The Journal of Medieval Military History. Volume IV [4] 1843832674, 9781843832676

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THE JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume IV

THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

Editors Clifford J. Rogers Kelly DeVries John France ISSN 1477–545X

THE JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume IV Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS KELLY DEVRIES JOHN FRANCE

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2006 All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner

First published 2006 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge

ISBN 1 84383 267 4

The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This publication is printed on acid-free paper Printed in Great Britain by Biddles Ltd, King’s Lynn

Contents

ARTICLES

1. The Sword of Justice: War and State Formation in Comparative Perspective Stephen Morillo

1

2. Archery versus Mail: Experimental Archaeology and the Value of Historical Context Russ Mitchell

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3. “Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England Richard Abels

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4. Cowardice and Fear Management: The 1173–74 Conf lict as a Case Study Steven Isaac

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5. Expecting Cowardice: Medieval Battle Tactics Reconsidered Stephen Morillo

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6. Naval Tactics at the Battle of Zierikzee (1304) in the Light of Mediterranean Praxis William Sayers

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7. The Military Role of the Magistrates in Holland during the Guelders War James P. Ward

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8. Women in Medieval Armies J. F. Verbruggen

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DEBATE

Verbruggen’s “Cavalry” and the Lyon-Thesis Bernard S. Bachrach

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DOCUMENT

Dogs of War in Thirteenth-Century Valencian Garrisons Robert I. Burns, S.J.

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The Sword of Justice

1 The Sword of Justice: War and State Formation in Comparative Perspective* Stephen Morillo

Introduction At the International Medieval Congress in Kalamazoo in 2002, John France’s interpretation of a vast corpus of early saints’ Lives showed that war in Christian western Europe was taken as a normal and acceptable activity in many circumstances, and that this acceptance stemmed from warfare’s connection to common judicial procedures. Warrior saints – that is, the common sort of early medieval saint whose first career had been as a warrior, before a conversion experience and entry into the priesthood – often played judicial roles, justifying or forgiving offensive warfare versus other Christians and ameliorating the sinful effects of conducting war. And of course warfare versus pagans and infidels presented no problems whatsoever for a Christian view of the world. In short, Professor France showed that what the saints’ Lives present is not pacifism but the evasion of criticism of war, motivated by the recognition of the necessity of war in maintaining order. And maintaining order was a political and judicial function requiring the exercise of force, or coercion. 1 The conception of warfare Professor France outlined, based on a judicial model and aimed at maintenance of order, derived from the same multiple roots that gave birth to most features of the medieval European world: Roman, Christian, and Germanic. Roman notions of law as the framework of the state and of the existence of a natural law superior to particular legal codes are part of the basic ideological framework behind this conception; in military terms in

* I would like to thank John France for sending me a copy of his talk in pre-publication form. Several people have read earlier versions of this paper and offered useful criticisms and comments. Cliff Rogers’s comments on the version I delivered at Kalamazoo in 2003 were especially valuable; I thank him for the care and thoughtfulness he devoted to them. Saundra Scwartz of Hawaii Pacific University and Jerry Bentley of The University of Hawaii, Manoa also offered useful comments. Whatever inadequacies remain in this version are entirely my own. 1 John France, “Early Saints Lives as Sources for Military History,” featured De Re Militari Address delivered at The 37th International Medieval Congress, Kalamazoo, MI, May 2002. A revised version has been published in The Journal of Medieval Military History 3 (2005), 14–22, as “War and Sanctity: Saints’ Lives as Sources for Early Medieval Warfare.”

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particular, the archaic Roman ius fetiale, the religious-military law governing the declaration of wars only for just causes, had created an intellectual tradition placing warfare in a legal context with cosmic underpinnings.2 There is some question, however, about whether the ius fetiale and ideas of just war survived Rome’s transition to an imperial power as anything but a formality, and the philosophical substance of just war theory derives from Christian thinkers concerned with the question of whether a Christian could participate in war without committing a deadly sin.3 Christian notions of just war were fully worked out by Augustine (answering the question in the affirmative) and were eventually systematized by Aquinas in the Summa Theologica, Second Part of the Second Part, Question 40. There, Aquinas states that “three things are required for any war to be just”: “the authority of the sovereign on whose command war is waged,” a just cause, and right intention of those waging war.4 For my purposes, the crucial requirement is the first one, the authority of the sovereign. For this implies that Romano-Christian western European notions of warfare accepted the existence and authority of states, accepted that states must exercise coercive power over society, and framed the coercive authority of states within notions of law. The Germanic contribution was to add to the legalistic conception of the state the notion that free individuals (men) retained a right to bear arms and use violence to settle legal disputes outside the courts: “the appeal to arms – the phrase is very apt – remained a legitimate option.”5 This connection of states, warfare, and law form the analytic entryway for my excursion into a comparative examination of war and state formation. There is a vast literature on this topic, much of which orbits around Charles Tilly’s book Capital, Coercion, and European States, AD 900–1992.6 It is part of my aim in this paper to re-examine Tilly’s model of state formation from a global and comparative perspective, with a focus on the relationship between warrior elites and states.7 In particular, I want to focus on how these two actors, warrior elites and states, talked to each other, and more generally how states talked to their societies. What ideological and cultural assumptions framed the discourse between states and social groups? What terms of debate mediated the sometimes conflicting demands states and social groups made on each other and the responses each side made to the other’s demands? I hope to defend a series of propositions that go something like this. First, and most generally, that the ideological and cultural framework that mediated 2 3 4 5 6 7

Alan Watson, International Law in Archaic Rome: War and Religion (Baltimore, 1993), chs. 2, 3. Cliff Rogers suggested the role of Fetial Law to me. Gábor Sulyok, “The Doctrine of Just War and its Applicability in Contemporary International Law,” Miskolc Journal of International Law 1 (2004), 88–103, at p. 89. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Pars Secunda Secundae, Quaestio 40. The quotation is from Cliff Rogers’s written comments on my Kalamazoo talk; I am unable to improve on his wording of an important idea. Charles Tilly, Capital, Coercion and European States, AD 900–1992 (Cambridge, 1992). Note that the free men with the right to bear arms of the Germanic tradition were the foundation of a warrior elite.

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the discourse between society and states played a crucial role in the form and direction that state formation took in different societies, and that this is a neglected factor in models of state formation proposed by Tilly and others who have followed and criticized him. Second, that the Romano-Christian western European view of warfare as a species of legal activity – the very connection John France examined – is strong evidence that in western European civilization the framework of discourse between states and societies and thus for state formation was based in law. This framework was therefore established well before Tilly’s initial date of 900, and is thus hidden from analysis in studies of state formation that take western Europe as paradigmatic because the framework is already, in that world, universal and taken for granted. Third, however, that viewing war as a species of law is by no means universal or even common in global terms; quite the contrary, it is an uncommon view, and so cannot and does not form the framework of society-state discourse in other civilizations. Rather, other cultural and ideological constructs create that framework, with varying results for the form and direction of state formation around the world. One possible conclusion to be drawn from this set of propositions is that the view of warfare as a species of legal activity, the view that emerged so clearly in John France’s study of early saints lives, illuminates one of the central foundations of the emergence of the modern western state (not that this is an unproblematic construct itself). Considerations of space will prevent me from developing this last conclusion very far, but it does lurk behind this argument somewhere.

Terms and Concepts My analysis will be based on a number of terms and concepts that I will try to make clear at the outset. For starters, the roles of warfare and law in state formation may be viewed in terms of the taxonomy of the uses of sanctioned violence proposed by Mark Lewis.8 He suggests “at least four such uses: 1) violence as compelling force, as the decisive element of the political order; 2) violence as a definer and creator of social groupings; 3) violence as a marker of significance; 4) violence as an element in myth or in metaphoric thinking.” Though we are most familiar in western political analysis with the first category, all four turn out to be significant in discovering the “locus and exercise of authority”9 in different societies, and therefore in giving nuance and social-cultural depth to analyses of the deployment of coercive power in state formation. For coercion is one of the two axes along which resources are avail-

8 9

Mark Edward Lewis, Sanctioned Violence in Early China (Albany, 1990), p. 1. Lewis, Sanctioned Violence, p. 5.

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Warfare

Demands

State formation

State Demands

Negotiation over Powers of the State

Response

Society Figure 1: Schematic summary of Charles Tilly’s model of war and state formation

able for state building, according to Tilly’s model;10 and ultimately, in the form of war making, is the crucial axis.11 Tilly’s model of state formation may be summarized roughly as follows (see Figure 1). Given competitive international environments, warfare, or the threat of warfare, put demands on states, primarily in terms of demands for human and economic resources. The relative availability of underlying accumulations and concentrations either of capital or of coercive means pushed different states along somewhat different paths, but the underlying dynamic was the same: faced with the demands imposed by warfare, states in turn made demands on their societies. The societies responded to these demands in a process of bargaining with the state over its powers; this bargaining was what gradually built up the institutions of state and gave states greater control of the coercive 10 11

Tilly, Coercion, Capital, pp. 16–28. There is not room in this paper to deal in any detail with the capital axis of the Tilly model of state formation. I will point out, however, that this paper’s focus on the legal framework of warrior-state discourse is also applicable to merchant-state discourse; indeed, the compatibility of warrior law and merchant law at the level of how social networks were formed and mediated is, I believe, one of the factors that made the city-to-state linkages crucial to Tilly’s model of the path of “capitalized coercion” possible. In other words, a common legal framework of discourse, sanctioned by violence in the social and metaphoric as well as political ways pointed out by Lewis, was the link that made capital and coercion two axes on the same graph rather than vectors of conflicting or incompatible modes of social organization. For more on city-to-state links (or non-links) in a comparative context, see below, pp. 16–17.

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Warfare

Demands

5

State Demands

State formation?

Gray area: Ideological framework of discourse

Negotiation over Powers of the State

Response

Society Figure 2: Modified model: negotiation within a variable framework of discourse

and capital resources of their societies. In short, in Tilly’s famous and now probably over-used aphorism, “states made war and war made states.” Tilly’s formulation has received widespread criticism of many of its details, often focused on cultural factors to which Tilly’s original model gives short shrift.12 Yet many of the critics still accept the basic outlines of the model, and those who don’t have failed to provide a coherent alternate model.13 From my perspective the model, while useful, has two main weaknesses. First, it ignores the role of the Industrial Revolution in transforming the potential scale of resources available for state building, and so misses the great watershed dividing the traditional and the modern state in favor of a focus on the developmental factors that bridge this great divide. Having noted this weakness, I shall now ignore it as falling outside the scope of this investigation. The second weakness, however, is that Tilly constructs on the basis of European history a model that at least at times purports to be universal. Now it is not Eurocentrism per se that is problematic here, but what that Eurocentrism hides from view, which is the military-legal framework of discourse that crucially shaped the negotiations between state and society central to the process of state building encoded in the model (see Figure 2). As I noted earlier, because that 12

See for example the collection State/Culture: State Formation after the Cultural Turn, ed. George Steinmetz (Ithaca, NY, 1999), including a reply by Tilly. 13 Admittedly, there may be a problem with models in general to describe complex historical phenomena, but as a believer in models I will forge ahead undaunted.

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framework was common to all the European case studies that informed Tilly’s model, it became effectively invisible. It appears to view only when placed in comparative perspective with societies whose cultural and ideological framework of discourse was different and whose warfare and state-making trajectories were therefore also different. Closer examination of frameworks of discourse also reveal the possibly insufficient attention Tilly pays to different groups within society, as warrior elites emerge in comparative perspective as often crucial to the sort of framework a culture adopts and so to the path of state formation. Finally, in order to make useful comparisons of paths of state formation, we need at least a rough definition of states, or more precisely government, and a way to measure the strength of the central authority within government. I propose the following. First, that government is the sum of the formal mechanisms whereby a society is organized through the use of sanctioned violence (or legitimate coercion) and pays for those mechanisms. This definition is meant to be inclusive of all levels of government from local and regional to polity-wide. Second, that the strength of the central authority in this totality of government – the usual focus of studies of state formation – may be roughly measured along four vectors: C

C

C

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PENETRATION into the lives of the governed. That is, what are the central authority’s capabilities in terms of the collection and distribution of resources and information, and in terms of monopolizing the legitimate use of force?14 INTEGRATION of the various levels and regions of government. How uniform are the material and symbolic instantiations of government across the polity, for example, law and the legal standing of different sets of the governed, coinage, liability to corvées and conscription? In what relation to regional, ethnic, class, and other axes of personal identity does identification of the governed with central authority stand?15 COOPERATION of the governed with the potentially coercive functions of government such as tax collection, conscription, legal procedure, and so on. The level of cooperation a government can elicit is one measure of how legitimate the government is in the eyes of the governed.16

Collection and distribution of resources and information are the aspects of penetration directly affected by the resources, organizational systems, and technologies produced by (and producing) the Industrial Revolution. 15 Governmental integration is broadly limited by the level of economic integration. This is therefore another area affected by industrialization, which made possible much higher levels of economic (and so political) integration across larger areas. 16 Given the limitations pre-industrial infrastructure placed on raising levels of penetration and integration, and given that increases in scale (especially via geographic expansionism) entailed countervailing costs in terms of corruption and central control (again a symptom of the limits of pre-industrial infrastructure for integration), raising the level of cooperation was often the most efficient way for pre-industrial states to increase their effectiveness.

The Sword of Justice C

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SCALE of government, including such measures as the effective geographic scope of the central authority, the absolute level of resources deployed, and the number of functionaries government employs, all discounted by the level of corruption or venality.17

With this set of definitions and theoretical considerations in place, let’s now examine in more detail the military-legal framework of discourse in medieval European states and then compare that to some case studies from other civilizations.

War, Law, and State Formation in Europe Examples of the operation of warfare as a species of legal activity, and conversely of legal actions carried on through military means, are not hard to find in early and high medieval Europe. The late tenth century dispute that produced the Conventum, or Agreement, between Count William V of Aquitaine and Hugh IV of Lusignan18 is a paradigmatic case. The agreement, which is essentially a narrative of a series of small wars fought between the Count and Hugh, begins “The count of the Aquitanians called William had an agreement with Hugh the Chiliarch that when the end came for viscount Boso the count would give Boso’s honor to Hugh in commendation. Bishop Roho saw and heard and kissed the count’s arm.”19 So we start with an agreement – not exactly what we would call a legal contract, but more than an informal understanding, because it has been witnessed and visibly sealed by a bishop. The count fails to live up to the agreement, and Hugh receives ill treatment from the count in a number of other ways we need not detail. Ultimately, Hugh went to the count’s court (curtem comiti) “and put his case before him about his right, but it did him no good.”20 Hugh breaks faith with the count, who seizes the benefices of Hugh’s men “pro nomen de guerra.”21 Hugh in turn seizes a castle, negotiations ensue, and the resulting agreement is recorded. This is, then, essentially a legal dispute about landholding, though it is also a dispute about the rightful or lawful powers of the “state,” if I can use this term to refer to the count and his superior position in this dispute.22 Among the tools 17 18

19 20 21 22

The scale of resources a government can deploy is a final area directly influenced, at least potentially, by industrialization. “Conventum inter Willelmum Comitem Aquitanorum et Hugonem Chiliarchum,” ed. Jane Martindale, English Historical Review 84 (1969), 528–48, translation available at www.fordham.edu/halsall/source/agreement.html. “Conventum,” pp. 541–42. “Conventum,” p. 547, and Martindale’s introduction, p. 531, on the nature of legal procedure in tenth-century Aquitaine. “Conventum,” p. 547. Martindale notes in the introduction to the text that William is clearly shown, even in a document obviously written from Hugh’s perspective, as wielding (at least in theory) sovereign-like powers, especially the authority to license subordinates’ building of castles: “Conventum,” pp.

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used by both sides in prosecuting this legal dispute is warfare, and in the process of these varied military and legal negotiations the powers of the count receive a somewhat more precise practical definition. This is not state versus state warfare, and though from one angle it conforms to a Clausewitzian definition of warfare as “politics with an admixture of other means,” such a purely politically based definition hardly does justice to the complexity of this dispute.23 In Lewis’ terms, violence here does act as a compelling force, but given the negotiated outcome of the dispute it is doubtful if we can consider it as the decisive element in this particular political order. Indeed, the warfare in this dispute seems to operate more clearly in the other categories Lewis outlines. Violence clearly creates and defines social groups in the Conventum, as both Hugh and the count use warfare to protect, avenge, reward and generally solidify their own groups of followers. Hugh sits in an ambiguous position in this respect, as he begins as part of the count’s following and must press his case through hostile action without fracturing the social bonds irrevocably. Thus the significance, when Hugh does publicly break faith with the count, of his “saving the count’s city and person” from the rupture.24 The count, too, has an interest in preventing an irrevocable break while asserting his authority as strongly as possible, for Hugh and his followers constitute a potential part of the count’s own military forces. Violence then acts as a marker of significance: it is only after Hugh publicly breaks fealty with the count that the latter confronts Hugh “pro nomen de guerra,” though less formally warfare consistently marks both the high points and the overall significance of the dispute for both sides. Finally, warfare as a 533–34. On the proprietorial nature of European warfare generally in the period 1000–1300, see John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, 100–1300 (Ithaca, NY, 1999), ch. 1. 23 Cliff Rogers has argued to me that the appeal to arms at this point in the dispute is Clausewitzian (with which point I agree), but that the dispute therefore departs the legal framework of discourse, with which I disagree. Hugh’s “appeal to arms” (Cliff’s apt phrase for the Germanic contribution to the roots of this legalistic view of warfare) occurs with a symbolic rejection of the count’s authority, but it takes him not outside the legal-military framework of discourse, but simply outside the jurisdiction of the count’s court and into the jurisdiction of a higher court. That this higher court is in this case largely theoretical (whether it be defined as the jurisdiction of the court of diplomacy that included the count of Anjou, who in fact rejects Hugh’s appeal to him on jurisdictional grounds, of the French king, or of divine law) does not affect this argument. The aims and methods of Hugh’s war with the count remained limited, constrained by both sides’ conception of what was “right” and what war was for. Frameworks of discourse are, after all, not themselves legalistic procedures, but mental constructs pervasive in a culture, constructs that shape perceptions and actions in fundamental, virtually unspoken ways, and so cannot easily be escaped. The implication is that the “politics” of Clausewitz’s formulation is not a value-neutral, transcultural activity, but is defined (along with the warfare that enters politics as the admixture of other means) by the culturally specific frameworks of discourse within which it occurs. The variations thus imposed on politics and warfare shape paths of state formation, the point of this article. Consider that had the count been operating under the framework of discourse that came to dominate Warring States China (see below, p. 13), Hugh would not have long survived his conflict with the count, nor would his lands have survived as a discreet, definable honor. 24 “Conventum,” p. 547: “nisi de civitate sua et de corpore suo.”

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means or common procedural gambit clearly influences a wider metaphoric conception of legal disputes as conflicts epitomized in individual trial by battle. Thus, all of this shows us law, and ideas of legal procedure, forming the framework of discourse mediating the negotiation of the mutual demands of state and society. Another example of the military-legal framework of conceptions of public order is to be found in a small passage from Orderic Vitalis. Describing the Angevin invasion of Normandy in 1137, Orderic focuses on the indiscipline of a looting and plundering horde that shows no respect for human or divine order. Having already noted that “there were reckless looters in that mob who paid no attention to the commands of the magnates” (as Chibnall translates procerum), Orderic then criticizes those very Angevin leaders:25 The optimates [“magnates,” in Chibnall], however, who ought to have led separate gatherings [coetus; Chibnall uses “squadrons”] in a lawfully led [legali ductu; Chibnall has “properly levied”] army, were ignorant, unless I am mistaken, of the rigor of Roman discipline in military matters, nor did they conduct their “knightly quarrels” [as Chibnall renders militares inimicicias] in the moderate manner of great men [literally “heroes”: haeroum more modeste; Chibnall has “with restraint as lords should”].

I wish to concentrate here on the phrase legali ductu – lawfully led, which does, I think, include the notion of levying that Chibnall chooses to highlight in her translation. The phrase shows us that in Orderic’s view of the world, not only do optimates – the powerful, the socially and military elite, the “heroes” of this world – raise and lead the units of military force deployed by a ruler such as the count of Anjou, they do so legalis, according to the law. Orderic further emphasizes the importance of law by connecting it to “Roman discipline in military matters.” Chibnall notes that “Orderic possibly had in mind the treatise of Vegetius, De re militari, which was well known in Norman monasteries.”26 Probably so, but I believe the significance of the reference lies not in terms of the practical use of Vegetius by military men, but in its symbolic use by an historian-monk, for the reference to a relevant piece of Romanitas invests the notion of law with all the weight of idealized empire and socio-political order that the name “Rome” invoked. Thus, despite the fact that these optimates, these “heroes,” quarrel among themselves (and in the implied case of the Normans, Orderic’s heroes, settle their arguments in a moderate manner) and otherwise act as private persons, they nevertheless constitute legally recognized intermediaries between the demands of the “state” (however un-Roman that state looks in reality) and the resources of society for warmaking. In short, viewed through the lens of Orderic’s monastic mentalité, we see again a law-based framework of discourse mediating the negotiation of the mutual demands of state and society,

25

Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History (hereafter OV), ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969–72), 6:472. My translation differs somewhat from Chibnall’s. 26 OV, 6:472, n. 1.

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and that law and order is conceived of metaphorically as lying at the heart of sanctioned violence in this society. These two cases stand as examples of a wide range of evidence that could demonstrate the same principle. We may now move to an analysis of the consequences of a militarized legal framework of discourse for paths of state formation in western Europe. I will note first that, like many other such frameworks of discourse between state and society, including the ones I will examine later, the military-legal framework of discourse did not simply mediate negotiations between entities that we can characterize as state and society, they also formed a more general framework or nexus of social relationships, a subject to which I shall return in my conclusion. As expressed in the contractual nature of bonds between lords and vassals, between landlords and peasants, as well as between the parties to business and mercantile agreements, legal conceptions of order backed by forms of sanctioned violence mediated conflicts both within classes and between classes, whether or not a strong sovereign authority existed behind the contractual relationships as enforcer or overseer. Indeed, as the militarized negotiations between William of Aquitaine and Hugh show, a weak or nonexistent central authority (taking the King of France as holding that position at least in theory, and viewing this dispute as an intra-class conflict) tended to throw the legal framework into higher relief. Nor is the militarization of these negotiations unique to the warrior class, though the aristocracy’s foundation in military might may well have set the tone for – indeed legitimized – the backing of legal position with force by other social groups. Towns as entities and the guilds that often ran them provided for militia duty and the defense of walls in their charters, armed peasant associations were not uncommon, and the Church, while attempting to limit the pervasive appeal to arms through the Peace and Truce of God, also had its military retainers and created in the Crusades the ultimate resort to military force in support of cosmic order, and acknowledged the primacy of military-legal conceptions of order in the symbolism of the Two Swords theory of rulership. Negotiations between state and society were therefore simply a sub-set of a larger set of socio-political negotiations pervasively mediated by militarized legal procedure. It was through this framework that states, however nascent or personalized, related to social classes, above all the warrior aristocracy, socio-economic entities such as towns, with their charters of rights and corporate existence, and the Church – giving the Investiture Dispute and similar Church-State conflicts their heavily jurisdictional cast. What, then, are the characteristics of a militarized legal framework of discourse relevant to paths of state formation? I can see at least four key ones. First, it assumes the legitimacy of the state, whatever that state might look like. I’ve mentioned this already, in a way, as the legitimacy of the state is implicit in the view of warfare as a species of maintaining order. State legitimacy was grounded, in fact, in its accepted roles of establishing order, maintaining a common defense, and providing for the general welfare. State power, backed by

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religious sanction, was also therefore taken to be the proper enforcer of contracts and agreements made within the framework of law. But what if the state itself were party to a contract, as it often was, given the legal framework of discourse within which it operated? The second characteristic of this legal framework flows from the mutuality of legal-contractual relationships: that state power (indeed any power except God’s) is conceived in such a framework as neither absolute nor arbitrary.27 State powers were thus taken in theory to be limited by Christian principles of justice, as well as by customary notions of right; the theory in turn helped maintain the semi-independent power of the warrior aristocracy (as well as of towns) that provided the practical counterweight to potentially arbitrary exercises of authority. The balance of interests implied in this conception of law encouraged a rational approach to dispute resolution. Thus, so far, state action assumes a legitimate but limited and rational character. A militarized legal framework of discourse also provided tools for state formation along all four axes by which central authority can be measured. It is a commonplace that one of the ways in which royal power tended to expand after 1100 or so was by taking on the role of appeals court over lower systems of justice. From my perspective, the linking of systems of law was a path for greater state penetration into the lives of subjects. As such penetration advanced, it set up pressures for integration as well, as royal courts tried to standardize laws and legal procedures over the many jurisdictions it came to oversee, though integration proceeded more slowly than penetration since regionalism in many kingdoms remained strong, with England as a significant exception. Furthermore, by simultaneously working within and appropriating pre-existing legal mechanisms, states and rulers promoted higher levels of cooperation, a tendency expressed in the English case in the phrase “self government at the king’s command.” Finally, law proves to be, to use a modern 27

Another way of putting this, which I owe again to Cliff Rogers’s excellent commentary on my paper, is that medieval Europeans “tended not to see the law as the property or even the expression of the state. Rather it was more like a fief, held by the state from the people, by a bond that was ultimately contractual, mutual, and even – and this is the key – revocable.” This is an appropriate place to point out that the legal framework of discourse that pervaded western European politics and warfare during the middle ages was neither unchanging nor essential. Its characteristics, outlined here, continued to underlie state formation in Europe after 1500, giving European state formation the unity that makes Tilly’s analysis coherent. But the religious division of Europe, fracturing the Christian heritage of legalism, and the development of absolutist theory, among other factors, tended to complexify frameworks of discourse both within countries and across Europe by at least this date, leading to the different paths of state formation within Europe examined by Tilly; see, e.g., Richard Bonney, The European Dynastic States 1494–1660 (Oxford, 1991), pp. 306–16, and in relation to military change Brian M. Downing, The Military Revolution and Political Change (Princeton, NJ, 1992). An excellent detailed examination of what may be read as a very specific “Blue Water” framework of discourse (in many respects the medieval legal-military framework as it had evolved in the political and strategic context of late seventeenth-century England) and its effects on the English path of state formation in its most crucial period is John Brewer, The Sinews of Power: War, Money and the English State, 1688–1783 (Cambridge, MA, 1988).

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term from computer science, a scalable information technology of authority. That is, it retains its effectiveness when expanded over space and case types – unlike, say, personal supervision and loyalty, which tend to lose force over greater distance and be limited in its spheres of operation. The final characteristic of a militarized legal framework of discourse for state formation, and in part a result of its other characteristics, is that it allowed the integration of society, especially its influential corporate groups, into a state structure without those groups having to lose their corporate identity or character. This was especially true of the warrior aristocracy, for the interests and actions of warrior elites can often be seen as opposed to the interests of a strong state. The best example of the ability of states that relied on this legal framework of discourse effectively to incorporate corporate social interests into mechanisms of government is illustrated by the most impressive (and most overlooked) case of state formation in the Middle Ages, the development of the English state under Edward III, a case explicated by Cliff Rogers.28 And Parliament, the quintessential institutional instantiation of a legal framework of discourse between state and society – especially those parts of society, the aristocracy and knights, who were so vital to Edward’s war effort – lies at the heart of that case. Now all of this may seem familiar to European medievalists, even if the context I am framing it in is less so. It lies behind the paths of state formation explored by Tilly and his followers. But the militarized legal framework of discourse that undergirds all these characteristics of medieval European state formation lies unexamined and therefore assumed as universal. My final claim, and the one that requires comparative data to test, is that oddity rather than typicality characterizes western Europe’s legal framework of discourse. Militarized law was not inevitable – it was not even common – in the world’s civilizations, and its characteristics and consequences for state formation were therefore neither common nor inevitable either. Alternate weavings of social fabrics, alternate and even non-existent frameworks of discourse, and so alternate paths of warfare and state formation in fact dominate the landscape of world history, as I shall now attempt to sketch.

Other Frameworks of Discourse and Paths of State Formation In the course of the Mytilenean Debate, Thucydides has Diodotus say of the Athenian’s military situation vis a vis the rebellious city of Mytilene, “We are not at law with them, and so have no need to speak of justice.”29 This view of 28

Clifford J. Rogers, “Edward III and State Formation,” lecture at Wabash College, Crawfordsville, Indiana, March 2002; also presented in a shorter version at the 38th International Congress on Medieval Studies, Kalamazoo, Michigan, May 2003. 29 Thucydides, On Justice, Power and Human Nature. Selections from The History of the Peloponnesian War, trans. Paul Woodruff (Indianapolis, 1993), p. 72.

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war, as unconnected to law and justice and instead tied purely to the advantage of the state, serves to introduce the dynamics of violence in Warring States China, a period from roughly 480 to 221 BC that set the framework for the patterns of war and state formation in that civilization at least through the tenth century and in many ways well beyond.30 In certain ways this period resembles medieval Europe: competitive warfare and a state system sharing a common set of cultural assumptions set the stage, and a strong warrior aristocracy dominated politics at least at the beginning of the period. But the states that began to succeed in this environment were the ones that successfully reshaped the uses and symbolism of sanctioned violence, and so shaped a new framework of state-society discourse, in ways that emphasized the power of the state to the exclusion of any competition. Ritual and cultic elements that had legitimized warrior lineages were either appropriated by the state or suppressed; the ideology of warfare was de-heroicized (compare Orderic’s “heroes”); leadership in warfare was redefined towards an intellectual model in which “control of men and the manipulation of combat for higher ends . . . now constituted the essence of war”; and state power was legitimized by reference to a conception of nature emphasizing a top-down cosmic balance and order.31 Given this framework of discourse, epitomized in the Legalist theories of Han Fei Tzu in which law implies neither mutual obligations, justice, nor rational dispute resolution but instead serves as a blunt instrument of state power, the “negotiation” between states and society under the pressure of war came to be dominated by the state. The Qin empire that emerged victorious from the Warring States period had the unquestioned right to conscript and tax any and all of its subjects, and did so, and the warrior aristocracy had by then largely disappeared, having been chewed up and digested by centralized power (compare the integration of warriors and state under Edward III). Ultimately the state even internalized intellectual negotiations between state demands and society’s interests through the incorporation of Confucian scholars and ideology into the structure of government. Warrior elites henceforth existed in Chinese politics only as outsiders, mostly of nomadic origin, as under the T’ang and Qing, or briefly and illegitimately as warlords during period of imperial disunion. The Chinese ideograph for emperor sums up the result: the Emperor holds the cosmos, and within the cosmos state and society, together. The price of the central government’s unquestioned power, however, came in terms of somewhat lower levels of local cooperation32 and, much later, certain limits on scalability.

30

Lewis, Sanctioned Violence, examines these developments in detail. David A. Graff, Medieval Chinese Warfare, 300–900 (London, 2002), traces the variations on the Warring States theme played out from the fall of the Han to the fall of the T’ang. This section is based largely on these two sources, as well as on readings of Sun Tzu, The Art of Warfare, trans. Roger Ames (New York, 1993), an edition that incorporates newly discovered parallel texts, and on standard editions of Confucius’s Analects and Han Fei Tzu. 31 Lewis, Sanctioned Violence, pp. 10–13, quote on p. 11, and chs. 2–4. 32 Epitomized by the peasant revolts that became a recurrent feature of Chinese history.

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At the other end of the scale, and sketched more briefly, we may consider the cases of India and Latin America. In India, caste law came to mediate most social relationships as well as the discourse between state and social groups. There were geographic factors in India that created a constant and problematic “inner frontier” between agricultural and pastoral lands and that rendered urban sites shifting and impermanent.33 These, combined with caste law as a framework of discourse, pushed Indian state formation down a path that, by contrast with China, remained warrior dominated but that was much more limited in terms of the strength of central authority. Caste came to define the limits of both state penetration into society and state integration of social and regional groupings. The geographically induced separation of sources of capital and coercion and the transience of centers of capital accumulation simply exacerbated limits to state formation built into the framework of state-society discourse. In oddly similar ways, geographic variation and social fragmentation dominated the political landscape of nineteenth-century Latin America. The social fragmentation, however, having no unifying principle such as caste law behind it, prevented the creation of a coherent framework of discourse mediating state-society negotiations, European notions of law having failed to take root in the soil of the Iberian New World. The result was polities that conducted much destructive and socially motivated internal warfare but little external warfare. What external war it did conduct led not to the strengthening of the state, as no productive demands could be placed on society, there being no agreed on way to negotiate such demands, but to foreign indebtedness and continued weakness.34 Closest to the European case in many ways, in both results and causes, is medieval Japan.35 If we confine our view to the crucial period of the sixteenth century, then what appears to view is a context of many independent states at war with each other but sharing common cultural assumptions, and politics dominated by a powerful warrior aristocracy. There was already some heritage of Chinese influence in political thought, but the practical influence of that heritage was minimal during this period, extending roughly from 1477 to 1615. Instead states, the domains headed by daimyos, built up their institutional strength in a process of the application of domain law to different segments of society, especially the warriors of the bushi and the village communities of 33

On the “inner frontier” see Jos Gommans, “Warhorse and Gunpowder in India c. 1000–1850,” in War in the Early Modern World 1450–1815, ed. Jeremy Black (London, 1999). For an analysis of Indian political development in the context of geography see Andre Wink, Al-Hind, The Making of the Indo-Islamic World, 3 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1990, 1997, and forthcoming). 34 See, e.g., Miguel Angel Centeno, “Blood and Debt: War and Taxation in Nineteenth-Century Latin America,” American Journal of Sociology 102 (1997), 1565–1605. Less useful for interpretation but raising interesting points of fact is Fernando Lopez-Alves, “The Transatlantic Bridge: Mirrors, Charles Tilly, and State Formation in the River Plate,” in The Other Mirror, ed. Miguel Angel Centeno and Fernando Lopez-Alves (Princeton, 2001), pp. 153–76. 35 The details summarized here are presented at length in Stephen Morillo, “Guns and Government: A Comparative Study of Europe and Japan,” Journal of World History 6 (1995), 75–106.

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peasants, but including the merchant communities in fortified towns often founded by the daimyos. Significantly, each of these segments was militarized, so that negotiations over state demands for military manpower and taxation took place between sides each of which was capable of fighting for its position. In short, militarized law formed the framework of discourse for negotiations between state and society, especially the warrior elite of society. The result was states that incorporated their warriors into state structures, without eliminating them as had happened in China. The process was by no means identical to the European path of state formation. Most significantly, law ended up playing a less formative role and military balance of power between social and state factions a greater role, so that institutionalized expressions of law such as Parliament were rarer to non-existent in Japanese state building. And it is impossible to trace a long-term comparison because the Japanese context changed radically when de facto unification of the islands was achieved. Absent the pressures of war, the dynamic of Japanese politics shifted to imposition of elite control and the freezing of social mobility. Still, the similarities are salient enough to add to the comparative context for this study. I will consider one further society and include with it a case study in war, frameworks of state-society discourse, and state formation. That society is Islam, and the case study will be the wars of the Reconquista. The historical development of Islamic political structures had created a framework of state-society discourse that was highly problematic in certain ways from the perspective of central authorities. The result, in simplified terms, is that by the time of the Abbasid Revolution of the mid-ninth century, the Ummayad Caliphate had lost a struggle with the emergent ulema for the right to define Islam, or more specifically sharia, Islamic law, a struggle whose results the Abbasids tried but failed to reverse. They tried because the definition of Islam that the rabbinical jurists of the ulema constructed looked back to the tribal, nomadic past of the Arabs for ideal models of social organization, a perspective apparently at odds with the urban origins of most ulema members but carefully constructed to create an ArabMuslim cultural identity that could sail between the Scylla and Charybdis of pre-existing Byzantine and Persian cultures and avoid assimilation. The result of this perspective was to render illegitimate any political order that resembled the great empires too closely – in other words, to delegitimize any functional state. States certainly, perforce, existed. But they employed inherited (and therefore highly suspect) bureaucratic mechanisms, and so, nearly universally after the Abbasid Revolution, raised military forces in ways that reflected directly the illegitimacy of state demands upon society for manpower, resources, and cooperation: above all, slave soldiers in all their various instantiations; and secondarily, frontier tribesmen who were marginal to the sedentary core of the Islamic world and who served states more in the way of allies than subjects. In short, in the terms I’ve been using elsewhere in this paper, the framework of discourse mediating negotiations between the demands of the state and the resources of society in the Islamic world was sharia. Sharia denied, in theory and in much practice, the legitimacy of the state, and as a framework of

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discourse therefore acted as a wall rather than a conduit.36 And the impact of this structure on warrior elites was, in effect, to delegitimize them as well – slaves and semi-barbarian frontiersmen can hardly have a normal claim on social primacy – and so to put such warrior elites as did exist in the position vis-à-vis the societies they ruled of occupying conquerors rather than social leaders. The results for state formation are unusually clearly displayed by the wars of the Reconquista between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries. This is a nice case study because both sides in these wars were fighting from within the same geographic, climatic, and economic context, during the same time period, with roughly the same technology, and were in close enough contact culturally as to share many fundamental intellectual technologies of social organization across a frontier of translation. Indeed, both economically and intellectually the initial advantage lay on the Muslim side of the frontier, as the flow of both goods and manuscripts northwards attests. So most of the variables surrounding a comparative study of state formation are automatically controlled for here. Yet the consistent tide of military victory and changes in state strength flowed to the Christians. Periods of Muslim success or resurgence were marked mostly by imported waves of North African tribesmen who gave Islamic Iberian states no permanent institutional basis for continued success. The Christian kingdoms, on the other hand, steadily built up a structure of institutions that developed a sort of momentum for continued conquest and expansion that at times required little state initiative, yet also contributed to the growing strength of royal governments. Why? Because the framework for state-society negotiations over military and economic resources was framed in Christian Iberia in terms of militarized law. This is especially clear in the case of towns, which were treated as legal corporate entities and codified the results of their negotiations with royal courts in urban legal codes. The law that became instantiated in these urban legal codes specified the organization and economic implications of militia service. The militias were designed in these codes for tactical and strategic flexibility under royal direction. As James Powers notes, “This age of increasing rights and privileges for townsmen carried with it a growth of military responsibilities that was similar to the process at work in the early days of the French Revolution and the levee en masse.”37 A clearer case of Tilly’s maxim “states made war and war made states” is hard to find, and the central role of militarized law in mediating state-society discourse and thus in building institutions of central authority and shaping the path of Christian Iberian state formation is crucial to understanding how the maxim worked in this case. For it did not work in Muslim Iberia. There, state demands for resources and manpower met the intransigence of Islamic law in terms of state legitimacy. No wonder Muslim rulers turned to North African tribesmen for military force. The 36

The above paragraph is based largely on the detailed analysis of early Islamic political history in Patricia Crone, Slaves on Horses: The Evolution of the Islamic Polity (Cambridge, 1980). 37 James Powers, A Society Organized for War: The Iberian Municipal Militias in the Central Middle Ages, 1000–1284 (Berkeley, 1988), p. 97.

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comparison of Islamic and Christian towns and their relationship to the state is particularly telling. Islamic towns had no corporate or legal identity, they were merely aggregations of people whose social cohesion was provided by pre-state structures such as tribe and clan, making it nearly impossible for the state to impose any sort of institutional control or structure on the urban societies it ruled.38 Indeed, demands pushed too hard by the state produced not negotiation and legal structure but flight and disintegration. In short, the decisive difference between Muslim and Christian state formation (or deformation) under the pressure of war, and therefore in the long term success of each side’s war efforts, lay in the ideological framework of discourse mediating negotiations between state and society.

Conclusions I hope by now that I have at least begun to illustrate my point, that, to use a different set of terms, the cultural context linking war, warrior elites, and states was important to paths of state formation. This same cultural context, or framework of discourse mediating state-society discourse, also mediated other discourses: specifically, the state response to war in terms of strategic policy and the discourse that produced that policy, and the discourse about ideals of warfare that may be seen as the direct meeting point of the demands of war on society, outside of state mechanisms. Each of these discourses produced feedback loops analogous to that which produced internal state formation as illustrated in Figure 2, as well as influencing each other. I will be publishing the full model generated by these concepts elsewhere, as it is beyond the scope of this article. Historiographically, by claiming a central place in the history of state formation for the cultural assumptions and social formations surrounding early and high medieval European warfare, I hope to contribute to what I might semi-facetiously call the “Medieval Military Historians’ Intellectual Imperialism Project.” For the import of my argument, if it has any merit, is to reclaim some more of the territory staked out, unfairly, by the early modernist historians of the so-called Military Revolution. It was not the rise of the New Monarchies and the Early Modern State forming under the pressures of gunpowder warfare that mattered for the genesis of the modern state, in other words, it was the world of early medieval saints, violence sanctioned through appeals to law, and land-holding knights in shining armor that really mattered. The rest was simply epilogue – the exploration of courses already set in the medieval world. That the epilogue mattered so much for Europe and the world makes it all the more important to understand its roots clearly, from a global and comparative context. 38

Powers, Society Organized for War, p. 111; Thomas F. Glick, Islamic and Christian Spain in the Early Middle Ages: Comparative Perspectives on Social and Cultural Formation (Princeton, 1979), pp. 135–64.

Archery versus Mail

2 Archery versus Mail: Experimental Archaeology and the Value of Historical Context Russ Mitchell

One of the real difficulties in answering high-level questions in medieval military history – for example assessing leadership quality, determining true logistic capacity, determining the effectiveness of any particular “arm” of a military force – is that we are frequently left with nothing but informed conjecture regarding physical realities on the ground. It is impossible to answer “bird’s-eye-view” questions without understanding the “worm’s-eye-view” realities that determine why one formation was used and not another, or why an event in a chronicle might be perfectly straightforward, yet sound nonsensical or else reeking of literary convention when read without contextual information taken for granted by the author. Without that context to provide illumination, one is left with Ouroboros-like, unfalsifiable arguments regarding the trustworthiness of any given source when compared to others with which it seems to disagree. It was at precisely such a point of ignorance that a Hungarian colleague1 and I decided that it was necessary to perform ballistic tests against mail in order to solve an otherwise intractable problem concerning medieval archery: how effective could bowmen be against armored men at arms, particularly in the case of mail? In particular, working in the Hungarian context, correctly stereotyped as something between East and West, we were curious as to why archers seem to have been so effective in some contexts, and not others. For example, in October 1096, at the battle on the road to Nicaea during which the “People’s Crusade” was destroyed, Walter the Penniless was killed by arrows that defeated his mail shirt, whereas Jan D¿ugosz’s account of the battle of Liegnitz (modern Legnica) directly implies that armor was, while not necessarily the deciding element, nevertheless an important factor for members of an isolated contingent in surviving Mongol archery: “These then waver and finally fall beneath the hail of arrows, like delicate heads of corn broken by hail-stones, for many of them are wearing no armour, and the survivors retreat.” Saxo, on the other hand, gives an entirely different impression: “For the skilled archers of the Gotlanders strung their bows so hard that the shafts pierced through even the shields; 1

Professor Csaba Hidan, of the Karoly Gaspar Calvinist University in Budapest.

