably abandoned at the end of the fifth century (as we verify

Fig 7: Structure and internal techniques of construction of the wall. 7a.- Western wall. 7b.-Northern wall (pictures made by Óscar Rodriguez-Monterrubio and J.C. Sastre Blanco).

Fig 6: Hypothetical pattern of the defensive wall and its accesses (Edited satellite image from LIDAR-PNOA 2018 CC-BY 4.0 ign.es).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period in other areas of the excavation) and reoccupied years later, reconstructing the structures which were left behind.

of regular stones (ashlars) placed and perfectly worked with a simple locking of mortar. The ovens would have a reverberatory mud dome that would be removed after melting the ore. Metallurgical kilns were used for the reduction of iron ore and the separation of their waste. When subjected to high temperatures, fragments would be obtained for hot and air-cooled forging. The metal workshop or the forge associated to these structures was not found in the nearby area of the so-called metallurgical district, it could be located far from it in order to facilitate smiths works (Sastre Blanco and Fuentes Melgar 2011). Nevertheless, in 2016, a building (Figure 8b) close to the furnaces was excavated resulting in a kind of waste depot or storehouse giving service to the furnaces (Area 10). This building has a square plan, simple walls made of regular stones without mortar and no internal divisions; artefacts of different materials were found, including iron waste, pottery, bones, antlers and tools. Everything seemed to be accumulated waste.

The urban layout Excavations and surveys during these 10 years have brought to light numerous structures distributed in the interior of the precinct engulfed by the wall. The urban pattern is between ordered and grouped. We identified open longitudinal spaces orientated NE-SW without buildings as streets distributing the dwellings; on the other hand, we located groups of buildings in specific areas of the settlement that are clusters of houses formed by small rooms or structures annexed to a main one. The survey made in 2011 identified about 30 structures distributed in three districts: North-western, central and metallurgical. One of the main goals related to the urbanism of El Castillón has focused on the study and analysis of housing structures. As noted above, the surveys have revealed the presence of more than 30 identifiable structures on the surface. Among this large number of structures, we have been able to locate at least seven larger ones, between 20 and 23 m long, which are mainly located in the centralwestern section of the settlement in excavation Areas 1, 3 and 7. Lately, the excavations have focused on the central-eastern area where a religious building surrounded by tombs is located in a cluster of structures constructed around an open area in the style of a yard.

Metal remains (iron ore, iron slag and tools) have been analysed by the Department of Materials Science and Metallurgical Engineering of the Mechanical Technology Research Group and Archaeomaterials of the University Complutense of Madrid, supervised by Professor Dr. Antonio J. Criado Portal, and Laura García Sánchez. This analysis has allowed us to identify the characteristics of this metallurgical production as well as the certain characteristics morphological of each of the recovered

The furnaces One of the most prominent and best identified sectors that we have been able to detect is the metallurgical district, located in the northern part of the village, similar to that identified in other settlements of this same period, such as the Roc de Pampelune, in the Southeast of France (Pages 2005). In the metallurgical zone, two large oval structures have been excavated, close to the wall, which have been identified as metallurgical furnaces destined to the reduction of iron ore (Figure 8a). These kilns have dimensions of four metres in length by 2.40 m in width, built by converging walls of large quartzite blocks, and a mud dome covering the structure. They would have a small entrance of 40 cm of width, marked by two large vertical blocks of quartzite. In one of these furnaces it has been possible to notice the presence of a second oldest constructive phase, seated on a level corresponding to the Iron Age. The construction of these structures has been dated to the fifth century A.D., due to the large amount of pottery recovered inside the structures and the adjacent areas, including pottery in grey pastes with stamped decoration of vegetal motifs, which are typical Late Roman pottery of this period in the Visigoth Hispania. Fig 8: Metallurgical area 8a.- Furnaces (Óscar RodríguezMonterrubio). 8b.- Aerial view of the annexed building (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

Its constructive structure is simple: a semi-circular hollow made in the ground is reinforced with two or three rows 100

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula objects. (Sastre Blanco and Fuentes Melgar 2011). The origin of the iron ore itself is the nearby mountainous area known as the Sierra de la Culebra (within the limits of a Site Catchement Area of no more than 20 km r). Thanks to the results of the archaeological interventions and the aforementioned metallographic analyses, we currently know exactly where the whole process of iron metallurgy would be placed between the fifth and sixth centuries A.D. (Sastre Blanco, Criado Portal and Fuentes Melgar 2011).