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nothing proved more murderous; for the arrow-points made their way through hauberk and helmet as if they were men’s defenseless bodies.”2 There seems to be no historiographical dispute over the effectiveness of English crusading bowmen in Prussia and Lithuania. But Gerald of Wales’ accounts of horrifically effective Welsh archers are rarely taken at face value, in spite of the fact that the weapons and armor in both cases were much the same, and that we know that heavy self-bows were quite effective against similarly armored Scottish spearmen whose tactics, like those of the Welsh and Lithuanians, centered around battle-avoidance.3 And, of course, vats of ink have been spilled in assessing to what extent and in which ways hand bow archery was effective during the Hundred Years War, which admittedly involved heavier armors than the other two examples given – where the best-equipped of the combatants are concerned. On the other hand, the range of body armor used in the Hundred Years War does have significant overlap with those used in the Neapolitan Succession Wars, in which the Hungarians made extensive use of Cuman auxiliary archers, and, depending on how one weighs the effectiveness of a lamellar corselet in comparison to a coat-of-plates, also significant potential to overlap with most of eastern and southeastern Europe throughout the medieval period.4 Clearly, physical tests were required, because a purely textual approach required us to either take our sources uncritically, or else to build upon an ever-increasing foundation of assumption and conjecture. Our target for the initial ballistic test was a post secured firmly in the ground by several of my colleague’s students, and covered with a thick layer of felt padding (an antique Kazakh blanket), over which the mail was draped. The mail itself was riveted, with round links and rivets, and made of 16-gauge mild steel. The thickness of the metal and its virtual lack of slag made us confident that it would provide results comparable to medieval mail.5 Our group fired on the target from forty meters away with composite recurve bows averaging fifty pounds draw weight. Given financial considerations governing the quality of our equipment, our rationale was that an arrow defeated by mail at long range might have penetrated at shorter ranges, but, conversely, any success of the mail 2

Albert of Aachen, Historia Hierosolymita in A. C. Krey, ed., The First Crusade: The Accounts of Eyewitnesses and Participants (Princeton, 1921), p. 75: “There Walter the Penniless fell, pierced by seven arrows which had penetrated his coat of mail.” Jan D¿ugosz, Annals, trans. M. Michael (Chichester, 1997), p. 179; Saxo, Gesta Danorum in O. Elton, ed. and trans., The Nine Books of the Danish History of Saxo Grammaticus (New York, 1905), ch. 8, paragraph 12. 3 Referring to the Scottish context: The Brut or Chronicle of England, ed. F. W. Brie (London, 1906–8), p. 285, quoted by C. J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp (Woodbridge, 2000), p. 73; W. Urban, Teutonic Knights: A Military History (London, 2003). 4 This leaves aside, for the moment, the Neapolitan Angevin use of boiled leather over mail, as well as leather armor worn as a primary defense in its own right. The relative protection afforded by such armor is a study in its own right, but it is safe to say that the addition of a layer of boiled leather significantly enhances the protection enjoyed by an individual in mail. 5 These samples are based on average wire thicknesses of medieval mail, and thus not comparable to the much lighter and finer mail that often survives from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries. The riveting method is slightly different, but of comparable strength when made correctly.

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in turning arrows at short range would also obviously apply from further off as well. Otherwise, the contest was weighted in favor of the mail, with the bows being a little bit on the light side, and the arrowheads, while well-formed, being made of very low-carbon steel.6 Each of the five archers present took turns shooting in three cycles, shooting between three and five arrows apiece. Although we had been hitting a smaller target from further away the day before, our shooting that afternoon was dismal, and we scored just over a dozen hits. As an aside, our many near misses, as arrow shafts continued to pass within a foot of the mail shirt, showed us quite clearly why a military archer might practice by shooting at a post or spear, rather than a round target.7 The results of the hits, however, were rather surprising, and took a little time to underst and. Of the fourteen hits on the armored target, only three arrows actually penetrated the mail. Each of these three arrows used 45-degree broadheads – not one of the “short bodkin” arrowheads succeeded in penetrating the mail. On further examination, two of the broadheads penetrated only trivially, to about a half-inch into the padding, and one penetrated into the blanket to a depth of about an inch and a half. The penetrations into the mail were uniformly allowed by wire failures at the rivets in the link. There were more damaged and broken links than there were penetrations: it is clear that the mail itself could suffer quite a bit of damage without its wearer necessarily being injured. It is also apparent, whether by accident or design, that the rivets serve as a predetermined failure point, which is important in assessing mail’s protective capacity.8 A mail shirt scavenged after battle was not necessarily a quality product. The post itself, although quite secure in the beginning of the test, had been battered so thoroughly that it could, even bearing the weight of the mail and padding, easily be bounced about in its hole with a small push of my little fingers. In order to contrast these results with butted mail and demonstrate the vast difference in protection afforded by the two, Professor Hidan had fired at a similar target in the week prior to my arrival in Budapest.9 The target in ques6

7 8

9

The general consensus among Hungarian archaeologists is that the draw weight of a “typical” war bow was about seventy pounds. The arrowheads were sufficiently low-carbon that they could not be made to take an appreciable edge, in stark contrast to medieval arrowheads in my personal collection, some of which obviously had very impressive edges. G. Dennis, ed. and trans., Maurice’s Strategikon (Philadelphia, 1984), p. 11. It is interesting in this context that whereas a combination of welded and riveted links was occasionally used through the end of the high middle ages, by the very late middle ages, welded mail links seem to disappear. This flies in the face of the usual assumption of a progressively increasing spiral of effectiveness between arms and armor, since a correctly welded link would have to be cut through entirely, rather than simply being deformed enough for the rivet to fail. The only non-economic answer that seems to make sense would be the possibility for such forge-welds to contain high amounts of slag, thus resulting in a relatively weak link. Historically, mail seems to have been made with several different kinds of wire links. The primary method was to take a piece of coiled wire, and secure the ends together by overlapping and riveting them. Other options included overlapping the ends and forge-welding them, or even using solid links punched from a sheet of metal. “Butted” mail in this case refers to a sort of

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tion was struck by his first shot, which blew through the links, through all the padding, out the back of the mail shirt, to lodge solidly in a sapling some fifteen feet behind the target. Even if one is able to account for differences in metallurgy, tests involving mail made with modern butted links are clearly inappropriate. Besides the surprising fact that none of the bodkin heads were successful in defeating the mail, the other surprise was that out of the arrows fired, those that were made and fletched in Hungary were sometimes successful against the mail – but not a single arrow fletched in the traditional western European “parallelogram” or “shield” style penetrated. The fletchings on the Hungarian arrows were made with a three-inch parabolic cut, which here in America is generally used only for children’s arrows (assuming that one is using traditional materials for the shaft). The other arrows were not “flu-flus,” or cut excessively large for the shafts in question, yet, when we stumbled onto the difference in penetration, we did some very basic tests, and judged by eyeball that the western-style arrows flew more slowly. This evidence begins to give us the tools to begin to understand how archery stacks up against medieval mail. To begin with, we can determine that the arrows used in western and northern Europe were generally heavier than those used in eastern and southeastern Europe. Although arrow finds for the period are very rare, we can deduce that the fletchings in use in the west were larger, because we actually know quite a bit about the quivers used among the Hungarians, Cumans/ Polovtsi, Byzantines, et cetera. These quivers were slightly tapering tubes, either round or hexagonal, sometimes with a door in the side to allow the arrows to be loaded into the quiver’s side, much like putting a shell into a pump shotgun. The important factor here is that the arrows are stored in the quiver arrowhead up, and that they hold a very large quantity of arrows.10 Although we don’t have any hard numbers referred to for the Hungarians, Pechenegs, or Cumans, the quivers referred to in Byzantine sources mention cavalry quivers holding forty arrows.11 It is utterly impossible to carry even twenty large shield-cut or parallelogram-fletched arrows in one of these quivers – the fletchings catch on one another or else are damaged and put out of order, and one gets a tangled mess, rather than a quiver that will allow for high-speed shooting.12 In order to actually keep a score, let alone the recommail whose actual existence in period is debated, consisting of links where the ends of the wire are merely pressed, or “butted” up against each other. 10 Note that this does not hold true for the Seljuks and Ottomans, whose quivers were used fletchings-up. 11 Maurice’s Taktika, p. 12. 12 Fletchings are described by their shape. Parallellogram, or “traditional,” fletchings are shaped like a parallelogram on the side of the shaft. Shield fletchings project from the side of the arrow as if they were the right or left half of a heater shield, whereas “parabolic” fletchings are roughly in the shape of half a long, round-topped kite shield. One also finds long, low, elliptical fletchings, particularly in eastern Europe and the Middle East, and these are referred to by modern fletchers as “banana fletchings,” though most modern equivalents, intended to increase

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mended forty, the fletchings may or may not be long, but must be narrow. By contrast, for example, quivers from the Mary Rose find actually use spacers to keep the arrows apart and thus preserve the fletchings – a far cry from being jostled on horseback for hours or even days on end. Because of this, and because we know that infantry archers were expected to be effective at a distance, if the fletchings were larger, the arrows must also have been heavier. If the fletchings are out of balance with the weight of an arrow, the arrow’s speed and maximum range will be severely limited.13 On the other hand, if the fletchings are too small in total area for the weight of the arrow, it becomes unstable and inaccurate past point-blank range.14 Since we must assume the competence of the archers and fletchers in period, we must also assume that they used a spine weight and fletchings that were mutually compatible – a generally heavier and slightly slower arrow in western Europe, a generally lighter and faster one in the east. The physics describing the behavior of a somewhat heavier versus a somewhat lighter arrow matches with the experimental data, and, as will be shown, also matches our written sources. The two relevant equations involving the projectiles are those for kinetic energy and momentum. The equation for kinetic energy is: KE = ½ MV2. Since the KE at impact is based on movement, and is proportional to the velocity squared, even a relatively light object can have tremendous energy if it is moving quickly.15 The other relevant factor is momentum: m = MV. Momentum is directly proportional to mass and velocity. Double either the speed, or the mass, and you double your momentum. On impact, KE and m create different effects in the target. KE is dissipated by being converted to heat or friction, or simply vibration if blunt objects are involved. Momentum, however, transfers between objects, and gives the target a push. To exploit an apt metaphor, kinetic energy is what shatters your jaw: momentum is what knocks you off your barstool. If we take two arrows, for example, and assume that one is ¼ heavier but flies 1 6 slower than the other, the heavy arrow will have about 11% more momentum, but about 7.5% less kinetic energy, than the lighter arrow. The light arrow will be more likely to rip a mail shirt’s ring apart, but is less likely to cause as deep a wound, whereas the heavier arrow will expend more of its energies pushing against the mail links, rather than ripping them apart. On the other stability, and thus accuracy, rather than range, will be significantly wider than their historical counterparts. 13 “Flu-flus” are arrows are made with excessively large fletchings, which dramatically increase the arrowhead’s “drag,” as a safety measure precisely in order to limit arrow speed and range. 14 There is a way of getting around this problem by using tapered shafts, which puts the balance point of the arrow so far forward that any instability of the fletching-end results in a rotation around the central line of flight of the arrowhead. However, in order to use such an arrow, one’s bow must use a very thin string. Period bowstrings in western Europe, made of twisted hemp and similar material, would be too thick to use such an arrow unless the original shaft were of enormous thickness, in which case the mass and wind resistance of the arrow would, again, reduce range. 15 Or, put another way, on the acceleration of the arrow into the target.

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23

hand, if the heavier arrow has sufficient energy to make it through the mail links, it is more likely to cause a grave wound.16 Although specific variations in arrow form and weight existed in various parts of medieval Europe, this does not mean that medieval archers were necessarily consciously engineering their fletchings to optimize speed versus stability: this could easily be a by-product of something as simple as a difference in nock size, and thus the arrow shaft’s thickness. We are left with too many chicken-and-egg problems to engage in any further conjecture about whether form or function was the predominant factor in determining arrow design. What is important here is that the distinction in the material culture of the archers in question seems to be precisely corroborated by the surviving written sources: shot by an identical bow, the faster, lighter arrow has greater kinetic energy, and should do a better job penetrating armor, but cause relatively shallower wounds than a heavier, higher-momentum arrow that does manage to penetrate armor. That is precisely what our sources show. Gerald of Wales’ oft-dismissed tale of horrible wounds being inflicted by the Venta’s archers in combat are nevertheless entirely consistent with the performance of a massive arrow fired from a powerful bow: “William de Braose also testifies that one of his soldiers, in a conflict with the Welsh, was wounded by an arrow, which passed through his thigh and the armour with which it was cased on both sides, and through that part of the saddle which is called the alva, mortally wounded the horse.”17 Galbert of Bruges similarly describes the very scary coterellus Benkin: . . . among these was a fiery young fighter named Benkin, expert and swift in shooting arrows. He kept going around the walls in the fighting, running here and there, and though he was only one he seemed like more because from inside the walls he inflicted so many wounds and never stopped. And when he was aiming at the besiegers, his drawing on the bow was identified by everyone because he would either cause grave injury to the unarmed or put to flight those who were armed, whom his shots stupefied and stunned, even if they did not wound.18

Joinville, on the other hand, was wounded through his harness in five places by Saracen fire darts: “By good luck, I found a Saracen’s oakum tunic; and I turned the split side towards me, and made a shield of the tunic, which served me in

16

And in either case, the simple bludgeoning effects will be noticeably greater than with the impact of the lighter arrow. Since this paper’s original presentation to De Re Militari, a living history group affiliated with the Higgins Museum has independently confirmed that the physical impact of the arrow is a serious issue, even when one need not be worried about receiving a puncture wound in the process. 17 Giraldus Cambrensis, The Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin Through Wales, ch. IV, “The journey by Coed Grono and Abergevenni”, obtained from Gutenberg Project online at http://www.gutenberg.net/etext/1148. 18 Galbert of Bruges, The Murder of Charles the Good, ed. and trans. J. B. Ross (Toronto, 1982), p. 165.

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good stead, for their fire-darts only wounded me in five places and my pony in fifteen. It chanced too, that one of my burghers from Joinville brought me a banner with an iron spearhead; and every time that we saw them crowding on the serjeants, we charged them, and they fled.”19 These are short arrows, fired with the aid of an arrow-guide, and according to the Munyat’ul Ghuzat, all agree that these dart-like weapons fly faster than regular long arrows.20 Yet they have relatively poor penetrating power, and the wounds inflicted by them are sufficiently minor that Joinville can fight in an emergency, even if on the following day he and his fellow wounded comrades are hurt too badly to don armor.21 Similarly, pseudo-Maurikios admonishes his reader to use a bow that is a bit lighter than one can pull, in order to maximize one’s possible rate of fire.22 If that tradition held, we would expect Byzantine arrow fire to be relatively ineffective against mail, and judging from their experiences with the Sicilian Normans, this appears to hold true: [The Emperor] furnished them abundantly with arrows and exhorted them not to use them sparingly, but to shoot at the horses rather than at the Franks. For he knew that the Franks were difficult to wound, or rather, practically invulnerable, thanks to their breastplates and coats of mail. Therefore he considered shooting at them useless and quite senseless . . . For this reason, as he was cognizant both of the Frankish armour and our archery, the Emperor advised our men to attack the horses chiefly . . . (emphasis mine)23

But this still leaves two significant issues with which one must deal. First, fourteen hits and three penetrations of a mail shirt generated a surprising amount of data, but experimentally it is a dangerously small sample. In order to determine whether the hypothesis has any merit, a more meaningful set of data had to be obtained. Second, it was critical to develop some hypothesis to explain the utter failure of the bodkins to penetrate. In order to do this, I performed three additional tests.24

19 20

21 22 23

24

Jean de Joinville, Memoirs, ed. and trans. E. Wedgwood (New York, 1906), ch. 10, p. 115. Available in full online via the University of Virginia Electronic Text Center. Munyatu’l Ghuzat: A 14th-century Mamluk-Kipchack Military Treatise, trans. Kurtulu< Öztopçu (Harvard University, 1989), p. 76. It is likely that the familiar descriptions of archers bristling with Saracen arrows were referring to short arrows, rather than long, for the simple reason that long arrows would have been broken off or removed as an impediment to movement. Joinville, p. 130. Maurice’s Taktika, pp. 11–12. Anna Comnena, Alexiad, ed. and trans. E. A. Dawes (London, 1928) Bk. 13, ch. 8. Cited from Medieval Sourcebook online: http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/AnnaComnena-Alexiad00. html#BOOK%20XIII. In that process we also received a serendipitous opportunity to fire upon a replica of a fifteenth-century German-style export harness. The results generally confirm the common wisdom: plate armor is nigh immune to handbow arrows. After a session of firing on the target, one archer scored a lucky shot with a short bodkin, a clearly lethal hit directly through the “temple” of the sallet. The rest of the shots resulted in a creased and battered suit of armor, and at least a score of broken arrows.

Archery versus Mail

25

The results of the second test were, in their own way, just as confusing as the first. At a range of thirty meters, recurve bows of 55, 58, and 68 pounds were used to fire upon the mail shirt, which was supported by a 6–8-ounce leather side hung onto a cardboard stand, itself supported by two posts, allowing the mail to give under impact. When the shooting was finished and tallied, we were left wondering what possible use mail could have served against archery. Seven-eighths of everything hitting the mail shirt penetrated. The only notable failures in penetration were the western-fletched arrows, and one fast-fletched arrow fitted with a wide chisel-shaped arrowhead.25 So far as bodkin arrowheads were concerned, it was the exact opposite of the first test. All hits with the bodkins penetrated, sometimes dramatically so, as was the case when two of the five hits penetrated through both sides of the mail shirt and its leather padding, and partially exited the back of the target. We stopped the test out of pity for the mail shirt, which was severely damaged, with gaping holes after only seventeen hits.26 Galbert notes the death of a squire, who was surely armed, with an arrow through the heart.27 Could this have been because of damage to the squire’s armor during the particularly fierce fighting at the gate, or was this an example of crossbow fire? The tales of Benkin and the squire do not necessarily have to be read as mutually contradictory if the highly ablative nature of mail defenses is taken into account. It must be noted that since the arrowheads were not capable of holding a real edge, the tests did not address how well the arrows handled the armor’s supporting garments/padding. Nevertheless, the striking difference in results between the two tests indicates that the backing material worn under the mail, if any, counts. The third test was designed around the “not all backings are equal” theory, and involved 70- and 45-pound composite recurves fired from 30 yards, with a gambeson made of multiple layers of quilted linen under the mail shirt, all of which was placed on a dress mannequin and secured to the ground so as not to fall over on impact. We needn’t have worried. Though a problem with the spine weight of the arrows kept us from completing the shooting with the eastern-fletched broadheads using the heavier bow, thus necessitating a fourth test, the results were sufficiently different from the second test that they would have demanded one anyway. Whereas, taken in total, the arrows in the second test had an 88% penetration rate, in the third test, only 21% of the arrows that hit penetrated (19 hits, 4 penetrations). This time around, only bodkins penetrated, and this was with the same relatively weak 45-pound bow used in the 25

Such an arrowhead would not be expected to penetrate mail in the first place, though it did cut an impressive hole in the mail links. By way of comparison, the first hit of the test came from an undisciplined student who let fly and defeated the mail shirt with an arrow tipped with a brass target point. 26 This is the weakest part of the series of experiments and one which allows for serious criticism: optimally, we would have continued each test until we had at least a hundred hits per session, but with test materials costing roughly a month and a half’s salary, truly destroying one of the two mail shirts at our disposal was simply not an option. 27 Galbert, p. 159.

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original test, in which no bodkins penetrated at all. The gambeson itself doesn’t seem to have been an issue, since it was routinely holed by shots which missed the mail but hit the target at the neck or sleeves. We became suspicious of the mannequin, however, after one of the broadheads was not only defeated by the mail, but was tossed backwards towards the archer. With mail going from fairly ineffective to nearly invulnerable to arrows, I gave the mannequin itself the hardest roundhouse kick I could deliver with the toe of my boot. Instead of the expected result – the mannequin on the ground and the archaeologist appearing for all the world to have thrown a tantrum – we were left with a mannequin that hardly moved at all, as the springiness of the foam absorbed the energy of the kick. Between the strange properties of the mannequin and the question of bow power being left wide open due to the aforementioned arrow failures, a longer test was performed solely with the heavier bow. The range had to be slightly condensed (to 22 yards) for safety purposes, and the target was placed over rolled-up carpet supported by bags of cotton wool. The target as a whole still did not give as much as a person would have when pushed, but so far as the mail was concerned, the resistance beneath it was roughly analogous to pushing on a man’s chest. A donation from a colleague also allowed me to mount up a swatch of flat-sectioned, wedge-riveted mail for comparative purposes.28 In both cases, roughly a quarter of the hits, 13 out of 48, penetrated, and as in the second test, this number included arrowheads not normally considered to be armor-piercing (in this case, triple-bladed and kite-shaped arrowheads). One hundred percent of the hits with bodkin-tipped arrows defeated the mail. Out of the seventeen hits on the mail with western-style shield-fletched arrows, only one hit defeated the mail, and that one actually skittered off the gambeson, rather than sticking into it.29 Among the fast-fletched arrows, the 55-degree broadhead and triple-edged arrowheads were universally defeated by the mail, with the kite-shaped arrowheads scoring one penetration in eight hits, a leaf-bladed arrowhead one in seven, and the 45-degree arrowheads two in three (compared to one in seventeen for the identical arrowhead on more fully fletched arrows). This test eventually had to be discontinued due to arrow failures, as the bow proved to be too powerful for the arrows’ spine weight. It is my belief, based on the data provided by these experiments, that the model holds. With a hit-to-penetration ratio of 41/13 and 33/3, respectively, over the last three tests (not counting bodkins), there is a clear difference in penetration between those arrows fletched appropriately for a horse-archer’s quiver and those that are more fully fletched, even over what is essentially 28

Preliminary results showed no perceptible difference in performance against arrows between the two types of mail. 29 The arrowheads’ cutting edges were dull. I can, unfortunately, vouch that the points were not, so the arrow would have stuck into the gambeson had its energy not been totally dissipated defeating the mail. This hit would have caused only the most trivial of wounds even without padding underneath the mail.

Archery versus Mail

27

point-blank range.30 I believe that much of this has to do with tactics. The twenty-two yards of the final test is probably the absolute minimum at which a horse-archer can safely fire on his enemy, because he is coming into the effective range of heavy javelins, hurlbats, cast maces, et cetera. So an arrow with small fletchings and a very low shear drag on the missile makes sense: horse-archers are expected to hit individual targets while moving at speed, and a faster arrow means one does not have to lead one’s target as much. On the other hand, skirmishes and ambushes aside, if one is an infantry archer engaged in mass or volley fire at medium-to-long ranges, larger fletchings are a good thing, because they do a better job of counteracting form drag perpendicular to the arrow, thus keeping it stable in flight. This is important for long-range accuracy, and especially important for density of fire against a mass of men. As the horrific slaughter at Halidon Hill suggests, whether or not the arrows in question could punch through armor may not even have been an issue, particularly in comparison to a contingent of archers’ ability to blanket a formation with incoming fire. In regards to understanding the performance of the bodkin arrowheads, the bizarre behavior of the mannequin may actually have been of benefit. Bodkin arrowheads clearly have the capacity to punch right through mail. The point of the bodkin itself, assuming it doesn’t strike wire directly and deflect in, can penetrate all the way through the armor before friction on the metal, let alone link failure, becomes an issue. Even then, if the bodkin is poisoned, as was often the case with the Byzantines and Hungarians, the mail could successfully bounce the bodkin out, only to leave an “arrow snakebite” underneath it.31 Widukind’s description of the Saxons’ shields, rather than armor, being their protection from Magyar arrows at Lechfeld also implies the impotence of the armor against bodkins itself.32 Thus, the nature of the backing itself, if any was worn, is the critical factor for resisting bodkin-equipped arrow fire. I believe that the very thick felt used in the first test resisted the bodkins better than the broadheads precisely because felt doesn’t have a woven structure to be disrupted and then bypassed, and because it, like the mannequin, is springy. In other words, unless it is cut, as was the case with the broadheads, the

30

These tests have been expressly designed in such a way as to factor out the material caveats concerning metallurgy. Therefore, these numbers cannot be used without interpretation. Given the distinctly inferior metallurgy of the arrowheads, it yet remains to be said that, if these ratios turn out in future testing to have any general validity, they show the value of the mail shirt itself quite clearly. Galbert’s description of the unfortunate squire being shot through the heart may indeed have been cited as the exception that proves the rule. And, of course, the picture only gets rosier for the target as his distance from the archer increases. 31 The Annals of Jan D¿ugosz, p. 40. Referring to Emperor Henry’s invasion of Hungary in 1051: “[The Hungarians] use poisoned arrows, which they shoot from ambushes. . . . No one struck by such an arrow will live.” For the Byzantines, see J. Birkenmeier, The Development of the Komnenian Army 1081–1180 (Boston, 2002), pp. 211–12. 32 Widukind Res gestae saxonicae sive annalium libri tres, in Monumenta Germania Historicae. ed. G. Waitz, III: 416–67.

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felt simply deforms and pushes back on the entire surface of the incoming bodkin. This is consistent with Bahñ’al-D†n’s description of crusaders marching with numerous short arrows (which were always bodkin-headed) embedded in their coat armor, and in the Taktika’s advice to adopt felt cloaks or mantles, which, though intended to protect mail against the weather, may have formed the precursor for the kabadion, which was clearly intended as armor.33 Whether the Byzantines made much use of bodkin points and short-arrows is up to debate, but there is no doubt that their enemies did. Similarly, the extremely thick linen jacks worn towards the end of the Hundred Years War would have performed similarly, based on the simple compression required in actually putting a running stitch through 25–30 layers of cloth.34 Unfortunately, I have not yet been able to put this to the test with a good kabadion reconstruction: modern sheep are bred to produce a uniform, very soft wool, which is much different from the coarser fur of their ancestors, and I have only recently secured a source for batts of wool from one of these ancient breeds of sheep. Although there were unavoidable material caveats involved in these tests, they show quite clearly that it is perfectly appropriate for period sources to differ dramatically on the importance and effectiveness of archery against armored targets: they are not contradicting each other so much as reflecting the realities of the material culture in which they were embedded. The answer to the question “Was handbow archery effective against mail?” is simply “It depends.” It is not just the poundage of the bow that counts, and not just the arrowheads, either, but also the fletchings and the complete nature of the target’s defenses, rather than just the mail itself. Unless one comes across the obvious use of a literary convention in the text, one can take the vast majority of our written sources regarding archery’s effectiveness at face value by carefully differentiating the performance characteristics of the equipment used in a given tactical context.

33

Bahñ’al-D†n Ibn Shaddñd, The Rare and Excellent History of Saladin, ed. D. S. Richards (Burlington, 2002), p. 170. The translation gives these jacks as “solid iron corselets.” I am assuming a translation error on Richards’ part, since such sergeants would have worn thick padded defenses, rather than breastplates or coats-of-plates, which would not be seen, and certainly not among infantry crossbowmen, until the middle of the fourteenth century. At any rate, iron corselets would have deflected or broken incoming shafts, rather than caught them. Maurice’s Taktika, p. 12. 34 Philippe Contamine, Guerre, état et société à la fin du moyen âge. Etudes sur les armées des rois de France, 1337–1494 (Paris, 1972), p. 279, n. 11. My thanks to Clifford Rogers for the citation.

“Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England

3 “Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England* Richard Abels

Then a great English army was gathered from Wiltshire and from Hampshire and they were going very resolutely towards the enemy. The ealdorman Ælfric was to lead the army, but he was up to his old tricks. As soon as they were so close that each army looked on the other, he feigned him sick, and began retching to vomit, and said that he was taken ill, and thus betrayed the people whom he should have led. As the saying goes: “When the leader gives way, the whole army will be much hindered.”1 (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (C, D, E) s.a. 1003) Colorado Springs, Colorado, Oct. 30, 2003 (AP). An Army interrogator has been charged with cowardice for allegedly refusing to do his work in Iraq. . . . An October 14 charge sheet accuses him of “cowardly conduct as a result of fear, in that he refused to perform his duties.” . . . In an interview . . . Sergeant [Georg Andreas] Pogany . . . said he was with a team of Green Berets near Samarra, north of Baghdad on Sept. 29 when he saw the mangled body of an Iraqi. He said he began shaking and vomiting and he was terrified he would be killed. Sergeant Pogany said he told his team sergeant he was headed for a “nervous breakdown” and needed help. After that, he said, he was not asked to go on missions. “I don’t know how asking for help qualified as misbehavior,” Sergeant Pogany said. “You ask for help and they throw the book at you.” (The New York Times, Friday, October 31, 2003, A8)

In 1984, Philippe Contamine included in what is still the best general study of medieval warfare, War in the Middle Ages, a brief chapter he entitled “Towards a History of Courage.” Contamine posed the question whether * An earlier version of this paper was given at the Annual Conference of the Charles Homer Haskins Society at Cornell University, 3 November 2003. I have greatly benefited from the insights and suggestions made by my colleagues at the United States Naval Academy, in particular John Hill and Timothy O?Brien, and from the critical discussion of this paper in the History Department?s Works-in-Progress seminar. I would also like to thank Thomas Hill, Paul Kershaw, Stephen Morillo, Janet Nelson, Ruth Mazo Karras, Alice Sheppard, Richard Barton, Ellen Harrison, Steven Isaac, and Constantin Fasolt for their criticism, corrections, encouragement, and invaluable guidance. All the errors that remain, of course, are my own. 1 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ed. and trans. Dorothy Whitelock with David C. Douglas and Susie I. Tucker (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U. Press, 1961), C, D, E, s.a. 1003, p. 86.

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courage, defined as the strength of mind or moral character of one who masters fear in the face of imminent danger, can on its own “constitute a subject of historical enquiry.” He answered affirmatively, noting that “recent examples have shown that a history of sentiments or emotions can be attempted, especially if approached from the exterior or periphery, that is to say by the study of the historical context in which they were formed and which, in a sense, conditioned them.”2 What Contamine offered, he conceded, was intended only “to mark out a trail in this little-explored historical domain.” Although the history of sentiments or emotions has since been recognized as a proper, if problematic, field of study for medievalists,3 few historians of medieval warfare have taken up that trail. What was and still is needed is a full historical inquiry into how medieval soldiers and those who wrote about them understood fear and courage. Contamine’s approach to the problem, moreover, was, to my mind, too limited. To understand fully the virtue of courage as a historical cultural construct one must also understand the opposing vice of cowardice, and even fewer historians of medieval warfare have dealt with this topic.4 J. F. Verbruggen, who pioneered so many of the central topics of discussion in the modern historiography of medieval warfare, explored, all too briefly, the mentalité of the knight on the battlefield, including the role played by fear. Verbruggen, however, was less interested in “cowardice” per se than he was in the mechanisms through which such fear was overcome.5 This paper represents a preliminary investigation into the meanings of martial cowardice in Anglo-Saxon England. My presumption going into the research was that the Anglo-Saxons had a specific concept of “cowardice.” There is, of course, no one definition of cowardice in modern American society, and one would expect that the concept of cowardice in Anglo-Saxon England would be equally multivalent. There are differences in emphasis, for example, between the philosophical definition of cowardice offered by Aristotle, which emphasizes character, and the U.S. military’s Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ), which focuses on action. For Aristotle, cowardice is a disposition of character marked by excessive fearfulness and deficiency in boldness resulting in shameful behavior.6 In the UCMJ it is misbehavior motivated by fear. The 2 3

4 5

6

P. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1984), pp. 250–59. Anger’s Past, a splendid volume of essays edited by Barbara Rosenwein exploring the cultural and social meanings of anger in the middle ages, demonstrates the potential of such an approach. Barbara Rosenwein, ed., Anger’s Past (Ithaca, NY, 1998). Cf. the interesting debate by C. Cubitt, B. Rosenwien, S. Airlie, M. Garrison, and C. Larrington over the problem of the history of emotions for the early middle ages in Early Medieval Europe 10 (2001), 225–27. This is quite evident from perusing the bibliography of William Ian Miller’s essay on the meanings of courage, The Mystery of Courage (Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press, 2000). J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages from the Eighth Century to 1340, rev. 2nd ed., trans. S. Willard and R. W. Southern (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 38–49. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 2:7, 3:7–8. David Peers, “Courage as a Mean,” in Amélie O. Rorty, ed., Essays on Aristotle’s Ethics (Berkeley, CA, 1980), pp. 171–87.

“Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England

31

“Manual for Court Martial” acknowledges that “fear is a natural feeling of apprehension when going into battle” and that “the mere display of apprehension does not constitute” the offense of cowardice. “The refusal or abandonment of a performance of duty before or in the presence of the enemy as a result of fear” does, and distinguishes the offense of cowardice from mere dereliction of duty.7 What Aristotle and the U.S. military agree upon is that military cowardice is a specific condition that involves a soldier’s failure to act as he ought because of excessive fear of danger. As understood in our society, cowardice arises from fearfulness. The evidence drawn from the Old English corpus, however, challenges the assumption that the Anglo-Saxons, at least before the mid eleventh century, had a distinct conception of martial cowardice in the sense of a specific moral failing concerned with fearfulness in war. As presented in Old English vernacular texts, actions that one might term “cowardly” were presented as failures to perform military duties owed a lord due to insufficient love and loyalty. Rather than a personal and subjective response to the emotion of fear, “cowardice” so conceived was socially condemned behavior, structured by expectations arising from the lordship bond and by cultural assumptions about manliness. There is less of a focus on lordship in the insular Latin texts by ecclesiastical writers, especially those heavily influenced by classical models. In the works of Bede, Aldhelm, Ælfric of Eynsham, and Archbishop Wulfstan of York the disposition toward ignauia and segnitia is unsurprisingly moralized and given religious significance. Nonetheless, even in these texts “cowardice” was understood as a disinclination to fulfill one’s obligations because of sloth and the effeminacy associated with it rather than debilitating timidity. Given the heroic rhetoric that suffuses so much of Old English poetry and prose, one might expect to find a clear binary opposition between bravery and boldness, on the one hand, and cowardice and timidity on the other. But this seems not to be the case. The problem is more complicated. While Old English has a rich vocabulary for fear and terror with adjectives such as as acol-mod, egesful, fyrht, forht, aforhten-mod, anforht, forhtlic, forhtmod, and forhtiendlic to connote timidity or fearfulness, the language lacks any specific word that corresponds precisely to the modern English words “coward,” “cowardly,” or “cowardice,” a situation one would not even begin to suspect based on the many translations that use these terms.8 For most, though not all,9 Anglo-Saxon authors, actions that translators have characterized as “cowardly” had less to do with a timorous disposition than with slackness and torpor. The shame lay in a man’s willful choice, when faced with danger, to turn his back on the duty he 7 8

9

UCMJ (United States Uniform Code of Military Justice) art. 99; Manual for Court Martial, 2002, Chapter 4, Paragraph 23. Words related to fear: Jane Roberts and Christian Kay with Lynne Grundy, A Thesaurus of Old English, 2 vols. (London, 1995), 1:384–86 (06.01.08.06–06.01.08.06.03.01). Words translated as “cowardice”: 1:402 (06.02.07.07). See discussions of Aldhelm’s Prosa De Virginitate and of the Durham Proverbs below.

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owed his lord. The moral failure was the willful refusal to fulfill the duty owed to lords, kinsmen, and friends, to undertake on their behalf the hard work and risk of battle. According to the OED, the word “coward” only entered the English language in the late thirteenth century and derived from Old French coart, meaning an animal’s tail. The authors of the OED explain the etymology by suggesting that it might refer either to “the habit in frightened animals of drawing the tail between the hinder legs” or an allusion to “turning tail” in flight from the enemy.10 What one might think ought to be the primary terms for cowardice in Old English, words such as acol-mod and aforhten-mod that literally connote a fearful or timid spirit, are not. Oddly, Anglo-Saxon words that literally mean “fearful” are rarely found in military contexts. A search of Toronto’s Old English Corpus produces over five hundred hits for the word forht and its various compounds. Relatively few of these references to fear, however, are associated with war, and even fewer imply moral judgments. That an army or its leaders would feel fear when confronted by a larger host was accepted as natural and carried no stigma. Cynewulf’s Constantine in Elene, for example, is frightened (cyning wæs afyrhted) at the sight of the massive army of Huns: smitten of terror (egsan geaclad), as he surveyed those foreign hordes, the host of the Huns and Hrethgoths, that at the kingdom’s end, on the edge of the water, gathered their force, a countless throng. Heart-sorrow smote the Roman ruler; of his kingdom had he little hope, for his dearth of men. Too little strength of warriors, of trusty fighting men, had he to battle against that over-might of stalwart spoilers. (lines 56–66)11

This sets the stage for Constantine’s vision in his slumber of an angelic messenger who tells him not to “dread though foreign hordes threaten terror against you and hard war”12 assures him victory over the “loathsome host” if he fights under the sign of the cross. Constantine awakes relieved and now eager for the “terror of battle” (hildegesa) (line 113). Typical also are the passages in the Old English Exodus describing the fear felt by the men of the Hebrew “army” when they heard the sound of the Egyptian trumpets and of the Egyptian host when it was swallowed up by the sea: There dread tidings of inland pursuit came unto the army. A great fear (egsan stoden) fell upon them, and dread of the hosts (wælgrye weroda). So the exiles awaited the coming of the fierce pursuers, who long had crushed those homeless men and wrought them injury and woe. (lines 135–41)13 10 11

Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. coward. Cynewulf, Elene, in The Vercelli Book, ed. George Philip Krapp, Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records 2 (New York, 1932), lines 56–66; trans. Charles W. Kennedy (In parentheses Publications, Old English Series, Cambridge, Ontario, 2000), pp. 3–4, posted at yorku.ca/inpar/Elene_ Kennedy.pdf). 12 The Anglo-Saxon reads: “ne ondræd þu ðe, ðeah þe elþeodige egesan hwopan, heardre hilde,” Elene, lines 81–3. 13 Charles W. Kennedy, trans., The Caedmon Poems (New York, 1916), posted at

“Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England

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And then all the folk was smitten with terror; fear of the flood fell on their wretched hearts. The great sea threatened death. The sloping hills were soaked with blood; the sea spewed gore. In the deep, the waves were filled with weapons; a death-mist rose. Fearful the Egyptians fled (f lugon forhtigende), and, shunning battle (herebleaðe), they wished to seek their homes. Their boasting was humbled. (lines 446–55)

Since the poet had earlier emphasized the valor and strength of the Egyptian host, it is unlikely that he now intended the reader to view those same warriors as cowards; rather, the terror felt by the drowning Egyptians is presented as the proper response to God’s awful wrath visited upon them. Most references to fear and fearfulness are found in homilies, devotional poems, and religious epics such as Andreas, Exodus, Genesis, and the usual context is the awe inspired by God or by some divine prodigy. In Andreas, for instance, Andrew and his troop of thanes are tossed on a raging sea in a ship that is captained, unknown to them, by God himself: Then the whale mere was troubled and stirred; . . . the candle of the sky grew dark, the winds rose, the waves dashed, the floods were fierce, the cordage creaked, the sails were soaked. The terror of the tempest (wæteregsa) rose up with the might of hosts; the thanes were afraid; none looked to reach land alive, of those who with Andrew sought the ship on the ocean stream. (lines 369–77).14

The storm, of course, was a test, but, oddly enough, not of the thanes’ faith in the Lord, but rather of their devotion to their sworn lord, Andrew. When Andrew tells the divine ship’s captain that “my thanes, the young warriors, are cast down; . . . the men are afflicted, the band of the brave ones mightily oppressed” by the turbulent sea, God suggests that he land the ship and disembark the frightened thanes, who could await in safety Andrew’s return. But in words reminiscent of the Wanderer, the heroes straightway gave him answer, thanes strong to endure; they would not agree to leave their loved teacher at the ship’s prow and seek land for themselves: “Whither shall we turn, lacking our lord, heavy at heart, bare of happiness, stricken with sins, if we desert thee? We shall be despised in every land, hateful to the peoples, when the sons of men in their valour hold debate as to which of them has always served his lord best in war, when hand and shield hacked by swords, suffered distress on the field of battle in the deadly play.”15 www.sunsite.berkeley.edu/OMACL/Junius/Exodus. For the Old English text, see Peter J. Lucas, ed., Exodus, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter, 1977). 14 G. P. Krapp, ed., “Andreas,” in The Vercelli Book (New York, 1932), lines 369–80: “þa gedrefed wearð,/ onhrered hwælmere. Hornfisc plegode,/ glad geond garsecg, ond se græga mæw/ wælgifre wand. edercandel swearc,/ windas weoxon, wægas grundon,/ streamas styredon, strengas gurron,/ wædo gewætte. Wæteregsa stod/ þreata þryðum; þegnas wurdon/ acolmode; ænig ne wende/ þæt he lifgende land begete,/ þara þe mid Andreas on eagorstream/ ceol gesohte”; trans. R. K. Gordon, Anglo-Saxon Poetry (London, 1970), p. 189. 15 “Andreas,” lines 401–14: “Edre him þa eorlas agefan ondsware,/ þegnas þrohthearde, þafigan ne woldon/ ðæt hie forleton æt lides stefnan/ leofne lareow ond him land curon:/ “Hwider hweorfað we hlafordlease,/ geomormode, gode orfeorme,/ synnum wunde, gif we swicað þe?/ We bioð laðe on landa gehwam,/ folcum fracoðe, þonne fira bearn,/ ellenrofe, æht besittaþ,/

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The discourse of courage and cowardice as revealed in this and like texts is a public one in which the audience, the warrior nobility, awards honor and shame. Although greatly frightened by the “water-terror,” Andrew’s followers choose to face danger with their lord rather than abandon him; the shame of such an abandonment would be worse than death. Andrew, urged on by God, then assures his thanes that the Creator protects them and that “through the King of Glory the water terror, the tossing flood, shall be rebuked and vanquished, grow more calm,” and that “the living God never forsakes a hero on the earth if his courage fail not.” Heartened by their lord’s words, the thanes’ fear abated, so much so that they gave into their weariness and slept.16 The fear felt by Andrew’s thanes, thus, is not a sign of their cowardice, but a necessary precondition for their demonstration of loyalty, love, and trust. In Daniel it is the power of God and portents of disaster that inspire fear. Nebuchadnezzar awakens from his dream with “fear (egesa) of it upon him, and terror (grye) of the vision which God had sent him (lines 523–25),” while of Belshazzar, we are told, “the chieftain (folctoga) became “fearful in mind, trembling with terror” (Ða wearð folctoga forht on mode, acul for þam egesan) (Dan. 5:5–6). Such fear is justified and even praiseworthy. It is not depicted as a moral failing. The words most often translated as “cowardly” or “cowardice” are terms of scorn. The most common of these are earg/earh, sæne, and wac; the most explicit in terms of warfare are the rare poetic compound words herebleað and hildlata. To translate earg as “cowardly” is reasonable in terms of the historical development of the word. Certainly this is its meaning in a saying in the mid eleventh-century Durham Proverbs: “A coward (earh) can do only one thing: fear.”17 Similarly, an early eleventh-century glossator of Aldhelm’s De Virginitate explained the Latin phrase timidorum militum, “of the fearful soldiers,” with eargra cempana.18 The Middle English word derived from earg, arg, is glossed by pusillanimus in thirteenth-century texts, and the usual meaning of arg in Middle English literature is “cowardly” in the sense of shamefully fearful.19 In Old English, however, earg most often meant “slug-

16

17

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19

hwylc hira selost symle gelæste/ hlaforde æt hilde, þonne hand ond rond/ on beaduwange billum forgrunden/ æt niðplegan nearu þrowedon.” Trans. Gordon, p. 188. “Andreas,” lines 433–60: “Ic þæt sylfa wat, þæt us gescyldeð/ scyppend engla, weoruda dryhten./ Wæteregesa sceal, geðyd ond geðreatod/ þurh þryðcining, lagu lacende,/ liðra wyrðan. . . . / Forþan ic eow to soðe secgan wille,/ þæt næfre forlæteð lifgende god/ eorl on eorðan, gif his ellen deah” (Trans. Gordon, pp. 188–89). Olof Angart, “The Durham Proverbs,” Speculum 56 (1981), 288–300, at 293 (no. 22); Richard Marsden, The Cambridge Old English Reader (Cambridge, 2004), p. 306: “Earh mæg þæt an þæt he him ondræde.” Louis Goosens, The Old English Glosses of MS. Brussels, Royal Library 1650, Brussels Verhandelingen van de koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en schone Kunsten van Belgie, Klasse der Letteren 36 (Brussels, 1974): Aldhelm’s De laude virignitatis, line 805 (found through a search of the Old English Corpus). For the Latin text of the glossed passage, see note 23 below. See the electronic Middle English Dictionary, s.v. argh (http://ets.umdl.umich.edu/m/med/).

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gish” or “slothful,” though it could also convey a more general sense of opprobrium. The same is true for sæne, “slack,” “lazy,” or “dull,” and wac, “weak,” “soft,” “feeble,” “fainted-hearted,” “irresolute.” Herebleað, a hapax legomenon that appears only in the Old English Exodus, and hildlata, literally mean, respectively, gentle or slothful in war and slow in combat. The complex of meanings of all these words relate to sluggishness/laziness or weakness/ passivity/shirking, and arising from this is a connotation of worthlessness.20 There is a distinction, however, between this vocabulary of contempt and the terms most often used to denote physical lethargy and enervation such as slæwwð and sleac, which rarely appear in a military context. Earg implied willful dereliction, a shirking of duty, rather than simply a state of enervation. To translate earg, sæne, wac as “cowardly” is merely inference from context colored by expectation. Consider, for instance, how the Alfredian author of the Old English Orosius used earg. The word appears three times in the work. In two of these, the best translation is probably “cowardly,” though in both the connotation is passivity or sluggishness. Hearing of Hannibal’s approach, the men of Rome, we are told, were so “frightened and astonished” that their women grabbed rocks and ran to the walls, declaring that if the men would not defend the city, they would. This shamed the consuls, who “did not think themselves so cowardly (swa earge), as the women had before spoken of them, that they dared not defend themselves within the burh; but they arrayed their troops against Hannibal outside the walls.” (Or. IV.10). The author clearly used swa earge as an expression of contempt voiced by the Roman women, and in particular for the consuls, for their men’s terrified paralysis. If they are unwilling to act like men, the women will. The consuls respond not only by defending the city walls but by challenging Hannibal to battle in order to preserve their challenged honor and masculinity.21 In this passage, which was expanded by the translator to add the women’s challenge and consuls’ response, the label earg is an accusation of cowardice. The same may also be true of a passage in Book VI, chapter 36, where the translator, again expanding upon Orosius’s text, explains that Theodosius was able to break through a mountain pass because the enemy general foolishly had entrusted its defense to a few vile men (lyþrum monnum) who were “yfele and earge.” Earlier in the narrative, however, the term earg

20

The same is true of the Latin terms ignauia, segnitia, and segnitas, which were sometimes glossed by earh, and which are also often translated as “cowardice” when encountered in early medieval Latin texts. The primary connotation of all these terms in classical Latin was sluggishness, torpor, and sloth. Oxford Latin Dictionary, ed. P. G. W. Glare (Oxford, 1982), s.v. ignauuia (p. 822), segnitas, and segnitia (p. 1727). As Dr. Myles McDonnell observed in a personal communication, the Romans also had a less than precise concept of cowardice. 21 Janet Nelson has called my attention to a comparable incident in the Annals of Fulda, s.a. 872: “quidam comites in illa expeditione fugientes a mulierculis illius regionis verberati et de equis in terram fustibus deiecti referentur.” Annales Fuldenses sive Annales regni Francorum orientalis, ed. Friedrich Kurze, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scolarum separatim editi 7 (Hanover, 1891; repr. 1978), p. 76.

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appears without any implication of timidity or cowardice. Thus the translator characterizes the successors of Romulus as “more wicked, and more vile (eargran) than he was, and more hateful and troublesome to the people.” Of them Tarquin was “ægþer ge eargast, ge wrænast, ge oftermodgast,” “the most vile, the most lustful and the most proud.” (Or. II.2). Since the narrative neither emphasizes Romulus’s courage nor the timidity of his successors, the term seems to be used here with the more general meaning of vile or worthless.22 The Old English Orosius’s story of Roman consuls shamed into facing Hannibal in battle by the scornful words of women may suggest that a failure of will in war was seen as emasculating or feminizing the warrior. This is also the sense of an interesting passage in Aldhelm’s prose De Virginitate written toward the end of the seventh century. In chapter eleven, Aldhelm, loosely following Prudentius’s Psychomachia, advances an elaborate martial metaphor in which the “virgins of Christ” protected by the corselet of virginity and the shield of modesty battle the eight principal vices with the weapons of virtue: Virgins of Christ and raw recruits [tirunculis] of the Church must therefore fight with muscular energy [lacertosis uiribus] against the horrendous monster of Pride and the same time against those seven wild beasts of the virulent vices . . . and they must struggle industriously [nauiter] with the arrows of spiritual armament and the iron-tipped spears of the virtues as if against the most ferocious armies of barbarians, who do not desist from battering repeatedly the shield-wall (?) [testudinem] of the young soldiers of Christ with the catapult of perverse deceit. In no way let us slackly [segniter] offer to these savage enemies the back of our shoulder-blades in place of shield-bosses shields, after the fashion of timid soldiers effeminately [muliebriter] fearing the horror of war and the battle-calls of the trumpeter!23

In addition to supplying evidence of Aldhelm’s familiarity with classical texts dealing with war, the prose De Virginitate provides the clearest equation in the Anglo-Saxon corpus of military cowardice, in the classical sense of fleeing the enemy from fear, with effeminacy. The image that Aldhelm conjures of the

22

The Old English Orosius, ed. Janet Bately, The Early English Text Society (Oxford, 1980), pp. 103 (IV.10), 40 (II.2), 154 (VI.36). An English Translation of King Alfred’s Anglo-Saxon Version of the Historian Orosius, trans. Joseph Bosworth, in The Whole Works of King Alfred the Great (London, 1858; repr. New York, 1969), pp. 147, 82, 196. 23 “Idcirco uirginibus Christi et tirunculis ecclesiae contra horrendam superbiae bestiam simulque contra has uirulentorum septenas uitiorum biluas . . . lacertosis uiribus dimicandum est et quasi aduersus ferocissimas barbarorum legiones, quae manipulatim tironum Christi testudinem strofosae fraudis ballista quatere non cessant, spiritalis armaturae spiculis et ferratis uirtutum uenabulis nauiter certandum, ac nullatenus timidorum more militum horrrorem belli et classica salpictae muliebriter metuentium saeuissimis hostibus scapularum terga pro scutorum umbonibus segniter praebeamus!” Aldhelmi Malmesbirensis Prosa De Virginitate, ed. Scott Gwara, Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina CXXIV A (Turnhout, 2001), 129–33. I have followed the translation of Michael Lapidge and Michael Herren, Aldhelm, The Prose Works (Cambridge, 1979), p. 68, with two significant changes, altering their translations of nauiter and segniter from, respectively, “zealously” and “sloppily” to the more usual “industriously” and “slackly.”

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cowardly soldier turning his back and shield on the enemy because he fears the “horror of war and the battle-calls of the trumpeter” is couched in Roman military terminology and may indeed owe something to Aldhelm’s reading of classical authors. For his audience of nuns, however, what would have been of more interest is the manner in which Aldhelm plays with sexual conventions and identities: the virgins of Christ, the most perfect of women, are urged to fight against sin with manly courage and to shun the timidity associated with their sex. Athough for Aldhem virgins, like angels, transcend gender, spiritual courage, as Sinead O’Sullivan observes, “is equated with masculinity. They reject female activities and become male. . . . Aldhelm’s female heroes become male warriors.”24 There is more to this gender reversal than simply Aldhelm’s admonition that the virgins overcome fear. Aldhelm’s language also opposes “masculine” forceful activity (lacertosis uiribus, nauiter) with “feminine” sluggishness and passivity (segniter). The proposed dichotomy also underlies the Orosius-translator’s characterization of the inactivity of the Roman consuls as “womanly.” It seems to have struck a chord with later Anglo-Saxon readers of Aldhelm, as well. The connections between courage, gender, and the active/passive binary implied by Aldhelm are brought out more explicitly by the eleventh-century glossators of this text. Thus nauiter, which is usually translated as “industriously,” is glossed with uiriliter uel fortiter, that is, “manly or bravely,” and muliebriter, “womanlike,” with eneruiter and earhlice, niþlice, that is, respectively, “feebly” and “shamefully” or, in this context, “cowardly.”25 For Aldhelm and his eleventh-century readers, the virgins of Christ were not simply desexed but, in terms of the energy and courage with which they opposed sin, “manly” women. The tension between female and masculine traits and virtues manifested in Aldhelm’s martial metaphor for virginity’s war against sin appears also in ninth- and tenth-century poetic portrayals of female heroism, most notably in the Old English Judith. Aldhelm included the widowed Judith among his Virgins because she “kept the honor of her modesty intact,” despite her use of feminine wiles to ensnare Holofernes. Aldhelm excuses and praises Judith because the motivation for her pretense was grief and “affection of compassion” for her threatened kinsfolk during the “close siege” of Bethulia.26 The metaphor of the war against vice is here made concrete, and

24

Sinead O’Sullivan, “Aldhelm’s De Virginitate: Patristic Pastiche or Innovative Exposition?” Peritia 12 (1998), 271–95. 25 Prosa De Virginitate, ed. Gwara, 130, 132. 26 Prose De Virginitate, ed. Gwara, ch. 57, pp. 731, 733; trans. Lapidge and Herren, Aldhelm, p. 127: “You see, it is not by my assertion but by the statement of Scripture [citing Jud. 10:3] that the adornment of women is called the depredation of men! But because she is known to have done this during the close siege of Bethulia, grieving for her kinsmen and not through any disaffection from chastity, for that reason, having kept the honour of her modesty intact, she brought back a renowned trophy to her fearful fellow-citizens [meticulosis municipibus] and a distinguished triumph for (these) timid towns-folk [oppidanis trepidantibus] – in the form of the tyrant’s head and its canopy.” Aldhelm’s explanation of Judith’s motivation differs significantly

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Judith’s extreme act is excused by military necessity and the fear and timidity of her countrymen. Aldhelm contrasts Judith’s willingness to act with the passivity of the Hebrew males, to whom she “brought back a renowned trophy . . . and a distinguished triumph.” The contrast is underscored by Aldhelm’s omission of any mention of the Hebrew army’s subsequent slaughter of the leaderless Assyrians. Aldhelm’s Judith is simultaneously a masculine warrior hero and a feminine seductress. That Aldhelm was disturbed by the complexities of this image is suggested by his characterization of Judith’s motivation as arising from womanly compassion and affection. The Judith-poet faced the same problem of reconciling the male and female qualities of his heroine.27 The challenge was to present Judith as an exemplar of heroism while still maintaining her essential femininity. He accomplished the former, as Jane Chance has shown, through his choice of imagery and diction.28 Thus the poet characterizes her as courageous (ellenrof: lines 109 and 146), proud (collenferhðe: line 134) and bold (modig: line 334; and ellenþriste: line 133), terms usually reserved for male heroes but justified in Judith’s case by her heroic decapitation of a cruel and terrifying (egesful: line 21) warlord while in the midst of the enemy camp, an act that no man dared.29 Judith, however, remains a woman, though in some ways the poet’s Judith is less womanly than Aldhelm’s. The poet focuses on her chastity and

from that in the Vulgate’s Liber Iudith 8:11–9:14, where Judith puts aside her mourning for her dead husband in order to defend God’s sanctuary and tabernacle. Aldhelm’s treatment of Judith is discussed in relationship to the Old English Judith by Jane Chance, Woman as Hero in Old English Literature (Syracuse, New York, 1986), pp. 38–40. 27 Judith, ed. Mark Griffith, Exeter Medieval Texts and Studies (Exeter, 1997), pp. 55, 68–69. 28 Chance, Woman as Hero, p. 40. 29 R. E. Kaske observes that early in the poem Judith’s wisdom is contrasted with Holofernes’s power. However, Judith “is inspired with strength” (line 95) when Holofernes lies before her in a drunken stupor. She is elevated to the status of hero in counterpoint to Holofernes’s reduction to the status of beast. The poet underscores this by characterizing Judith as brave and bold as well as wise (e.g. lines 145–46). “Sapientia et fortitudo in the Old English Judith,” in The Wisdom of Poetry: Essays in Early English Literature in Honor of Morton W. Bloomfield, ed. L. D. Benson and S. Wenzel (Kalamazoo, 1982), pp. 13–29 and 264–8. Mark Griffith, “Introduction,” in Judith, ed. M. Griffith, pp. 87–88. Although the Vulgate’s Judith also remains behind, unlike her counterpart in the Old English poem, she acts as war leader by devising the strategy that the Hebrew troops are to follow, ordering them to draw up their lines before the Assyrian camps as if to offer battle, but refrain from attacking until the enemy discovered the decapitated corpse of their commander so that, terrified, they would flee rather than stand and fight (15:1–5). The poet’s Judith sends the warriors to battle with the simple admonition to “slay their leaders with gleaming (or blood-stained) swords, their doomed chiefs” (lines 194–95: “fyllan folctogan fagum sweordum,/ fæge frumgaras”). In seeing the poem’s Judith as inspiring the troops rather than devising strategy, I agree with C. Fee, “Judith and the Rhetoric of Heroism in Anglo-Saxon England,” English Studies 78 (1997), 401, 405. For an opposing interpretation, see Kelly Guenther, “The Old English Judith: Can a Woman be a Hero?” York Medieval Yearbook: MA Essays from the Centre of Medieval Studies 1 (2002), 9–10. (http://www.york.ac.uk/ teaching/history/pjpg/Judith.pdf), who interprets Judith’s exhortation to kill the Assyrian leaders as “specific instructions as to what they should do, rather like a military commander formulating a battle plan” (p. 9).

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wisdom rather than her beauty. Thus it is Holofernes who orders that she be adorned with jewelry and brought to his bed so that he can pollute her purity with his lust, rather than Judith who seeks to seduce him through her feminine allure.30 The poet also emphasizes, in typical heroic language, the valor of the Hebrew army, inspired by Judith’s act, in confronting and slaughtering the Assyrians, while Judith remains at home awaiting the return of the victorious men.31 In this respect the poet’s Judith is more passive than Aldhelm’s and remains more womanly. As Hugh Magennis persuasively argues, the poet successfully struggled to limit the transgression of traditional gender roles threatened by Judith’s heroism, and presented her actions “in such a way that Judith may take on the heroic role without losing her femaleness, without becoming either monstrous or some kind of honorary male.”32 If Judith’s active heroism posed problems of gender-role transgression, so did the failure of men to act decisively and violently. The problem of definitions of masculinity in the early middle ages has been tackled by Janet Nelson, who posits that Carolingian monks promoted among the lay aristocracy a new, gentler ethos that rejected violence and sex and exalted compassion, humility, and chastity, qualities that had been previously associated with femininity. The adoption of these values by certain pious laymen, notably Alfred the Great and St. Gerald of Aurillac, created anxieties and inner conflict that manifested itself in illness.33 The challenge to the “masculine” warrior ethos of honor and vengeance presented by Christian teaching is highlighted by Bede’s account of the murder of St. Sigiberht, king of the East, by his own kinsmen, who “were angry with the king and hated him because he was too ready to pardon his enemies, calmly forgiving them for the wrongs they had done him, as soon as they asked his pardon.”34 A contemporary of this royal saint, King Sigiberht of the East Anglians, shared the martyr’s name and fate. This Sigiberht had retired into a monastery he himself had founded, where he “made it his business to fight instead for the heavenly kingdom.” But when the East Anglians were

30

31

32

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Judith, ed. Griffith, lines 21–59. On the poet’s establishment of Judith’s chastity, see Patricia A. Belanoff, “Judith: Sacred and Secular Heroine,” in Helen Damico and John Leyerle, eds., Heroic Poetry in the Anglo-Saxon Period: Studies in Honor of Jess B. Bessinger, Jr. (Kalamazoo, 1993), pp. 247–64. As is often the case with Old English biblical poems, the Judith-poet greatly elaborates upon the Hebrews’ victory in battle (lines 199–320), depicting the heroic deeds of the Hebrew warriors and the grisly nature of the slaughter in far greater detail than his source (Liber Iudith 15:3–8). Hugh Magennis, “Gender and Heroism in the Old English Judith,” in Elaine Treharne, ed., Writing Gender and Genre in Medieval Literature: Approaches to Old and Middle English Texts (Cambridge, 2002), pp. 5–18. Cf. P. A. Belanoff, “Judith: Sacred and Secular Heroine,” in H. Damico and J. Leyerle, eds., Heroic Poetry in the Anglo-Saxon Period. Studies in Honor of Jess B. Bessinger, Jr. (Kalamazoo, 1993), p. 252. Janet Nelson, “Monks, Secular Men, and Masculinity,” in D. Hadley, ed., Masculinity in Medieval Europe (London, 1998), pp. 121–42. Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, 3.22.

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attacked by the pagan Mercian King Penda, they dragged an unwilling and protesting Sigiberht to the battlefield to lead the troops, “in hope that the soldiers would be less afraid and less ready to flee if they had with them one who was once their most vigorous and distinguished leader.” Sigiberht, true to his monastic profession, carried only a staff into combat. He was killed and his army scattered.35 The fate of King Sigiberht and the criticisms that Bede offered in his letter to Bishop Egbert of York about laymen who adopted monasticism, unlike Sigiberht, insincerely, and abandoned their duty to defend the kingdom with arms, perhaps indicates a measure of ambivalence on Bede’s part. It certainly implies that many eighth-century aristocrats found the Christian monastic values of forbearance, forgiveness, and restraint at odds with their military ethos. Asser’s complex presentation of Alfred as “ever victorious warrior” and saintly invalid perhaps ought to be read as an attempt to maintain his hero’s masculinity while insisting upon his embrace of a monastically influenced Christian ethos manifested by his divinely granted illness, love of learning and desire to make peace with his enemies. Asser’s otherwise puzzling account of Alfred’s behavior at the battle of Ashdown makes perfect sense if this was the author’s intention. The natural hero of this story should have been King Æthelred, who, like St. Gerald of Aurillac, refuses to engage the heathen enemy until he has finished his prayers. Asser instead focuses upon the ætheling Alfred, who rather than awaiting his brother, instead rushes into battle at the head of his contingent, “acting courageously, like a wild boar, supported by divine counsel and strengthened by divine help.”36 Here prayers take second place to courage and audacity, although Asser’s emphasis upon Alfred’s divine favor maintains the monk’s theme of Alfred’s piety. God’s favor and Alfred’s ambivalence about his masculinity lie at the heart of Asser’s presentation of Alfred’s mysterious adult affliction. As Asser tells it, this illness came as a result of the “comely” young man’s prayer that God replace his earlier infirmity, piles, with a more suitable and bearable affliction that would not be outwardly visible and make him contemptible or useless, but would still restrain his libido. Asser’s Alfred here and elsewhere is a man fighting to restrain his strong sexual drives.37 His illness gives him the means to do so without emasculating him or weakening him as a warrior. While there is some evidence, then, that among the Anglo-Saxons cowardice was associated with effeminacy, there is none that would link it with passive-homosexuality.38 The Anglo-Saxon word earg does not appear to have had the strong passive-homosexual connotation of its Norse cognate, argr. 35 36

Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, 3.18. Asser, Life of King Alfred, ch. 38. As Ruth Mazo Karras pointed out to me, Gerald of Aurillac’s biographer, Odo of Cluny, uses the term “viriliter” to describe how his hero strove against the vices. Acta Sanctorum, October VI, De S. Geraldo, Comite Auriliacensi Confessore, p. 315. 37 Asser, Life of King Alfred, ch. 74. 38 Allen J. Frantzen, Before the Closet (Chicago, 1998), p. 106.

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Scandinavian saga and legal sources, however, repeatedly draw the connection between cowardice and effeminacy. The terms associated in medieval Scandinavian sources with cowardice or lack of prowess in war – nið, argr, and ragr – also connote willingness to be used sexually by other men. These labels were so offensive that the Gulaþing Code and Gragas allowed the insulted party to refuse monetary compensation and redeem his honor by killing the slanderer.39 Although written by a Norman cleric in the early eleventh century, Warner of Rouen’s scatological Latin poem Moriuht may shed light on viking attitudes toward sexuality and shame. Warner depicts his monstrous protagonist, the inept Irish poet and grammarian Moriuht, as falling into the hands of Danish pirates while searching for his captive wife: He is subjected to insults and then in place of a wife he is forced by the Vikings [Danes] to perform the sexual services of a wife. Moriuht, dressed in furs like a bear, is stripped, and before the sailors, bear, you amorously sport and strike. Yet not unwillingly does he play Ravola for everyone with his arse. Struck by a penis, he groans, alas the unfortunate!40

The irony of Warner’s characterization of the hypersexual Moriuht as “unfortunate” is underscored by the grammarian’s willingness to be sodomized. Just as clearly, Warner believed that Danish vikings would “sport” with a captive, in particular one so lacking in martial and masculine attributes as Moriuht, in this manner, underscoring their contempt, as well as the shame that the poet ought to have but did not feel. One wonders whether this fictional account reflects what may have occurred – or what Warner’s audience feared would occur – when monks and clerics fell into viking hands. Medieval Scandinavian law codes and sagas cannot be read as transparent windows on to the culture and ethos of the viking age, and Scandinavian mythology is more ambiguous in its attitudes about gender than these sources might suggest.41 Nevertheless, the equation

39

Grágas, Staðarhólsbók (1879), p. 392, cited by Folke Ström, Nið, Ergi and Old Norse Moral Attitudes, The Dorothea Coke Memorial Lecture in Northern Studies delivered at University College London, 10 May 1973 (London, 1974), p. 6. The relevant passages from the Gulaþing Code are quoted in Carol J. Clover, “Regardless of Sex: Men, Women, and Power in Early Northern Europe,” Speculum 68 (1993), 363–87, at pp. 373–74. See, especially, Preben Meulengracht Sørensen’s discussion of sexual insults in the sagas, The Unmanly Man: Concepts of Sexual Defamation in Early Northern Society, trans. Joan Turville-Petre (Odense University Press, 1983). Christine Ward, who under the nom de plume Gunnora Hallakarva maintains the webpage “Viking Answer Lady,” provides a good and balanced overview of the question of homosexuality in the Viking Age (http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/pwh/gayvik.html). 40 C. J. McDonough, ed. and trans., Warner of Rouen. Moriuht. A Norman Latin poem of the Early Eleventh Century (Toronto, 1995), pp. 76–77. I owe this reference to Paul Kershaw. 41 Oðinn was accused of ergi, passive homosexuality, because of his practice of womanly seiðr magic and divination. Loki in the guise of a mare, according to Grimnismál, stanza 44, gave birth to the eight-legged stallion Sleipnir. This is alluded to in Lokesenna where he and his blood-brother Oðinn swap charges of perversion. Even Thor cross-dresses in the Eddic poem

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between cowardice and effeminacy raises an intriguing possibility, especially given the Christian masculinity advocated by English churchmen and fostered by Alfred in his court. If vikings regarded men who sought peace by paying tribute in coin rather than earn it in battle as shameful and “womanly” and the Anglo-Saxons did not, and if Anglo-Saxons regarded the breaking of Christian oaths securing truces and peace treaties as perfidy and pagan vikings did not, then the attempts by English and Frankish rulers to make peace with vikings would have been undermined by the two parties’ profoundly different cultural conceptions of peace-making and cowardice.42 Earg/argr could imply unmanly/effeminate behavior and, in the case of the Scandinavians, passive-homosexuality, because of the word’s secondary meaning of sluggishness. The gendered-binaries active/passive and strong (resolute)/weak are crucial here. Orosius’s Roman consuls were earg and wif lic because they were too intimidated even to order that the walls of Rome be defended. They were “womanly” because they responded to danger and challenge with passivity rather than “manly” resolution and action. To Aldhelm “raw recruits” in the army of Christ who turn their backs on the enemy and flee are “womanly,” not only because they give into their fear of the horrors of war, but because they act slackly rather than with the muscular resolution expected of a “warrior of Christ.” This returns to my point that what we would call courage or bravery is often represented in Old English texts as resolution to make good on one’s words and to fulfill duties and obligations to a lord, the proper behavior of a retainer – his side of the exchange of gifts for loyal service. Anglo-Saxon authors most often labeled commanders and warriors as earg, sæne, or wac when they were perceived as failing to fulfill their duty to their lord or showed unwarranted reluctance or sluggishness in battle. This is clearly the case in the two most famous Anglo-Saxon heroic poems Beowulf and the Battle of Maldon. A climate of fear pervades Beowulf, though, as my colleague John Hill pointed out to me, the only one who is said to flee out of fear is Grendel (lines 755–57). The essence of Beowulf’s heroism is that he boldly seeks out the monsters rather than shrinks into passivity or shameful resignation, in contrast to Unferð and Beowulf’s hearth-troop in his last battle with the dragon. When Unferð “lent his sword to a better warrior” rather than “risk his life under the warring waves,” he forfeited his glory, his name for valor because

Thrymskvida, although reluctantly and only to recover his hammer. See John Lindow, Norse Mythology. A Guide to the Gods, Heroes, Rituals, and Beliefs (Oxford, 2001), pp. 219, 265, 293–95; R. I. Page, Chronicles of the Vikings: Records, Memorials and Myths (Toronto, 1995), pp. 198, 203; Gunnora Hallakarva, “The Vikings and Homosexuality,” http://www.fordham. edu/halsall/pwh/gayvik.html. 42 This, of course, does not mean that pagan Scandinavians took native oaths lightly. I explore these topics further in “Paying the Danegeld: Anglo-Saxon Peacemaking with Vikings,” in P. DeSouza and J. France, eds., War and Peace in Ancient and Medieval Europe (Cambrdige, forthcoming).

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he failed to make good on the boasts he made when drunk.43 Unferð’s gesture is both generous and shameful at the same time; it completes Beowulf’s earlier victory in verbal combat by conceding that the hero is the greater swordsman. The poet is more critical of the moral failure of Beowulf’s hearth-troop to come to his aid in his fatal combat with the dragon, even though he had ordered them to remain in safety. Rather than “choosing battle (hilde-cystum), they fled to the wood to save their lives.”44 For the poet these men are battle-late (hild-latan), false to their oath (treow-logan), and weak (tydre).45 Even more than Unferð, Beowulf’s retainers, with the notable exception of Wiglaf, are shamed by their sluggishness in fulfilling their duty to their lord. They fail to make good on the great promises of love and loyalty they had made to Beowulf in the great hall when they drank his mead and accepted his gifts.46 The ethos of reciprocity is violated and the moral universe of the Geats shattered, as gift fails to call forth the expected loyalty and service owed the ring-giver. Wiglaf does not fear the dragon’s fire less than his companions do. Nonetheless, conscious of duty to lord and kin, mindful of the gifts he accepted, he chooses to push aside the fear and make good promises he earlier made in comfort and safety. A similar binary opposition between fulfillment and dereliction of duty lies at the heart of the discourse on heroism and cowardice in Maldon.47 The theme is sounded from the beginning. The poet tells us that when Byrhtnoth ordered each man to drive off his horse, depriving him of easy flight, and to advance on foot, Offa realized that the earl would not suffer cowardice/shameful behavior (yrhðo, a variation on earg) in his troop.48 What this entailed is immediately made clear: “Edric intended to support his lord, his master in the battle; he set off then to carry his spear to the fray; he maintained good spirit (god geþanc) as long as he was able to wield with his hands his shield and broad sword; he fulfilled his vow [or boast, beot] when he had need to fight close by his lord.”49 Byrhtnoth then sets about Drawing up the men there,/ he rode and instructed, he told the soldiers/ how they should form up and hold the position,/ and he asked that they should hold their shields properly,/ firmly with their fists, and not be at all afraid (lines 17–21)

43 44 45 46 47

48 49

Beowulf, lines 1455–71, trans. Howell Chickering, Beowulf: A Dual-Language Edition (New York, 1966), pp. 132–33. Beowulf, lines 2596–99, Chickering, pp. 204–05. Beowulf, lines 2846–49, Chickering, pp. 220–21. Beowulf, lines 2631–50, Chickering, pp. 206–08. John Hill, The Anglo-Saxon Warrior Ethic: Reconstructing Lordship in Early English Literature (Gainesville, 2000), pp. 115–28, interprets the choice of Byrhtnoth’s loyal thanes to die on the battlefield as different from and more demanding than traditional obligations arising from the reciprocal relationship between lord and man had been. “The Battle of Maldon,” trans. Donald Scragg in The Battle of Maldon, AD 991, ed. Donald Scragg (Oxford, 1991), lines 11–16, pp. 18/19. “Maldon,” trans. Scragg, line 207, pp. 26/27.

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Byrhtnoth’s admonition that his men face the enemy without fear finds an echo in the poet’s characterization of the defenders of the causeway, Ælfhere and Maccus, as “fearless warriors” (wigan unforhte, line 79). The English under Byrhtnoth’s leadership fight well and vigorously until the earl dies in combat. Then “the sons of Odda were the first in flight there, Godric turned from the battle, and abandoned the brave man, who had often made him a gift of many a horse.” Godric leaps upon the earl’s horse, the only steed on the battlefield, and flees the battlefield, followed by his two brothers. In typical Anglo-Saxon understatement, the poet adds: “they did not care for the battle and sought the wood, they fled into that place of safety and saved their lives.”50 Most of the English troops flee, believing that Godric is Byrhtnoth and the battle is lost. What now follows is a series of speeches in which Byrhtnoth’s unearge men (line 206) announce that they will “either lose their life or avenge their friend.” (line 211) As in Wiglaf ’s admonition of his companions, the theme of each speech is matching deeds to words and repaying the gifts that one has received from the lord’s love. The latter is underscored by the traitor Godric’s choice of horse upon which to f lee: the earl’s own steed (lines 238–41). If Godric and his brothers are cowards, what makes them so? Not their flight in itself. Armies admitted defeat by abandoning the battlefield. In the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle defeated armies invariably flee (the expression is fyrd or here gef lymdon) without condemnation. The Judith-poet saw no contradiction in characterizing the fleeing Assyrian host as cynerofe, brave nobles (line 311). His praise of the defeated enemy merely underscored the magnitude of the Hebrew victory. Nor is it because the sons of Odda are fearful and the earl’s unearge men are not. Byrhtnoth’s loyal thegns make their speeches in order to overcome their fear, and it is for this reason they urge each other to think only of revenge and forget all else. As the old retainer Byrhtwold declares, “The spirit (hige) must be firmer, the heart the bolder, courage (mod) must be the greater as our strength diminishes.”51 The emphasis here is on choice and resolution. The core meanings of the vocabulary of courage in this passage, hige, heorte, and, mod, is “heart”/“mind”/“spirit”, 52 and the implication is that toughness of spirit is a matter of conscious resolve. Godric, a member of the earl’s own hearth-troop, has shown himself to be slothful and sluggish in fulfilling his obligations to his lord; Byrhtwold chooses to be resolute. The poet gives no indication that Godric and his brothers had shrunk from battle while Byrhtnoth still lived, but it is clear from the poet’s presentation that they abandoned the battle while its outcome was still in question. Indeed, it was the manner in which Godric devised his flight, leaping upon Byrhtnoth’s own horse, that sealed the 50 51

“Maldon,” trans. Donald Scragg, lines 186–195. “Maldon,” ed. Scragg, lines 313–14: “Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre,/ mod sceal þe mare þe ure mægen lytlað.” 52 Janet Bately, “The Vocabulary of Bravery in Beowulf and the Battle of Maldon,” in Mack C, Amodio and Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, Unlocking the Wordhord. Anglo-Saxon Studies in Memory of Edward B. Irving, Jr. (Toronto, 2003), pp. 274–301, at 292.

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defeat, as many others followed him, believing that they were fleeing with their lord. By doing so, Godric has not only forsworn himself but his lord as well, since Byrhtnoth’s own boasts are now made empty. As Offa concluded, “Godric has betrayed (beswicene) us, one and all, the cowardly [the word is earh] son of Odda” (lines 237–38). The poet does not simply draw a contrast between earge men such as Godric and unearge men such as Offa, Edric, and Byrhtwold. He makes a finer distinction between those who abandoned their dead lord on the field of battle and those who believed that they were following him in flight. The latter, like Unferð, may have forfeited their chance for glory, but the inference is that they have not shamed themselves or betrayed their lord. This distinction may explain the inclusion of the phrase for his yrhðe in II Cnut 77, a law concerned with men who desert their lords on campaign, promulgated around 1020: “And the man who, for his yrhðe, deserts [the term is f leo, flees] his lord or his comrades on an expedition, either by sea or by land, shall lose all that he possesses and his own life, and the lord shall take back the property and the land which he had given him.”53 This clause is to be read in conjunction with the one that follows, which orders that “the heriots of a man who falls before his lord during a campaign, whether within the country or abroad, shall be remitted, and the heirs shall succeed to his land and his property and make a very just division of the same.”54 Together they offer a “curse and a blessing” respectively upon those who, like Maldon’s Godric, shamefully break their vows of loyalty, thereby forfeiting their claim to life and property, and those who, like Byrhtnoth’s loyal thegns, die fulfilling their oaths, thereby confirming their status as thegns and their right to hold their lands and pass them on to their children.55 Though usually translated as “on account of his cowardice,” for his yrhðe in II Cnut 77 does not necessarily imply flight out of fear. More probably, Archbishop Wulfstan, the author of Cnut’s as well as most of his predecessor King Æthelred’s law codes, used yrhðo to characterize as contemptible this abandonment of a lord or friends during a military expedition, much as he castigated his countrymen for earhlice laga and scandlice nydgyld,

53

A. J. Robertson, ed., The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I (Cambridge, 1925; repr. 1974), pp. 214, 215. 54 Robertson, Laws, pp. 214, 215. 55 II Cnut 77 derives from V Æthelred 28/VI Æthelred 35 in the Enham codes of 1008, which were also drafted by Archbishop Wulfstan. Robertson, Laws, pp. 86, 87 and 102, 103. There are, however, a number of significant differences. Æthelred’s legislation is concerned specifically with desertion of an army commanded personally by the king. The earlier codes differ on the penalty incurred for desertion. In V Æthelred 28 the penalty is to be placed upon the mercy of the king. In VI Æthelred 35, perhaps a draft copy, the penalty is loss of property. The earlier codes also do not use the verb fleo, “flees,” to describe the proscribed action but the less dramatic leafe, “leaves” or “departs.” The severity of the penalties relates to the final clause of V Æthelred 35 and the first of VI Æthelred, in which all are enjoined (in the language of the former): “And let us loyally support one royal lord, and all of us together defend our lives and our country, to the best of our ability, and from our inmost heart pray to God Almighty for help.” Robertson, Laws, pp. 90, 91.

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“disgraceful laws [presumably not the ones he drafted] and shameful tributes,” in his jeremiad of 1014, the “Sermon of the Wolf.”56 II Cnut 77, unlike Article 99 of the UCMJ, is not concerned with the motivation underlying “the refusal or abandonment of a performance of duty before or in the presence of the enemy.” Similarly, the Enham code Wulfstan drafted for King Æthelred in 1008 prescribes penalties for anyone leaving an army without permission, without reference to the motivation of the deserter.57 This seems to be a characteristic of Anglo-Saxon law in general, typified by the well known tariffs levied for causing death or injury based only upon the status of the victim (or, in some cases, perpetrator) usually without consideration of intention.58 This disinterest in motivation may reflect an aspect of Anglo-Saxon culture profoundly alien to our own: its lack of a fully developed sense of interiority.59 Why one abandoned a lord in need was immaterial; that one did so knowingly and voluntarily was sufficient in itself to incur shame and punishment. The flight of an army upon the death or withdrawal of its leader in an age in which personal allegiance bound warriors to the combat was to be expected, for the death of the lord dissolved the bonds that held the troop together. As one of the sayings in the Durham Proverbs put it, “The whole army is bold when its leader is bold” (Eall here bið hwæt þonne lateow byþ hwæt).60 And if a commander proved irresolute it was expected that his troops would as well. The saying quoted by the author of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’s entry for 1003,

56

57 58

59

60

Sermo Lupi ad Anglos, in Dorothy Bethurum, ed., The Homilies of Wulfstan (Oxford, 1957), p. 271 (lines 106–07). That Wulfstan here used the adjective earhlice to connote “base” or “dishonorable” is implied by the variant reading earmlice, “wretched,” “despicable,” that appears in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Hatton 113. Cf. line 182: “lyðre yrhðe Godes bydela” where the yrhðe (sluggishness? cowardice?) of the preachers “who mumbled through their jaws” is presented in apposition to the asolcennesse (sloth, laziness) of the bishops. V Æthelred 28 and VI Æthelred 35. I owe this insight to Ellen Harrison. However, Archbishop Wulfstan in the secular law code he drafted for Cnut does draw a distinction between voluntary and deliberate wrong-doing and such actions committed either unintentionally or under compulsion, which he saw as completely unlike cases. II Cnut 68 §§ 2–3. There is some evidence, however, for increased awareness of spiritual interiority among late Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastical writers, as evidenced by the rhetoric of Archbishop Wulfstan in II Cnut 84: “I earnestly entreat all men and command them, in the name of God, to submit in their inmost hearts (inweardre heortan) to their lord.” Wulfstan used this same evocative phrase, “inweardre heortan,” elsewhere in the law codes (VII Æthelred 2.1, I Cnut 4.3; 21), in his Institutes of Polity, and in two of his homilies. It appears several times as well in homilies by Ælfric of Eynsham and in those by anonymous contemporaries. The Complete Corpus of Old English from the Dictionary of Old English Project, Centre for Medieval Studies, University of Toronto, ed. Antonette di Paolo Healey (http://ets.umdl.umich.edu/o/oec/). See also the Old English Hexateuch, Deut. 4:29: “Gif ge hine mid inweardre heortan seceaþ si toto corde quæsieris.” Joseph Bosworth and T. Northcote Toller, Anglo-Saxon Dictionary (Oxford, 1898), p. 597 (s.v. inweard). Quoted by Thomas Hill, “ ‘When the Leader Is Brave . . .’: An Old English Proverb and its Vernacular Context,” Anglia: Zeitschrift für englische Philologie 119.2 (2001), 232–36. See Arngart, 293 (proverb 22).

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“When the leader gives way, the whole army will be much hindered” (ðonne se heretoga wacað þonne bið eall se here swiðe),61 is at least as old as Alcuin, who gave a variation on it in his letter to Archbishop Eanbald II: “If he who bears the standard flees, what does the army do? . . . If the leader is fearful, how shall the soldier be made safe?” (Si dux timidus erit, quommodo salvabitur miles?).62 Alfred in his translation of Gregory the Great’s Cura Pastoralis makes a similar observation: “if the general (heretoga) goes astray, the army (here) is wholly idle, when it should be striving against other nations.”63 For the main chronicler for Æthelred II’s reign, the man responsible for the C,D,E recensions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, the question was not, however, about weakness or waywardness but disloyalty. This, along with the king’s irresolution and the favoritism he showed to traitors, is the Chronicler’s – and Wulfstan’s – explanation for English defeat.64 (Perhaps this is why the Maldon-poet chose to characterize Godric’s flight as a betrayal.) Consider the passage from the annal for 1003 quoted at the head of this paper: “The ealdorman Ælfric was to lead the army, but he was up to his old tricks. As soon as they were so close that each army looked on the other, he feigned him sick, and began retching to vomit, and said that he was taken ill, and thus betrayed the people whom he should have led.” The chronicler does not imply that Ælfric (or Eadric Streona) was a coward. The vomiting, rather than a sign of timidity or uncontrollable fear, is passed off as one of his “old tricks,” an accusation of duplicity that starkly contrasts with the United States Army’s initial characterization of the similar reaction of the unfortunate Sergeant Pogany to the horrors of war: “cowardly conduct as a result of fear, in that he refused to perform his duties.”65 The 61 62

63

64

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ASC, s.a. 1003, trans. Whitelock, p. 86; G. P. Cubbin, ed., The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: a Collaborative Edition, 6: MS D (Cambridge, 1996), s.a. 1003. Alcuin, “Letter to Eanbald II,” in E. Dümmler, Monumenta Germaniae historica, Epistolae IV: Epistolae Karolini aevi, 2 (Berlin, 1895), Epistola no. 232. Letters of Alcuin, Patrologia Latina cursus completus 100, col. 345A; noted by Charles Plummer, Two of the Saxon Chronicles Parallel, 2 vols (Oxford, 1892), 2:183. Alfred, King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care, ed. Henry Sweet, 2 vols., Early English Text Society, Original Series (London, 1871–72), ch. 18, vol. 2, p. 129: “Sua eac ðaet heaford bið unhall eall ða limu bið idelu, ðaeh hie hale sien, sua eac bið se here eal idel, ðonne he on oðer folc winnan sceal, gif se heretoga dwolað.” Thomas Hill, “ ‘When the Leader is Brave,’ ” 233, discusses Alfred’s alteration of Gregory’s original text. Achbishop Wulfstan’s “Sermon of the Wolf,” written in 1014, explains the military reverses of the English and the suffering of the realm as a consequence of the many treacheries committed by the English against their lords. For Wulfstan, these treacheries culminated in the murder of one king, Edward the Martyr, and the exile of another, his brother Æthelred. Anglo-Saxon Prose, ed. and trans. Michael Swanton (London, 1975), pp. 116–22, at 118–19. Alice Sheppard explains the narrative strategy of the Æthelred-Cnut entries in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as a discourse on the failure of lordship. The disloyalty and treacheries of ealdormen Ælfric and Eadric Streona and other English leaders mirror King Æthelred’s own bad lordship, so that “the king’s disloyal lordship breeds more disloyalty,” eventually leading to Æthelred’s loss of his kingdom. Families of the King: Writing Identity in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Toronto, 2004), pp. 94–120. The New York Times, Friday, October 31, 2003, A8. The charges were soon lessened to the more

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Chronicler will not permit his villains the excuse of a timid nature. In this annal and others irresolution and weakness give way to a different and far more damning source of shame, perfidy, oath-breaking. But as I have suggested above, the two were intimately connected, since the weakness or sloth that kept a man from performing his duty to his lord was willful and therefore was in itself perfidious. The author of the entries for Æthelred II’s reign in the C,D,E stock of the Chronicle, because of his theme of treachery, made the connection explicit. Perhaps by pointing up the treacheries of Æthelred’s generals, the Chronicler was critiquing the king’s own failure of courage and will in delegating the responsibility of defending the realm to others. 66 Anglo-Saxon “cowardice,” if we may call it that, thus differed from Aristotelian and modern conceptions of cowardice. Indeed, it might be more accurate to say that the Anglo-Saxons did not possess a conception of cowardice as a specific and unique failing of character or action. War leaders and warriors were shamed not because they possessed timid or fearful temperaments but because they were seen to be sluggish or lazy in fulfilling their pledges and boasts to serve and protect their lord (or, in the case of a king, God). Their deeds, in short, failed to match their brave – and often drunken – words. Janet Bately concluded about the vocabulary of bravery in Maldon, “what bravery words there are in that part of the poem that has come down to us are linked to the hope/ expectation/intention of brave behaviour (or braveness of mind), rather than to specific actions of boldness or bravery. Not what people are, but what they need to be.”67 The vocabulary of cowardice, similarly, was linked to a lack of resolution that manifested itself in a shameful failure to fulfill one’s vows in times of danger. What made it truly shameful was that this dereliction was seen as a

common and far less serious charge of “dereliction of duty” and then dropped entirely when the physician in charge of the Department of Defense Spatial Orientation Center in San Diego agreed with Pogany’s lawyer that he suffered from a psychological disorder due to an anti-malaria drug he had taken: The New York Times, November 7, 2003, A 17; “Case dropped against American soldier initially accused of cowardice,” CNN.com, July 15, 2004, http:/www. cnn.com/2004/US/07/15/army.dropped.charges/. Even after the charges were dropped, Pogany claims that he was treated like a pariah by some members of his unit. MSNBC.com, Dec. 30, 2003, http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3840267/. 66 In the annal for 1013, the Chronicler comments that the people of London would not yield to King Swein because King Ælthelred and his Danish mercenary captain Thorkell the Tall were inside the borough. In contrast, three years later an army raised by the king’s son Edmund dissolved because Æthelred refused to lead it. Later in that year a second levy came to nothing when Æthelred suddenly left it because of rumors of a plot against him in the ranks. Cf. Ælfric of Eynsham’s homily, “Wyrdwriteras us secgað ða ðe awritan be cyningum,” in Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection, ed. John C. Pope, Early English Text Society, Original Series 259–60 (London, 1967–68) 2:725–33, which justifies the practice of king’s deputizing generals to lead their armies, and seems to be replying to contemporary criticism of King Æthelred. On Ælfric’s general attitude towards war and his concern that the lay nobility perform its military duty, see John Edward Damon, Soldier Saints and Holy Warriors: Warfare and Sanctity in the Literature of Early England (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 192–246. 67 Bately, “The Vocabulary of Bravery,” p. 294.