Among the ashes, room 1 was full of abundant pieces of pottery from large jars in the style of dolia (large roman containers), late Hispanic Roman Samian pieces and stamped grey pastes pots and bowls. The pottery remains date the destruction of the room to the fifth century AD, and they also indicate the main use of the room due to the fact that the majority of the pieces were made to store or to cook food, grain and liquids, like oil or wine. Besides the pottery, remains of farm animals were found, especially bones from the parts of the animals which are typically eaten because of the amount of meat they yield (ribs and limbs). The most represented animals were pigs, sheep and cows. Other important materials were a metallic osculatory ((Figures 11a and 11b) the exact purpose this is still unknown; it could be part of spindle or an instrument used during the early celebrations of the Visigoth Christian masses), bronze earrings and necklaces. This storage room gives the name to the building because of its central position, the storehouse.

The storehouse In the central area of the site is a large structure (Figure 9) of more than 23 m of length by 15 m of width (Area 3). It has been possible to identify a total of eight rooms corresponding to the same housing complex. This large building has been identified as a place for the storage and treatment of foodstuffs. This residential complex consists of a series of walls made by masonry of various sizes, locked together with a very compact reddish clay (as mortar). The maximum conserved height of these walls is more than 1.70 m. The roof would be composed of wooden beams covered with slate slabs. Floors of the various rooms were made either of tamped clay or of slate or schist slabs. Due to excavation, we were able to identify the activities performed in the different rooms, which we have numbered from room 1 to 8 (Figure 10).

In Room 2, we verified the same level of destruction, but less material was recovered; the only significant find was a set of bronze tweezers. A small fireplace was founded in its centre and the floor was prepared with a layer of pressed reddish clay. In Room 3, we observed two levels of occupation; the layer of the first occupation phase was destroyed, as in the other rooms of the building, and was reused to construct a circular structure used to locate a dolium. An interesting finding in this room was the burial of a sheep in a style of a ritual or ceremonial deposit. Room 4, as with rooms 1 and 3, had a prepared floor made of compact reddish clay, but remains were scarce in this room.

In room 1, placed in a central position of the building a significant ash layer that confirms a moment of destruction.

Room 5 is by far the largest room. Here, we also confirmed the same phase of destruction as in the rest of the building. The floor was composed of slate slabs and large blocks of quartzite. An entrance was made in the middle of the northern wall giving access to Room 6 and, from there, to the exterior. The walls to the north and south have a bench in their interior faces; over those benches, the remains of pottery and bones were found. Many of those animal remains had cuts and marks of cutting, establishing these structures as workbenches used to process meat and other foodstuffs (Catalán Ramos and Sastre Blanco 2012). In the case of Room 7 and Room 8, both rooms show different phases of occupation from the rest of the building. This later phase is over the ruin of the structure. We found two fireplaces situated in the north-western and north-eastern corners of the Room 7, and another one in the western wall of Room 8 over a floor made of slate slabs. The fireplace in Room 8 was identified as an oven made of bricks and tiles (Figure 11c), with a diameter of 2.5 m and was dated about the sixth century AD. Such a big size leads us to think that it could be a kiln to cook tiles or bricks. According to the remains found in the storehouse, we can reconstruct the different phases of occupation, not only of

Fig 9: Location of the storehouse in the site over aerial picture (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period

Fig 10: Planimetry of the storehouse (Patricia Fuentes Melgar).

Fig 11. Elements found in the storehouse. 11a and 11b.- The osculatory. 11c.- the large oven or ceramic kiln. (Pictures made by J. Carlos Sastre Blanco).

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula The granary

the building, but probably the entire settlement. The oldest phase corresponds to the second half of the fifth century AD and concluded when a fire destroyed the building, leaving a layer of ashes. The second phase started in the sixth century AD over the ruins of the burnt building where they constructed the fireplaces and the kiln, the sheep was buried (Figure 12), and the building walls were completely restructured. Finally, the last phase corresponds to a series of walls with a completely different orientation, simpler constructive techniques (masonry without mortar), dated probably between the second half of the sixth or the seventh centuries AD.

In the western central part of the site (Figure 13), a new housing structure was excavated between 2014 and 2016 (Area 7) with the aim of being able to have a first approximation of the structures and urbanism identifiable in this sector. The area includes a part of a large structure visible on the surface, where we had previously carried out a survey using magnetometry. It has been documented as a large housing structure (Figure 14) composed of five rooms. In Room 1, the largest room, we recorded a level of collapse of the house, together with many quartzite blocks,

Fig 12: Ritual burial of a sheep in Room4 (J.C. Sastre Blanco).