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matter of choice. This is not to say that the Anglo-Saxons ignored the power of fear. Fear was the proper and expected response to divine prodigies and to the terrors of the sea. Fear, it was acknowledged, was felt by soldiers when they faced a superior enemy in battle, and there was no shame in following one’s lord in flight from the battlefield. But the Anglo-Saxons did not credit inner fear with the motive power to override a soldier’s rational will, as Aristotle and modern conceptions of cowardice do. To give in to fear was a matter of choice; it was an unmanly sluggishness of will. To an Anglo-Saxon audience, Beowulf’s hearth-troop hiding in the woods while their lord engaged in mortal combat were shirkers. This was probably the view throughout the Anglo-Saxon period. But in the context of the military disasters that marked the reign of King Æthelred II, behavior that would have earlier been viewed as a failure of nerve was now characterized as a species of perfidy, a willful betrayal of the lordship bond. This was less dramatic a shift than one might think. To accuse a man of treachery was certainly more damning than to dismiss him as lacking resolution, but, in a sense, the two accusations inhabited the same moral sphere. For the shame of both arose from a man’s willful failure to fulfill his duty to his lord.

Cowardice and Fear Management

4 Cowardice and Fear Management: The 1173–74 Conf lict as a Case Study1 Steven Isaac

“No athlete can fight tenaciously who has never received any blows; he must see his blood flow and hear his teeth crack under the fist of his adversary, and when he is thrown to the ground he must fight on with all his might and not lose courage. The oftener he falls, the more determinedly he must spring to his feet again. Anyone who can do that can engage in battle confidently. Strength gained by practice is invaluable: a soul subject to terror has fleeting glory.” (Roger of Howden, Chronicle2)

A more shrewd historian than myself once reminded me that loyalty is the sort of thing usually more measurable in the breach than in the proof. The same lesson holds true for courage, which may well be more definable by its often unspoken counterpart, cowardice. An understanding of cowardice does not, of course, yield an immediate counter-image of courage. As William Miller’s recent essay aptly demonstrates, combatants have long recognized that fear abounds even among those deemed courageous. A soldier of the American Civil War demanded to know in words that might still apply today: “What is a coward, anyhow? Cravens, and dastards, and poltroons, we know at sight. But who are the cowards? And how do we distinguish them from heroes? How does God tell?”3 Obviously, Roger of Howden felt he had a piece of the answer (or more correctly, he had found an answer in the Epistles of Seneca, whom he was quoting). His commentary above came as he praised Henry II’s sons for their successful apprenticeship in the rough politics of the Plantagenet dominions. He set down these words at an interesting historiographical juncture: namely, when a growing number of authors were less likely to be secluded monks, but rather clerics fully immersed (drowning, even?) in the life of the court, or wholly 1

2 3

A number of readers have helped in the gestation of this article, and the editors of the JMMH have given invaluable comments and critiques. To them all, I extend my thanks for improving the argument. It goes (almost) without saying that any weaknesses and errors that remain are wholly my responsibility. Roger of Howden, Chronica, vol. 1 (London, 1862), p. 166. William Miller, The Mystery of Courage (Cambridge, MA, 2000), p. 3.

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secular authors writing as often in their vernacular language as in Latin. Western Europe thus had several literary streams converging at this point. The literary output of chivalric culture was reaching a first crest and, combined with the already rich sources of classical writers and Christian scriptures that medieval historians mined, these writings provided no shortage of exemplars that, it was hoped, would inspire medieval warriors. The sought-after inspiration had a particular goal: to persuade the person facing combat that the impending discomfort of minor wounds, mutilation, wounds which might lead to death, and, of course, the risk of immediate death itself, were better to face than the shame, the ignominy, of flight. Like their twenty-first-century counterparts, the shapers of twelfth-century military culture expected warriors to be frightened. Somehow, medieval combatants had to be convinced that Monty Python’s advice to “run away” was not in their best interest. Even a cursory perusal of twelfth-century sources, however, also demonstrates that retreat from battle, even a refusal to fight, might not carry with it some sort of inherent shame. Like the nineteenth-century soldier above, his medieval predecessors understood the issue defied simple categories. It almost goes without saying, then, that one cannot look at courage without examining cowardice. And vice-versa.4 The conflict that swept through the Plantagenet dominions in 1173–74 provides one of the earliest major arenas in which we may observe these dynamics being played out and subsequently being recorded by knowledgeable parties, and my intent in this article is to use the 1173–74 conflict as a laboratory in which to explore medieval assumptions about cowardice and fear. If we remain content with Antonia Gransden’s categories, at least four types of historian – secular, romance, satirical, and religious – narrate these events, complete with assumptions about what constituted cowardly and courageous behavior.5 Nearly all were paragons of medieval historiography. Roger of Howden’s long

4

Philippe Contamine’s War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford, 1984), p. 250, effectively pointed a generation of historians toward this topic when he answered affirmatively his own question of whether a history of something so intangible as courage could be, and should be, attempted. The subject naturally appears in any study of chivalry, but the most directly focused analysis is Miller’s The Mystery of Courage. Miller stresses that some understanding of cowardice is the necessary corollary to any conclusions about courage. In addition, he points out the first step, especially of military historians, in any analysis: “All scholarly books require by convention a craven gesture right at the start, a desperate effort to plead the limits of expertise and knowledge to ward off figurative beatings anticipated down the road.” Miller, pp. ix–x. Military historians have naturally focused on the courage/cowardice dichotomy, especially since it was the implicit theme of John Keegan’s The Face of Battle. Victor Davis Hanson, The Western Way of War (Berkeley, 1989), likewise dealt with the question in his study of hoplite warfare. Not surprisingly, J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, trans. Sumner Willard and R.W. Southern, 2nd English ed. (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 36–49, 177–81, showed the link superbly in his analysis of how fear actually led to more effective formations. Also see Richard Kaueper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999), pp. 165–66. 5 Antonia Gransden, Historical Writing in England, c.550–c.1307, vol. 2 (London, 1974), pp. 222, 247.

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career with Henry II’s court gave him a better understanding of the agendas, the fears, and the standards by which the laity were likely to be shaped. The same holds true for the Gesta Regis attributed to Benedict of Peterborough, but which still remains likely to have come from Howden as well. Ralph of Diceto likewise spent time at Henry II’s court and on the continent, and his post at St. Paul’s in London hardly constrained his interests; in fact, his strong friendships with Norman ecclesiastics explain the details he could give about events there. Three of the great vernacular histories of the twelfth century (Jordan Fantosme’s Chronique, the Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal and the Song of Dermot and the Earl) also present us the opportunity to gain clearer insights into the laity’s assumptions about behavior that qualified as cowardly.6 The works of Walter Map and Gerald of Wales yield up similar information, although composed in Latin, thanks to the incisive social criticism that each was prone to deliver. Finally, even the monastic chroniclers of this epoch suffer little from any real seclusion. Robert of Torigni, as abbot of Mont-Saint-Michel, had occasion to travel around Normandy, even to England, and his interest in the quarrels of Henry II and his sons led to in-depth coverage of the 1173–74 conflict. William of Newburgh, although he apparently may have never left his region of Yorkshire, has long held a premier place among medieval chroniclers thanks to his critical acumen, being one of the earliest critics of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s fanciful history. Even a recent suggestion by John Gillingham that William may have been a bit less objective than is normally allowed still admitted that his judgments were applied rather evenly.7 Unfortunately, there is one significant gap in the sources. Henry II’s foes are wholly under-represented in the surviving histories, chronicles and poems. The great historical works of the French court date from much later, and not surprisingly, focus more on the achievements of Philip II than the setbacks of Louis VII. Geoffrey de Vigeois’ account, normally so full of detail and analysis, falls surprisingly short in his coverage of the 1173–74 war.8 This is all the more lamentable since, of course, the events that might draw forth charges of 6

7

8

I am referring here of course to the benefits pointed out by Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, that “among the best of the most reliable sources are those written in the vernacular . . . They provide a clear and distinct terminology.” pp. 13–14. Admittedly, the clearest witness to secular ideals, the Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal, was composed more than four decades later and with a convenient vagueness about these events. But the effort by the Marshal or his biographer to gloss over such a convoluted passage in his life testifies again to the event’s importance in testing the boundaries of acceptable values. See David Crouch, William Marshal (New York, 1990), p. 38. For most of the points above, see Gransden, Historical Writing, pp. 219–68. Also, John Gillingham, “Two Yorkshire Historians Compared: Roger of Howden and William of Newburgh,” Haskins Society Journal 12 (2002), 15–37. Compare for instance, his coverage of the conflicts between Henry’s sons and, eventually, the king himself, in the early 1180s, which approaches almost the status of a journal in its detail. Geoffroi de Vigeois, Chronica, ed. Martin Bouquet, Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France (Paris, 1879), 12:443, and the full version of Geoffroi de Vigeois in Philippe Labbe, Novae Bibliothecae Manuscript. Librorum, vol. 2 (Paris, 1657), p. 320.

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cowardice are rarely seen in the same way by different eyes, especially those with different political sympathies. Not only could chivalric culture boast by these years a growing body of literature that promoted valor, but it had given birth to the almost regular circuit of tournaments where, because of the quite real potential for fatalities, the replication of battlefield conditions came as close as one might reasonably expect. Actual combat, however, involved more than just knights: paid infantry appeared, even dominated, amid the battles and sieges, and townsfolk and peasantry fought with distinction. Medieval chronicles gave repeated praise to all three groups in the campaigns of the war for choosing to fight when other options also existed. Most of all, though, Henry II himself garnered attention – primarily for not being overborne by the tide of familial and baronial defections, augmented as they were by the array of external foes planning to invade. The tenor of the chroniclers (who all supported Henry over his sons) was that, had he chosen to capitulate in some fashion, it would have been understandable, not cowardly. Instead, he performed as a model of resolution, and by thwarting personal fear, triumphed against all odds and expectations. The odds were indeed formidable. After two decades of nearly continuous success against secular opponents, Henry had quite a list of aggrieved or worried neighbors: the most important was his nominal overlord on the continent, King Louis VII of France, but there were also the strategically critical counties of Blois, Boulogne, and Flanders, who together ringed Henry’s territories to the north and east. To the far north, Henry’s relations with William of Scotland were sufficiently bad that the mere mention of that king’s name could trigger one of Henry’s abusive paroxysms of rage. In the winter of 1172–73, however, Henry might have seemed just as unstoppable as ever when he secured his long-standing claim to Toulouse. His new vassal demonstrated his loyalty, though, by revealing to Henry the existence of a plot against the king by his wife and three eldest sons.9 All three sons had been given titles within the “Angevin Empire” but little else, and certainly nothing that might give them the wherewithal to pursue independent policies. The younger Henry, already anointed as king of England and duke of Normandy in conjunction with his father, smouldered over this treatment, and such embers of resentment were quite skillfully fanned by his father-in-law, Louis VII. Raymond of Toulouse’s revelations apparently spurred whatever plans had been made into a set of high-speed chases. The younger Henry fled from his father’s court at Chinon, and Henry II gave chase across most of Anjou and Normandy before the Young King obtained the safety of his father-in-law’s lands. The young Henry’s headlong flight excited no pejorative comment among the contemporary chroniclers; indeed, one gets the sense that observers saw a bit of daring in the very defiance of running beyond Henry II’s reach. Moreover, as Jacques Boussard pointed out some time ago, the combined distance and speed of the young

9

Geoffrey de Vigeois, Chronica, in Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France, 12:443.

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king’s escape testify to the fact that the whole business had been pre-arranged, with relays already in place along the route.10 Queen Eleanor meanwhile encouraged Richard and Geoffrey to join their brother in Paris, and sent them ahead of herself. She was making her own way there more surreptitiously, disguised as a man, when Henry had the immeasurable good fortune to capture her. Once word spread that Henry II’s own family had turned against him, the aggrieved and the worried came together to cement an alliance. The tide against Henry only seemed to grow stronger as major barons in Normandy and England declared their defections; and in ever-rebellious Poitou several leading families seized the chance to break free from Henry’s tightening control.11 By April of 1173, seemingly out of nowhere, Henry II faced odds that staggered contemporary observers. Walter Map judged this Absalom-style rebellion far greater in scale than the original, and the History of William Marshal declared that this war of three kings “was such that never was its like seen before.12 The accounts of the next year or so of campaigning actually give few instances of clear-cut cowardice. The young king’s flight, noted above, was a necessary first step to inaugurating any campaign against Henry II, but none of the narratives suggest even a hint of cowardice in the cross-country chase. The most likely example, instead, is Robert of Leicester, who bolted from his castle at Breteuil simply when Henry II passed nearby on his way to raise the siege of Verneuil. On the whole, the war itself was marked by pragmatic (one might even say scientific) decision-making, punctuated by occasional displays of overconfidence. But cowardice, particularly as it was perceived or even projected by the participants, still played a key role in both strategic and tactical decisions. Indeed, the fear merely of appearing cowardly helped bring the king of Scotland into the coalition of Henry’s foes. William the Lion prevaricated when first approached about joining the Young King’s cause, enquiring instead of the elder Henry whether his help might be worth the return of Northumberland to Scottish control. Henry saw more extortion than genuine aid in this offer, and his response, although at first seemingly full of bluster, was more than braggadocio. “Tell the king of Scotland that I am in no anxiety about any war my son is now waging against me, nor about the king of France and his men, nor about the count of Flanders, who is invading my lands not for the first time.” Henry went on to stress through the envoys that “He was not a fugitive from his land, nor 10

Jacques Boussard, Le Gouvernement d’Henri II Plantagenêt (Paris, 1956), p. 475. It is worth noting, however, that he simply may have been able, as king himself, to “requisition” whatever horses he came upon during his dash northward. 11 Gesta Regis Henrici Secundi, 1 (London, 1867), pp. 41–45; Roger of Howden, 2:46; William of Newburgh, 170. 12 Walter Map, De Nugis Curialium, ed. and trans. M. R. James (Oxford, 1983), pp. 278–80; History of William Marshal, ed. A. J. Holden, trans. S. Gregory, vol. 1 (London, 2002), lines 2223–4. One can also sense perhaps that the speed of events overtook the conspirators if, as related by Jordan Fantosme, Louis VII indeed had to be persuaded that this was the opportunity everyone in the coalition had sought. Jordan Fantosme, Jordan Fantosme’s Chronicle, ed. and trans. R. C. Johnston (Oxford, 1981), lines 31–60.

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had he become an outcast.”13 Although usually happy to accept comparison with the David of scripture,14 Henry in this case wanted no one to hear any echoes of David’s flight into the wilderness. His uncompromising stance was thus a calculated risk, a threat that if successful would have prevented outright hostilities. It failed, however, to keep his northern borders quiet because William’s court had a climate different from what Henry anticipated. When the “young and untutored” knights of William’s court heard Henry’s snub, they upbraided their own king, advising a like show of confidence. William was swept along in the current and, when older members of his court let show their reluctance for war with Henry, the Scottish king swore that their “cowardice” would not deter his plans. Earl Waltheof countered, “Do not think that I speak thus out of fear nor that, as long as life lasts, I shall let you down if war comes.” He stressed rather that the Scots were unprepared: “We are not well versed in war and that is what frightens me.”15 There is a later indication in Fantosme’s account that William may well have thought better of opening hostilities with Henry, but by then he could not withdraw. Once his defiance of Henry was clear, “he could not abandon [the project] except by great cowardice.”16 Herein lies one of the key dynamics of the 1173–74 war: the apprenticeship of chivalry (i.e. tournaments) sought to instill a particular form of courage, an individual valor most visibly demonstrated in the joust, but the complexity of warfare meant that even in the mêlée, victory belonged more and more to those who struggled not merely as individual warriors, but as part of a system. At more than a few of the tournaments attended by William Marshal and the young king, victory went not to the daring individual, but to carefully utilized and husbanded units. Contemporary with these developments, Guiot de Provins complained that knights were being displaced in combat by more prosaic elements: the sergeant, the archer, even the engineer.17 Earl Waltheof undoubtedly foresaw that the coming warfare would pivot on how the latter types performed. The ability of Wark, Alnwick, Carlisle, and Prudhoe to withstand Scottish attack testified to the earl’s prescience. With the campaigning season already upon them, there was no time, of course, nor any feasible way, for the Scots to become sufficiently versed in siegecraft. William understood this, even if he publicly mocked Waltheof ’s counsel. Before committing to the coalition, he asked Philip of Flanders for contingents of his men with skill in reducing fortresses.18 Perhaps some of the knights of William’s court had experienced the 13 14 15 16 17 18

Fantosme, lines 342–45, 372. Martin Aurell, L’Empire Plantagenêt 1154–1224 (Perrin, 2003), 35. Fantosme, lines 378–406. Fantosme, lines 679–80. Guiot de Provins, “Bible,” ed. John Orr, Les Oeuvres de Guiot de Provins (Manchester, 1915). The earl is, of course, right on the razor’s edge between cowardice and commendable caution. Miller, in the introduction to his The Mystery of Courage, points out that good generals do see their weak points and guard them. The problem in the case of at least one general of the American Civil War was that he expended so much effort on protecting these weak spots that he never developed the chance to go on the offense.

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sort of training that Roger of Howden advised, the sort of conditioning that one could acquire in tournaments. Certainly, their allies gathered in Paris had, not least among them the Young King himself and Philip of Flanders. What, then, had that particular school of hard knocks taught them about cowardice? This: that simple flight amid the vicissitudes of the mêlée did not suffice to earn shame. Throughout William Marshal’s biography, renowned warriors faced no opprobrium in fleeing overwhelming odds. William himself may have always stood his ground, but if so, in several cases his opponents were in such expectation of flight on his part that they had to pause and form new strategies against him. If flight then was common enough, even expected as Stephen Morillo has amply pointed out in his article, some further factor was necessary to the equation before charges of cowardice could be leveled and sustained. That other ingredient may have been simply a lack of zeal in rushing to battle; to be the “flower of chivalry” one had to “most readily obey the call of valour.” Thus praise went also to Amaury of Meulan, who “was no sluggard on the field of combat.”19 In Jordan Fantosme’s account, he lauded the arrival of the aging earl of Arundel, “never one for dallying,” in time for the rout of the Flemings near Fornham.20 Even critics like Gerald of Wales admired the speed with which Henry II flung himself into all his affairs. And Fantosme, taking some liberty with Henry’s actual tactics, would have us see the king riding out “against them with all speed” as soon as his foes banded together.21 If by this phrase, Fantosme means that Henry struck quickly, he is wrong. Instead, the English monarch spent most of April 1173 waiting. Relying on the steadiness of his hired Brabançons, Henry let the rashness of his enemies work to their own undoing. These professional soldiers, renowned for methodical and innovative techniques in combat, were the king’s mainstay precisely because they were paid in coin rather than operating in the insecure economy of glory and prestige. They were doubtless content to enjoy a bit of “Sitzkrieg.” In contrast, William the Lion could scarcely be bothered to halt his invasion for more than four days at a time in order to besiege the garrisons of northern England. Instead, he diluted his own forces by leaving the sieges behind and pushing further into Northumberland. This impetuous advance demonstrates another legacy of the tournament’s training: the world of tourneying endeavored to train its aficionados to opt reflexively in the moment of “fight or flight” for the combative option, particularly in the hope that the unhesitating assault would drive all before it.22 In many cases, of course, such a choice was, to put the best face on

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History of William Marshal, vol. 1, lines 1886–87, 4511–12. Fantosme, line 1012. Gerald of Wales, De Principis Instructione Liber, in Giraldi Cambrensis Opera, vol. 8, ed. George Warner (London, 1891), p. 214. Fantosme, line 65: “Li reis Henri chevalche cuntre els a espuruns . . .” 22 Hesitation in battle is a problematic action, and how that action was “read” has a great deal to do with how soldiers viewed their commanders. Henry II was methodical, and it was respected. William the Lion, epithet notwithstanding, still had something to prove versus his opponents.

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it, counter-productive. It certainly was for William’s cause. He had to keep up the appearance of seeking the decisive battle, of chasing gloire, to satisfy a necessary portion of his army. The real talent, of course, was to be able to measure risks pragmatically; it was, after all, not expected that a warrior throw himself uselessly against impossible odds.23 In the spring of 1173, once the two camps had clearly formed, one might expect Henry II to have judged himself up against just such odds. As noted above, his contemporaries certainly did. Recalling these weeks several decades later, Gerald of Wales described the king’s state: In this hopeless conflict the king began to be so deeply afflicted that neither he himself, nor any one else, could ever suppose that his fortune would rise again. For since his domestics were his enemies, and since the enmity of those of the same family is among the worst of human plagues, this added to the weight of his grief and despair. Those soldiers whom he had selected for his bed-chamber, men in whose hands he had placed both his death and life, were abandoning him in a hostile spirit almost every night to join his sons, and were sought for in vain in the morning.24

This sort of despondency, medieval commanders well knew, could be a disease leading straight to collapse. On the other hand, “It’s very true that joy and happiness enhance a man’s wisdom and thinking,” according to the History of William Marshal.25 In one of his “courtiers’ trifles,” Walter Map told of how one desperate group of men were able to bring back their former leader from retirement at Cluny. By winning a succession of small victories, he enabled them to “convalesce,” and thereby to come out of their depression.26 For his own therapy, Henry II turned to the hunt, apparently doing little else from April through July. Thomas Jones’ monograph of the 1173–74 war proposes that Henry was using his known love for the hunt as an excuse to escape prying eyes, that in fact as he daily roamed the countryside around Rouen, Henry was actually meeting with his subordinates and issuing the orders which quietly mobilized his considerable resources. Jones admits that this is only supposition.27 Up to a point, however, the chroniclers and Henry’s own Pipe Rolls do support this theory. The Gesta Regis describes Henry II as “fearing” the traps of the French, but this clearly refers to a strategic respect for his foes. The author goes on to describe Henry as restocking his frontier fortresses and bringing many of them up to battle-readiness with new earthworks and hoardings. In

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Stephen Jaeger, in an analysis of chivalric tales, has shown that knights could indeed feel fear; they just could not show it. The latter was the true transgression. “Notes Toward a Sociology of Fear in Courtly Society,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 81 (1984), 49. On such expectations, see Stephen Morillo, “Cultures of Death: Warrior Suicide in Europe and Japan”, The Medieval History Journal 4 (2001), 241–57. Gerald of Wales, De Principis Instructione Liber, in Opera, 8:163–64. History of William Marshal, vol. 1, lines 1485–86. I have preferred here “wisdom” to Gregory’s choice of “capacity” for sens in the original. Walter Map, p. 342. Thomas Jones, The War of the Generations: The Revolt of 1173–4 (Ann Arbor, 1980), p. 109.

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addition, his chancery was busy sending admonitions to castellans across the realm to do likewise.28 The Pipe Rolls of 1173–74 show a great deal of military equipment being transferred across England by Henry’s order. In particular, the garrisons along the Welsh border, which Henry regarded as apparently secure after the 1171 treaty with Rhys ap Griffith, were thinned out; archers, crossbowmen, and engineers were moved, with several large contingents of sergeants being sent directly to Normandy. Likewise, heavy machines such as mangonels were requisitioned. Given the numerous payments for locating and using vessels all along the southern coast, it seems much of this material was transferred to the continent. Vessels from the northeastern coasts were transferred south to help in all the transport duties.29 Henry II’s own confidence, if we accept that it sank as low as Gerald of Wales thought, was clearly restored once he had given himself the technological, perhaps even the numerical, edge in this particular theater. To his barons he outlined his intentions: to take advantage of his enemies’ overconfidence. “A siege-engine is a better weapon against foes in the full flush of insolence than a half-hearted attack when they are not so full of valor.”30 Perhaps Henry knew full well that his seeming inactivity helped incubate his foes’ overconfidence. Could he have tried to have it both ways: while he played no David to William of Scotland, did he entice his son, Absalom-like, into thinking he would be easier to eliminate as soon as the Young King had gathered enough forces? Certainly, Henry’s well-earned reputation called for an impressive collection of opponents to gather before they could feel brave enough to fight him within his own domains. Informed observers knew that a proven commander was an inestimable aid in preventing cowardice among the rank and file troops. “My lords,” declaimed the Marshal’s biographer, “I can tell you for certain that one brave man’s prowess puts heart into a whole great army; because of him, and his skill at arms, they fought so bravely that they were worth twice the force they were.”31 In this area, Henry was well-served, especially in the persons who commanded his northern garrisons. Roger Stuteville was commended as “no coward, nor wrong-headed about the art of war, nor less than chivalrous in his conduct.” At the same time, however, “no wiser, more balanced, more noble warrior was ever heard of.” Like Henry, he knew when to rein in the violent energies of his troops. “Shoot your arrows only in cases of greatest need,” he commanded. “We do not know what they propose to do or what they are thinking.” Even at the point of victory he retained the presence of mind to counsel his rejoicing troops not to taunt the retreating Scots so much that they

28 29

Gesta Regis Henrici Secundi, 1:42. Pipe Roll 19 Henry II and Pipe Roll 20 Henry II, passim, but see especially the entries under Herefordshire, Yorkshire, Wiltshire, Sussex, and Devonshire. 30 Fantosme, lines 147–48. 31 History of William Marshal, vol. 1, lines 931–36.

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might resume the siege. But once the Scots were well and gone, he joined his men in the cries of victory.32 The commander who boosted his own troops’ morale naturally had a reciprocal effect on the enemy’s emotional state. It was a dynamic simply of each side estimating, through its leader, its own chances for triumph in a coming clash. Henry II came into the 1173–74 war with a carefully husbanded reputation of near invincibility. When Henry finally moved into decisive action in August, Fantosme was sure that the Anglo-Norman barons (and by extension, everyone else) knew the tide was turning: “You are full of martial fervour,” they told Henry. “Luck has turned against your enemies.” Indeed, even without Henry present in the subsequent Breton campaign, his lieutenants moved from victory to victory. Reeling from one defeat, the rebel Ralph of Fougères spoke plainly to his followers: “This is no occasion for foolishness, nor for boasting, nor for jesting, nor any outrageous silliness; but if anyone has a good plan, let him step forward and tell us what it is! We are not afraid to lose life or limb.” Although it was to no avail, the Breton barons continued to launch attacks, each smaller than the previous, until Henry was summoned by his commanders to that theater for the finishing touch. Faced by the king himself, the rebels capitulated or fled precipitously. Henry had done quite little himself except further augment his reputation. Nonetheless, Fantosme knew where to place the credit: “But he who ever leads them all strengthens their resolution,”33 was his judgment. It was that reputation and that effect which gave him an initiative that he worked to maintain. Earlier, he had made no move to defend Drincourt as the counts of Flanders and Boulogne moved against Normandy there. His luck held, however, since Matthew of Boulogne died during the assault, causing his brother’s withdrawal back to Flanders. Even after Louis VII and the Young King Henry opened their offensive by besieging Verneuil, Henry bided his time (likely in part for the preparations noted above) at the defenders’ expense. Only in August did Henry move, after the Flemish threat was blunted, and when the defenders arranged a truce with Louis. The truce was quite typical: the defenders sent a messenger to King Henry so as to learn if he would come to their relief.34 If no help were forthcoming in three days, the defenders had obligated themselves to surrender. After months of seeming lethargy, Henry moved with the speed that often confounded his opponents. He arrived within the environs of Verneuil and “summoned” Louis to battle. The accounts of these events come only from the Anglo-Norman side, and they naturally stress the effect of 32 33

Fantosme, lines 1224–1306. Fantosme, lines 166–211, 242. Fantosme, of course, was putting praise where it was expected to go, but the very fact of such an expectation does not invalidate the conclusion that he drew, and with which he expected his audience to agree. 34 The Gesta Regis stresses that the proposed capitulation was a result of necessity (i.e. the lack of necessities) and not of fear, especially not a fear of the siege machinery Louis had brought to bear on the city. Gesta Regis Henrici Secundi 1:50.

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Henry’s unexpected arrival. French aggressiveness and arrogance, which Henry’s partisan historians read into all his foes’ actions, were transformed (instantaneously, as it were) into consternation and fear. Louis arranged quickly for negotiations on the following day, the feast of St. Lawrence. While Henry, some miles away, awaited Louis’ envoys, the French king bluffed his way into Verneuil, saying Henry had failed to appear. The varied accounts do come together at this point, condemning Louis’ stratagem.35 Undoubtedly, part of this was resentment that their monarch had been bested, but there may be more at play here. The History of William Marshal shows repeatedly that ambush and deceit were considered legitimate tools of the warrior’s trade,36 but those tricks were often premeditated, not so much lazy or expedient as they were part of preparing well for combat. Louis, in his rush to enter Verneuil and then depart without meeting Henry, was guilty not so much for using trickery to create an opportunity as for fearing (in the view of Henry’s supporters) even to risk an engagement with the English king. The situation at Verneuil highlights another issue: the decision whether to surrender or defend a fortified site. The month following Easter of 1173 saw three different scenarios. In the first, at Verneuil, the constables and burghers put up a spirited defense which Roger of Howden details in clear approbation. No shame attached to them when, short of supplies and constrained to their final lines of defense, they began to parley for a settlement. The second scenario was mentioned earlier; when Henry advanced toward Verneuil to relieve it, his very presence in the region frightened Robert of Leicester into flight from his stronghold without any attempt at combat. And slightly to the northeast in a third example, the lord of Aumale surrendered his fortresses at once into Flemish hands as those forces advanced. In this last instance, William of Newburgh immediately suspected collusion, and any charges of cowardice that might have applied were trumped by those of treason.37 The model of events at Verneuil, however, was the norm for most of the two years. In both of William the Lion’s invasions, he offered terms to the castles he meant to besiege. In every case where the castle was properly garrisoned and victualed, the castellan chose to resist. In only a few cases, such as at Brough, were the Scots able to overcome the defenders. For all the other sieges, the castellan kept one eye on the progress of the attackers, which was usually rather minimal, and the other on 35

William of Newburgh, pp. 172–74; Roger of Howden, 2:48–50; Ralph of Diceto, Opera Historica, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols. (London, 1876), 1:373–74; Robert of Torigni, Chronicle, in R. Howlett, ed., Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II and Richard I, 4 vols. (London, 1884–90), 4:258. The Gesta Regis, 1:54, criticizes Louis for “running away ignominiously, without daring to await Henry’s army.” 36 For an elaboration of this point, John Gillingham, “War and Chivalry in the History of William the Marshal,” reprinted in Anglo-Norman Warfare, ed. Matthew Strickland (Woodbridge, 1992), pp. 251–63. 37 Another viewpoint worth consideration, however, is that cowardice and treason were actually part of the same phenomenon in medieval minds. Since one is “mastered” by cowardice, it becomes almost a question of switching lords.

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his supplies. When the food supply grew critical, negotiations began. Surrender in these cases (which was actually rare since Henry and his lieutenants were committed to answering the calls for relief) was not a matter of fear, but of pragmatism. The English losses at Appleby and Brough deserve further attention, especially the latter siege, as they draw more finely the distinctions and relations between cowardice, courage, and acceptable choices. In 1174 William of Scotland returned to the offensive, hoping this time to catch Henry’s supporters at Carlisle unready. Robert de Vaux, the castellan there, gave William explicit reasons why he had “no fear” of the Scottish forces: he had “plenty of wine and wheat” within the castle, and he also had his garrison’s unanimous support. William may have indeed scoffed at the castellan’s stance, but he did turn aside in search of an easier nut to crack. The picture at Appleby was completely different, and it seems William had prior intelligence of the castle’s lack of provisions. In fact, the castellan there, Gospatric FitzHorm, did not even have a garrison and was himself well past his prime. He immediately surrendered the castle to the attackers. Fantosme’s account is rather bare, but the description of FitzHorm indicates that if he was guilty of anything, it was simply the inability to fulfill his duties. A lack of preparation38 had left him in a completely passive posture, only able to react within a limited range of options. At the next siege, however, there was a garrison prepared to fight, even if they only numbered around six men. Quite outnumbered, they lost the outer bailey of the castle on the first day and withdrew into the keep, which the besiegers promptly set on fire. Fantosme interjects himself into the narrative at this point, declaring, “they will act as knights should and will surrender to the king, for they see plainly that no help is coming to them.” They were at “the end of their resistance” and regretfully surrendered without shame. One of the garrison, however, newly arrived and also newly dubbed a knight, chose to resist a bit more. He naturally earned praise for his decision, but his continued resistance apparently did not cast a bad light on the rest of the garrison. When finally the fire consumed the last improvised defenses behind which he was sheltering, he also surrendered without blame. Two levels of effort were displayed, but Fantosme apparently saw nothing notable in the choice of more seasoned soldiers to lay down their arms ahead of the “rookie.” Since questions of cowardice and courage involved questions of masculinity and rites of passage as well, this seemingly over-dedicated defender may well have only been reaching for his own perceived minimum standard, while the veterans knew they had already established their bravery to friend and foe. 39 The variety of combatants in a medieval army highlights another aspect of the expectations held of various combatants. Sidestepping, if I may, the debate 38

On whose part, though, was this failure? Were it only FitzHorm’s fault, then one might suspect to see more condemnation. The lack of a garrison, however, indicates perhaps an administrative breakdown, or even the prior removal of others responsible for castle-guard. 39 Fantosme, lines 1440–1505.

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on whether medieval commanders carried around their own copies of Vegetius for help in the conduct of a campaign, it is still worth noting the advice of his manual on servants and baggage trains. He counseled that the baggage train especially be protected as much for tactical reasons as logistical ones. For Vegetius, the thing to avoid was the contagion of fear that came from the servants and, not least of all, the animals themselves if the tumult of battle was too close.40 At the close of the hostilities in 1174, Henry broke the siege of Rouen by Louis VII and the Young King when he sent his Welsh irregulars into the woods beyond the city to harass Louis’ supply lines. The guerilla actions of the Welsh succeeded as much through actual ambushes as by the fear it instilled in the wagon-drovers who refused to risk supplying the army. Two decades later, Richard the Lionheart would use a similar tactic to drive Philip II from Verneuil.41 In both cases, the French monarch was obviously pressured to abandon his positions through a lack of supplies, but one can wonder whether a further pressure was at work. By attacking the softest parts of the French military, did Henry, and later, his son, purposefully seek to feed the fear that they knew lurked in any army? Finally, we should note the role of fatalism in heading off the decision to flee. The military culture of the twelfth century did on occasion shrug its shoulders in an admission of resignation to the possibility, or rather the probability, of death. Walter Map reports that soldiers were wont to tell each other proverbially: “You can go wherever you want, but you’ll die where you must.”42 Such a sentiment, of course, was of a piece with the chivalric ethos that encouraged a rush into combat (although in Map’s retelling this is nuanced by a sense that it is duty or a fickle fate that calls warriors here and there). We need to remember that medieval people were inured to a level of violence that was hardly the sole province of the professional combatant. The History of William Marshal, in almost its opening lines describes the travails that came with war and lingered well after it: Suffice it to say that in the conflict many a lance was shattered, Many a shield smashed in pieces, Many a hauberk drenched with blood; Many a soul was made to part from its body, Many a prized and valiant knight Was wounded, killed, or taken prisoner; Many a lady was left a hapless widow, Many a maiden orphaned, Who eventually went and sold their bodies, Failing to find husbands. 40

Vegetius, Epitoma Rei Militaris, ed. Charles Lang (Stuttgart, 1872; 1967 reprint), pp. 77–78. We should also remember, vis-à-vis the business of tournaments, that the riders were not the only ones being conditioned to undergo the stresses of combat. 41 Gesta Regis, 1:74–75. John Gillingham, “Richard I and the Science of War,” reprinted in Anglo-Norman Warfare, p. 204. 42 Walter Map, p. 182.

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And the poet’s judgment? “So it was, so it had to be.”43 This description gives us a glimpse into the realities faced by medieval communities when they nerved themselves to fight. Quite simply, they were measuring their chances of survival against the quality of survival after capitulation. At the siege of Dunwich, Robert of Leicester, already frustrated by resistance elsewhere, began the attack by erecting a gallows. Rather than being cowed by this threatened fate, men, women, and children all participated in a vigorous defense. The earl had, after all, left his own defeat as the townspeople’s only way out of the crisis. So what can we conclude about cowardice in northwest Europe in the later twelfth century? Downstream from so many sources – classical, biblical, and chivalric, French, Latin, and Anglo-Norman – the culture within and surrounding Henry II’s lands had both the concept and the word: cuardie. They were not as concerned, however, with delineating a clear model of cowardice as with crafting practical antidotes for it. The events of 1173–74 show (as though it needs any sort of proof) that medieval warriors knew that a fear of death was an expected component of their métier. Multiple mechanisms evolved to counteract this fear, and it thus appears that medieval folk were just as concerned to isolate cowardice as a certain trio of academics. To “turn tail” was to evince a thorough streak of selfishness. But attention to one’s own agenda was hardly a vice for many notable figures of the 1100s, so something else must answer for these discrepancies. The crucial issue resides in the “economy of courage” suggested by William Miller. He has built a strong argument (which is also the point of many of Keegan’s analyses) that soldiers in modern warfare have an ever-lessening amount of psychological energy for withstanding combat as the stress of the battlefield keeps increasing. More time for rest and relaxation is required simply to recharge the moral batteries.44 But this constant level of high stress did not usually typify medieval combat of the twelfth century, which had greater amounts of “downtime” away from lethal passages,45 and which saw less lethality than modern battlefields. Breakdowns (which must be differentiated from being forced into a surrender) were not understandable to contemporaries save as inversion of the natural order; thus, the masculinity of the coward had to be called into question. One of the more clear-cut examples of this dynamic occurred during the wars in Ireland that just preceded the 1173–74 conflict. After a most unexpected victory near Waterford, the Anglo-Normans arranged 43

Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal, lines 157–67. It is worth remembering that this metaphorical shrug of the shoulders occurs in one of the only sources to consider the price of war for the innocent and unlucky. Catherine Hanley, War and Combat, 1150–1270: The Evidence from Old French Literature (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 43–44: “. . . it was unfortunate for the labourers themselves that those with the power to wage war considered them more as an economic resource than as fellow human beings.” 44 Miller, Mystery of Courage, pp. 59–62; Keegan, Face of Battle, and idem, A History of Warfare. 45 The obvious exception is, of course, the process of a siege, especially that of a city, where the inhabitants have little of the training or expectations of a professional garrison. Thus one sees there all sorts of interesting mechanisms utilized to bolster the communal courage.

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the massacre of seventy captives, all of whom were beheaded by a woman, Alice of Abervenny.46 The format of the penalty ratified the “conclusion” already reached on the battlefield when purportedly thirty-to-one odds had not sufficed to give the Irish the victory. All of this implied an almost Aristotelian sense of courage, a sense that this virtue had to be cultivated and nurtured. Here, Robert of Howden’s words should come back to mind. The dramatic charge favored by tournament attendees was meant less as a spontaneous act than a programmed response. Cowardice overcame the sluggard, the one who had not made sufficient provisions, either in the practical business of war or in the disciplining of his own emotions.47 The courageous man, indeed the loyal man, was the one who had prepared as much against himself as against the actual foe.

46

G. H. Orpen and Morice Regan, eds., The Song of Dermot and the Earl (Oxford, 1892), lines 1476–87. This deliberate effort to disgrace further an opponent obviously had also the goal of terrorizing other potential foes. As Matthew Strickland has pointed out, War and Chivalry, pp. 336–37, the cruelties committed by Anglo-Norman knighthood on their Celtic foes were intended in part to deny their status as peers on the battlefield. Raymond le Gros’ speech in Gerald of Wales is all the more indicative as he mentions a sort of passage for the prisoners from “enemy” status to that of “human.” Gerald of Wales, Expugnatio Hibernica (Dublin, 1978), p. 56. 47 Compare the Oxford English Dictionary on “craven” with its etymological sense of being crushed or overcome, and not merely being of a particular disposition.

Expecting Cowardice

5 Expecting Cowardice: Medieval Battle Tactics Reconsidered Stephen Morillo

For no man ever proves himself a good man in war unless he can endure to face the blood and the slaughter, go close against the enemy and fight with his hands. Here is courage, mankind’s finest possession, here is the finest prize that a young man can endeavor to win. – Tyrtaeus, Praise of the Virtuosity of the Citizen Soldier1

Some barbarian is waving my shield, since I was obliged to Leave that perfectly good piece of equipment behind under a bush. But I got away, so what does it matter? Let the shield go; I can buy another one equally good. – Archilochus, Elegy2

Introduction In 1116, the Welsh rebel Gruffudd ap Rhys marched on the Anglo-Norman castle of Ystrad Antarron, having sacked the castle at Ystrad Peithyll. According to our Welsh source for this episode, the Brut y Tywysogyon (the Chronicle of the Princes), Razo the steward, the man who was castellan of that castle and whose castle had before that been burnt and whose men had been killed, moved with grief for his men and for his loss, and trembling with fear, sent messengers by night to the castle of Ystrad Meurig, which his lord Gilbert [de Clare] had built before that, to bid the garrison that was there to come swiftly to his aid. And the keepers of the castle sent him as many as they could find. And they came to him by night.3

Gilbert sent 20 knights and 50 archers, who joined the 30 knights and 40 archers already under Razo’s command; their nocturnal arrival remained unknown to the Welsh, who were camped some distance away. The account continues: 1 2 3

Richmond Lattimore, Greek Lyrics, 2nd ed. (Chicago, 1960), pp. 14–15. Lattimore, Greek Lyrics, 2. Brut y Tywysogyon: The Chronicle of the Princes, Peniarth MS 20 Version, ed. and trans. T. Jones (Cardiff, 1952), pp. 93–95. I would like to thank Rob Babcock for bringing my attention to the account of this minor but interesting battle in the Brut.

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Stephen Morillo The following day, Gruffudd ap Rhys and Rhydderch ap Tewdwr, his uncle, and Maredudd and Owain, his sons, arose incautiously from their camp without arraying their forces and without placing ensigns in their van; but in raging fury, like a band of thoughtless inhabitants without a ruler over them, they made their way towards the castle . . .

When they came to the valley before the castle, they halted, apparently spending much of the day in somewhat haphazard preparations for assaulting the castle. A river ran through the valley, crossed by a single bridge. The Brut goes on: And then, as it is the way with the French to do everything by guile, the keepers of the castle sent archers to the bridge to skirmish with them . . . And when the Britons saw the archers so boldly approaching the bridge, incautiously they ran to meet them, wondering why they should venture so confidently to approach the bridge.

A lone mailed horseman accompanied the archers to the bridge and charged the Welsh infantry on the bridge. His horse was killed under him, and only his coat of mail saved his own life. He and the archers who dragged him from the bridge then fled up the side of the valley pursued by many of the Welsh, though some of the latter stayed on the far side of the bridge. But waiting just over the ridge of the hill was the remainder of Razo’s force. These men counter-attacked the scattered Welsh, aided by the archers who now turned to meet their pursuers, and “bore down upon the troop in front and killed as many as they found. And then the inhabitants were dispersed over the other lands on every side, some with their animals with them, others having abandoned everything but seeking only to protect their lives, so that the whole land was left waste.” This was a minor battle. The Anglo-Norman losses amounted to one mounted man and five archers; the Welsh lost somewhat more – over 400 men with many more wounded – but still not a huge number. But with its feigned flight, its real flight, and its subplot of ethnic tension, the battle of Ystrad Antarron forms an interesting point of entry for a re-examination of medieval tactics with a focus on the role played by cowardice, both actual displays of cowardly behavior and more importantly the multivalent expectations of cowardice that permeated the psychology of battle.

Expectations of Cowardice in Action We may start with a basic claim about the psychology of combat: for most soldiers and warriors, the experience of combat is permeated by the fear of death. There are suicidal and fanatical exceptions to this rule, of course, but for most European combatants in this period, where we will confine our view for now, suicide was rare and religion just as rarely led men actively to seek death.4 4

On suicide, see S. Morillo, “Cultures of Death: Warrior Suicide in Europe and Japan,” The Medieval History Journal 4, 2 (2001), 241–57. I shall deal with religion more below.

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Thus, on hearing of the approach of the rebel forces and their slaughter of the garrison at Ystrad Peithyll, Razo is said to be “trembling with fear.” Now fear of death is not cowardice, of course. It is a rational response to a dangerous situation. But it can lead to actions that the culture constructs as cowardly: running from battle, failing to fight in support of friends and lords, and so on, actions characterizable in general as potentially beneficial to the individual but detrimental to the group. For the rational response of an individual to imminent danger, multiplied many times, can create a disastrous response for an army.5 Military leaders expect such fear and its potential for inducing cowardice. All armies therefore take countermeasures designed to mitigate the fear of death or to stifle, redirect, or make impractical the natural “flight” response to danger among their soldiers.6 In fact, the construction of notions of cowardice and the shame that inevitably attended it are one communal, cultural response to this problem of mutual cooperation in war. But a variety of more specific measures ranging from the material to the moral regularly reinforce the general Idea of Cowardice as safeguards against individual safety-seeking at the expense of the group. Foremost among these are simple training and experience, which impart multiple benefits including letting soldiers calculate more rationally the actual danger they face, teaching them effective responses to those dangers other than flight, and perhaps above all bonding them into groups whose mutual experience causes them to value their companions’ lives as highly as their own.7 Closely related to training and experience is discipline, which acts both to suppress emotional responses generally and to enhance the control a commander can exert over his troops.8 It is telling that the Brut’s description 5

A fascinating example of this came in the development of “Massive,” the computer program used to generate large-scale battle scenes in The Two Towers and The Return of the King, the second and third of the Lord of the Rings movies. It worked by programming “rational” responses into individual virtual fighters called agents, then massively replicating such fighters and letting them interact under their own initiative. “When Massive was first tested two armies were pitted against each other to fight it out. Once the scene was rendered, a bug in the program was found. Agents were actually seen running away from the battle field!” (Reported at http://www.theonering.net/perl/newsview/8/1047582857, last accessed by this author on 2 June 2004.) The reprogramming that then ensued to insert virtual “courage” into these digital armies corresponds in effect, if not in technique, to the reprogramming of basic rational responses in individual real men that converts them, more or less successfully, from people carrying weapons into soldiers. 6 Imminent danger can also cause an individual to prepare for combat, but triggering the “fight” half of the natural “fight or flight” response often requires that flight be removed as an option first. See note 10 below. 7 The literature on small group cohesion is voluminous, especially for the modern period, where S. L. A. Marshall’s Men Against Fire: The Problem of Battle Command (New York, 1947; paperback reprint Norman, OK, 2000) initiated an intense and often heated debate among historians and military professionals. The bibliography for “Battlefield Stress, Combat Motivation and Military Medicine” in John Keegan, The Face of Battle (New York, 1976) is a decent entry point into some of that debate. More recently, see Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, On Killing (Boston, 1996) and the literature cited there. 8 Discipline is often best imposed in conjunction with (or through) drill. Though overstated,

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of the rebel force emphasizes its indiscipline. They arise “incautiously,” fail to array their forces in an orderly way with flags for groups to rally around,9 and proceed through the countryside “thoughtlessly.” This is an army setting itself up for a breakdown of discipline, and therefore for excessive individualism and its potential for flight. This is, in other words, an army whose commanders have a rashly diminished expectation of cowardice for their own troops and have as a result taken inadequate countermeasures against its appearance. Razo, by contrast, though trembling with fear, uses his own fear productively in sending for reinforcements and (judging by the results) formulating a tactical plan designed to take advantage of the rebels’ rashness. Reading more into the evidence than it might bear, he is also said to be full of grief for his lost men, which implies that he is close to his men, presumably understands them, and that his expectation of their levels of bravery or cowardice will not be mistaken or misjudged in his tactical planning. Some tactical planning entailed further countermeasures against the expected cowardice of one’s own troops. Common tactical expedients include forming an army up in deep, dense formations – depth and density, though they increase vulnerability to missile fire, impart some of the psychological and statistical security that causes herding in animals, as well as making the most of the group bonds created by training – and putting the best, and best-equipped, warriors in the front line of such formations. Both techniques were used by Henry I and his brother Robert Curthose at Tinchebrai, for example.10

William McNeill, Keeping Together in Time: Dance and Drill in Human History (Cambridge, MA, 1995) provides an interesting overview of the impact of drill on cohesion, discipline and group bonding in human societies generally and armies in particular. Of course as commanders from times and places as disparate as Warring States China and Ancien Régime Europe recognized, discipline, control, and “bravery” could also be induced by creating a greater fear in the rank and file of their own officers than of the enemy. 9 Flags and standards from Roman legionary fasces to regimental flags have served throughout military history as symbols of group loyalty and as practical rallying points and countermeasures against cowardice. 10 Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History (hereafter OV), ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969–72), 6:88–90; Priest of Fécamp’s letter, English Historical Review 25 (1910), p. 296. A number of other countermeasures against the expected cowardice of one’s own troops were common. The ultimate distillation of the principle behind a front line of elite warriors was the tradition of generals leading from the front line themselves, setting an example of bravery. This in turn led to the abstraction of models of bravery into heroic ideals presented to soldiers in literature and immediately before battle in orations designed to appeal to every possible reason for adhering to such ideals, including the shame that would attend men who show cowardice and the glory awaiting those who showed bravery (see J. R. E. Bliese, “Rhetoric and Morale: a Study of Battle Orations from the Central Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval History 15 (1989), 201–26, and numerous other studies by the same author). Among such reasons, defense of religion often figured prominently, but religion could also act to suppress the fear of death more directly by promising soldiers spiritual rewards if they did die, and could enhance group bonds and morale: see, e.g., David Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, c.300–c.1215 (Woodbridge, 2003). Finally, a good stiff drink could numb the fear response, though at the risk of impairing combat ability: Keegan, Face of Battle,

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Expectations of cowardice in the enemy force also influenced tactics. The Welsh clearly expected cowardly behavior from the “French,” as the Brut calls the Anglo-Normans: they are almost insulted at the bold advance of the castle’s archers, “wondering why they should venture so confidently to approach the bridge.” And with the benefit of hindsight, the chronicle attributes this to the French propensity for “guile,” which we may read as “the trickery resorted to by cowardly troops who cannot win in a manly way.” Such aspersions cast on enemy troops, especially those separated from their foes by divisions of culture, religion, class or ethnicity, are commonplaces in medieval sources. Commanders often did their best to reinforce the tendency among their troops to think of themselves as braver than their “naturally” cowardly foes. Classical generals sometimes intimidated opposing forces even before battle began by ordering a series of precise, drilled formation changes in the enemy’s face: they served no tactical purpose, but demonstrated to their own troops and to the enemy their superior levels of training, experience, and by extension bravery.11 Medieval armies lacked the capacity for such displays, as they did not practice drill in large formations, lacking the money and administrative infrastructure to gather and train troops (usually infantry) in such maneuvers. But they sometimes deployed the heroic equivalent in the form of an individual riding out before an army and performing flashy feats of arms.12 Conspicuous displays claimed, in effect, “our heroism is better than yours,” as conspicuous displays of piety before battle made a similar claim about religion. The attack by the single Norman knight at the bridge at Ystrad Antarron may well have been motivated by such considerations, though in the event he had the bad luck to have his horse killed quickly under him, followed by the good luck that his discomfiture and rescue made the subsequent feigned flight of the archers, accompanied by his real flight, all the more convincing. The feigned flight shows perhaps the most interesting intersection between cowardice and tactics. For what a feigned flight shows, is that armies expected their enemies to expect cowardice out of them. The verisimilitude of a feigned

pp. 114–16. Strategic manipulation of armies by their commanders in order to suppress cowardice is exemplified by the practice among commanders of armies in Warring States China of maneuvering their own armies into situations where no retreat was possible before a battle in order to make their men fight more desperately: Mark Edward Lewis, Sanctioned Violence in Early China (Albany, 1990), p. 106. The political context of command in Warring States China, especially the creation of centralized, authoritarian territorial states from the remains of polities built around aristocratic lineages, encouraged the systematic devaluation of bravery, heroism, and individual initiative on the part of soldiers, who were supposed to act unthinkingly in response to the commander’s will. Clearly, if discourses of bravery and cowardice are put out of bounds, training, discipline and manipulation such as this must assume a greater role in more extreme forms in meeting the problem of fear of death. 11 On the fear Spartan phalanxes inspired with their drilled and dressed ranks, see Victor D. Hanson, The Western Way of War (New York, 1989), pp. 98–99. Alexander once intimidated rebellious Illyrian tribesmen with a display of his phalanxes’ drill: Robin Lane Fox, Alexander the Great (London, 1974), p. 78.

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flight depends, in other words, on the believability of the apparent cowardice on display. Obviously, the circumstances at Ystrad Antarron were made for this deception. The Welsh, fresh off a victory and the slaughter of one garrison, were overconfident – rash, incautious, and inadequately prepared against the potential cowardice of their own troops, as already noted. They also seemed to hold their enemies in contempt, wondering when they appeared bold and blaming French guile afterwards for the defeat. Any successful feigned flight required this expectation of cowardice to be in place. This has two implications for the patterns of its use. First, it could not be used by an army that had opened the battle with a convincing display through drilled maneuver of their own superior training and bravery, as the psychological signals the two techniques sent were mutually contradictory. Of course, if the display was truly convincing, there was no need to employ feigned flight or any other tactic, because the enemy army had already broken and run before the battle even began. Second, and more commonly, feigned flight lost its effectiveness with repeated use against either the same troops or against a foe with enough institutional memory to build safeguards into its training of soldiers and education of commanders. Roman and Byzantine military manuals warned against incautious pursuit of certain foes who were known to employ the feigned flight, for example, and Crusaders learned to curb their impulse to pursue fleeing Turks after they discovered, to their cost, that the apparent cowardice of their foe was likely to be a ruse designed to take advantage of the Franks’ own rashness.13 In both cases what armies had to unlearn or guard against was their expectation of cowardice in the enemy. A few further comments regarding expectations of cowardice in battle can be made. For one, the expectation seems reasonable given the common pattern of battles, for eventually, in most battles, one side ran. Cultural idealizations of heroic or brave behavior might extol the principle of dying with one’s lord and fighting to the last man, as in the Song of Maldon,14 but actual examples of such stands to the death are quite rare, especially if we exclude cases where trapped defenders had no escape route. Ironically, given the self-protective rationale built into the flight instinct, flight was the stage of battle when casualties were highest, as it was far easier to kill someone who was not defending himself than someone armed and actively meeting attacks. Thus, when armies ran, they did so not, usually, because their casualties had already mounted to unbearable proportions of their force, but because the mass of the army came to think that

12

One well-known example is the tale of Taillefer, a Norman who opened the Battle of Hastings with songs of Roland and feats of arms, at least according to Wace, Roman de Rou, trans. E. Taylor (London, 1837), pp. 189–90. 13 For Romans, see, e.g., Arrian, Array against the Alans, sections 25–30, discussed in M. Pavkovic, “A note on Arrian’s Ektaxis kata Alanon,” Ancient History Bulletin 2.1 (1988), 21–23. On Crusaders, see R. C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193 (Cambridge, 1956), pp. 156–88. 14 The Battle of Maldon, ed. and trans. Bill Griffiths (Norfolk, 1991), pp. 48–52, lines 202–325.

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they would.15 Battle crises were thus matters of perception as much as reality. The near flight of the Normans early in the day at Hastings and their rallying by William, who had to remove his helmet and ride up and down the lines to halt the flight, with subordinates beating on their own men to stop them in their tracks, illustrates this nicely.16 Measured against cultural norms, psychological crises in battle were episodes of mass cowardice. Commanders knew this, and common tactics aimed at inducing panic and cowardice. Attacks on an enemy’s leader threatened to unhinge an army’s psychological composure at its lynchpin: the leader’s death or flight could be decisive, as the Normans nearly demonstrated at Hastings, and as the Saxons showed later in the day after Harold’s death, though their flight at that point can hardly be called cowardly.17 Attacks on an army’s flank and rear aimed at disrupting the psychological zone of security created by deep, dense formations. Helias of la Fleche’s flank attack on Robert Curthose’s army at Tinchebrai had exactly this effect, and worked first not on Robert’s infantry column, but on Robert’s cavalry unit held in reserve behind the line, led by Robert of Bellême.18 Note that cavalry can flee more easily than infantry, one reason commanders sometimes dismounted troops whose bravery or commitment was in question. King Stephen’s dismounted knights fought to the end at Lincoln; those who remained mounted fled early, contributing to the king’s defeat.19 The widely recognized lower resistance of mounted men to cowardice contributed, as much as cavalry’s greater mobility, to the use of feigned flight mostly by cavalry units. The feigned flight of the archers at Ystrad Antarron is a rare case of footsoldiers carrying out the tactic.20 Finally, many battle-avoiding or battle-delaying tactics were effective in the war of nerves armies always played. Waiting itself was mentally tiring to the side without the initiative, but more importantly cutting an enemy off from food or water or harassing them without engaging directly could induce fatigue, lowering defenses against fear and so raising the likelihood of cowardly behavior when battle did ensue. In short, expectations of cowardice – in one’s own troops, in enemy troops, and in enemy troops about one’s own troops – pervaded preparations for combat

15 16 17 18 19 20

Keegan, Face of Battle, pp. 104–5, discusses this as the threatened extension of the “killing zone.” The Gesta Guillelmi of William of Poitiers (hereafter WP), ed. and trans. R. H. C. Davis and Marjorie Chibnall (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), pp. 128–31. WP, pp. 136–41. OV 6:88–90. OV 6:542; John of Hexham, in Symoneis Monachi Opera Omnia, ed. T. Arnold, 2 vols. (London, 1882–85), 2:284–333, at 307–8. The equivalent tactic for infantry is more often the planned, fighting withdrawal, as for instance at both Marathon and Cannae, where the center of the Greek and Carthaginian lines’ fighting retreat helped draw the Persian and Roman armies into double envelopments; see the introductory accounts in R. E. and T. N. Dupuy, The Encyclopedia of Military History, 2nd rev. ed. (New York, 1986), pp. 23–25, 65–66.

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and the tactical conduct of battles in medieval warfare. The prevalence of “Cultures of Bravery” is, in this light, an unsurprising response to a pervasive problem.

Cowardice and Culture It is important to emphasize the plural in “Cultures of Bravery” (and therefore of Cowardice), however, for different cultures constructed the central characteristics of bravery and cowardice differently. The acceptability of feigned flights, other sorts of ruses, ambushes, and so on, for example, varied widely. For some cultures, such tactics were indeed construed as unmanly, as signs of cowardice, bravery having been constructed around notions of how one fought, with the “how” usually centered on the honor to be gained in face-to-face combat with melee weapons. For others, such tactics were signs of cleverness – bravery and manliness having been constructed more around whether one won a battle than how one fought it. Similar divisions separated warrior classes who disdained the use of long-range weapons, especially the bow, and those for whom it was the weapon par excellence for demonstrating the skill that set a warrior apart from the common sort of soldier.21 Trans-cultural warfare, war that crossed lines of military culture so that different constructions of bravery and cowardice met in battle, may well have raised the psychological stakes involved in expectations of cowardice in ways that can account, at least in part, for the greater brutality and bloodiness usually displayed in such warfare.22 An enemy known to share the same culture and expectations of cowardice as oneself is more predictable than an unknown foe. In much of western Europe the shared culture of knightly bravery and cowardice included conventions of surrender and ransom that mitigated the potentially fatal consequences of cowardice. But troops known to come from a different culture, especially one whose details were unknown, posed a more frightening psychological challenge. Truly unknown enemies could appear immune to the usual expectations of cowardice: the Mongols, not just in Europe but in most places that they invaded outside their steppe homeland, initially appeared invincible, which translated in terms of expectations of individual Mongol soldiers that they would not feel fear as humans did. Their use of terror

21

Medieval western Europeans (mêlée weapons, face-to-face), steppe nomads (missile weapons, hit-and-run tactics) and Kamakura-era Japanese bushi (missile and melee weapons, face-to-face combat with either), illustrate just a small part of the possible range of combinations that could be constructed as brave. 22 I develop a general typology of trans-cultural warfare, with important distinctions drawn between inter-cultural war and what I call sub-cultural war, in “A General Typology of Transcultural Wars – The Early Middle Ages and Beyond”, in Transcultural Wars from the Middle Ages to the 21st Century, ed. Hans-Henning Kortüm (Berlin, 2006), 29–42; I develop the thoughts sketched in this paragraph, with sources, more fully there.

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tactics – making examples of selected towns and cities they captured – simply reinforced the aura of fearless, ruthless invincibility surrounding their early campaigns. This is one reason why the Mamluk victory at Ayn Jalut in 1260 was so important beyond Egypt, for it dispersed that aura and brought the Mongols back to the world of human expectations of cowardice. Even better-known foes whose culture of cowardice differed from one’s own posed problems, especially as conventions of surrender and ransom were unlikely to cross cultural boundaries. The reality of a higher chance that combat would prove deadly worked in combination with the misunderstandings promoted by different cultures of cowardice in terms of what tactics were acceptable or manly, to produce a volatile emotional mixture. In short, enemies across a cultural boundary would often be objects both of greater fear and greater disdain than culturally similar enemies. Thus, if they broke and ran, as the Welsh did at Ystrad Antarron, their foes’ release from fear and thirst for revenge for having had that fear inflicted on them, plus cultural disdain, often equaled a very bloody pursuit. Or, as the Brut describes, the winner would “kill as many as they found” until “the whole land was left waste.”

Conclusion Conventions and cultures of bravery have received much attention in writing on medieval combat. In some ways, this paper simply examines the flip side of the coin of bravery. But I hope this examination of the reverse image has shown that cowardice played a larger role than the simple absence of bravery might imply. In particular, the expectations of cowardice that pervaded medieval battlefields probably played a more positive and fundamental role in shaping tactics, army composition, and the patterns of trans-cultural warfare than bravery ever did, reducing bravery to just one of the images on the obverse of the coin of cowardice.

Naval Tactics at the Battle of Zierikzee

6 Naval Tactics at the Battle of Zierikzee (1304) in the Light of Mediterranean Praxis William Sayers

The French victory over the Flemings at the Battle of Zierikzee in Zeeland (1304) may have assuaged the bitterness of defeat at the Battle of Courtrai (the Battle of the Golden Spurs) two years earlier but seems not to have been conclusive, despite the peace treaty signed at Athis-sur-Orge in 1305, since the efforts by Philip IV of France to extend control over Flanders continued until at least 1320.1 Perhaps because only two contemporary vernacular chronicles provide accounts of the battle, it has been little studied since a single article by Pierre J.-B. Legrand D’Aussy in the late eighteenth century – a study which until recently had dictated subsequent understanding of the naval tactics deployed in the encounter and of the course and outcome of the battle. The better known of the two vernacular authors is Guillaume Guiart, a former soldier who served in the French army at Mons-en-Pévèle (1304). He composed his memoirs toward the end of his life and thus at some distance from the events at Zierikzee, which he did not personally witness. Even less mined by historians than Guiart’s rhymed chronicle, at least beyond Netherlandic studies, is that by the Utrecht author Melis Stoke, writing about these same events from an even more proximate point in time. 2 1

2

The best secondary source for the Battle of Zierikzee is “Het beleg van Zierikzee en de zeeslag,” chapter 12 in J. F. Verbruggen’s Vlaanderen na de Guldensporenslag: de vrijheidsstrijd van het graafschap Vlaanderen 1303–1305 (Bruges, 1991), pp. 85–102, in particular pp. 89–98. Verbruggen situates the conflict in the rebellion against France that began in 1302. I am grateful to an anonymous reader of an earlier draft of this article for much pertinent comment on the larger historical context of the battle. Guiart’s chronicle in Middle French was published in two volumes as Branche des royaux lignages: chronique métrique de Guillaume Guiart, by J. A. Buchon (Paris, 1828). The first and only full critical study is by Pierre Jean-Baptiste Legrand d’Aussy, “Notice sur l’état de la Marine en France au commencement du quatorzième siècle; et sur la tactique navale usitée alors dans les combats de mer,” Mémoires de l’Institut de France, Classe des Sciences Morales et Politiques 2 (Year VI [1785]), 302–75. Guillaume Guiart was earlier identified with the author of an Art d’amour deriving from Ovid’s Remedia amoris but it is now held that the author is anonymous and that the Guiart referred to in the authorial comment is not the soldier-poet. See Richard P. Kincade, “A Thirteenth-Century Precursor to the Libro de buen amor: The art d’amors,” La Corónica: A Journal of Medieval Spanish Language and Literature 24 (1996), 123–39. For the account in Middle Dutch, see De Rijmkroniek van Holland (366–1305), door

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The battle and the received view of it have been returned to our attention in Susan Rose’s Medieval Naval Warfare 1000–1500 (2002).3 After a summary based on Legrand d’Aussy, Rose pertinently asks of Guiart: How much credence can be based on this account and what does it tell us about battle tactics at this date? The account is very nearly contemporary but there is no evidence that the writer had any direct experience of war at sea. An eighteenth century commentator [Legrand d’Aussy] on the poem pointed out that the tactic of ‘bridling’ warships or tying them together can be found in Livy and thus may be here no more than the conventional following of a classical model. (p. 63)

Rose returns to these reservations, specifically those associated with bridling, in a later chapter devoted to “Theory and Practice”: The fact remains, however that especially in northern tidal waters ships deployed in this fashion [‘bridled’ or lashed together in some way] could very easily find themselves in difficulties, aground or trapped against the shore, and unable to manoeuvre. . . . The oars would be unusable or at the least very hard to use while the vessels were lashed together, and even in the calmest waters currents might cause the vessels to drift on to rocks or other hazards.4

Rose cites another witness to similar tactical maneuvers, with first-hand experience of the sea, Ramon Muntaner. He was a military leader and administrator in the service of the kingdom of Aragon, and he has left detailed accounts in Catalan of the naval dimension of the War of the Sicilian Vespers (1282–1302) in the Mediterranean. According to Muntaner, as interpreted by Rose, the bridling of galleys also entailed running the oars between adjacent vessels: “At

3 4

een anonieme auteur en Melis Stoke, ed. J. W. J. Burgers (The Hague, 2004), which supersedes Rijmkroniek van Melis Stoke, ed. W. G. Brill, 2 vols., in Werken van het Historisch Genootschap te Utrecht, Nieuwe Serie, 40, 42 (Utrecht, 1885; repr. Utrecht, 1983). The authoritative critical introduction is J. W. J. Burgers, De Rijmkroniek van Holland en zijn auteurs: historiografie in Holland door de Anonymus (1280–1282) en de grafelijke klerk Melis Stoke (begin veertiende eeuw) (Haarlem and Hilversum, 1999), now subsumed in Burgers’ new edition. Burgers reaches the conclusion that an anonymous author started the chronicle c.1280–82 at the court of Count Floris V of Holland, and that Stoke began to write the last part in 1301 or 1302 and concluded in 1305, with the Battle of Zierikzee occupying Book 9 of a total of ten. On Stoke’s possible personal experience of some of the siege of Zierikzee, see J. G. Smit, “De klerk Melis Stoke en Zierikzee in 1304: Een nieuwe archiefvondst,” Kroniek van het land van de zeemeerin (Schouwen-Duiveland) 15 (1990), and for the battle itself, J. Sabbe, “De vijandelijkheden tussen de Avesnes en de Dampierres in Zeeland, Holland en Utrecht van 1303 tot 1305,” Handelingen der Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde te Gent, new series 5 (1951), 226–304. See, too, on points of detail, Louis Th. Lehmann, “Galeeren in der Seeschlacht bei Zierikzee,” Skyllis: Zeitschrift für Unterwasserarchäologie 4 (2001), 60–64. Susan Rose, Medieval Naval Warfare, 1000–1500 (London and New York, 2002), pp. 62f., for the general historical events, p. 126 for a discussion of specific tactics. Rose, p. 126; the author pursues this discussion in “Reportage, Representation and Reality. The Extent to which Chronicle Accounts and Contemporary Illustrations can be relied on when discussing the Tactics used in Medieval Galley Warfare,” in Boats, Ships and Shipyards: Proceedings of the Ninth International Symposium on Boat and Ship Archaeology, Venice 2000, ed. Carlo Beltrame (Oxford, 2003), pp. 228–32.

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Rosas Muntaner also states explicitly, ‘the galleys were poop by poop and the other ten were astern of them and no-one could enter between on account of the oars that were lashed together’.”5 This in turn prompts the question of what reflection of ship-bridling and oar-lashing or of comparable practices might we find in Guiart and Stoke on the North Sea coast. Of the two chroniclers, Guiart is the more informative on naval matters and begins his account of the Battle of Zierikzee (Ciricé in his French) with the assembly of the French forces, under the leadership of Rainier Grimaldi, the Genoese-born prince of Monaco, then serving as the admiral of French forces.6 Jean Pedrogue from Calais commanded a portion of the f leet being assembled. Ce ne furent mie naceles, Mès trente-huit nés granz et beles, Riches et plaisanz et entières, A chastiaus devant et derrières, Selonc raison longues et lées, Et de touz costez crenelées Pour miex deffendre c’on n’es praigne. Les huit en estoient d’Espaingne Pour marchéandises venues; A gages furent retenues De par le roi, o la navie De Calais et de Normendie Dont el port furent là les trente. Onze galies, à m’entente, Rot là l’amiraut à séjour. (9082–96) These were hardly small craft, but thirty-eight fine, great ships, richly outfitted, comfortable and seaworthy, with castles fore and aft. They were suitably long and beamy, with battlements along the sides the better to defend them against being taken. Eight of them had come from Spain to pick up trade cargo. They were hired by the king, along with the fleet from Calais and Normandy, thirty vessels of which were in port. As I understand, the admiral also had eleven galleys at anchor.7

5

Rose, p. 126; the Battle of Rosas, a chief port on the northern Catalan coast, was fought in early September, 1285. This received view of bridling derives from the detailed study by John Pryor, “The Naval Battles of Roger of Lauria,” Journal of Medieval History 9 (1983), 179–216, and was also recently reiterated in Lawrence V. Mott, “Iberian Naval Power, 1000–165,” in War at Sea in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. John B. Hattendorf and Richard W. Unger (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 105–35, as well as in Mott’s Sea Power in the Medieval Mediterranean: The Catalan-Aragonese Fleet in the War of the Sicilian Vespers (Gainesville, 2003). 6 On Grimaldi’s role, see Marinus Pieter de Bruin and Huib Uil, “La conquête de la Zélande par les Pays-Bas au XIVe siècle: Le rôle de Rainier Grimaldi, amiral de France, lors du combat naval de Zierikzee (1304),” Annales monégasques 10 (1986), 65–80. The identification of Guillaume Guiart as flamand, “Flemish” (p. 70) is surely a typographical error for français. The article reiterates observations also made in their “De strijd om Zeeland in de lage landen aan de noordzee van de 11e tot de 14e euw: De zeeslag bij Zierikzee in 1304 en het aandeel van Rainier Grimaldi, amiral de France,” Zeeuws tijdschrift 26 (1986), 24–32. 7 The very limited study of Guiart will justify both fairly extensive quotation and an English

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The French fleet, totaling 38 great ships and 11 galleys, the latter likely Genoese-built and -crewed, made its way to the mouth of the Scheldt and then, with considerable difficulty, after hauling the larger vessels with rowed boats, it continued upstream of a waterway called the Gouwe to the town of Zierikzee.8 The prosperous trading town had been besieged by Guy of Namur, then serving as leader of Flanders together with his brothers and nephews. Although the campaign is judged to have been over disputed land in Zeeland, the young William of Holland, at that time allied with France, was aboard Grimaldi’s ship. Informed of the impending arrival, Guy readied his more numerous, but likely generally smaller, ships in the harbor. Ains refait ses vessiaus hourder, Dont il ot là quoques et barges, Et granz nés parfondes et larges, Chascune fermée à chaable, Plus de cinq cents dedanz la hable.

(9271–75)

Rather [than worry idly about the approaching French] he had the hoardings put back up on his vessels, of which he had both small craft and barges, and deep and wide great ships, each one secured with a cable, in all more than five hundred in the harbor.

This first reference to cables might be thought to mean that that they ships simply lay at anchor, but a subsequent references makes clear that they were interconnected with cables. On 10 August the French forces formed into four squadrons. Cil du roi leur navie rengent, Dont aviséement chevissent. Quatre eschieles en establissent. L’amirat et li souverain, En cele du front premerain, A quinze nés ensemble jointes; Devant en sont les mestres pointes A chascun bout enchastelées, Et de touz costez crénelées. (9309–17) The king’s men draw up their fleet and do so smartly. They form them into four squadrons. The admiral and the leading men are in the first squadron, in front, made up of fifteen ships joined together. To the fore are the reinforced prows, castles are at each end, and battlements along both sides of the hull.

The galleys are incorporated in the second, reserve line. Guy’s ships are also organized with care. Les granz néz furent ès frontières Et les petites derrenières,

8

translation. Here and in the following, translations are my own, unless otherwise noted, although earlier translations of comparable texts, chiefly Catalan, are noted. See Verbruggen, pp. 89–90 on typical ship sizes and likely complements.

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William Sayers Qu’eles n’alassent meschevant. Gui de Namur se tint devant Emmi la route premeraine. Sa nef est la plus souveraine; Grant gent a là amoncelée; Ele est si bel enchastelée E hourdée orgueilleusement De serjanz plains de hardement Et de mesnie à guerre duite, Qu’ele ne craint assaut ne luite D’aucuns qui envaïr la doient. (9430–42) The great ships were to the fore and the smaller ones to the rear, so that they would not cause problems. Guy de Namur is in front, in the middle of the first row. His ship is pre-eminent and a great force has been assembled on it. It is so finely outfitted with castles and proudly equipped with battlements [along the sides], with fighting men filled with boldness and with troops versed in war, that it fears neither assault from, nor battle with, any who might attack it.

On the French side, from the squadron on the right under Pedrogue of Calais, a group of four ships ran aground during the ebb tide just a crossbow-shot away from the enemy. Mès ele fiert sus un sablon Où les quatre ensemble serrées Sont à fine force aterrées, Si qu’il n’a mie en cele place De profond de mer une brace. (9491–95) But [the group] strikes a sandbar, where the four conjoined ships are forced to run aground and there was not a fathom’s depth of water at the spot.

The remainder of the French fleet then pulled up, a bit downriver. La flote espandue s’aüne; De leur trois batailles font une. Les quarante-quatre qu’il guient, A chaables ensemble lient. Jointes sont si qu’en puet saillir De l’une en l’autre sans faillir. Et est, pour péur de marée, Chascune aus deus bouts aancrée, Si que flo qui doie apleuvoir Ne les a povoir de mouvoir, Ne vent autre-si qui i fière. Les galies sont au desrière Qui se raancrent vistement, Près à près ordenéement, Et qu’aucun à ce ne s’apuie Que sa nef guerpisse et s’enfuie Son dommage lessant à tel.

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Environ les nés n’a batel, Tant soit bien fermé à loquet, Petite barge ne coquet, Où nus homs se puisse acoster, Que l’amiraut ne face oster, Et metre, c’on n’en ait riote, Loing du navie en une flote. (9502–25) The dispersed fleet comes together and of their three [remaining] squadrons they now form one. With cables they link together the forty-four ships that they steer. They are joined together in such a way that one can pass from one to the other without mishap. And, for fear of the tide, each is anchored at both ends, so that any flood that might come raining down would have no force to move them, nor other gust of wind that struck them. The galleys are in the rear and again promptly drop their anchors in neat, close formation in such a way that there is no-one who does not take care that his ship not break rank and move off, avoiding the disruption that this would cause. Around the great ships there is no pinnace, however well secured, small barge or boat against which a ship could lay to, that the admiral does not have removed and organized into a formation of its own, far from the fleet, where it could lead to no trouble.

Everything in readiness, the French waited for the Flemings, who also had land forces on the banks of the river, to make the first move. This took the form of fire-ships, filled with brush, animal fat, pitch and oil, sent downstream against the stranded Pedrogue. But the rising tide in the estuary and the wind forced the fire-ships back against the Flemings. Then Guy went on the offensive with his ships, abandoning his defensive stance. Li et li sien lachent les cordes ui ès autres furent laciées; Se dévalent à granz braciées Vers les nés le roi premerainnes.

(9605–8)

He and his crews release the cables that attached them to the other ships and they move downstream in great lengths towards the first of the king’s ships.9

Pedrogue’s four ships were then freed by the rising tide and were the first to engage the Flemings, in particular Guy’s ship the Orgeuilleuse, whose top castle was hit by a projectile. Disconcerted, the Flemings continued downstream toward the main French forces. Se joingnent les nés descendentes, Où ore a poi déduiz ne joies, A celes qui se tiennent quoies, De les grever entalentées. Si serré les ont endentées, Sanz ce qu’aucune en fraigne et quasse, 9

Since the term galie, “galley,” is never used of Guy’s vessels, I have not interpreted braciées “armspans” semi-literally as “oar strokes” or “sweeps of the oars,” but figuratively as ship-lengths.

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William Sayers Qu’eles sont comme en une tasse, L’un front l’autre que pris amort. (9663–70) The ships moving downstream, on which there is now little joy or merriment, engage those that are stationed in place with the intention of causing them damage. They mesh so tightly with the enemy ships, without any ship being hulled or breached because of it, that they are as if in a single bundle, one line of ships biting fast into the other.10

The ships exchanged missiles of all kinds and hand-to-hand f ighting ensued. Devers destre a trois nés d’Espaingne, El front des François, dont les piautres Sont un poi plus avant des autres. En celes n’a pas genz faillies, Mès aigrement sont assailies D’autres sept nés beles et cointes, Ès costez et devers les pointes, Longues et larges et hautaines, De la gent Gui de Namur plaines (9705–13) To the right are the three ships from Spain in the fore of the French, and their tillers are a little farther forward than the others. On these are no slackers but they are fiercely attacked along the sides and at the bows, which are long and wide and high, by seven other fine and trim ships, filled with the forces of Guy de Namur.

On the other side of the river, Pedrogue and another Norman ship had pulled up hull to hull (bort à bort) with the Orgeuilleuse. Night fell and fire-pots were then cast. But the three ships from Spain, perhaps initially less well outfitted for war, had been badly damaged and were taken by the Flemings. The Flemish vessels, which had been linked together in the first attack, now separated and moved downstream.11 Car joinz furent en aprochant Et or s’en vont désatrochant. Les uns avant, autres arrière, S’esparent aval la rivière. Il pert, quant leur flot se despueille, Que chascun d’eus fuir s’en veuille: Et aucuns font au retrenchier, Les chaables des nés trenchier. (9972–79) For they were joined together when they drew up and now they are being disconnected. Some in front and others behind, they spread out downstream. It seems, when their fleet breaks up, that each ship is trying to escape, as some now, in contrast, have the cables between them severed. 10

Battlements along the sides of ships, albeit not crenellated as in Guiart, are illustrated in a miniature accompanying Froissart’s description of the Battle of Sluys, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS fr. 2643, fol. 72. 11 This detail is confirmed in the Annales Gandenses: Annals of Ghent, ed. and trans. Hilda Johnstone (New York, 1961), p. 60, which states that they were later severed through treachery; see Verbruggen, p. 96.

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Guy got fresh reinforcements from shore before trying to engage the main body of the French, including the galleys, which had been held in readiness. As day broke the French galleys rowed forward, the oars slapping the water (10,088–91). The Flemings moved among them. La nef Gui de Namur première S’en va le cours aus escueillies, Et se fiert entre les galies, Comment qu’avenir li en doie. Cele où l’amiraut est, costoie De tel aïr au trespasser, Qu’ele en esmie et fait quasser Du lonc de l’un costé les eles. (10,222–29) First, the ship of Guy of Namur makes a rapid advance and strikes among the galleys, whatever may come of it. In passing through, it comes so forcibly aside the ship where the admiral is that it shatters and reduces to splinters the gunwale and hoardings all along one side of the hull.

The French ships sought to maintain themselves together and were assisted by the smaller vessels that had been kept to the rear. The smaller Flemish craft fled but the larger ships stood fast. The battle was fiercer than ever and when Guiart, at verse 10,373, recalls the French defeat at Courtrai, we know that conclusion of the battle, a French victory in which galleys seem to have performed well, is near. Guy de Namur is captured by one of Pedrogue’s men. The French ships are then beached and the crews go ashore to join the relieved townspeople. These excerpts are not intended to provide a full picture of the confused battle, which like that at Sluys rather incredibly went on throughout the night, but rather to give some general sense of ship deployment and the debated tactic of bridling. Guiart, a native of Orléans, served as a soldier in the war against the Flemish. Thus, while we may expect familiarity with military matters, Guiart’s vocabulary displays little, in the sense of specialist terminology, that is specific to the sea and ships. Some of his vocabulary even seems a bit eccentric. At the same time, the metrical form of his account makes for a considerable amount of uninformative filler. Aside from the near compulsory mention of ship types (great ships, galleys, smaller craft) and cables, anchors, hull planks, stem and stern, his interest, in terms of naval architecture, lies with the hoardings or battlements along the sides of the hull, and the castles at stem, stern and atop the masts, which were central to the actual fighting, both at a distance and hand-to-hand.12 In this context, we have a full repertory of projectiles: stones, 12

Guiart’s chronicle has not been the object of a modern edition and some readings of the manuscript may be defective; other difficulties arise from awkward syntax, apparently twisted in the interest of rhyme. A few of his technical terms merit comment. He uses pointe for the prow of ships and mestres pointes (v. 9315) might be the prows of the leading or most important ships. I believe, however, that reinforced prows are here meant. Eles (v. 10,229; Mod. Fr. ailes “wings”) seem to be some projecting part, either of the hoardings or of the stem and stern castles.

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bricks, block of wood, crossbow bolts (or quarrels), fire-pots.13 As noted, fire-ships were also employed by the Flemings but the tactic backfired. In terms of strictly discrete lexis, we do not find the Mediterranean image of the bridle but there can be little doubt that something very similar was practiced. Ships were joined at bow and stern with cables, which needed to be disconnected when the ships attacked individually or fled. The chief objective of bridling would appear to have been to create a situation where a maximum number of fighting men could be engaged in concerted fashion in hurling stones, firing crossbows, and in hand-to-hand fighting, rather than allowing ships to pursue one another individually, circumstances under which boarding would have been difficult without the initial crippling effects of the cannon of a somewhat later age. Guiart’s statement that ships were joined together so that one could pass from one to the other without slipping would lend some support to the notion that oars might have been used to create impromptu gangways, but he is not speaking exclusively of oared vessels, i.e. galleys, at this point. The three squadrons, one behind the other, formed a block rather than a single line, for which the waterway would not have been wide enough. Ships not relying primarily on oars could be brought quite close to one another and thus movement would have been possible not only over the sides but also from the prow of one ship to the stern of another, always assuming that height differentials were not too great. In all of this there is no mention of any special disposition of the oars on the galleys, which we know to have numbered far fewer than other types of vessels. Oars are mentioned only in reference to propulsion (v. 10,040), as are the sails on other ships (v. 10,210). Stoke’s account of naval maneuvres is less detailed than Guiart’s, but he confirms Jean Pedrogue’s stranding on a sandbar and it is explicitly stated that the ships are interconnected (“Met iiij scepen tsamen ghebonden”).14 Elsewhere we read of Grimaldi’s ships bound fast side by side (“Vaste ghecoppelt zide an zide,” v. 12,948). The Battle of Sluys (1340) has also been cited as a possible instance of bridled ships. A number of fourteenth-century chroniclers, English, French, and Flemish, mention the battle but there is little detail on naval tactics.15 Robert of 13

Two of the best of these mini-catalogues are at vv. 9827–31 and 9939–43 but they are otherwise frequent. Springalds (espringales) are also mentioned. 14 Ende van caleys padroghe, . . . Met iiij scepen tsamen ghebonden, Bleef sitten ten seluen stonden Op enen sande vor de poert, Dat leghet vander hauen noert. (De Rijmkroniek van Holland, MS C, 12,578–82) (And at the very same time Pedrogue from Calais, with four ships bound together, ran aground before the port on a sandbar that lay to the north of the harbor.) 15 On the perception of these events by contemporaries and later historians, and in particular on Jean Froissart’s shifting perspective as to the reasons for the outcome of the battle, see Kelly DeVries, “God, Admirals, Archery, and Flemings: Perceptions of Victory and Defeat at the Battle of Sluys, 1340,” American Neptune 55 (1995), 223–42. For overviews of the battle see

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Avesbury, in his history of the reign of Edward III, is the earliest to write of the French ships being chained together.16 Another account, a continuation of the chronicle once ascribed to Walter of Hemingford but now viewed as the work of Walter of Guisborough, is more explicit as concerns the French formation: “velis depositis quatuor acies navales, colligatis magnis catenis ferreis et cordis insimul navibus” (“with lowered sails, in four naval formations, the ships joined together by great iron chains and ropes”). 17 Jean Froissart states that King Edward had both barges and nefs and that the king of France had grosses naives. In the various recensions of his work, Froissart gives varying degrees of emphasis to the formation of the French fleet.18 In the first he states: Et affin que il peuissent mieux avoir les Englès à leur vollenté et que point ne leur escapaissent, il avoient grans hés, graves et haves de fier, et les lanchoient d’une nef à l’autre et les atachoeint à forche pour venir de l’un à l’autre et entroient d’un vaissiel en aultre li plus légier et vigereux et li plus batilleur. (3.196) In order better to have the English subject to their will and not escape, they had great, heavy hooks and iron grapnels that they cast from one ship to another and forcibly joined them together in order to to be able to move from one to another, so that they could board one vessel from another most nimbly, briskly, and full of fighting spirit.