Fig 13: Location of the granary in the site (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period small and medium sized adobe, some bricks, and part of the plaster walls. The floor was formed by slabs of slates and schists of different sizes, arranged horizontally, forming a perfectly homogeneous surface. Room 5 provides the most information to us, for the moment. Recently excavations during the campaign of the year 2015, identified a strong fire that caused the destruction of this building. In this room there were several storage pots containing grain (Figure 15a), as well as several deposits thought to be related to the storage of cereal, which are mainly wheat, barley and oats (Figure15b). Because of this, we identify this building as a granary. Close to this central room, we found another three rooms of small size without a prepared floor and with fewer remains. The fifth room was opened in the style of a courtyard or external patio.

broken and reutilised. What we identified as a religious building before the last campaign in October 2018 resulted in a church. We could confirm it as a church after excavating the entire building; what we thought they were two longitudinal rooms were in fact the main nave and one of the laterals. A complete analysis of the materials and structures in this building is still in process. Interpretation of the data to reconstruct the past The economy

The church

Due to this great variety of findings across the ten years of excavations, we are able to reconstruct the economic activities performed during the Late Roman period and the Early Middle Ages in the site of El Castillón, from primary activities to trade.

In 2016, a cluster of ruins visible in surface in the eastern area (Figure 16) close to the cliff facing the river at the area’s highest point was excavated (Area 11). The results revealed a building with two rectangular rooms connected with two accesses opened in the same point of the walls, giving a continuous way into the building from an exterior open court (Figure 17). Below Room 2 there were three different tombs corresponding to three individuals, two infants and an adult, dated in the tenth century AD (Figure 18). The artefacts found in this area were fewer in number compared with others, but they were significant; these included fluvial oyster and snail shells, tiles preserved in their entirety and a small stone sarcophagus that had been

Following the order of the economic sectors, agriculture, livestock farming, and other primary activities are broadly represented. The agriculture, for instance, has a huge presence in the inventory of findings with a large number of tools used in farming such as hoes and sickles (Figures 19a and 19b) of iron or sharpeners of quartzite; they processed the grain using millstones (Figure 19c) and querns made of granite (showing a great skill in stone working and a diversity of functions depending the stone raw materials). To store the cereal, the inhabitants of the Late Roman town made large containers in the style of the roman dolia. But the most interesting find was made in the 2016 campaign, when we identified a building used

Fig 14: Planimetry of the granary (Patricia Fuentes Melgar).

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula

Fig 17: Aerial view of the religious building. The lines mark the hypothetical layout of the building (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

Fig 15: Findings in the granary.15a.- Pottery containing grain. 15b.- Grain found in the silos of the ground. (Pictures made by Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio).

Fig 18: Detail of one of the tombs found inside the religious building (J.C. Sastre Blanco).

Fig 19: Reconstruction of the agricultural activities. 19a and 19b.- tools. 19c.- Millstone. 19c. Cereal (Composition and pictures made by the authors).

Fig 16: Location of the religious building in the site. (Jaime Valiente Blasco UAV images).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period precisely for agricultural purposes: the granary. Here, we found four silos made on the ground and complete pieces of pottery to contain grain. The cereals they cultivated were even identified and dated (Figure 19d). They planted wheat, barley and oats in the sixth century AD.

cent) found even today in the Iberian mainland. Carp, trout and shads were less prevalent (11 per cent and 3 per cent), though their quality is superior. They were fewer in number, which could indicate that the temperature of the rivers could be higher than today; the goat fish could survive in waters of about 24 degrees Celsius, while trout and carp prefer colder waters. The efficiency of fishing goat fish with more flesh per fish could be another reason for its abundance. Secondarily they fished eels (11 per cent) and river molluscs, which are extinct today.

Livestock farming was represented with more than 15,000 (Figure 20a) remains of fauna studied by the University of Salamanca; the remains were predominantly sheep with some instances of cattle and pigs. Among other domesticated animals, we know they used cats to keep the granaries hygienic and dogs to help in shepherding. Poultry farming was not so abundant, but it was representative. The existence of clay strainers (Figure 20b) led us to hypothesise that they knew how to make cheese, maybe from sheep, which is the most predominant domesticated species at the site. Cheese was one of the most ancient examples of this traditional food making that still exists in Zamora.