In the second: [E]t par quoi il peuissent mieus avenir li un à l’autre, il avoeint grans cros et haves de fier tenans à chainnes: si les jettoient ens ès nefs li un de l’autre et les atachoient ensamble, afin qu’il peuissent mieuls aherdre et plus fièrement combattre. (3.201) And so that they might move from one to another, they had great iron hooks and grapnels attached to chains; and they cast them into one ship from another and joined them together, so that they could better mount hoardings and fight more boldly.

Charles de la Roncière, Histoire de la marine française, 5 vols. (Paris, 1899–1932), 1:441–55, and J. F. C. Fuller, A Military History of the Western World, 2 vols. (New York, 1954–56), 1:449–54. 16 “Tunc Anglici, perpendentes navigium Francigenarum fore cum catenis ferreis in una acie adeo colligatum quod non potuit penetrari, retro paululum navigarunt” (“Then the English judging the French ships to be chained together in one line with iron chains so that no one might penetrate their line, they sailed a little to the rear”) in Adae Murimuth Continuatio chronicarum: Robertus de Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus Edwardii tertii, ed. Edward Maunde Thompson (London, 1889), p. 312. DeVries, p. 227. 17 Chronicon domini Walteri de Hemingburgh, vulgo Hemingford nuncupati . . . de gestis regum Angliae, ed. Hans Claude Hamilton, 2 vols. (London, 1848–49), 2:356. The earlier part of this work, which, however, does not cover the reign of Edward III and thus not the passage in question, has been re-edited as The Chronicle of Walter of Guisborough, previously edited as the chronicle of Walter of Hemingford or Hemingburgh, ed. Harry Rothwell (London, 1957). 18 Jean Froissart, Oeuvres de Froissart, ed. M. le baron Kervyn de Lettenhove, 25 vols. (Brussels, 1867–77; repr. Osnabrück, 1967), 17:94–96. For the relation between the various recensions, see the editor’s discussion in vol. 1, part 2.

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The fourth recension provides less detail: Les nefs estoient acroquies et atachies les unes as aultres et ne se pooient départir, et là avoit dure bataille et dedens les nefs fait apertise d’armes. (3.206) The ships were hooked and fastened one to another and could not move off, and there fierce fighting and feats of arms were realized on board the ships.

Froissart similarly revises his opinion as to which factors were responsible for the English victory.19 His most mature judgment was that the poor position of the French fleet was the cause of their defeat and, while it is not made explicit at this point, the decreased mobility that resulted from chaining the ships together must have played a role. Les Englois en venant les avoient enclos entre eus et l’Escluse. Se ne pooient requler, fors sus lors ennemis, ne aler avant, ne rompre la navie d’Engleterre qui avoit pourpiris tout le passage de la mer. (3.206) The English in moving forward had closed the French in between themselves and Sluys. The latter could not withdraw, except to fall back on their enemies, nor advance, nor break through the English fleet, which had blocked all passage to the sea.

Another principal document for our understanding of the Battle of Sluys, and in particular for the number of ships involved, is King Edward III’s letter to his son shortly after the encounter, in which Edward had led his own fleet. Of his opponents, who deployed niefs, galeyes and grant barges, Edward states “nos ditz enemys . . . avoyent assemble lours niefs en moult fort array et lesquels fesoient mult noble defens tut cel jour et la noet apres.”20 “Moult fort array” certainly suggests a conscious formation in a confrontational situation, but more cannot be extrapolated from the phrase; at a minimum it complements the information in the Latin chronicles and in Froissart. In all of this, it should be noted, there is no mention of any special deployment of the oars, even on the galleys. In fact, the Genoese commander, “Barbavera” (Egidio Bocanegra), who led a small fleet of galleys, initially suggested that the French attack, but was overruled in favor of the chaining of ships together.21 Later he makes his escape from the massed French fleet but is subsequently caught. This suggests that his galleys were not part of the interconnected French formation, which consisted largely of round ships. As we shall see below, the French fleet may have been much less mobile than galleys bridled in the Mediterranean fashion. The sea battle between Haraldr hardráða Sigurðarson of Norway and King Sveinn of Denmark in 1062 has been cited in discussions of the bridling of ships prior to combat. According to the account by Snorri Sturluson, their ships were 19 20

DeVries, 234–35. Nicholas Harris Nicolas, A History of the Royal Navy, from the earliest times to the wars of the French Revolution, 2 vols. (London, 1847), 2:501–02, gives the French text; a translation is found in British Naval Documents, ed. John B. Hattendorf et al. (Aldershot, 1993), p. 22, no. 14. Nicolas offers the generally accepted view of the course of the battle. 21 DeVries, 232.

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drawn up in two opposing lines, with the royal vessels in the center, and picked commanders directing the vessels on the wings. “Síðan tengðu hvárirtveggju sín skip allt um miðan flotann” (“[t]hen, on both sides, all the ships in the centre of the battle-lines were roped together”).22 On the wings of both lines a number of other ships were left loose, which led to some unevenness in the lines. But this arrangement still permitted the interconnected ships to be rowed forward, Haraldr’s next command. If the account is to be trusted, and surely it should be, if not as evidence for the events of 1062 then as evidence for what naval combat was understood to be like in the thirteenth-century North Sea, either the massed ships were moved forward by the banks of oars on the two sides of the block (which must have set limits on the number of ships so connected and moved) or the ships were tied together so loosely that there was room in between for the play of the oars. The purpose of bringing ships together, gunwale to gunwale, was to create the kind of multi-vessel fighting platform that others, rightly or wrongly, have projected for galley warfare in other parts of Europe. Here, too, the critical focus of the engagement would be in the prows, where the best men were always placed. But this arrangement may also have permitted movement between allied ships as well as from prow to prow when boarding the enemy. As the saga indicates, the loose ships had to be engaged, grappled, and boarded individually. Although we cannot be certain just how Haraldr’s and Sveinn’s fleets were intraconnected, there is no suggestion that the oars were involved other than as a means of propulsion. After this review of the northern European evidence, in which we find mention of interconnected ships of various kinds but not the image of the bridle, I turn to Muntaner and the Battle of Rosas, since it has been cited as key evidence for our understanding of bridling galleys. It will be prudent to examine Muntaner’s account of the Battle of Rosas (1285) in his original Catalan and not through published translations that may put an unwarranted slant on the description, due to inadequate understanding of the original technical vocabulary. Events are initially seen from the perspective of the forces of the French king, Charles of Anjou. To anticipate, two kinds of bridling may be clearly recognized. E tantost En Guillem de Loderva féu tocar les trompes e les nàcares, e féu armar tothom. E entretant lo jorn se féu, e les unes galees veeren les altres; e En Guillem de Loderva féu donar volta a les palomeres, e féu la via de les onze galees. E les onze galees estaven ben fora, per ço que no fossen prés de terra. E En Guillem de Loderva venc a les onze galees ab quinze de les sues, enfrenellades, davant; e hac ordonat que

22

Snorri Sturluson, Haralds saga Sigurðarson, in Heimskringla, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson, 3 vols. (Reykjavik, 1979), pp. 3, 62, 147–48; King Harald’s Saga: Harald Hardradi of Norway, trans. Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Pálsson (Harmondsworth, 1970), pp. 62, 112. Comparable information in the histories of Haraldr contained in the manuscripts Fagrskinna and Morkinskinna; Fargrskinna: Nóregs konunga tal, in Ágrip af Nóregskonunga sögur, ed. Bjarni Einarsson (Reykjavik, 1985), ch. 57; Morkinskinna, ed. Finnur Jónsson (Copenhagen, 1932), ch. 42.

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William Sayers les deu galees los venguessen per popa, e així que les tendrien enmig, en guisa que no en pogués neguna escapar; e segurament ordonà-ho sàviament. E En Ramon Marquet e En Berenguer Maiol feeren [metre] en frenells llargs les galees, e metre tots los rems en frenells, per ço que los enemics no es poguessen entre ells metre. E con ells se volguessen, que es donassen los rems de llarg, e que los ballesters en taula los canscassen, e con veurien que els haurien ben canscats, que donassen los rems de llong, e que s’acostassen a manés; e així se féu. E per cert vull que cascuns sàpia, e diu-vos-ho aquell qui en moltes batalles ho ha vist, que els ballesters en taula s’emporten les batalles pus les galees meten rems en frenell. . . . E així les galees estaven proa per proa, e les altres deu qui eren de popa, e no podien entre ells entrar per los rems qui estaven ben enfrenellats.23 And at once William of Lodève had the trumpets and kettledrums sounded, and had everyone arm. Meanwhile, day dawned and the one fleet of galleys saw the other. And William of Lodève had the anchor cables wound, and made for the eleven [Aragonese] galleys. And the eleven galleys stood well off shore, so that they should not be too close to land. And William of Lodève advanced on the eleven galleys with fifteen of his own, bridled together, in front, and had ordered the [remaining] ten galleys to follow them astern, so that they could hold them [the Aragonese galleys] to the middle, in such a way that none of them could escape past. And surely this was a prudent command. And Ramon Marquet and Berenguer Maiol ordered their galleys linked by long bridles, and had all the oars raised and blocked, so that the enemy vessels could not come between them. Then, when they wished, they would release the oars when the crossbowmen on the foredeck had assaulted them, and when they saw that they had them well ground down, they would row in from the intervening distance, and would close with them in hand-to-hand combat. And this was done. And I should certainly like everyone to know (and the one telling you this has been in many battles) that it is the crossbowmen on the foredeck who carry the battle once the galleys put their oars in bridles. . . . And so the galleys stood prow by prow, with the other ten astern, and they could not penetrate between them because of the [extended] oars that were well bridled.24

The metaphor of a bridle (Latin frenum, frenellum), as used of galleys and of oars, seems to have originated in the maritime Italian city states, Genoa, Pisa, 23

Ramon Muntaner, Crònica, in Les quatre grans cròniques, ed. Ferran Soldevila (Barcelona, 1971), pp. 789–90. Cited here chiefly because of their erroneous representation of tactical maneuvers, versions of the Catalan chronicle in other languages include Chronique de Ramon Muntaner, trans. J. A. Buchon (Paris, 1827); Chronik des edlen En Ramon Muntaner, trans. K. Fr. W. Lanz (Leipzig, 1842); Crónica catalana de Ramon Muntaner: texto original y traduccion castellana, ed. and trans. Antonio de Bofarull (Barcelona, 1860); Cronache catalane del secolo XIII e XIV, trans. Filippo Moisè (Palermo, 1984). Most influential for historians writing in English was doubtless The Chronicle of Muntaner, trans. Lady Goodenough, 2 vols., The Hakluyt Society, second series 47 (London, 1920–21). 24 Between the two excerpts above, focused on bridling, Muntaner gives his celebrated account of Catalan crossbowmen, their profound knowledge of their weapons and deadly efficiency in battle. In a note to this passage (969, n. 6) the modern editor of Muntaner’s chronicle calls this one of the most explicit passages for understanding the tactic of bridled galleys, but still fails to recognize what the bridling of oars entails, believing that short bridles were run from the oars of one ship to those of another.

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Venice. In a collection of poems by an anonymous Genoese writer of the early fourteenth century (l’anonimo genovese), a poem celebrating the victory of the Genoese over the Venetians at the battle of Curzola (1298) states: e se missem tuti in schera enter l’isora e terra ferma, de tuti cavi ormezia, enter lor afernelai:25 And the galleys all joined up in battle formation between the island and the mainland, moored by all their anchor cables between their bridles.

Marino Sanudo, the Venetian exponent of a new Crusade against Egypt, credits the Genoese victory over the Venetians at the battles of Lajazzo and Curzola not to superior vessels or greater numbers but to tactics, which included bridling ships and running gangplanks between them.26 In the case of galleys it entailed their being drawn up parallel to one another and cables being run from stem to stem and stern to stern to dissuade enemy ships from trying to run between them. The cables, which may have been difficult to keep taut and might have been pressed down by a ship passing over them, cannot have been the true obstacle. Rather, the uniform proximity of the vessels and the disposition of the raised oars discouraged opposing ships from trying to pass between. But even if “[c]ables, frenella, were passed from bow to bow and stern to stern of adjacent galleys,” there is no evidence that “then the oars were reversed and the looms passed across from one to the other and lashed fast.”27 What actually occurred was that the oars were raised from the water to the horizontal and the looms were temporarily locked in place, perhaps with a simple loop of rope, amidships, to the deck or corsia that ran the central length of the galley.28 This very different bridling is what Muntaner means with “metre tots los rems en frenells” 25 26

Anonimo Genovese, Poesie, ed. Luciana Cocito (Rome, 1970), pp. Poem 49, vv. 244–47. “Galeae vero Ianuensium praedictorum, minores & debiliores galeis suorum hostium existebant, quae propre terram morantes tenebant proras paratas vel armizatas in contrarium dicti venti; atque omnes una simul frenellatae inuicem & ligatae: habebantque pontes, quibus ab una galearum in alteram ire poterant homines et redire,” Marino Sanudo, Liber secretorum fidelium crucis super Terrae Sanctae recuperatione et conservatione (Toronto, 1972), Book 2, Part 4, ch. 24, p. 83. A selection of passages from Sanudo in English translation by Peter Lock has been announced by Ashgate for its Crusader Texts in Translations series. 27 Pryor, “Naval Battles,” p. 189. 28 On the design of galleys, see Ulrich Alertz, “The Naval Architecture and Oar System of Medieval and Later Galleys,” in The Age of the Galley: Mediterranean Oared Vessels since Preclassical Times, ed. Robert Gardiner and John Morrison (London, 1995), pp. 142–62; John E. Dotson, “Galleys,” in Medieval Italy: An Encyclopedia, ed. Christopher Kleinhenz (New York, 2004), pp. 1027–32; La flotta di Venezia: navi e barche della Serenissima – The Venetian Fleet: Ships and Boats of the Venetian Republic, ed. G. B. Rubin de Cervin (Milan, 1985); Marie-Pierre Jezegou, “Le gréement des navires catalans aux XIVe et XVe siècles d’après les textes et l’iconographie,” in L’Homme méditerranéen et la mer, ed. Micheline Galley and Leïla Ladjimi Sebai (Tunis, 1985), pp. 223–32; William Ledyard Rodgers, Naval Warfare under Oars, 4th to 16th Centuries: A Study of Strategy, Tactics and Ship Design (Annapolis, 1967).

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– putting all the oars in bridles. This, too, is what is meant when the anonimo genovese writes of prudent sailors “paying attention to the the alarm whistle [of the bosun’s pipe] and holding the oars firmly checked in bridle (tegnendo ben reme in frenelo) in order to be ready for every maneuver” (Poem 39, 245). Marino Sanudo, too, recommends that future rowers put their gyrones, the looms of the oars, in frenella so that Muslim ships could not slip through the battle line of Christian ships.29 When oared propulsion was again needed, the oars would be released as easily as the bridling cables dropped, a much more rapidly executed move than unfastening oars reversed and lashed to an adjoining ship. Thus neither the dozens of oars, up to 30 feet in length, nor any portion of them needed to be drawn in, somehow reversed, then passed, loom-first, to the next ship and lashed in place as part of the bridling of vessels. Instead we may envisage galleys at distances of roughly two oar lengths, with their oars extended straight out, a perfectly normal position when not all rowers were at work and when the ship was under sail. In Venetian nautical jargon the oars were said to be a pettine, that is, like the straight teeth of a comb.30 Here we should imagine a two-sided comb of an older model, with the body of the galley representing its central part. But with the oars so extended, two galleys could not be brought as close together as other kinds of vessels and the bridles may, in relative terms, have been even more important for maintaining an ideal distance. If we abandon the notion of an impromptu platform composed of oars between ships, and imagine the oars in the checked position, we must conclude that the hand-to-hand fighting, as opposed to crossbow volleys and other missiles, would have been confined to the foredeck and perhaps stern, rather than amidships. Evidence in the Catalan chroniclers supports this conclusion. Other passages in Muntaner and his Aragonese contemporary Bernat 29

“Praetera est necessarium & utile dictae genti, quod dicte galeae sint tali modo & maniere Frenellatae, quod dum adversus hostiles processerint pugnaturae, de facilli stringant se invicem & conjungant. Ita tamen quod gyrones mittant in Frenella remiges praedictarum, ne aliqua ex galeis hostilibus, intra fidelium galearum aciem, se figere valeat ullo modo” (Sanudo, 84). The gyrones of this passage were perhaps first correctly identified in the modern era (1848) by Augustin Jal in his monumental and long authoritative Glossaire nautique: répertoire polyglotte de termes de marine anciens et modernes (Paris, 1848) as a Venetian term for the looms or handles of the oars. In a long expansion on the passage from Sanudo, Jal introduced the notion of the oars being reversed, since the looms were stronger than the blades, returned to the thole pins, and extended and lashed to neighboring ships. But it is noteworthy that this interpretative extrapolation has not been retained in the revised edition of Jal (Nouveau glossaire nautique d’Augustin Jal, ed. Michel Mollat [Paris, 1988– ]), where the entries for frenellare and frenellum simply quote Sanudo. 30 Bad weather could prevent the use of the oars on galleys. “In questi case i remi venivano alzati in modo che le pale stessero fuori dall’acqua, ma saldamente bloccati col proprio girone infisso alla base dela corsia centrale, e si dicevano cosi aconnigliati o a pettine” (“In this case, the oars were raised in such a way that the blades were out of the water but their collars [looms] were firmly blocked at the base of the central passageway, thus said to be acconigliati or a pettine [like a comb]”); La flotta di Venezia, p. 32.

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Desclot, writing of these same events but with less understanding of nautical matters, support this reading of the account of the Battle of Rosas and, more generally, of galley bridling as practiced in the late thirteenth-century Mediterranean.31 In fact, recalling that Cervantes had first-hand experience of galley warfare from the Battle of Lepanto, we find the very same image of checked oars, frenillados los remos, in the Captive’s account of his time at sea, in Don Quijote.32 A better understanding of what was meant by the bridling of oars restores the integrity of the image of “bridle” as used of ships – not a massive block of vessels secured with cables and oars lashed between hulls but a loose, flexible arrangement that ensured a general spatial organization. Yet interconnecting cogs and other round ships with cables, as we have seen at Zierikzee and Sluys, where there would have been no bank of extended oars on each side, results in a very different formation, one which the historical record suggests was considerably less flexible, although it did facilitate boarding and hand-to-hand fighting. On balance, then, and without the complicating factor of some rather implausible oar handling, we have evidence in Guiart, Stoke, Muntaner, and others that the bridling of galleys and cabling of other vessels was an actual, fairly common medieval tactic to block a harbor mouth or estuary and force engagement, or to present a concentrated defense, and not a reminiscence of classical authors incorporated by medieval chroniclers to enhance an account with the trappings of prestigious antiquity.33 Recalling that Philip of France had the support of Rainier Grimaldi of Monaco and eleven galleys that were very likely of Genoese construction under his command, and had hired or pressed ships normally engaged in the trade with Spain, and that admiral Roger of Luria served a king who ruled both Aragon and Sicily, we will not find it hard to accept that innovations in nautical architecture and naval tactics must have passed rapidly from one maritime 31

In “The Lexicon of Naval Tactics in Muntaner’s Crònica,” Catalan Review 17 (2003), 177–92 (published in 2005), I provide detailed support for this interpretation, with a more strictly philological consideration of Italian and Catalan naval terminology and additional excerpts in Catalan and in English translation. 32 Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quijote, in Obras Completas, ed. Florencio Sevilla Arroyo and Antonio Rey Hazas, 3rd ed. (Madrid, 1999), pp. 41, 286. 33 Livy is often cited as a classical precedent. Concerning the ships laying siege to Syracuse, we note: “iunctae aliae binae quinqueremes demptis interioribus remis, ut latus lateri adplicaretur, cum exteriore ordine remorum velut una navis agerentur” (“other five-bankers, paired together, with the inner oars removed, so that side was brought close to side, were propelled by the outer bank of oars like a single ship”); Titus-Livy, Ab urbe condita. Livy, with an English Translation in Thirteen Volumes, Books XXIII–XXV, ed. and trans. Frank Gardner Moore (Cambridge, MA, and London, 1940), pp. 23, 34. Vegetius, on the other hand, recommends impromptu gangways between ships but does not mention the use of oars for this purpose: Flavius Vegetius Renatus, Vegetius: Epitome of Military Science, trans. N. P. Milner (Liverpool, 1993), pp. 4, 44. A medieval successors to Vegetius, Giles of Rome (Egidio Colonna, Ægidius Romanus), bishop of Bourges in the thirteenth century, writing of secular governance and military matters in his De regimine principum, deals with naval tactics but does not introduce bridling into this context.

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community to another, as did expert shipbuilders and repairmen. The attendant terminology is often also part of this transfer, as when Italian frenello ‘bridle’ is matched by the Catalan verb afrenellar, but not necessarily so, as the absence of the bridle metaphor – its two discrete applications, ships and oars – from Guiart, Stoke, Froissart, and others seems to indicate. Perhaps the image, with its suggestion of both control and flexibility, was restricted to galleys. The language of ships and sailing has always had a particular fascination, no doubt in part because of the both willed and unwilled hermetic quality of this technical vocabulary. The study of this specialist lexis must be an integral part of our renewed efforts, always directed by a sense of the practical, to comprehend as fully as possible the realia of medieval life and medieval warfare at sea.

The Milit ary Role of the Magist rat es

7 The Military Role of the Magistrates in Holland during the Guelders War James P. Ward

Sources in the city and state archives of Holland show that at the beginning of the sixteenth century the magistrates of Holland were proficient in military matters of defense. During the Guelders war, which lasted until 1543, they hired and paid soldiers, arranged billets for them, confronted mutinies, controlled local military dispositions and costs, purchased and distributed weapons to their burghers, had munitions manufactured for them locally, supervised drills, mustered men, and, within their cities, organized resistance to the Guelders enemy. Two generations later, at the time of the Dutch Revolt, the same skills were needed again to help defeat Philip II.

Introduction The publication in 1956 of Michael Roberts’ essay, “The Military Revolution,” inspired a spate of studies and monographs on the subject of warfare and of armies, their organization and weapons which continues to the present day. These studies augment older studies of warfare and relate them to newer disciplines.1 With few exceptions, however, scholars have continued to give their attention mostly to what may be called the “bigger picture,” to armies recruited by emperors, princes, and generals. These reflect a bias in two directions. They

1

For example: Frontinus, The Stratagems and the Aqueducts of Rome, ed. and trans C. E. Bennet (London, 1925); Niccolò Machiavelli, Il Principe, Dell’Arte della Guerra ed altri Scriti Politici, ed. F. Costerò (Milan, 1875); Machiavelli, The Art of War, ed. and trans. P. Whitehorne and H. Cust (London, 1905), with a useful chronology of the period; F. H. W. Kuypers, Geschiedenis der Nederlandsche Artellerie van de Vroegste Tijden tot op Heden, 5 vols. (Nijmegen, 1869–74); Charles Oman, A History of the Art of War in the Middle Ages, 2 vols. (New York, 1898); Berhard Rathgen, Das Geschütz im Mittelalter; Quellenkritische Untersuchungen (Berlin, 1928); Charles Oman, A History of the Art of War in the Sixteenth Century (London, 1937); and A. R. Hall, Ballistics in the Seventeenth Century: A Study in the Relations of Science and War with Reference Principally to England (Cambridge, 1952).

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describe mainly professional armies, and their time-frames start mainly in the second half of the sixteenth century.2 In contrast to this, the level, scale and sophistication of military organization which was in the hands of city magistrates and aldermen in Holland in the early sixteenth century is less well known. The aim of this article is to show to what extent and by what means the magistrates, aldermen and burghers of Holland fought a daring and persistent foe, Charles, duke of Guelders. The Guelders War is covered here in some detail from 1508 to 1517 from the perspective of the cities of Holland, with the emphasis not on armies, campaigns and battles, but on the efforts mainly of civilians to organize and defend themselves.3 The theater of war is limited by geography and time, but the sources reveal facts that are general, repetitive and structural with respect to “guerrilla” wars. As a corollary, it will be argued briefly that the magistrates of early sixteenth-century Holland served as a model for their successors in the latter half of the century, at the time of the Dutch Revolt against King Philip II. 2

3

M. Roberts, “The Military Revolution 1560–1660” (London, 1956), reprinted in C. J. Rogers, ed., The Military Revolution Debate: Readings in the Military Transformation of Early Modern Europe (Boulder, 1995). Other references in chronological order include: C. G. Cruickshank, Army Royal: Henry VIII’s Invasion of France, 1513 (Oxford, 1969); M. H. Jackson and C. de Beer, Eighteenth Century Gunfounding: The Verbruggens at the Royal Brass Foundry. A Chapter in the History of Technology (Newton Abbot, 1973); Geoffrey Parker, “The ‘Military Revolution’, 1560–1660 – a Myth?,” Journal of Modern History 48 (1976), 195–214; D. Miller and G. A. Embleton, The Landsknechts (London, 1976); B. Roosens, “Het arsenaal van Mechelen en de wapenhandel (1551–1567),” Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 60 (1977), 175–247; Michael E. Mallett and J. R. Hale, The Military Organization of a Renaissance State: Venice c. 1400 to 1617 (Cambridge, 1984); A. N. Kennard, Gunfounding and Gunfounders (London, 1986); Geoffrey Parker, The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West, 1500–1800 (Cambridge, 1988); J. R. Hale, “Armies, Navies and the Art of War,” in G. R. Elton, ed., The New Cambridge Modern History: The Reformation 1520–1559, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 540–69; J. R. Hale, Artists and Warfare in the Renaissance (New Haven, 1990); Jeremy Black, A Military Revolution? Military Change and European Society, 1550–1800 (London, 1991); Frank Tallet, War and Society in Early Modern Europe, 1495–1715 (London and New York, 1992); Brian M. Downing, The Military Revolution and Political Change: Origins of Democracy and Autocracy in Early Modern Europe (Princeton, 1992); C. J. Rogers, “The Military Revolutions of the Hundred Years War,” in C. J. Rogers, ed., The Military Revolution Debate: Readings in the Military Transformation of Early Modern Europe (Boulder, 1995), pp. 55–93; Geoffrey Parker, ed., The Cambridge Illustrated History of Warfare: The Triumph of the West (Cambridge, 1995); Harald Kleinschmidt, “Disziplinierung zum Kampf: Neue Forschungen zum Wandel militärischer Verhaltensweisen im 15., 16. und 17. Jahrhundert,” Blätter für deutsche Landesgeschichte 132 (1996), 173–200; Bert S. Hall, Weapons and Warfare in Renaissance Europe: Gunpowder, Technology and Tactics (Baltimore and London, 1997); G. Phillips, “In the Shadow of Flodden: Tactics, Technology and Scottish Military Effectiveness, 1513–1550,” Scottish Historical Review 77 (1998), 162–82. Only the overt military activities of the magistrates are described. Espionage and counterespionage are not included here. This is part of the author’s unpublished doctoral thesis: J. P. Ward, “The Cities and States of Holland (1506–1515). A Participative System of Government Under Strain” (University of Leiden, 2001). The caesura are the death of Philip I in 1506 and the coming of age of his son, Charles V, in 1515. The material has been collected primarily from the archives.

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Sources The sources used are the financial accounts of individual cities in Holland, mainly Haarlem and Leiden, but with some data from Gouda and Dordrecht; also used were accounts of the central government in The Hague kept by successive Treasurers for North-Holland.4 In Leiden and Haarlem most of the account books, council minutes and resolutions, and records of public announcements survive for the years under review here.5 The most important sources for charting the effects of the Guelders war on the lives of ordinary people in Holland are the minutes of private and confidential meetings held by the local councils (vroedschappen) in Holland, and the public announcements, made by the magistrates, of local by-laws and government proclamations. These public announcements, contained in the cities’ so-called af lezingboeken (proclamation books), governed such matters as law and order, regulation of markets, excise duties and taxation, public health and safety, military service, military defense, and other matters of importance in the daily lives of the citizens. In particular, the military matters included in the account books and in the resolutions of the local councils must raise doubts about whether the magistrates of the early sixteenth century were “mere laymen” when it came to military affairs.6

4

P. A. Meilink, ed., Archieven van de Staten van Holland vóór 1572 (The Hague, 1929); P. A. Meilink and J. L. van der Gouw, Inventaris van het Archief van de Grafelijkheids-Rekenkamer of Rekenkamer der Domeinen van Holland. Tweede deel: Afgehoorde en gedeponeerde rekeningen (The Hague, 1946); and P. A. Meilink, ed., Inventaris van de archieven van de Staten van Holland vóór 1572, revised by H. J. P. G. Kaajan (The Hague, 1993). For references to the city archives see the following footnote. 5 J. L. van Dalen, ed., Inventaris van het archief der gemeente Dordrecht I. De grafelijke tijd, 1200–1572 (Dordrecht, 1909); J. L. van Dalen, ed., Regestenlijst behoorende bij den inventaris van het archief der gemeente Dordrecht, 1200–1572 (Dordrecht, 1912); P. van den Brandeler, ed., Inventaris van het Archief der Gemeente Dordrecht (Dordrecht, 1869); P. van den Brandeler, ed., Suppletoire inventaris van het archief der gemeente Dordrecht (Dordrecht, 1878); A. J. Enschedé, ed., Inventaris van het archief der gemeente Haarlem, 3 vols. (Haarlem, 1866–67); J. C. Overvoorde and J. W. Verburgt, ed., Archief der secretarie van de stad Leiden 1253–1575. Inventaris en regesten (Leiden, 1937); H. G. Hamaker, ed., De middeleeuwse keurboeken van de stad Leiden (Leiden, 1873); J. E. J. Geselschap, ed., Inventaris van het oud-archief van Gouda (Gouda, 1965); P. D. J. van Iterson and P. H. J. van der Laan, ed., Resoluties van de vroedschap van Amsterdam 1490–1550 (Amsterdam, 1986); and H. Ten Boom and B. Woelderink, Inventaris van het oud-archief van de stad Rotterdam 1340–1813, 2 vols. (Rotterdam, 1976). 6 As expressed, for example, by J. D. Tracy, Holland under Habsburg Rule 1506–1566: The Formation of a Body Politic (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1990), p. 74: “. . . it was a measure of the government’s desperation that deputies to the states, mere laymen in military matters, were invited to play a role in important decisions.”

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Holland in the Early Sixteenth Century In financial terms the cities of Holland formed the strongest group in civic and political society. Documentary evidence shows major differences between two groups of cities and towns. The six large cities – Dordrecht, Haarlem, Delft, Leiden, Gouda and Amsterdam – were referred to as such (grote steden). The small towns (kleine steden) included Gorinchem, Rotterdam, Schiedam and Vlaardingen, as well as many others. The status of the major cities was determined partly by reasons of history, and partly by size and wealth. It has been estimated that in 1514 more than half the population of Holland lived in towns or cities. The largest of these, Leiden and Amsterdam, had populations at the time of around 12,000–14,000, Haarlem and Delft around 10,000–12,000, while Dordrecht and Gouda had around 7,000–10,000 each. When Antonio de Beatis traveled through the Low Countries in 1517, he wrote in his diary estimates of the sizes of the communities which he visited in Holland, using hearths as a means of calculation: Dordrecht 3000 hearths, Rotterdam 1800, Delft 5000, The Hague 6000, and Gorinchem 3000. For Dordrecht and Delft these data are commensurate with the other estimates given, assuming a multiplication of the number of hearths by a factor between 2.5 and 3 to arrive at the number of persons in each household. J. C. Naber in his statistical analysis of early sixteenth-century Holland estimated 3 to 4 communicants per household. 7 The cities and towns were administered by colleges of magistrates that formed the local court (gerecht) and fulfilled a number of functions. At the top of their hierarchy was the sheriff (scout) responsible for keeping law and order. He was usually a nobleman, and his office was by royal appointment. Then followed one or several burgomasters or mayors and several aldermen (scepenen) who took their places in the council by a process of co-option, for which government approval was required. For example, during this period, the day to day administrative affairs of Leiden were managed by the sheriff, four burgomasters and eight aldermen. These thirteen men jointly formed the magistrature and were jointly responsible for keeping law and order locally, for matters pertaining to public health and safety, for the regulation and control of

7

J. Hale and J. M. A. Lindon, ed. and trans., The Travel Journal of Antonio de Beatis, 1517–1518 (London, 1979), pp. 90–91, and J. C. Naber, Een terugblik. Statistische bewerking van de resultaten van de informatie van 1514, facsimile of 1885 and 1890 editions (Haarlem, 1970). See also Tracy, Holland, Table I, p. 30; W. P. Blockmans, “The Economic Expansion of Holland and Zeeland in the Fourteenth–Sixteenth Centuries,” in Studia Historica Oeconomica: Liber amicorum Herman van der Wee (Louvain, 1993), pp. 41–58, Table 1, p. 44; and M. ‘T Hart, “Intercity Rivalries and the Making of the Dutch State,” in Cities and the Rise of States in Europe, A.D. 1000 to 1800, ed. C. Tilly and W. P. Blockmans (Boulder, San Francisco, and London, 1994), pp. 196–217, especially pp. 197ff., and Table 10.1, p. 198.

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trade, industry, commerce, and taxation within Leiden, and local defense and public security in times of war, among other local matters.8 A major difference between the large cities and the smaller towns was that at the diets of the States of Holland only the six large cities had the right to vote. They did this together with the nobles of Holland, who jointly had a single vote. Decisions were made by a majority vote, notwithstanding objections by dissenters who appealed to older privileges, but there was a perception that the votes of at least four of the large cities were required for a decision to be accepted. Relationships between the large cities and their smaller, immediate neighboring towns in matters of defense were those of patron and client. These relationships become apparent when sources describing the diets of the cities and States of Holland are studied in detail, and when the response of the large cities to threats of military attacks on the small towns is seen. Haarlem helped to defend Weesp, a nearby town on the Zuiderzee, and Leiden helped to defend Woerden, a town upstream on the Rhine. In the south, Gouda and Dordrecht held a similar relationship with Oudewater and Nieuwpoort.

The Guelders War Guelders, or Gelderland, was a large dukedom to the east of Holland which controlled trade and access to Germany over the rivers Rhine and Waal.9 For several decades in the second half of the fifteenth century and until 1543 in the sixteenth century, a struggle for power there went on between dukes of Guelders – Arnold, his son, Adolf, and Adolf ’s son, Charles – against successive dukes of Burgundy and their Habsburg heirs, Charles the Bold, Maximilian I, Philip I,

8

H. F. K. van Nierop, Van Ridders tot Regenten: De Hollandse adel in de zestiende en de eerste helft van de zeventiende eeuw (Leiden, 1984); D. E. H. De Boer, “Die politische Elite Leidens am Ende des Mittelalters: eine Zwischenbilanz,” in Bürgerliche Eliten in den Niederlanden und in Nordwestdeutschland: Studien zur Sozialgeschichte des europäischen Bürgertums im Mittelalter und in der Neuzeit, ed. H. Schilling and H. Diederiks (Cologne, 1985), pp. 85–109; F. J. W. van Kan, “Élite and Government in Medieval Leiden,” Journal of Medieval History 21 (1995), 51–75; J. G. Smit, Vorst en onderdaan: Studies over Holland en Zeeland in de late Middeleeuwen (Louvain, 1995); A. J. Brand, Over macht en overwicht: Stedelijke elites in Leiden (1420–1510) (Leiden, 1996); and M. J. van Gent, “Pertijelike Saken”: Hoeken en Kabeljauwen in het Bourgondisch-Oostenrijkse tijdperk (Leiden, 1994). 9 A. F. Mellink, “Territoriale afronding der Nederlanden,” in Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, ed. D. P. Blok et al. (Haarlem, 1980), 5:492–506; P. J. Meij, “Gelderland van 1492–1543,” in Geschiedenis van Gelderland 1492–1795, ed. P. J. Meij et al. (Zutphen, 1975), pp. 13–78, 481–91; J. Struik, Gelre en Habsburg 1492–1528 (Arnhem, 1960); I. A. Nijhoff, Gedenkwaardigheden van de Geschiedenis van Gelderland (Arnhem, 1859), vol. 6, part 1; M. van Driel, “Gelre voor 1543,” in Verdrag en tractaat van Venlo: Herdenkingsbundel 1543–1993, ed. F. Keverling Buisman et al. (Hilversum, 1993), pp. 83ff.; and H. Wiesflecker, Kaiser Maximilian I: das Reich, Österreich und Europa an der Wende zur Neuzeit, 5 vols. (Munich, 1971–86), 4:320–29, 606–09.

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and Charles V.10 The Burgundian-Habsburg claim to Guelders was based on arguments of legality, one of the results of which was a propaganda offensive in the form of letters and remonstrances.11 Maximilian and Philip found allies in the kings of England, Henry VII and Henry VIII. Duke Charles of Guelders obtained material help from France and diplomatic assistance and advice from his kinsman in Scotland, King James IV, who was allied with France.12 This internationalization of the Guelders problem strengthened the hand of Charles of Guelders by giving him a semblance of legality. Without financial and military assistance from France, he would otherwise have been unable to prolong the struggle for the several decades he did. The war with Guelders, the result of which was incorporation of that duchy into the Habsburg Netherlands following the surrender of the stronghold city of Venlo in 1543, is an important part of the history of that realm as well. C. A. Rutgers has investigated the political consequences of the absorption of Guelders into the Habsburg dominions, and he concluded that the commercial interests of the urban elites in Guelders, and their links with the western Netherlands, were strong enough to make, for them, the inclusion of Guelders into the Burgundian-Habsburg dominions a desirable outcome of the war at that time.13 However, sources at Haarlem and Leiden show unequivocally that the cities of Holland were opposed to the Guelders war in principle, viewing it as a dynastic war of the house of Habsburg and harmful to their own immediate welfare and trading interests in Holland and abroad. Those two themes are found linked in the minutes of the local councils: the personal interest of the ruling house in propagating the war; and the dangers which the war had for Holland’s trade. Examples of sentiments which are expressed again and again in resolutions of the councils at Haarlem and Leiden are: if her grace [the regent, Margaret of Austria] has any enemies then she should summon a diet . . . since the war is our gracious lord’s business . . . so that we do not enter the war and that the war of Guelders does not become the war of Holland . . . that his royal

10

Arnold, duke of Guelders, died in 1473 and the States of Guelders recognized his son, Adolf, as successor. Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, then marched his forces into Guelders to claim his rights to the dukedom which he claimed to have purchased from Arnold for 300,000 gold guilders. Philip I later inherited those rights through his mother, Mary, duchess of Burgundy, Charles the Bold’s only child. Phases and events in the war prior to the Treaty of Cambrai (1508) are not treated in this article. 11 Nijhoff, ed., Gedenkwaardigheden, passim; J. Gairdner, ed., Letters and Papers Illustrative of the Reigns of Richard III and Henry VII, 2 vols. (London, 1863; repr. Wiesbaden, 1965), passim; J. P. Ward, “A Selection of Letters, 1507–1516, from the Guelders War,” Lias: Sources and Documents relating to the Early Modern History of Ideas 29 (2002), 125–51. 12 J. P. Ward, “King James IV, Continental Diplomacy and the Guelders War,” Scottish Historical Review 83 (2004), 70–81. 13 C. A. Rutgers, “Gelre: een deel van ‘Nederland’?” Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 88 (1975), 27–38, especially pp. 35–36. See also P. J. Meij, “Gelderland van 1492–1543,” in Geschiedenis van Gelderland 1492–1795, ed. P. J. Meij et al. (Zutphen, 1975), especially ch. 1, pp. 13–78 and 481–91.

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highness may conclude a peace or truce so that this poor desolate country may pursue its trade and the commerce on which it is based.14

Yet, on occasion the local councils passed resolutions that, if the war was inevitable, then it should be supported and paid for by all the Habsburg dominions. This was the so-called “general war,” a term which is also mentioned repeatedly in sources at Haarlem and Leiden.15 Whatever might be asked of them, the magistrates of Haarlem and Leiden affirmed that they would conduct themselves as loyal subjects of the prince. 16 The frontiers of Holland were protected by a series of castles and fortresses at places which included Gouda, Naarden, Muiden, Oudewater, and Schoonhoven.17 Not only were these attacked repeatedly by Charles of Guelders, but other towns and cities deeper in Holland were threatened and attacked, too. Haarlem and Leiden recognized how important it was for Holland’s commercial shipping to defend the Zuiderzee coast, and that Elburg on the shores of the Zuiderzee, which was occupied by Guelders’ forces, posed a threat to Holland’s overseas trade and commerce.18 In May 1508, two other towns on the Zuiderzee Coast near Amsterdam, Weesp and Muiden, were also captured by Guelders, but they were handed back shortly afterwards under the terms of the peace treaty signed at Cambrai in December 1508. The Treaty of Cambrai between King Louis XII of France and Maximilian I, who was represented by his daughter, Margaret of Austria, regent in the Netherlands, appeared to put an end to the war. Leiden’s delegate to the proceedings, Bruynink Spruyt, wrote an optimistic letter to his fellow magistrates and aldermen at home, describing the scene and expressing the hopes of the deputies for peace.19 The treaty’s provisions included cutting off French support for Charles of Guelders. Charles of Guelders accepted the treaty on 13 January 1509, but within a few weeks of it being signed he revoked his promise. Early in 1509 the government at The Hague warned towns in Holland that Charles of 14

15

16

17 18

19

GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 187 (11 Aug. 1514); GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 97v–98 (16 Sept. 1512); GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 129–129v (16 Sept. 1512); GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 239 (4 Sept. 1517). Abbreviations used here are GA: Gemeente Archief/ Municipal Archives; and Vroedschapsres: Resolutions of the local council. A point not discussed here but which should be emphasized is that the related Habsburg-Valois wars on the borders with France were largely paid for by Flanders. See N. Maddens, “De beden in het graafschap Vlaanderen tijdens de regering van Keizer Karel V (1515–1550),” Anciens Pays et Assemblées d’Etats/Standen en Landen 72 (1978), 373. GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 43v–44 (30 March 1508); f. 69 (27 March 1511); ff. 101v–102v (26 Oct. 1512); GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 96v (10 June 1511); ff. 106v–107 (30 Dec. 1511); ff. 129–129v (16 Sept. 1512); etc. For a letter (with an English translation) from an eyewitness describing an attack by Charles of Guelders on Oudewater in 1512 see Ward, “Letters,” pp. 144–45. For the important waterways and trade routes in sixteenth-century Holland, with a map, see Smit, Vorst en onderdan, pp. 438–40. It may be remarked here that good military roads were few and far between in Holland at that time. GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, original unbound letter inserted loose (dated 5 Dec. 1508): “. . . dair zijluyden alle dat beste van hopende zijn dattet tot eenen pays gedeyen sal.”