Other acts of predation, such as hunting, were also present. There are a number of weapons used to hunt, mainly arrow heads and spears, but the most impressive data are the bones of wild animals found in domestic contexts. Common animals from the forest such as deer, wild boars, fallow deer, hares and foxes still existing today are frequent among the faunal remains and show a landscape not far from today’s forests. The presence of bear claws confirms the existence of denser forests. Bears are extinct in this area of Spain, and today they are constrained in the northern Cantabrian Range area.

Fishing is represented by a large number of fishing instruments made from metal as hooks or stone as net weights, but the most important information was obtained after doing flotation on the sediment when the smaller fish bones came to light (Figure 21). According to a preliminary and provisional study led by the Laboratory of Prehistory of the University of Salamanca, the most consumed fish was the goat fish (or barbel) a great fluvial fish (44 per

When talking about the faunal remains, we did not talk about a very important animal: the horse. Horses or equines were not highly represented in the faunal inventory; they were by far the least represented mammals, with even fewer bones left behind than rabbits and mice (intrusion).

Fig 20: Reconstructing the livestock farming. 20a.- Distribution of the animal bones (graph by Óscar RodríguezMonterruibio). 20b.- Cheese strainer (Drawing made by Patricia Fuentes Melgar).

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Late Antiquity in the Iberian Peninsula But the most important thing associated with horses is not the quantity of their remains, but the other artefacts associated with them. In fact only humans and horses have materials associated with them, no other living being leaves behind artefacts. This is due to the close relation between horse and humans for transport, agriculture and warring, thanks to horse riding, an activity that is confirmed by the presencre of horseshoes and other instruments like horse bits and sleighs, not very common findis in this period.

of butchery practices, so they knew how to separate flesh from bones to obtain the maximum benefit from each limb.

Processing raw material into products was also performed in El Castillón, the most remarkable craftmanship was of course pottery, an activity which had taken place on the site since the Iron Age. During its peak between the fifth and the sixth centuries, luxurious pieces decorated with stamps or incisions, made of fine pastes and for table use as plate service, were made alongside functional pottery to cook or to store food (dolia). The large kilns found in the storehouse show that they also knew how to make tiles.

The society

Trade is broadly represented thanks to the presence of metal objects like brooches and fibulae, whose styles are reminiscent of those manufactured in central Europe. The presence of scallops and clams show a trade with the Atlantic façade from where those marine molluscs originated.

To reconstruct societies from the past is a difficult task without having found a Late Roman or early medieval necropolis, though due to the findings we can make a hypothesis about the possible society living in El Castillón between the fifth and the sixth century. The number of decorated pieces of pottery is quite enough in proportion to other sites, which implies that even in such a functional object as a pot or a jar is there was space for decoration ad aesthetic purposes. Maybe this was possible because the society occupying the site in the fifth century were part of a warring society or at least a more refined elite appreciating (or even demanding) the ornamentation on pottery. Other elements such as the osculatory or the fibula type Vyskov (Figure 22) reinforce this idea of a warring elite controlling the territory since the high position offered by this site over the landscape. The existence of a metallurgical centre of production adds more strategic importance to the site and to its inhabitants; not only was the production so important that it took place within the walls, but it also implies the control of the mining and the trading associated with iron, clearly a strategic and highly profitable resource.

Metallurgy is probably the most strategic activity performed in the site, with three furnaces in use during about 150 years in at least two phases. This activity has left behind a register of more than 90 kg of metal slag from which we have traced the origin (not far from the site), showing that the activity involves not only the processing of the raw material, but also the control of the deposits, which indicates mining activities and trade routes. Other minor crafts were present, indicated by tiny objects as buttons, necklaces, rings, earrings, bracelets or crystal and bone counts for necklaces, which confirms that they manufactured clothes and pieces of jewellery. The presence of the bear claws and bones from animals such as hares or foxes that do not produce much meat but provide hides and furs, could reveal activities like tanning. Marks in bones found in the storehouse are interpreted as proofs

The pottery also allows us to reconstruct the affiliation of the people inhabiting the site. In the fifth century we

Fig 22. Drawing of the fibula type Vyskov (Patricia Fuentes Melgar).

Fig 21: Sample of fish bones. (Preliminary studies by USAL Laboratory of Prehistory).

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Current Approaches to People, Places and Things in the Early Medieval Period Esparza Arroyo, A. 1986. Los castros de la edad del hierro del noroeste de Zamora. Zamora: Instituto de estudios zamoranos Florián de Ocampo (Diputación de Zamora).

transition from the Late Roman elites to the Germanic ones; late Samian pottery (TSHT) was present, which was no longer produced in the sixth century after the level of destruction identified in the storehouse. During the sixth century AD Samian pottery was no longer produced and two different phases are clearly marked by the decorations on pottery; during the first half we have stamped decorations of vegetal and geometrical motifs over fine pieces of grey paste, but in the second half the number of stamped pieces of pottery decreased, leading to the rise of incised decorations. This change could be connected with the end of the Suevian kingdom in the late sixth century (about the 585 AD) and the more and more powerful presence of the Visigoths; this territory that has been always considered as a frontier between both reigns.

Pages, G., L. Schneider and P. Fluzin. 2005. “Le travail du fer dans l’etabissement perche tardoantique du Roc de Pampelune (Argelliers, Herault): l’apport des analyses metallograpiques, ArcheoSciences”, Revue d’Archeometrie 29: 107-16. Rodríguez-Monterrubio, O. and J.C. Sastre Blanco. 2008. “Aproximación a los trabajos de investigación en los Castros de Peñas de la Cerca y El Castillón (Zamora)”. In I Jornada de Jóvenes en investigación arqueológica: Dialogando con la cultura material, 271-78. Madrid. Universidad Complutense de Madrid Sastre Blanco, J. C. 2006. “Una aproximación a la puesta en valor del arte esquemático y su paisaje. La Sierra de la Culebra (Zamora)”. Revista electrónica del Programa de Doctorado “Arqueología y Territorio”. Universidad de Granada.

Conclusions Nine campaigns since 2007 and 10 years of research (not including last campaign in 2018) have brought to light a large number of remains of different materials which have made possible the reconstruction of the daily life of the fifth and sixth centuries inhabitants. We have made a complete picture of their economy and society thanks to the effort of a group of independent archaeologists supported by the University of Salamanca and Granada, but with few funds to research in a context of economic crisis and in an area where archaeological activities are never seen as interesting and profitable tasks to do by the official administration bodies responsible in managing public funds. El Castillón is today one of the most important archaeological sites thanks to this large period of excavations and to the information added to what we knew about the Late Roman period, somewhat unknown by the historiography and other studies focused either in Roman times or in Middle Ages. What El Castillón offers is a complete reconstruction, but there is still space for more research in a town with more than 25 identified buildings and the remains of what could be one of the earliest representations of Christianity in the Iberian peninsula. Currently (in 2018), while this paper is being written, a team of the Scientific and Cultural Association of ZamoraProtohistorica is excavating in what we called the ‘religious building’ and what today we know to be a Pre-Romanesque church built between the sixth and the tenth century in Visigoth, Asturian Pre-Romanesque or Mozarabic style. The work is going on and the research will continue for years to come.

Sastre Blanco and P. Fuentes Melgar. 2011. “Late Roman metallurgy in Castro of El Castillón (Santa Eulalia de Tábara, Zamora)”. In New Perspectivas in Late Antiquty: 229-44. Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Sastre Blanco, J. C., A.J. Criado Portal and P. Fuentes Melgar. 2011. “Metalúrgia del hierro en el yacimiento tardoantiguo de El Castillón (Santa Eulalia de Tábara, Zamora)”. In 1º Congresso Internacional, Povoamento e Exploração de Recursos Mineiros. Braga. Sastre Blanco, J.C., Raul Catalán Ramos, Patricia Fuentes Melgar and Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio. 2018. “A village from the Late Roman period: El Castillónm a settlement from the fifth to the sixth c AD nestled between the visigoths and the suevians”. In Archaeology in the River Duero Valley edited by J.C. Sastre Blanco, Óscar Rodríguez-Monterrubio and Patricia Fuentes Melgar, 251-84. Cambridge. Cambridge Publisher Scholars. Virgilio Sevillano, F. 1978. Testimonios arqueológicos de la provincia de Zamora. Zamora. Instituto de Estudios Zamoranos Florian de Ocampo.

References Catalán Ramos, R. and J.C. Sastre Blanco. 2012. “Un asentamiento fortificado en la Tardoantigüedad: el castro de El Castillón (Santa Eulalia de Tábara, Zamora)”. In Los castillos altomedievales en el Noroeste de la Península Ibérica , in Documentos de Arqueología Medieval, 4 edited by J.A. Quirós Castillo and J.M. Tejado Sebastián, 193–212. Universidad del País Vasco.

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