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Guelders had written to say that “he did not wish to maintain the peace treaty made at Cambrai.”20 Following diets held at The Hague and at Amsterdam at the end of August 1509 to discuss defense, a delegation was sent to the regent, Margaret of Austria, to ask for help. Haarlem took the warnings of attacks by Guelders forces seriously enough to send troops to defend Weesp.21 The following is a résumé of the war from then on. Cities and towns in Holland were at their most vulnerable when the waterways were frozen over because this allowed an enemy immediate access to their walls.22 In December 1510, during a period of hard frost, Amsterdam convinced Haarlem of the need for extra troops to defend Weesp, and it was resolved to send twenty-five soldiers there. However, the inhabitants of Weesp still felt insecure because, as the resolutions of the Haarlem local council record: Weesp is not well defended with the 25 soldiers who have been sent, and the inhabitants openly dare [to say], although they are forced to keep watch inside Weesp at night, if the enemy should come again they would open the gates and leave, saying that they do not want to be taken prisoner.23

That winter Leiden had similar worries concerning the security of Woerden, and in diets at The Hague a larger plan was made to engage three hundred troops to guard the Zuiderzee and the area in Holland adjoining the frontier with Utrecht.24 In 1511, following the breakdown of negotiations for a marriage between Charles of Guelders and Elizabeth, a sister of Charles V, the cities of the north accepted that the regent Margaret of Austria could not make peace if her “neighbor,” Charles of Guelders, remained intransigent. The failure of the large-scale campaign against Venlo with a professional army in the summer of 1511, and the defeat of Count Jan van Wassenaar in battle, again with a profes-

20

21

22

23

24

ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 343, f. 209 (undated, but before 21 March 1509): “. . . dat heere Karel van Gelre gescreven heeft dat hij den pays tot Camerijk gamaict niet onderhouden en wille . . .” Abbreviations used here are: ARA: National Archives, The Hague; Rek.Rek.: Rekeningen van de Rekenkamer/Accounts of the Chamber of Accounts. GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1508–1509, f. 45 (27 Aug. 1509); GA Leiden, inv. no. 589, ff. 43–43v (27 Aug. 1509); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1509–1510, f. 19 (4 Sept. 1509); ff. 20–20v (25 Sept. 1509). Abbreviation used here is: Tres.rek.: Treasurers’ Accounts. Bells were rung daily in winter to draw attention to the by-laws, enforced by sanctions, requiring burghers to break the ice adjoining their dwellings in towns and cities before a certain hour of the day; GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, ff. 19, 25, 32, 33v, 39v, 40v, 59, 108, etc., and GA Haarlem, inv. Rood 63, ff. 7, 8v where there are multiple entries. GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 64v–65 (13 Nov. 1510). See also ff. 65v–66 (4 Dec. 1510): “. . . geopent is eenen brief comende van der stede van Aemsterdamme, dat Weesp nyet wel bewaert en is mit de XXV knechten die zij daerinne gesonden hebben overmits dat de lantsaten hem genouch opelick vermeten, howel zij gedwongen worden des nachts binnen Weesp te moeten waicken, dat zij nochtans indien datter vyanden quamen die poirten open doen souden ende gaen wech, zeggende dat zij daer nyet gevangen en willen zijn . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 85v–86v and f. 85A (one of several unnumbered folio pages inserted between f. 85v and f. 86).

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sional army, in December 1512 impressed the cities of Holland of the need to defend their own quarters. The two years which elapsed after he broke the truce of December 1508 were good militarily for Charles of Guelders. In Guelders he retook the towns of Harderwijk, Zaltbommel, and Hattem in 1511, despite the fact that magistrates from Dordrecht carried warnings of impending attacks to the emperor and requested military reinforcements on the frontiers.25 In the summer of 1512 Charles of Guelders massed his troops at Zaltbommel prior to making an attack on Tiel, which he recaptured in September.26 Weesp and Muiden in Holland were threatened once more as in 1508, and there were reports that soldiers ostensibly in the service of Holland were raiding the countryside.27 To make things worse, troops stationed at Delfshaven near Rotterdam mutinied because they had not been paid. The soldiers who mutinied at Delfshaven, where the harbor of Delft was situated, are referred to in the sources as the four “banners” (vier vaenkens). An early sign of the impending mutiny was a letter written in May 1512 by the troops to the magistrates of Leiden about their grievances.28 Some time after the soldiers had made their demands known, in September 1512, the delegates to the diet of the States of Holland at The Hague, who were discussing defense plans and costs, initially took the attitude that it was no longer their responsibility to pay them. They relied on the precedent of previous levies (omslagen) with which the government had taxed the cities in order to meet the arrears in soldiers’ pay. At the same time, Leiden’s magistrates rejected governmental plans for the defense of frontiers in the coming winter in order, they said, to avoid becoming involved in the war. By agreeing to these plans, Holland would be engaging in the war with Guelders.29 The mutineers wrote letters threatening to take what they thought was their due. If they were not paid by 21 September, at the latest, “that very day” they 25

26

27 28

29

GA Dordrecht, Old Archive inv. no. 443, ff. 61–61v (3 July 1512): “. . . den dorden in julio tot Turnhout by die K.M. om die te verthoenen hoe tot Bommel grote vergaderinge van volck was ende alle dagen toecoemen mocht, daer cleyne defensie van volck tegens was, voersoeckende volck van oirloge optie frontieren . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, ff. 33v–34 (7 Sept. 1512): “Ende opte zelve dachvaert worde mede geopent hoedat doer tinnemen van Tyel tgehelle landt van Arckell ende Zuythollant open stondt, ende oeck daer toe Uuytrecht enige conspiracien gemaect soude wesen omme bij den Gelreschen een aenslach te doen op Hollant, principalick op Wesip, wairomme van noode was die frontieren te besetten . . .” GA Dordrecht, Old Archive I, inv. no. 443, f. 63v (8 Sept. 1512). GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 65v: “. . . meester Phillips Vranckenz. van dat hij opten Heyligen Assencioensdach [20 May 1512] te paerde gereden is bij den capiteynen van den vier vaenkens om op hem te begeeren dat zij bynnen Leyden souden wille comen, omme hemluyden antworde te zeggen opten brieff by hemluyden gescreven . . .” GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 97v–98 (16 Sept. 1512). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 129–129v (16 Sept. 1512) : “. . . is gestemmet dat men sulke concepten off sel slaen updat mitsdien wij niet en comen in den oirloge, ende dat tselve oirloge van Gelre toirloge van Hollandt niet en wordt . . .”

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would take their pay as best they thought fit. Faced with this choice, Leiden “chose the lesser evil” (dat men van veele quaden tminste quaet behoirt te kiesen), and provided money in order to pacify the mutineers and to get some relief for their neighbors at Delft where the mutineers’ blockade of the harbor had already caused hardship.30 The defense of Weesp on the Zuiderzee, however, continued to be a source of anxiety, particularly to Haarlem and Amsterdam; it was feared that the garrison stationed on the frontiers in the north might desert because they also had not been paid for many months.31 At such a moment Charles of Guelders proved how self-assured he was by summoning the towns of Alphen and Arlanderveen to come to Wageningen in order to discuss their “brandschatting,” the ransom money which he charged for not burning them down. Leiden’s generous response, together with Delft, was to send seventy-five more soldiers to defend Alphen and to stand by the town.32 But the council at Leiden reiterated that because no agreement had been reached on finances, each quarter should be responsible for its own defense.33 From then onwards, defense predominated the agendas of the diets at The Hague. The military uncertainty at this time is expressed in several motions in the council resolutions. In the weeks that preceded Jan van Wassenaar’s defeat in December 1512, Leiden and Delft, noting that the quarters of Delfland and Rijnland were undefended, had shown determination to act on their own behalf. They made an agreement to defend Woerden and Oudewater and to share the costs equally.34 When the winter of 1512–13 had passed, unrest in Holland increased again, caused by the discontent of unemployed soldiers and the continuous rumors and threat of attack from Guelders, which meant that defensive measures still had to be taken. Early in 1513, following the defeat and capture of Jan van Wassenaar, the enemy invaded Holland on a large scale. 30

31

32

33 34

GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, ff. 34–34v (11 Sept. 1512). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 130–130v (20 Sept. 1512): “. . . ende genouch ontseggebrieven gescreven an den stedehouder, Raidt ende Staten van den lande, inhoudende onder andere dat indien men hemluyden niet en betailt tusschen dit ende dynsdach naistcomende [21 Sept. 1512], dien dach al, zij dencken hem selven te betalen ende soe doen als hem te sin staen sel . . .” GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, f. 100 (12 Oct. 1512) and GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1512–1513, ff. 60–60v (13 Oct. 1512). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 35 (10 Oct. 1512): “. . . ende is mede versprocke dat van groote noode was dat men die capiteynen, liggende opte frontieren een zekere penning opte handt geven soude omme te scuwen inconvenienten, want zij in VIII maenden gheen betalinge gehadt en hebben . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 35v (30 Oct. 1512): “. . . hoedat die van Alphen ende Arlanderveen brieven ontfangen hadden dat zij tot Wageningen souden comen ende verdingen, of, indien zij bijnen IX dagen niet en quamen, die Geldresche zoude commen ende verbrande hemluyden . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 134 (7 Nov. 1512): “. . . wandt noch gheen accordt bij der stede gestellt en is . . . soe sel een ygelick sijn quartier bewaeren . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, ff. 62–62v (5 Jan. 1513): “. . . anmerckende dat die quartieren van Delflant ende Rijnlant, Woerden ende Oudewater niet beset en waeren mit knechten . . . dat zij die scade malckander zouden helpen dragen half ende half . . .”

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Leiden was warned in February that there might be an attack on Rijnland, and it asked the Council at The Hague “what measures had been taken to defend the frontiers and the quarters of Rijnland against the enemy.”35 Delegates from Leiden went to Alphen to discuss defensive measures, such as breaking down the bridges and mobilizing the local inhabitants.36 Further measures were formulated at a diet at The Hague in April 1513 when the deputies “of the three cities of Delft, Leiden, and Gouda finally deliberated together that they would each defend their own quarter for the period of a month.” Deputies from Leiden then went to a diet at Gouda in order to put the details of this agreement down in writing.37 There remained little more for them to do after that but “to bite into this sour apple and to consent for a period of one month to maintain 400–500 troops.”38 In May 1513, Charles of Guelders attacked Schoonhoven, and measures were taken to prevent his incursion.39 Gouda, in helping to defend Oudewater and Woerden in its quarter, played a role similar to the roles of Haarlem with respect to Weesp and Muiden and Leiden with respect to Alphen.40 These measures taken by the magistrates reveal a mutually agreed structure for the defense of the quarters of Holland, with individual but coordinated responsibilities for the cities. In July 1513, the Treaty of Brussels was signed with Charles of Guelders, bringing once more a pause in the fighting in Holland. But before the peace could be concluded, Leiden had to endure another severe test. This was the riot which occurred there on the public holiday called Omgangsdag (Procession Day), one of the great days in city life in the Middle Ages. At Leiden it fell that year on 8 May. Armed, foreign mercenaries were not a welcome sight in cities and towns. Earlier that year, during the winter months, the government had offered to station a regiment of landsknechts in Leiden for the defense of the city, and the magistrates “for many reasons” had politely but firmly refused the offer which

35

36

37 38

39

40

GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 35 (13 Feb. 1513). The term “Council” (capitalized) refers to the ruling council at The Hague, otherwise called the Council of Holland (Raad van Holland), the highest governmental institution in Holland. GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 32 (4 April 1513); GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, ff. 36–36v (20 April 1513); GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 25 (7 May 1513); and GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1512–1513, f. 76v (8 May 1513). GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, ff. 32–32v (16 April 1513) and f. 36v (23 April 1513). GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 147–147v (20 April 1513) “. . . ende men verducht dat zijluyden [the enemy] int quartier van Rijnlant comen zullen, dat de stede van Leyden in eenen zueren appel bijten moet ende consenteren voir den tijt van een maent int onderhout van vier of vijfhondert knechten . . .” GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1512–1513, f. 76v (8 May 1513): “. . . in wat manieren men zoude moeghen beletten den inganck van den hertoge van Gelre in desen quartiere, dewelcke doe mit alle sijn macht voer Schoonhoven was etc. . . .” See also GA Gouda, Old Archive, inv. no. 1170, f. 21. GA Gouda, Old Archive inv. no. 42, f. 29, printed in Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Historisch Genootschap 37 (1916), 73.

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had been made at the suggestion of the stadholder.41 Now, however, they were willing to accommodate the government by allowing the men to pass through Leiden, and, probably recognizing the danger, the magistrates offered to provide the soldiers with food and drink once they had passed, on condition that they marched through the city without delay.42 But the soldiers were obstructed and prevented from entering the city. Some months later, in the wake of the very lengthy legal proceedings which resulted from the riot, a phrase used in the council resolutions at Leiden was “concerning . . . the shutting out of the soldiers.”43 There is some evidence that the townsmen or members of the local shooters guilds (scutters), afoot early for the procession in which they were to take part, taunted or insulted the soldiers. A prohibition on insulting behavior towards soldiers which was announced by the city council on 23 May points in that direction. 44 In March 1514 Charles of Guelders broke the treaty of July 1513. In an atmosphere already tainted by suspicions of treachery and betrayal on both sides, it came as no great surprise. Charles of Guelders was the weaker party militarily, and Arnhem, the capital of Guelders, was at that moment the only major center still in Burgundian-Habsburg hands. Charles used cunning, and he occupied the city in a lightning attack: Dolo pugnandum est dum quis par non est armis. At Woerden, the Guelders attack was seen as another move in the conflict which the king of France, Charles of Guelders’ “master,” had with Holland and the Burgundian-Habsburg authorities and ruling house.45 The Guelders war in Holland has been likened to a guerrilla war.46 Attacks by Charles of Guelders up to that time had been on the scale of several hundreds of infantry and cavalrymen, reinforced with a few cannon. From 1515 onward, however, Holland was subjected to major invasions by her enemies. The first large incursion was by the so-called “Black Band.” On the evidence of a contemporary, the monk and chronicle writer Paulus Rodolphi of Rixtel, these 41 42

43

44

45 46

GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 141 (14 Feb. 1513): “. . . dat men mijn heere van Cortgeen hierof bedancken sel . . . ende om veele redenen den knechten niet begheren . . .” GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 150v–151 (8 May 1513): “Is voirt gestemmet ende gesloten dat men die voirs. knechten sel laeten passeren doir die stede sonder thoeven ende dat men hem vitalie scicken sal als sij doir die stede sijn . . .” Compare this with GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 145 (11 April 1513) where troops were also to be given food and drink for their march. GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, ff. 37v–38 (20 May 1513). Also GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 167 (11 Aug. 1513): “. . . aengaende die saicke van der stede van Leyden van den uuthoudinge van den knechten opten Ommegancxdach lestleden . . .”, and f. 170 (3 Sept. 1513). For the text of the royal pardon or absolution, anno 1515: GA Leiden, inv. no. 874. GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, f. 37v (23 May 1513): “Voirt gebieden tgerecht dat indient geboerde dat enige ruyteren off knechten quamen voer die poerten van der stede dat nyemandt denselven knechten ende ruyteren vijsdet off qualick toe en sprecken, up correxie van der stede.” For “vijsten” meaning “to fart” (een wind laten, flatum ventris emittere) see Middelnederlandsch Woordenboek, vol. 9. GA Woerden, Stadsrek. 1513–1514, f. 4v (undated): “. . . want dye heer van Gelre dat bestant nyt en dochte onderhouden in den dye koninck van Vranrijc, sijn meester, up ons oirlochde.” Ward, “Letters,” pp. 135–36.

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men took service in 1514 in the army of Duke George of Saxony who was governor of Friesland and a Habsburg ally. On George’s departure, they changed sides and joined Charles of Guelders, who was allied to some of the Frisians resisting Burgundian-Habsburg domination. Charles of Guelders then negotiated the transfer of the Black Band to the service of the king of France for a campaign in Italy.47 Early in 1515, on their way south, they appeared in Holland. In March, the government in Holland negotiated with the men of the Black Band, who numbered 4000 according to their own statement, and offered them 1000 guilders if they would leave the country. But they refused the offer, demanding 4000 guilders instead, equivalent to a week’s pay for the soldiers.48 The question then was whether to pay or resist them. The magistrates at Leiden resolved not to let them pass the city, and the government at The Hague ordered the cities to mobilize their local forces.49 By 2 March 1515, the mobilization was completed in Haarlem. Measures were also taken to open sluices and break down bridges, methods traditionally used to hinder an enemy in the Low Countries.50 But the crisis passed. City archives in Holland contain little more information about the movements of the Black Band, although it is known that by April 1515 they had traveled to Italy and near destruction at the battle of Marignano. The next major incursion, when the country was invaded from across the Zuiderzee in 1517, was more destructive to Holland. News was received that Charles of Guelders was planning “with the Frisians and all his forces to invade West-Friesland and to overrun some of the towns of Waterland such as Enkhuizen, Hoorn or others and then to invade Holland and despoil the whole countryside.”51 On 25 June 1517, Alkmaar was attacked, taken by storm, and sacked. The destruction of Alkmaar gave rise at once to conspiracy theories that

47

48

49 50 51

J. G. Ottema, trans. and ed., Proeliarius of Strijdboek, bevattende de jongste oorlogen in Friesland, in het jaar 1518 etc. (Leeuwarden, 1855), pp. 64 and 71. Subsequently, the Black Band fought for the king of France at the battle of Marignano in September 1515 where they suffered heavy losses. See Hans Delbrück, Geschichte der Kriegskunst im Rahmen der politischen Geschichte (Berlin, 1920; repr. 1962), 4:94–101. GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 152–152v (2 March 1515): “. . . welcke gedeputeerde van den Raidt himluyden boden duysent Rijns gulden ende dair en boven een gratuyteyt den hoofdluyden, dairmede zij niet tevreden en zijn, mer willen hebben 4.000 gouden gulden upte hant, zoe zij vierduysent gemonsterden knechten zijn.” See also GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1514–1515, ff. 57–57v (2 March 1515). GA Leiden, inv. no. 594, ff. 37–37v (1 March 1515) and ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 349, ff. 137–137v. GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1514–1515, ff. 57–57v (2 March 1515); GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 152–152v (2 March 1515); and GA Leiden, inv. no. 594, f. 85 (16 March 1515). GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 223v (11 May 1517). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 226v (24 May 1517): “. . . ende alsoe doen ter tijt zekere brieven gecomen waeren aen den Raedt van Hollant van mijn heere den stedehouder, inhoudende dat die heere van Gelre mit den Vriesen mitter ganser macht in meyninge waeren omme te comen int quartier van Westvrieslant om te becrachtigen enige van den Watersteden alse Enchuysen, Hoeren ofte andere, ende voirt te slaen int lant van Hollant ende bederven tgehele platte lant . . .”, and f. 227v (28 May 1517).

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the government of Holland had allowed it in order to make the population more amenable to taxation for the war. Erasmus wrote to Beatus Rhenanus that “the storm was deliberately unleashed upon them.”52 The Guelderlanders were chased out of Holland shortly afterwards, and a truce was arranged at Utrecht on 17 September 1517. At Leiden there remained a strong sense of realism: “even if we have peace and a truce now, next year it can be war again.”53

Defense and Means at the Magistrates’ Disposal Measures for defense taken at Leiden in 1516 and 1517 are indicative of measures taken in other cities and towns in Holland at that period. District officers (bonmeesteren) responsible for local defense in the different quarters of the city of Leiden were required to prepare lists of the names of all able-bodied men between twenty and sixty years of age. In 1516 the magistrates at Leiden were asked by the government to send 200 men to help defend Haarlem. At first they claimed that their resources were needed for their own defense, and they declined to help either Haarlem or The Hague. But they changed their minds for fear of displeasing (thoeren – “anger”) the king, Charles V. They resolved to recruit the 200 men, but, believing that there were not enough mercenary soldiers (knechten) immediately available, the local militias had to be mobilized. This was done by choosing individual men of military age from the local population by lot, “the 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th or 8th man, as many as will be needed to make up the 200.”54 Shortly afterwards, the court at The Hague asked for another 150 men armed with handguns, two cannon, and a dozen harquebuses and “people who know how to use them,” together with supplies of gunpowder and lead shot to defend The Hague. Leiden replied that in the meanwhile they had discharged the men taken on earlier and could ill afford to send help, since Leiden was emptied of troops and was now also in danger of attack. It was even suggested that the men who had been discharged were a danger to Leiden since “many of them have left the city and several persons have warned that the soldiers had an eye on this city.”55 52

R. A. B. Mynors, D. F. S. Thomson, and P. G. Bietenholz, ed. and trans., Collected Works of Erasmus (Toronto, 1974–2005), 5:73–74, and James D. Tracy, The Politics of Erasmus: A Pacifist Intellectual and his Political Milieu (Toronto, 1978), pp. 83–87. 53 GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 243–243v (28 Sept. 1517): “. . . al ist nu pays ende bestant, tmach over een jair oirloge worden.” 54 GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 210v (23 Sept. 1516): “. . . op aldat de voirs. van der stede den thoeren van de C.M. beduchtende zijn etc. . . . gesloten dat men looten sel den IIII/en, V/en, VI/en, VII/en ofte VIII/en man zoe veel als men behoven sel om tgetal van de voirs. twie hondert man te vervollen.” 55 GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 211 (8 Oct. 1516): “. . . veel van hemluyden uuyt der stede vertogen zijn, ende dat de stede bij diversche persoenen gewaerschuwet is als dat de knechten toge up desen stede hebben . . .”

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In 1517, immediately after the destruction of Alkmaar, the local militias were mobilized once more. Every fourth man was selected from the lists by drawing lots, with the names read in public and the selected men preparing their weapons and armor to be ready to march the following day to Haarlem, near where the next attack was thought to be imminent.56 Under the date of 8 August 1517, the magistrates of Leiden ordered the defense of the eighteen districts of the city to be reorganized. Sections of ten men were appointed, each section under the leadership of a captain, and each district under that of a captain-general. The officers were required to submit lists of their men’s names to the magistrates, and they were responsible for the inspection of weapons and the general alertness and readiness. The names of the captains-general were made public “so that everyone may know under whose command he stands.” They included a knight (ridder), a university graduate (meester), and a merchant (coman).57 Others can be shown to have been members of the council (vroedschap) at that time or in other years. A special place was reserved in the community for certain groups of men who were experienced in the use of weapons, the members of the shooters’ guilds for whom, for want of a better term, the word “militia” has been used above. Studies of the sources by Jacob Van Asch van Wijk and C. Te Lintum in the nineteenth century and more recently by Theo Reintges in 1963 allow a number of conclusions to be drawn on the origins and purposes of the medieval shooters’ guilds. Reintges’ two most important conclusions were that the shooters had their origin in the cities of Flanders around 1300 from where they spread north and east throughout the Low Countries and Germany, and that the primary purpose of the members, not to say their main goal, was to derive pleasure in shooting.58

56

GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, ff. 63v–64 (27 June 1517): “. . . naevolgende tscrieven van den Hove, dat die bonmeesteeren elck in den hoeren van stonden an up gescrijfte stellen sullen alle weerachtige mannen boven XX jaeren ende beneden tzestich ende den gerechte overleveren voir drie uren na de noene, om alsdan den vierden man uuyt te loten achtervolgende denselven brieff, ende dat elck zijn weer ende harnasch bereijt maect . . .” 57 GA Leiden, SA I inv. no. 387, f. 69 (8 August 1517): “Voirt updat eenen ygelicken weten mach onder wye hij stae ende wye hoir capiteynen zijn, zoe sel een ygelick weten dat diezelve capiteynen generael zijn deze naebescreven personen.” The names of the commanders and their districts were as follows: Jan van Honthorst (T’Wanthuys); Gerijt van Lochorst, ridder (Over t’Hoff); Jan Paeds Claesz. (Niuwelant); Florijs van Bossch (Burchstrenge); Gerijt Roelofsz. (T’Wolhuys); Gerijt van Hoichtwoude (T’Vleyshuys); Meester Philipps van Henegouwen (T’Gasthuys vierendeel); Frans Gerijt Doenz. (Kerck vierendeel); Cornelis Jansz. die Wilde (Levendeel); Jan Claes Jansz.zoon (Rapenburch); Dirck Ottenz. (Hogewoert); Jan van Zonnevelt (Overmaren lantzijde); Coman Willem Woutersz. (Overmaren Rijnzijde); Dirck Florijsz. (Marendorp Rijnzijde); Dirck van der Boechorst (Sevenhuysen); Ghijsbrecht van Lodensteijn (Gansoirde); Jan Dircxz. Houtcoper (Sinter Niclaesgraft); and Pouwels Fransz. (Marendorp lantzijde). 58 C. Te Lintum, Das Haarlemer Schüzenwesen (De Haarlemsche Schutterij) in seiner militärischen und politischen Stellung von alten Zeiten bis heute (Enschede, 1896), and T. Reintges, Ursprung und Wesen der spätmittelalterlichen Schüzengilden (Bonn, 1963).

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But there were other occasions on which the shooters’ guilds had important ceremonial duties to perform. They provided escort during religious processions and on other solemn occasions, and they formed a bodyguard during royal visits to their towns. They also had a festive public function in organizing shooting contests for their own pleasure and that of others, the best known of which was the popinjay shooting. They arranged public dinners, and raised funds for the mutual support of members in times of distress, when for example they helped with funeral expenses and the like. But above all, it may be assumed from their keenness, they were primarily competent shooters. In the early stages of their history their weapons were the crossbow and the longbow, but by the fifteenth century there were also shooters’ guilds using firearms of various kinds alongside the bowmen.59 From these facts there followed a number of corollaries to Reintges’ conclusions, chief among them that the shooters had specialists’ role to fill in wartime. But, equally, he emphasized that they were not a militia in the sense of a trained reserve force of military men who could be called up to serve in wartime, nor were they (in modern terms) a para-military police force. Although they might be called “the strength and sinews of the city” (kracht en zenuwen van de stad), their military role was similar to that of all able-bodied men at the time. An expression in the sources at Haarlem which referred to defending Holland from invaders contains an echo of the Roman ethos pro aris et focis. Similarly, at Leiden members of the shooters’ guilds were bound “for God’s sake and honor” to come fully armed to defend the city if the alarm bell sounded, as were other able-bodied members of the public.60 At Leiden, Haarlem, and elsewhere in Holland, there were from earliest times two shooters’ guilds, the crossbowmen and the longbowmen. The differences in their weapons reflected a social difference in the membership. Since the crossbow was a considerably more expensive weapon than the longbow, crossbowmen of the guild of Saint George were frequently the better off and better organized men in society, like merchants and patricians, while the longbowmen’s guild of Saint Sebastian was formed from artisans and workmen.61 The numbers of shooters at Haarlem and Leiden in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries are given as 120 crossbowmen at Haarlem in the year 1402, increasing to 200 by 1566, and, at Leiden, 120 crossbowmen and 75 longbow-

59

M. Carasso-Kok and J. Levy-van Halm, eds., Schutters in Holland: Kracht en zenuwen van de stad (Haarlem, 1988). 60 GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 152–152v (2 March 1515): “. . . updat sij [i.e. the enemy] in tlant ende ymmers an tharde niet en comen . . .” (the word harde [aerde] is etymologically related to “hard,” “earth” and “hearth” in English), and GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, loose page numbered “133v” (30 July 1512): “. . . dat een ygelick zijn harnassch, weer ende wapen bij hem gereedt houdt . . . als van Goids weghen ende eeren wegen behoirdt . . .” 61 Te Lintum, pp. 2, 11ff., 25, and Reintges, pp. 53, 73.

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men in 1450, increasing and changing to 400 members with firearms in 1516.62 But these figures fail to show the marked swings and changes of fortune of the longbowmen’s guilds at Haarlem and Leiden in the early sixteenth century. In Leiden, the magistrates finally decreed in 1511 that the longbow was “of very little protection and defense.” They withdrew their subsidy to the guild and the use of the city’s shooting butts on 20 January 1512.63 In local defense matters, the shooters were a small but important section of the population to help in defense. That could require them to fight or to keep watch from the walls and towers when danger threatened. All able-bodied men were required by law to have suitable weapons and armor, and there were sanctions against men coming on watch who were inadequately equipped. In order to maintain standards the magistrates of Haarlem, Leiden, Gouda, and Dordrecht bought weapons throughout the Low Countries and manufactured gunpowder and arms in large amounts locally.64 These they then sold as a service to their burghers at cost. The cheapest and most common weapons were the pike and, before it became obsolete, the longbow. Crossbows and firearms, such as harquebuses and so-called “knip” guns, were favored by the magisterial class, and they were considerably more expensive. Cannon in bronze and wrought-iron, bought by the communities and mounted on city and town walls, were even more expensive.

Soldiers Hired by Leiden It was pointed out above that the members of the shooters’ guilds and others could be called on for military service. Men between the ages of twenty and sixty years were legally bound to be properly armed and to take part in the defense of their city when required. But only in times of acute necessity at the discretion of the magistrates could they be called on to go to other scenes of fighting or to defend neighboring towns. The magistrates, therefore, usually tried to find volunteers for those expeditions, or preferably professional, mercenary soldiers, before resorting to other measures. Reasons for this preference were first and foremost that the professional landsknechts were, after all, the experts in fighting a war. Second, there were questions of law concerning the privileges of province and city, limiting the demands that the government and the magistrates could make on their own burghers. A third, more practical reason for preferring professional troops was 62 63

Reintges, p. 281, Appendix IX, pp. 350–52, and Appendix X, pp. 352–53. GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, f. 29v (6 Dec. 1511): “. . . dat die hantboghen van zeer cleyne waer ende defensie sijn . . .”, and GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 59 (20 Jan. 1512). At Haarlem the demise of the longbowmen’s guild took longer; they were forced to sell their meeting place in 1531 (Te Lintum, p. 24). 64 J. P. Ward, “Prices of Weapons and Munitions in Early Sixteenth Century Holland during the Guelders War,” Journal of European Economic History 33 (2004), 585–619.

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that, in order to get civilian volunteers during emergencies, the magistrates of Leiden had to offer them more pay than the landsknechts earned. During the crisis of May 1508, when Weesp and Muiden were occupied by Charles of Guelders, the stadholder Floris van Ysselstein, ordered Leiden to mobilize its men of military age. Leiden said that it would pay volunteers with suitable weapons and armor 6 stuivers per day. In contrast to this, landsknechts received only 4 stuivers per day. But if there were insufficient landsknechts to make up the numbers required, then those burghers whose names had been drawn by lot to make up the first consignment (cavel) would have to serve as their officers commanded them, without the option of substituting another person in their place.65 Privileged and wealthy persons normally could engage and pay a substitute to take their places in the squad. The problems of getting civilian volunteers are highlighted by the following. During an emergency in September 1516, when Leiden was ordered by the government to send 200 men to the relief of Haarlem, the vroedschap recognized that it would be difficult to get enough men to volunteer. But the council members considered whether a number of delinquents (buitendrankers – “outside drinkers”) should be allowed to volunteer. These were men who were undergoing punishment and restriction orders, some inside and some outside the city, for violating the excise laws which forbade drinking outside the city. It is not clear on whose initiative the question was raised, but the decision (unrecorded) was left to the magistrates.66 Again, later, in 1522, at Leiden it became necessary to offer volunteers a monetary incentive for emergency missions if they would first register their names and list their weapons and armor. If they were then required to mobilize, they would receive an immediate payment of 2 Philips guilders (equal to 50 stuivers) in advance.67 A conclusion, therefore, is

65

GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, ff. 11v–12 (20 May 1508): “Tgerecht laeten weten een ygelick dat zoe wye zoudie winnen wil, dat die come van stonden aen . . . wel getuyghet ende mit een goet hantweer, tsij bossen, boghen, lange piecken of helbaerden als dat behoirt, ende men sel een ygelick des dages gheven den tijt dat sij uut wesen sullen ses stuvers sdages. Voirt waerschuwen tgerecht allen denghenen die zijn van den eerster cavele dat die denselven gereet houden, wandt indien die stede gheen suffisante knechten gecrigen en mach, zoe sullen die van den eerster cavele van stonden aen moeten uuytreysen, elcx selver in persone sonder yement in hoir stede te moegen stellen . . .” 66 GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 210v (3 Sept. 1516): “Is voirt gevraecht alsoe enigen buytendranckers gebannen zijn binnen der stede een zekeren tijt ende tuuyt te bliven, of deselve mede begeerden soult te winnen of men die sel annemen ende uuyt der stede laten reysen, niet tegenstaende den voirs. ban. Hierop is gestemmet ende gesloten dat zoe wes bij den gerechte dairin gedaen wordt dat sel van waerden gehouden worden . . .” This practice of recruiting offenders continues at the present time. In Great Britain “The Herald” newspaper contained in its edition of 23 April 2004 an “exclusive” article by Lucy Adams entitled “Army recruits young offenders,” beginning with “The army has started recruiting young offenders in Scotland in an attempt to increase flagging numbers,” and quoting Major Andrew McLuckie of Army recruiting in Scotland; www.theherald.co.uk/news. 67 GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, a paper dated 5 Dec. 1522 inserted between ff. 112v and 113: “Naevolgende tscrijven van mijnen heeren van den Rade soe doen mijn heeren van den gerechte

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that it was not easy at any time to find enough volunteers from the local population to serve as soldiers on emergency missions outside the city. The cities specified in their accounts precisely the number of men and the number of “pays” for which they had made provision, and they hoped to have the costs deducted or discounted against later payments in the subsidies (bede) or the levies (omslagen) imposed on them by the government. Haarlem employed thirteen cavalrymen for garrisoning Weesp during an emergency, probably in September 1509, at the infantryman’s rate of 2 gold guilders per man per fourteen days, and the magistrates hoped that it would be discounted in the levy.68 The number of “pays” usually exceeded the number of men by about 10 percent on average. This was because officers and other men with rank were paid multiples of the standard. There are data allowing the number of multiple pays to be assessed exactly in some cases: where 600 men received 675 pays, and where 2000 men were calculated at 2184 pays. The multiple pays in these two cases were 12.5 and 9.25 percent respectively.69

The Soldiers’ Identities When Haarlem or Leiden hired soldiers to defend places like Weesp or Oudewater, they usually sent around 25 men each. Those landsknechts were meant to lead the civil population and to stiffen resistance offered mainly by burghers and members of the shooters’ guilds if attacks should occur. The total number of men in garrisons at those places can seldom have been more than about one hundred. But what were the ethnic origins of the men and were they recruited from the local population in Holland or not? In one instance the size of the garrison and the identities of the soldiers can be established precisely, and the names provide insight into the ethnic origins of the men. A list comprising the roll call taken at Alphen on 30 May 1512 contains seventy names of common soldiers receiving standard pay, besides the captain, Jan van Westwalinck, and six unnamed others indicated only by their ranks. The seventy names cover both sides of a long, narrow sheet of paper. They are written one below the other, which facilitated counting and reading eenen ygelicken weten dat zoe wye zoudie willen winnen, dat die up naemiddage te twie uren ende up morgen na de hoechmisse commen upte stede huys om hem te doen inscrijven ende zeggen wat geweer dat zij hebben. Ende zoe wye ingescreven worden, die en zullen hoer soudie niet ingaen eer dat men hemluyden behoeft ende tselve doet weten, ende zoe wanneer men hemluyden behoeft ende uut reysen, zoe zel men hem elcx upte hant geven 2 Phillipus gulden.” 68 GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1509–1510, f. 51 (undated): “Voir de souldye van derthien ruyteren gelegen binnen der stede van Weesp . . . betaelt . . . voir de tijt van XIIII dagen 26 gouden gulden tot 28 stuvers tstuck . . .” In the margin there is a note: “[to be discounted] in the levy of the Common Land in so far as possible” (“In de ommeslach van den lande alsoe verre alst doenlic es.”) 69 GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 35 (10 Oct. 1512); GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, ff. 103–104 (16 Nov. 1512); and GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 112 (25 Feb. 1512).

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out aloud. The roll call was witnessed and certified by Lodewijk van Moerkercken. Elsewhere in the accounts van Moerkercken was described as warden (castelijn) of the castle at Schoonhoven and master of the roll call or muster.70 Several remarks can be made about the derivations of these names. First, they can be divided tentatively into categories including the following (with modern spellings): 1. Unattributed Christian names: Balthazar, Gerrit. 2. Place names or toponymes: a) in Holland: Amsterdam, Gorinchem, Gouda, Haarlem, Heusden, Leiden, Naarden, Schoonhoven, Wassenaar, Weesp, Woerden; b) elsewhere in the Low Countries: Bolsward, Kampen, Gennep, Hasselt, Liège, Utrecht(?), Maastricht(?),71 Mechelen, Flanders (“Wlaminck”); c) in Germany: Duisburg, Emden, Metz, Münster, Wesel, Westfalen, Xanten; d) in the Baltic area: Livland, Rostock. 3. Occupation/trade: Camerling (chamberlain), Bierman, Hekelaar (a flaxworker). 4. Possible nicknames or agnomina: Fax, Quast, Schelegen, Spronck, Wanck, Witte Bote, Wlaminck (“Fleming”), Jan Bol and Jan Witte Bol, Drinckuut, Hekelaer or Hakkelaar (stammerer), Sondergelt.72 For the early sixteenth century, proper names of geographic or regional derivation, toponyms, are a reliable indication that the bearers hailed from the places after which they are named, or from nearby.73 Assuming that at least 8 to

70

ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 3411, loose page at f. 18: “Ick Lodewyck van Moerkercken, ridder, certifieere bij mijnen eede dat ick den voirs. knechten gemonstert hebbe tot Alphen upten XXX/en dach van meye XV/C ende twaelf . . .” See also ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 2191, f. 6, and inv. no. 2193, f. 14. 71 For “Tricht” as a toponym derived from Tricht in Guelders, or Maastricht, or Utrecht, see R. E. Künzel, D. P. Blok and J. M. Verhoeff, Lexicon van nederlandse toponiemen tot 1200, 2nd ed. (Amsterdam, 1989), p. 350. For other literature on names: F. Debrabandere, Woordenboek van de familiennamen in Belgie en Noord-Frankrijk, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1993); and R. A. Ebeling, Voor en familie-namen in Nederland. Geschiedenis, verspreiding, vorm en gebruik (The Hague, 1993), pp. 108ff. 72 The 1993 telephone directory for the region of Rotterdam (p. 951) lists one H. Zondergelt. The name means literally “no money.” Willem and Lubbert Turck also belong to the category of nicknames, since Turck is described as “a nickname for a soldier from the wars against the Turks.” See M. Gottschald, Deutsche Namenkunde: Unsere Familiennamen (Berlin, 1982), p. 499. 73 See, for example, P. C. M. Hoppenbrouwers, Een middeleeuwse samenleving. Het land van Heusden (ca.136–ca.1515), 2 vols. (Wageningen, 1992), 1: 128–38; 2: Appendix A, pp. 696–747. There is a list of soldiers’ names dating from 1550 in P. Burschel, Söldner im Nordwestdeutschland des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts: Sozialgeschichtliche Studien (Göttingen, 1994), pp. 68–69. The names, all with “von,” are toponyms, not indications of nobility. The men were provided with pikes, on credit.

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Names of Men Forming the Garrison at Alphen in May 1512 Jan van Eijmstein Walck van Amsterdam Heinrick van Munster Fax Pieter van Haerlem Jan van Baerswelt Harman van Rostock Jan Hakelaer Heinrick van Hasselt Ghijsken die Licht Quast Balthasaer Aernt Sondergelt Hansken van der Goude Heinrick van Wesel Frans van Haerlem Jan van Eemden Pieter Wijt Wijtte Bote Schelegen Wanck Willem van Sancten Jan Witte Bol Gerijt van Weesp

Sinacht van Haerlem Spronck Dallef van Woerden Dirck van Woerden Hans van Woerden Ewout van Woerden Wlaminck Pieter Drinckuut Jan Bol Kaerl van Ludick Dirck van Boelswaert Claes van Wassenaer Joest Houtinck Ariaen Wijtenbach Pinitick Gerijt van Mechelen Aelbrecht van Onnerbercken Matheus van Weesel Gerijt van Goircum Joest Sondergelt Jan van Metys Jan van Lichten Cornelis van Haerlem

Jan van Haerlem Haerman van Schonhoven Gerijt Cclaes [sic] van Ving Hans van Tricht Engbrecht van Gennep Joeriaen Lyeflander Heinrick Denanter Dirck Holstinck Frederick Spillesomer Hans Dortman Heinrick Luckenaer Federick van Mechelen Aelbrecht van Campen Haerman van Dampen [sic] Zweer van Leyden Pieter van Hoesden Willem van Goircum Haerman van Doetsburch Theus van Leyden Meester Heinrick van Naerden Jan Camerlinck Jan Bierman

10 of the other names are characteristic of Netherlanders, then the garrison at Alphen in May 1512 was made up principally of men drawn from Holland, with the surrounding Low Countries and Germany providing a significant part of the rest. The larger numbers of men from Haarlem and Woerden may reflect the unsettled state of the economies there. But perhaps the most enigmatic name in the list is that of Master Heinrick of Naarden. What was he Master of? Was he a schoolteacher, priest,74 university graduate in law, or artisan? He received only single pay so his qualification did not lie in the military sphere.

74

In Friesland in 1517 the monk Paulus Rodolfi described a soldier who called himself a priest. Other witnesses remarked on the soldier-priest’s unpriestly behaviour and appearance; Ottema, pp. 200–201.

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James P. Ward Geographic Origins of Garrison Soldiers at Alphen

Location

Minimum Number (from 70)

Holland Other Low Countries Germany Baltic area

20 11 7 2

In Holland (absolute): Amsterdam Gorinchem Gouda Haarlem Heusden Leiden

1 2 1 5 1 2

Percentage 29 16 10 3 Naarden Schoonhoven Wassenaar Weesp Woerden

1 1 1 1 4

In the early sixteenth century, the highest officers in command of the armies were noblemen, and personal or political friends of Emperor Maximilian and Emperor Charles V, drawn from the various regions of the empire: Floris van Ysselstein, Jan van Wassenaar, the dukes of Anhalt and of Brunswick.75 The captains in command of “banners” of 400 men appear to have been of both local Netherlands and German origin, although mostly the latter. Their names are indicative: Hans Beck, Jan van Delft, Jan van den Eeren, Klein Enderlein,76 Pieter van Leeuwarden, Willem and Lubbert Turck, Casper van Ulms, Gillis van Wairt, Jan van Westfalen, Captain Zlucker. All are names which appear several times in the accounts. In Hans Delbrück’s opinion, the predecessors to the landsknechts were the Flemish troops whom Maximilian recruited in the Low Countries and with whom he defeated the French at Guinegate in 1479.77 In some instances the sources are specific in identifying the mercenary soldiers organized in “banners.” Twice they are described as Germans and once, remarkably, at a diet in The Hague a plan to recruit 8000 men is mentioned, of

75

Hans Cools, “Florent D’Egmond et Adrien de Croÿ, les Carrières Exemplaires de Deux Chefs de Guerre de Charles Quint,” in Jean-Marie Cauchies and Jacqueline Guiesset, eds., Du Métier des Armes à la Vie de Cour, de la Fortresse au Château de Sejour XIVe–XVIe Siècles (Brepols, 2005), pp. 205–16. 76 Klein Enderlein was one of the German officers who commanded the “four banners” in Holland in 1512 and who took part in the siege of Venlo the year before: ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 346, f. 139v (undated); ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 3412, f. 16 (2 Oct. 1512) and f. 21 (undated). Edward Halle (c.1499–1547) describes him at the siege of Venlo: “. . . and all other Englishe Capitaines, and petie Capitaines, dined with an Almain called Clene Anderline . . .” See Edward Halle, The union of the Two Noble Families of Lancaster and York: the Triumphant Reigne of Kyng Henry the VIII (London, 1550; facsimile ed. 1970), p. 14v. 77 Delbrück, 4:8, and Oman, A History of the Art of War in the Sixteenth Century, pp. 75, 83.

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whom 4000 were to be Swiss.78 The use of the term “German” is less surprising. When Reinier de Jonge traveled to Gouda in October 1512, it was to persuade the magistrates to guarantee the interest on loans which the States of Holland needed to pay the men of “the four banners of German troops.”79 The adjective used in the accounts, “duytsch,” contrasts with other terms, like “ingelanden” or “hierlandsch,” used to describe locally born soldiers. The use of “German” in this case suggests that differences in territorial origin were clearly felt, but, more to the point, that the ethnic identity of mercenary troops generally in Holland was not so obvious at that time as is assumed by modern historians. A related question is whether or not native-born Hollanders served in professional army units of the Habsburg forces in the early sixteenth century. Bert S. Hall states that, after the battle of Guinegate in 1479, Maximilian “would find to his dismay that Flemings and Netherlanders were rather disinclined to campaign under Habsburg leadership.” Tracy, for a later period, presents the inverse of this statement with his opinion that “for reasons that have never been fully understood, Habsburg rulers did not employ Dutch-speaking troops to defend their Dutch-speaking provinces.”80 Various reasons have been adduced for the alleged antipathies. But who did not want whom? There can be no doubt that, in the early part of the sixteenth century, Hollanders served as garrison soldiers in the frontier towns. Whatever the state of affairs may have been later, in the first decades of the sixteenth century there was also nothing in principle against the recruitment of army units of native Hollanders. The other 4000 men who were to be recruited in 1506 along with the 4000 Swiss, mentioned above, were described as ingelanden, meaning autochthon or native-born burghers or nationals. Furthermore, a resolution at one of the diets at The Hague in 1512 was to the effect that 1400 men, described as hierlansch [sic], should be recruited to defend the frontiers during the winter of 1512–13.81 But there is no evidence that the 1400 men were indeed raised

78

GA Rotterdam, Old Archive inv. no. 14, p. 92 (12 Sept. 1506): “. . . dat men in den Hage te dachvaert reyssen ende senden sal upte begeerte van hertoch Karel VIII/M knechten, daeroff IIII/M Zwissen ende IIII/M ingelanden . . .” 79 ARA, Rek.Rek. inv. no. 3412, f. 16 (2 Oct. 1512): “. . . van den rentbrief van den duysent gulden bij den Staten van den landen vercoft tot betalinge van den vier vaenkens duytsche knechten . . .” 80 Hall, p. 122, and James D. Tracy, A Financial Revolution in the Habsburg Netherlands: “Renten” and “Renteniers” in the County of Holland, 1515–1565 (Berkeley, 1985), p. 37. See also Tracy, Erasmus, pp. 74, 76–77. 81 GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 131–131v (28 Sept. 1512): “. . . ende dat men voirt die frontieren van desen landen besetten sel mit tgetal van XIIII/C hierlansche knechten of dair omtrent . . .” There has been some discussion about the word “hierlandsch” in connection with wool imports into the Low Countries. Did it mean “Irish,” as some have said, or did it mean “native; or of these lands.” R. Van Uytven argued for the latter. His sources included accounts for wool brought to Leiden where arguably the writers used “hierlandsch” meaning “pertaining to Holland”: R. Van Uytven, “ ‘Hierlandsche’ wol en lakens in Brabantse documenten (XIIIde–XVIde eeuw),” Bijdragen tot de Geschiedenis 53 (1970), 5–16.

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locally. There were more than enough foreign mercenaries in Holland willing and happy to serve for 4 stuivers per day.

Controls Exercised by the Magistrates Controls exercised by the States of Holland and by individual cities were first and foremost in financial affairs. Controls and audits were conducted into the subsidies and levies (beden, omslagen) paid to the government and in the muster and payment of troops. On 3 April 1513, the Court of Holland agreed to the request of the deputies of the six large cities “that they desired to know the accounts of the Common Land and especially the monies levied until now in the war with Guelders and to defend Holland.” Auditors were appointed to examine the accounts of Willem Goudt, Treasurer for North-Holland, in the presence of deputies of the cities. Their task was “to examine closely and to inspect the accounts, passing with the consent of the city deputies what was proper and correct, and to note where objections were and so forth and to proceed towards removal of those same objections and towards closure of the aforementioned accounts, and when that was done to remove the objections and to close the accounts.”82 The magistrates of Holland also conducted musters of the troops who were under contract to defend neighboring towns and villages. In 1507, Haarlem and Leiden with “the majority of the cities resolved that they themselves desired to have the administration of payment and muster of the troops, or together with some members of the Council, in order that there should be no fraud (bedroch) and that each of the captains should have the full number of men, and this was agreed to by the members of the Council.”83 Thirty years earlier, Maximilian had granted a similar right to Flanders, the only prerogative which they shared with Maximilian, and a measure for which Wim P. Blockmans used the term, coined by Herbert Marcuse, “repressive tolerance,” because at that time it deprived the Four Members of the desire to press for more influence in high politics.84 However, in Holland after 1507 it was a right which the magistrates continued to maintain in the years to come, and it had no moderating effect on their opposition to the government in financial matters. The sources contain mostly only a statement that the roll call was made, for example at Weesp by

82 83

ARA Rek.Rek. inv. no. 2192, f. 1, printed in Meilink, regest no. 295. GA Leiden, inv. no. 586, f. 30 (28 Sept. 1507): “Ende worde bij den steden ende tmeerdeel van dien genoech gesloten dat zij begheerden die administracie van der betalinge ende van de monster van tvolck selver te hebben oft . . . mit eenige van den Raede updat daer geen bedroch in en geschiede ende elck van den capiteijnen sijn vol getal hebben soude, twelck den steden genoech bij mijn heeren van den Raide geaccordeert worde.” 84 W. P. Blockmans, De volksvertegenwoordiging in Vlaanderen in de overgang van middeleeuwen naar nieuwe tijden (1384–1506) (Brussels, 1978), p. 449.

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magistrates from Haarlem and at Alphen by magistrates from Leiden. The first muster observed was in July 1507 when magistrates from Haarlem went to Naarden to take the roll call of soldiers whom they had stationed there on the orders of the government. After that entries in the accounts recording musters and payments made to garrison soldiers by magistrates of Haarlem are commonplace.85 In the winter of 1512–13, troops at Alphen under the command of Captain Jan van Delft were mustered by magistrates from Leiden. One of the magistrates’ related duties was to supervise accommodation for the soldiers in the outlying towns where garrisons were placed. Willem van Boschuysen, a Leiden alderman (scepen), went to Alphen on the Rhine in November 1512 to arrange billets for the 100 soldiers stationed there.86 Another example is the roll call which Heynrick van der Does, a magistrate of Leiden, carried out together with the government’s master of the roll call, Lodewijk van Moerkerken, at Alphen on 12 January 1513. Jan van Scagen from Haarlem and deputies from Delft also took part. On another occasion, Ambrosius Colen, a Leiden treasurer, checked the military rolls and receipts at The Hague jointly with Willem Goudt, treasurer for North Holland.87 Under the pressure of the costs of the Guelders War, aggravated by dike disasters and floods in Holland in the early sixteenth century, financial pressures on the cities of Holland resulted in increased control by them on government officials, particularly in military matters. In discussions held in 1511 on the continuation of the royal subsidy (bede), Haarlem and Leiden pointed out to Margaret of Austria that she received the money “in order to maintain and defend Holland.”88 Soon afterwards, Floris van Ysselstein hired an extra force of one thousand men without waiting for the consent of a majority of the large cities. They were

85

GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1506–1507, f. 31v (8 July 1507): “. . . omme monster te ontfangen van den cappiteyn ende knechten bij deser stede aldair geleyt.” See also GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1507–1508, f. 47v (1 June 1508); ff. 52–52v (30 Aug. 1508); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1509–1510, f. 51 (undated); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1510–1511, ff. 32–32v (4 Jan. 1511); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1510–1511, f. 41 (1 July 1511); GA Haarlem, Tres.rek. 1511–1512, f. 56 (22 Sept. 1511); f. 56v (27 Sept. 1511), etc. 86 GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 33 (3 Dec. 1512), and f. 34 (12 Jan. 1513). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 37v (4 Nov. 1512): “. . . van der stede wegen tot Alphen omme aldair te maecken zekere biletten dair men die C knechten logeren soude, liggende onder Jan van Delft . . .” 87 GA Leiden, inv. no. 586, f. 30 (28 Sept. 1507), and GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 34: “. . . van der stede wegen tot Alphen aen mijnen heeren Lodewijck van Moerkercken ende van Scagen ende mit die gedeputeerde van Delf te ontfangen die monsteringhe van den knechten liggende tot Alphen . . .”, and f. 43 (19 March 1513): “. . . om mit Willem Goudt, rentmeester generael, te rekenen van den knechten onderhouden bij die van Leyden onder joncker Jan van den Eeren ende Willem van Boshuijsen als cappiteijnen, ende hem te leveren die certificatien, monsterrollen ende quitancien daerop dienende . . . ” 88 GA Haarlem, Vroedschapsres, 1501–1516, f. 73 (9 June 1511). See also GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, f. 96 (6 June 1511): “. . . ende dat mijn genadige vrouwe, zoe zij bede ontfangt van den lande . . . behoirt tlandt wel te bewaeren ende te bescutten . . .”

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in addition to the 2184 “pays” who were at that moment already in the service of Holland for defense during the winter. Those men were now also considered unnecessary by the council at Leiden. The vroedschap thought that they should be dismissed and that each quarter in Holland should arrange and be responsible for its own defense with the smallest number of men possible. They could be recruited, the council thought, either from the local population (ingelanden) or from the foreign mercenaries, if that proved to be necessary.89 Because their intention was to save on costs, there is an apparent inconsistency in this attitude of Leiden’s magistrates. As seen above, on the basis of their daily pay, local men were not less but more expensive than foreign mercenaries. But the magistrates may have thought that they could hire and fire local men on a daily basis, as circumstances dictated, while mercenaries stipulated longer periods of service, usually not less than one month and frequently several months.

Conclusion The reasons for the long drawn-out war, lasting more than fifty years between the Burgundian-Habsburgers and Charles of Guelders, were partly dynastic and partly a consequence of the strategic geographical position of Gelderland. Lying between Holland and the Rhineland of Germany, the territory controlled trade routes via the Rhine and Waal rivers to the east and via the Zuiderzee to the north. One of the effects of the war was to make military experts, nolens volens, of the magisterial elites of Holland. Some of them became proficient in hiring and paying soldiers, arranging billets for them, confronting mutinies, controlling military dispositions and costs, purchasing and distributing weapons to the burghers, manufacturing munitions for them, supervising drills, mustering men, and organizing resistance to the enemy. The war affected all layers of society. In the summer of 1517, which witnessed the invasion of Holland and the destruction of Alkmaar, other groups of would-be “soldiers” exercised at Leiden. They were gangs of local schoolchildren and youths. Magistrates at Leiden reacted adversely when it became known that “many schoolboys and others were daily running through the streets with flags, sticks and staves, imitating the soldiers and throwing stones, hitting each other with sticks.” Parents were ordered under threat of sanctions by the magistrates to keep their children under control.90 The boys playing at soldiers 89

GA Leiden, inv. no. 383, ff. 111v–112 (25 Feb. 1512): “. . . ende angaende die XXI/C/ LXXXIIII payen is gestemmet ende gesloten dat men die niet al en behouft ende dat men tlandt van Hollant elcx in sijn quartier besetten sel mit seker getal van volck van wapen als men minste mach, altijt tlandt bewairdt zijnde, ende dat tsij mitten steden ende ingelande van den quartieren ofte mit knechten indient noot zij . . .” 90 GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, f. 67 (31 July 1517): “. . . alsoe tot kennisse van den gerechte gecomen is dat veel schoelkinder ende andere dagelicx bij de straten loopen mit vaentgens, mit stocken ende staven, ende contrefeyten de knechten ende worpen met stien ende slaen malkander mit stocken . . .”

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in Leiden in 1517 were not alone. When the storm of war was released, Erasmus wrote, “youth was corrupted by all kinds of vices.”91 Writing on war as a game and on some of the psychological causes and consequences of war, R. A. Hinde considers how war toys “help to create the impression that war is a normal activity in which most adults indulge.”92 For inhabitants of the towns and cities of Holland in the early sixteenth century, it was well-nigh impossible to ignore it. The sounds and reminders of war were everywhere. Church and town hall bells were rung during alarms and musters of the guard and daily in winter to warn burghers to break the ice near their dwellings. Joiners and bricklayers, thatchers and slaters with their ladders, noncombatants, like women and the clergy, who were fit to carry water, had to help as fire fighters when needed.93 Apart even from practice shoots by guild members, gunfire provided a frequent background noise. It was impossible to unload muzzle-loading firearms safely, and so men coming off watch in the morning were permitted to fire their weapons before returning home.94 It can be asked whether the events of the early sixteenth century affected later generations in Holland. In the early sixteenth century, the magistrate and local artillery master, Hendrick van der Does, was one of the men who had special responsibility for weaponry and other military matters in Leiden. This Hendrick van der Does (died 12 April 1523) was a great-uncle of Johan van der Does, better known as the sixteenth-century humanist, writer and poet, Janus Douza.95 At the time of the Dutch Revolt against Philip II, Johan van der Does (1545–1605) was one of the two military commanders who successfully resisted the Spaniards at the siege of Leiden in 1573–74. Later, he fulfilled other impor91

92

93

94

95

Erasmus, Érasme: Dulce bellum inexpertis, ed. and trans. Y. Remy and R. DunilMarquebreucq, Collection Latomus Vol. VIII (Brussels, 1953), p. 46: “corrumpitur omni genere vitiorum iuuentus.” R. A. Hinde, “War: Some Psychological Causes and Consequences,” Interdisciplinary Science Reviews 22 (1997), 229–45, especially pp. 234 and 236. See also G. L. Mosse, Fallen Soldiers: Reshaping the Memory of the World Wars (Oxford, 1990), pp. 136–44, especially p. 142. GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, f. 13 (27 May 1508): “. . . dat alle geestelicke persoenen nut ende bequam daertoe zijnde ende oick alle vrouwen . . . omme water te dragen . . .” Two women named in the sources were engaged in the war in another way. The wife of Master Martin of Leeuwaarden conveyed gunpowder and munitions to Leiden for her husband, who was a master gunpowder maker (GA Leiden, inv. no. 591, f. 68 [14 Oct. 1512]). And Alydt, the wife of Cornelis Gerrijtz, transported firearms several times from Rotterdam, where her husband manufactured them, to Leiden and received payment for them (GA Leiden, inv. no. 592, f. 73v [26 Jan. 1513]). GA Leiden, inv. no. 387, a paper inserted between ff. 37v and 38 (undated but probably in May 1513): “Item dat nyemant schieten en zal upter stede huys ofte der straeten, dan zullen die wakers tsavonts hueren bussen moghen vollen ende tsmorgens als zij van der waken gaen diezelve hoir bussen aen die vesten moghen afschieten . . .” C. J. Polvliet, Genealogie van het Oud-adelijk geslacht van der Does (The Hague, 1892), pp. 63–71, especially pp. 65 and 71; C. L. Heesakkers, Janus Dousa en zijn vrienden (Leiden, 1973), p. 22; and C. Heesakkers and W. Reinders, Genoegelijk bovenal zijn mij de Muzen (Leiden, 1993), pp. 31–37.

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tant functions, including that of official historian for the new Republic, and curator and librarian for the University of Leiden.96 Douza’s experiences as military commander in 1574 are reflected in a collection of poems and odes which he wrote, commemorating Dutch resistance to the Spaniards and forming a history of Holland which was dedicated to the members of the States of Holland.97 The poems do not refer to Douza’s martial relative, Hendrick van der Does, of two generations earlier, but it does not seem impossible that some of the unruly schoolboys who were born under Philip I and who incurred the displeasure of Leiden’s magistrates in 1517 for playing at soldiers lived long enough to witness their sons and grandsons fight on Douza’s side in the struggle against Philip II in 1574.

96

H. Kampinga, De opvattingen over onze oudere vaderlandsche geschiedenis bij de Hollandsche historici der XVIe en XVIIe eeuw (The Hague, 1917), pp. 25–37. 97 Johan van der Does, Iani Douzae Nordovicis nova poemata (Leiden, 1575).

Women in Medieval Armies

8 Women in Medieval Armies J. F. Verbruggen (Original: “Vrouwen in de middeleeuwse legers,” Revue Belge d’histoire militaire 24 (1982), 617–34) Translated by Kelly DeVries

A number of women followed armies in the Middle Ages to supply the soldiers, and to support them by washing their clothes and caring for their wounds. Some women fought with the soldiers. Others accompanied their spouse or a friend. The presence of women on the Crusades is very commonly contrasted with their attendance in other wars, probably because they were attracted to a long expedition to visit the famous holy places as a pilgrimage rather than a short journey in their own land. Girls chose to follow their friends into distant places to look after them, and wives to accompany their men. Some women on these expeditions traveled with the army out of a desire for adventure and certain of them became famous as commanders of military units or of whole armies. A queen could be required by the circumstances even to conduct a war during the absence of her spouse on a Crusade or when he was imprisoned. A noblewoman could exercise her higher command by transferring the leadership of military operations to a more experienced commander. She could put on her own armor and personally command her soldiers in the everyday actions of warfare. She could defend the fortress in which she dwelled at the time of a siege. And there were many opportunities and much demand for women of loose morals during medieval hard times.

During the Crusades During the First Crusade women fought as early as the battle of Dorylaeum on 1 July 1097. They greatly assisted the cavalry that day, by bringing water to the warriors, and by emboldening them in the attack and the defense. Ecclesiastics, women, and children were killed by the enemy during this battle. During the siege of Antioch a woman was killed by an enemy arrow in the camp of Bohemond of Taranto.1 The Greek historian Nicetas wrote of queens and noble1

Histoire anonyme de la première croisade, ed. L. Bréhier, Les classiques de l’histoire de France au moyen âge (Paris, 1924), pp. 46, 70, 130.

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women in the Crusade of 1147. They were clothed as men, rode on horseback, and carried a lance and a battle-axe. They were as brave as Amazons. At their head rode a proud queen, a noblewoman with golden spurs, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of France. He compared her to Penthesilea, the Queen of the Amazons who raced to the aid of Troy.2 The countesses of Toulouse, Blois, and Flanders were also on this Crusade, together with other noblewomen.3 In the Third Crusade women also assisted soldiers. As in the First Crusade, they brought water to the soldiers, cared for the wounded, washed the clothes, etc. And there were also prostitutes in the camp of the Crusaders. The Muslims claimed that a ship brought 300 very beautiful women, and that these women had come to provide the Crusaders with much pleasure. The Mamluks would visit the Crusaders in order to make the acquaintance of the pretty women. During the march made from St. John’s in Acre to Jaffa, Richard the Lionheart ordered that all the women be left behind, with the exception of the washer-women, who would accompany the soldiers, so that they could cleanse them of lice.4 During the Fourth Crusade, the “foles femmes” [women of ill repute] were packed into a ship and temporarily removed from the army and they were temporarily withdrawn until the assault on Constantinople in 1204.5 In the Crusade of St. Louis to Egypt, likewise, special measures had to be taken against some women.6 The priests usually declared that the trials of the Crusaders were a punishment for their sinful lives, and that if the women were removed then the situation would be better. King Louis IX was accompanied by his wife, Margaret of Provence, on every expedition. She was staying in the conquered town of Damietta when an army of Crusaders under the leadership of Louis IX was forced to capitulate. She was expecting a baby that could have been born any day. When the bad news of the surrender arrived, she feared that the Mamluks would also capture Damietta. She did not wish to fall into the hands of the enemy. Kneeling, she asked the eighty-year-old knight who remained with her to cut off her head if the Saracens were to invade the town. The knight promised this, as he had already thought about it. The queen gave

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F. Heer, L’univers du moyen âge (Paris, 1970), p. 169. R. Grousset, Histoire des croisades et du royaume franc de Jérusalem, 3 vols. (Paris, 1934–36), 2:246. 4 Grousset, 3:29, and Ambroise, L’estoire de la guerre sainte, ed. G. Paris, Collection de documents inédits sur l’histoire de France (Paris, 1897), p. 152, vv. 5691–98. 5 Robert de Clari, La conquête de Constantinople, ed. Ph. Lauer, Classiques français du moyen âge (Paris, 1924), p. 72. [Translator’s note: This was ordered by the Crusaders’ bishops in order to ensure God’s favor for the coming attack. My thanks to Clifford Rogers for providing this information.] 6 Jean de Joinville, Histoire de Saint Louis, ed. Natalis de Wailly, Société de l’histoire de France (Paris, 1868), p. 60. [Translator’s note: Joinville writes that after returning from captivity Saint Louis dismissed a number of his men because he was upset that they had maintained brothels within a short stone’s-throw of his own tent, even during the army’s difficult times. There is an indication within this passage, however, that these brothels were not known to Saint Louis. Thanks again to Clifford Rogers for this note.]

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birth to a son who was named Jean Tristan because he was born in such sad circumstances. The queen then learned that the sailors of Pisa and Genoa who were to defend the town wanted to leave as the Crusaders had been taken prisoner. She asked the leaders to come to her chamber the day after her delivery and promised to pay for the necessary supplies and to maintain all of the defenders at royal cost. The sailors agreed to this and Damietta remained in the hands of the queen, so that the town could serve as a center of exchange for the ransom of the prisoners and the king. 7

In Other Wars Women also took part in non-Crusading warfare. During the famous “Bruges Matins,” during the night of 17–18 May 1302, Brugeois women threw benches, chairs, and supports from the attics of their houses down onto the French knights and soldiers who fought in the streets of the town.8 After 17 September 1302, when the militia had been mustered and all able-bodied men marched to the border to defend the county of Flanders, the women replaced them as sentries, if we are to believe Lodewijk van Velthem: Die vrouwen daden die sciltwachte, Oft enich prinse met crachte Dit edel lant had willen versoeken. Men vant noyt staende in boeken, Dat vrouwen scilt wachten daden, Sonder man, in mans gewaden, Dit was .i. wonder van vrouwen. These women did the sentry-duty, If a powerful prince Wished to attack the noble land. Men will never find in books, That women had done sentry-duty, But men, in men’s attire, This was one miracle of women.

This was obviously a miracle, discovered by the priest Lodewijk van Velthem.9 When Witte van Haamstede sparked the rebellion against the Flemings and their Zeelander allies in Holland in 1304, she provided a good example to the women of Schiedam: 7 8

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Joinville, pp. 141–42. Chronique Artésienne (1295–1304) et chronique Tournaisienne (1296–1314), ed. Frantz Funck-Brentano, Collection de textes pour servir à l’étude et à l’enseignement de l’histoire (Paris, 1899), p. 42. Lodewijk Van Velthem, Voortzetting van de Spiegel Historiael (1248–1316), ed. H. Vander Linden, W. de Vreese, P. de Keyser, and A. Van Loey, Commission royale d’histoire (Brussels, 1906–38), II.4.51, p. 380.

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Van Sciedamme alle de wive Liepen uut, hier vier, hier vive, Ende deden de manne lopen mede. In Schiedam all the women, went out, here four and there five, And the men all went out with them.10

They took part in the rebellion with the men. In the march to Westrozebeke in 1382 Philip van Artevelde had his girlfriend brought with him, a young lady from Ghent, who spent the night with him in his pavilion.11 During the battle, a woman clad in armor and called the Great Margot carried the Flemish standard. As with any standard-bearer, she had to set an example in battle and to sacrifice her life if necessary.12 During sieges of cities women could more easily help the soldiers than in battle. At the siege of Toulouse from October 1217 to July 1218, Simon de Montfort, the leader of the Crusade against the Albigensians, was killed on 25 June 1218 by a stone fired from a trebuchet that was operated by the women and girls of the city.13 The women of Orléans distinguished themselves during the siege of their city when, on 21 October 1428, the English made a vigorous attack on the boulevard protecting the head of the bridge across the Loire. The battle lasted a long time, with many English soldiers killed or wounded. The French defenders pushed the attackers from their ladders into the moats, where they ceased being a threat as the French harassed them there with all kinds of projectiles and objects, smoldering coals, lime, burning and boiling oil and water. The women of Orléans brought stones to throw at their attackers. They came to their own people with wine, meat, vinegar, fruit, white cloth, and all that they needed. Some especially courageous women fought beside the soldiers on the ramparts and struck down the enemy with lances.14 The lengthy siege of Orléans from 12 October 1428 to 8 May 1429 introduced one of the most important women of the Middle Ages, Joan of Arc. On 27 June 1472, Duke Charles the Bold marched with his army to Normandy. When he came to Beauvais, the captain of the vanguard, the Lord of Esquerdes, pushed into the suburb and pillaged it. A very greedy Burgundian, the Lord Jacques de Montmartin, chamberlain of the Duke and captain of 100 lances and 300 crossbows of the Ordonnance, pillaged the part of the suburb where the archbishop’s house was. Esquerdes attacked on the opposite side. He had two cannons that fired two shots at the gate making a large hole in the 10 11 12 13 14

Melis Stoke, Rijmkroniek (694–1305), ed. W. G. Brill, Werken van het Historisch Genootschap gevestigd te Utrecht, n.s. 40, 42 (Utrecht, 1885), 8.1198–1200, p. 251. Jehan Froissart’s Cronyke van Vlaenderen, trans. (into Dutch) Gerijt Potter van der Loo, ed. N. de Pauw (Ghent: Vlaamse Academie, 1898), 1:311–12. M. J. Lachauvelaye, Guerres des Français et des Anglais du XIe au XVe siècle (Paris, 1875), 2:75, and Philippe Contamine, La guerre au moyen âge (Paris, 1980), p. 395. P. Belperron, La croisade contre les Albigeois et l’union du Languedoc à la France (1209–1249) (Paris, 1942), p. 338. Chronique de la Pucelle, ed. M. Vallet de Viriville (Paris, 1864), pp. 261–62.

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wood. But there were no more cannonballs to fire, as an attack on Beauvais had not been planned. A battle was fought near the breach in the gate and its immediate surroundings.15 As soon as the attack had begun, the women and children stood next to the defenders of Beauvais, supplying the soldiers and burghers with munitions and projectiles. Some women took part in the fighting, while others lit torches which they threw at the vanguard of the Burgundians. They brought many faggots, lit them on fire, and threw them next to the gate, so that these set the doors on fire and the attack was frustrated. Charles the Bold thought that the city would fall once the fire was extinguished. Therefore, he took no special care to place a unit in front of the city in the direction of Paris, from where the defenders might receive reinforcements. Around eight o’clock in the evening 200 lances of the royal army came from Noyon to Beauvais, and they rode in through the south gate. They left their horses with the women who put them in their stalls and cared for the animals, while they reinforced the defenders at the threatened places. Afterwards darkness fell and the fighting ended for the day. The next day Charles the Bold mounted his artillery and began to fire it. But new reinforcements arrived to defend the city. Beauvais was not entered. King Louis XI rewarded the city for its energetic defense against the enemy and among other things exempted its citizens from taxes. He paid homage to the effort of the women and children who put their lives on the line and had spared themselves no pains. Jeanne Laisné was especially distinguished and was then renamed Jeanne Hachette by her fellow citizens because she fought in the battle with a small axe in her hand. In remembrance of this exemplary defense the women of Beauvais in the future were able to wear whatever clothes they wished, no matter what their rank was. In addition, they were to march in the forefront of the yearly procession that would commemorate the event, preceding the men. 16

Among Mercenaries, in the Great Companies, and in Professional Armies In the years 1167 to 1177 mercenaries were extensively employed by Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, King Henry II of England, and various southern French princes. These mercenaries were called Brabanzonen, men of Brabant, although they often included men from other regions. These troops were accompanied by wives or girlfriends of the warriors. There were also some ecclesiastics with them, although the mercenaries were sometimes identified as heretics.17 The Catalan mercenaries who in 1302 traveled to the Byzantine 15

Philippe de Commynes, Mémoires, ed. J. Calmette and G. Durville, Les classiques de l’histoire de France au moyen âge (Paris, 1924–25), 1:236ff., and Paul Murray Kendall, Louis XI (Paris, 1974), pp. 284–85. 16 Kendall, pp. 285–86. 17 J. F. Verbruggen, De krijg-kunst in West-Europa in de middeleeuwen (IXe tot XIVe eeuw),

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Empire were accompanied by women or girlfriends and their children.18 In the years after the battle of Maupertuis/Poitiers (1356) and around 1360 many companies of soldiers, nobles, and others had become used to waging war in France and did not wish to return any further to a normal life during peacetime. They lived off the land and exploited the area in which they were established. These Great Companies with their professional soldiers could oppose an army of nobles. They had their knights, squires, and other heavy cavalry as fighters, and their attendants, farriers, saddlemakers, tanners, butchers, seamstresses and washerwomen, surgeons and medics, auditors, and women and pages.19 In the following century there were certain troops called “Écorcheurs.” In 1439 an army was assembled from certain soldiers or bandits estimated to have numbered around 5,000 mounted men, among whom there were 3,000 who had good horses and 300 women on horse.20 After King Charles VII raised a standing army with 15 companies of soldiers, each 100 lances strong, the tradition was established that women followed the army. Prostitutes accompanied the troops and were more or less bound to certain units. They were under the supervision of the provost of the marshals, who inspected them. Under the name sinners, ribalds, garses, bacelettes, they often served as chambermaids or as maids for the soldiers. In the Ordnance of 1473, Charles the Bold limited the number of women in his army. There were not to be more than 30 women for a company of 30 lances, which contained 810 soldiers and 106 male attendants. The duke forbade his soldiers from keeping a woman for their personal use. King Charles VIII issued a similar prohibition in 1484: the soldiers were to have no girls with them and these girls were not to ride on horses. They could follow the army on foot; if they were found riding on horses, they were to dismount.21

Commanders of Troops If circumstances warranted, princesses and noblewomen could be required to lead armies themselves. Concerning this, Christine de Pisan advised them to read Book IV of Vegetius to learn how to protect their lands well in the absence of their husband.22 The medieval chivalric epic gave examples. One cycle of epics describes the actions of the hero Aymer de Narbonne. Aymer fell into the

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Verhandelingen van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, Klasse der Letteren, verhandeling 20 (Brussels, 1954), p. 237. Ferdinand Lot, L’art militaire et les armées au moyen-âge en Europe et dans le proche orient (Paris, 1946), 1:373–74. Lot, 1:398. Philippe Contamine, Guerre, état et société à la fin du moyen âge: Études sur les armées des rois de France, 1337–1494 (Paris, 1972), p. 267. Contamine, Guerre, état et société, pp. 451–52. [Translators’ note: Charles actually gave ownership of the horse to whoever dismounted the woman.] Philippe Contamine, La vie quotidienne pendant la guerre de Cent Ans: France et Angleterre (XIVe–XVe siècle) (Paris, 1976), p. 188.

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hands of the Saracens, was beaten, wounded, and a stake was erected on which he was to burn. From a tower on the town walls of Narbonne, his wife, Ermengardis, saw how her husband had been abused. Aymer called out to her: “Let me die, but do not surrender the town!” Narbonne held out and Aymer was freed by his sons.23 In the cycle of the romances of Guillaume d’Orange, his wife, Guibrour, defended the town of Orange along with the noblewomen. The women wore mail shirts and helmets, they had swords in their belts, shields around their necks, and lances in their fists. They stood watch on the walls of the fortification until William of Orange returned with the army he had mustered to be with the king and relieved the town after a siege of five months.24 In the years 1090–91 or 1092 a dispute broke out in the province of Evreux in Normandy between two powerful brothers, Guillaume d’Evreux and Ralph de Tosny, and the differences worsened through the envy of two proud noblewomen, Helwisa de Nevers and Isabella de Conches. Helwisa, the daughter of Count Guillaume de Nevers, was married to Count Guillaume d’Evreux. She became angry at Isabella de Conches, a daughter of Simon de Montfort and wife of Ralph de Tosny, over some scornful remarks. In venting her anger, she used all her means to try to get Count Guillaume de Nevers and his barons to wage war against them. So were the hearts of brave men turned to anger through the suspicions and quarrels of women, and their husbands subsequently caused a great loss of blood and towns and villages were torched. Both women who caused this war were eloquent, courageous, and beautiful; both ruled over their husbands, oppressed their vassals, and terrorized these in diverse ways. There was a big difference in their manners. Helwisa was intelligent and eloquent, but cruel and avaricious. Isabella was generous, bold, and merry, and because of that loveable and pleasing to those who knew her. In a campaign they rode among the knights, armed as soldiers, and, Orderic Vitalis claims, they showed as much daring among the armored knights and the spear-carrying arms bearers as Virgil’s virgin Camilla, who set the example for the Latin troops of Turnus. They deserved comparison with Lampeto and Marpesia, Hippolyta and Penthesilea, and other queens of the Amazons, warriors whose wars were recounted by Pompeius Trogus, Maro Virgilius, and other historians, and who held the kings of Asia in check for fifteen years and using their weapons subdued the Asian peoples. The supporters of the count of Evreux pillaged the lands of the men of Conches who had themselves entered their enemy’s land. Count Guillaume d’Evreux attacked the region of Conches, but could not gain a decisive victory. Hostilities lasted for a while, but for how long is unknown.25 23

J. Bédier, Les légendes épiques: Recherches sur la formation des chansons de geste, 3rd ed. (Paris, 1926–29), 1:63, and L. Gautier, La chevelerie, 3rd ed. (Paris, 1895), p. 46. 24 La légende de Guillaume d’Orange, renouvelée par Paul Truffau (Paris, 1920), pp. 130, 162–64. 25 Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History, ed. M. Chibnall, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford, 1973), IV:212–16.

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The Empress Mathilda was the widow of Henry V, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and late wife of Count Geoffrey of Anjou, and the most direct legal heir of King Henry I of England. But Stephen of Blois, Count of Boulogne, nephew of King Henry I, and grandson of William the Conqueror, had succeeded in being crowned as king of England. A rebellion broke out against the new king, whose wife also was named Mathilda. Stephen was taken prisoner fighting at the battle of Lincoln on 2 February 1141. Afterwards Empress Mathilda and her supporters laid siege to the castle in Winchester. Queen Mathilda and William of Ypres, the Flemish mercenary, advanced on the supporters of Stephen of Blois near Winchester. They blockaded the town during the months of August and September, while the troops of Empress Mathilda vainly tried to capture the castle of Winchester and to break the blockade. Finally, the Empress Mathilda was forced to abandon the siege on 14 September 1141. This retreat was a difficult undertaking and was therefore carefully prepared by her half-brother, Robert, earl of Gloucester. The Empress left with her vanguard, the main force followed at a distance, and the retreat was protected by a rearguard of 200 horsemen under Earl Robert. The retreat was made along the road from Winchester to Stockbridge. But the army of Queen Mathilda and William of Ypres marched against the retreating troops. They attacked the middle group, completely defeating it and sending the soldiers into panic, while the rearguard stayed in good order and rode to Stockbridge. The royal army had very quickly reached the bridge over the River Test, and the Flemings surrounded the Empress’s rearguard there. Earl Robert of Gloucester was taken prisoner. The Empress Mathilda was with the vanguard and sat on her horse in the manner of a noblewoman,26 so she could not really ride quickly and her army feared that she might be overtaken by those following them. They recommended that she ride a horse like a man, and the Empress followed their advice. From Stockbridge they retreated to Ludgershall and from there to Devizes. By then the Empress Mathilda had ridden forty miles and she was very fatigued. She could no longer ride a horse. A stretcher was placed between two horses, the Empress was tied onto it, and so brought to the town of Gloucester.27 On 1 November 1141, King Stephen was exchanged for Earl Robert of Gloucester. The war lasted for several more years, but Stephen remained king until his death in 1154. Ermingardis, viscountess of Narbonne, played an important role in the history of France. She came to power in 1134 and governed her region for fifty years. Sometimes she commanded her army. She led supporters of the French

26

[Translator’s note: Undoubtedly this means that she was using a noblewoman’s saddle of which, unfortunately, there are no surviving exemplars or detailed illustrations. She may have been sitting sidesaddle, as later noblewomen did, but that is not clarified in the original text. In fact, that she was able to sit on her horse like a man may indicate no difference in the saddle, only in her manner of sitting on it.] 27 J. H. Round, Geoffrey de Mandeville: A Study of the Anarchy (London, 1892), pp. 123–35.

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king in her region in their struggle against the king of England.28 The noblewoman, Nicola de la Hay, in 1191 defended the castle of Lincoln against the regent of that kingdom. Her husband, Gerard of Camville, had chosen the party of John Lackland during the absence of King Richard the Lionheart, while he was on Crusade. Nicola was a very proud person. According to chroniclers, she was as brave as a man. After a certain amount of time, the regent of England was required to raise his siege. Gerard of Camville was then with John Lackland and could not personally lead the defense of Lincoln Castle. He knew that his wife would be capable of doing so. After the death of Gerard, Nicola was still at the head of the garrison of Lincoln Castle as a faithful adherent of John Lackland when in 1215 an uprising against the king broke out. Lincoln Castle was one of the most important strongholds of the kingdom, so he sent siege-machines and a garrison to her assistance. The following year, in 1216, King John visited this widow, then perhaps sixty-five years old. In that summer, Nicola was besieged by opponents of the king. She convinced some of the besiegers to leave by bribing them, and other besiegers left in August 1216 because they could not defeat the castle. John Lackland visited her from 22 September to 2 October 1216. In November 1216 the count of Artois went to war with Nicola de la Hay, taking possession of the town of Lincoln. The following March he was reinforced by other supporters of Louis, the son of King Philip Augustus of France, who wished to become king of England. As Nicola had shown that she was a very good castellan and had defended the fortress in an excellent way, the regent of England, William the Marshal, decided to help this brave woman, and he marched with the supporters of the king to Lincoln to fight the partisans of Louis of France. On 20 May 1217, he crushed the supporters of the French prince in the streets of Lincoln. Nicola had thus successfully defended one of the two most important strongholds of the king of England. 29 Jeanne of Flanders was the daughter of Louis I of Nevers, a sister of Louis I of Flanders, usually named Louis of Nevers. Jeanne married Jean IV of Montfort in 1329. When Duke Jean III of Brittany died on 30 April 1341, Jean IV of Montfort, as brother of the deceased duke, had the rights to Brittany. Jean III of Brittany had a niece, Jeanne of Penthièvre, daughter of Guy of Brittany, count of Penthièvre. He had himself made heir of the duchy. Jeanne of Penthièvre had been married since 1337 to Charles, count of Blois, nephew of the king of France, Philip VI. The king of France chose to side with Charles of Blois and named him to the duchy. But the count of Montfort had quickly taken possession of Brittany and had to be first driven out. A war broke out between the two rivals. Jean of Montfort was captured, surrendered to the king of France, 28 29

Heer, p. 331. Ch. Petit-Dutaillis, “Une femme de guerre au XIIIe siècle: Nicole de la Haie, gardienne du château de Lincoln,” in Mélanges Julien Havet (Paris, 1895), pp. 369–80, especially pp. 370–76, and T. F. Tout, “The Fair of Lincoln and the Histoire de Guillaume de Maréchal,” in The Collected Papers of Thomas Frederick Tout, 2 vols. (Manchester, 1934), 2:191–220.

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and locked up. The countess of Montfort was in Rennes when she heard that her husband had been taken prisoner. She feared for his life and was deeply grieved. But she had the heart of a lion. She handled herself not like a woman, wrote Jean le Bel, but as a man of great courage. She emboldened her friends and soldiers, showed them her young son and said: “Lords be not discouraged by the loss of our lord; he was but one man; see here my young son who shall recover everything if God wills it. And I have sufficient wealth, so I shall find a commander to lead you well and strengthen you.” She visited all the towns, fortifications, and castles with her little son, strengthening the garrisons and attending to their preparations. At Hennebont, a very strong fortification, she spent the winter. In the spring of 1342 Charles of Blois intended to conquer the duchy. Countess Jeanne sent Amaury de Clisson to the king of England, Edward III, to ask for help. She remained with her troops in the fortress of Hennebont which was next to the sea. Charles of Blois appeared with his army before Hennebont in May 1342.30 The brave countess was armed and armored and rode on a large horse from street to street, rallying everyone and summoning them to join the defense. She had asked the women of the town, the nobles as well as the others, to bring stones to the walls and to throw these on the attackers, as well as pots filled with lime. Listen now to the most wonderful and bold feat that a woman has ever undertaken. The brave countess, who often climbed the towers to see how her people defended themselves, observed that all the besieging soldiers had left their lodgings and almost all were looking at the assault. She decided to perform an impressive feat of arms, remounted her horse, armored as she had been before and ordered around 300 men-at-arms, who were guarding a gate that was not being attacked, to mount their horses along with her. She rode out with her company and attacked her enemy’s tents and huts, where there were no soldiers, only some servants, who were all killed. Then she had the torch applied everywhere and immediately flames engulfed everything. When the French lords saw that their huts were burning and heard the hue and cry they ran in dismay back to their huts, all shouting, “Betrayed!” “Betrayed!”. And no one stayed with the assault. When the brave countess saw that the enemy army had become so confused, and so many soldiers, arriving from all sides, she gathered her soldiers together. As she realized that she could not return into the town without losses, she traveled by another route to the castle at Brech, four miles from there.31

For five days an uncertainty prevailed as to the fate of the countess of Hennebont. Jeanne gathered 500 well armored and skilled men-at-arms, left Brech in the middle of the night and, at the crack of dawn, came to the gate of Hennebont Castle, where she entered and was received with great fanfare, the blast of trumpets, the roll of drums, and music from other instruments.32 The

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Jean le Bel, Chronique, ed. J. Viard and E. Déprez, Société de l’histoire de France (Paris, 1904–05), 1:246–47, 270–72, 301–02, and Jean Froissart, Chroniques, ed. S. Luce, Société de l’histoire de France (Paris, 1870), 2:87–88, 113–15, 139–40. 31 There has been some retranslation of the passage from the original source. 32 Jean le Bel, 1:307–11, and Froissart, 2:142–46.

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town had already been besieged for a long time. Negotiations were begun through Guy, bishop of Léon, who came as a liaison with his nephew, Hervé of Léon, a partisan of Charles of Blois. It was at the moment that the negotiations were almost completed and the countess was filled with fear and desperation as the hour of surrender drew nigh, that she saw the approach of the English fleet through one of the castle windows. She began to cry out with joy: “I see the help coming that I have for so longed for!” Then all of the inhabitants of the town ran to the walls to look out towards the sea. The countess’s ambassador, Lord Amaury de Clisson, had sailed to Hennebont with Walter de Mauny and an English army. For forty days they were on the sea, hindered by a headwind. The English cavalry were lodged in the castle and the next day they received a large midday meal. After the meal, Walter de Mauny, with his cavalry and 300 English longbowmen, sallied out, other archers following him and setting themselves up along the ditches of the fortification. During the sally a dangerous stone-thrower of the besiegers which had done much damage within the town, was destroyed. The attackers set fire to the huts of the besiegers. After the attack they returned to the town under the protection provided by the archers. The brave countess welcomed them, kissing the Lord of Mauny and his comrades two or three times. “She was indeed a courageous woman,” wrote the Liégeois chronicler, Jean le Bel, and Jean Froissart confirmed this: “she had the heart of a lion.” The following day the besiegers raised the siege and left. It was then the end of June. 33 One of the supporters of Charles of Blois, the Breton nobleman Olivier de Clisson, was suddenly stopped at a tournament by the command of the king of France. He was accused of treason and beheaded on 2 August 1343. His widow, Jeanne, decided to avenge him. She gathered 400 men-at-arms and marched to Brech Castle, then being besieged by supporters of Charles of Blois. She positioned most of the men-at-arms beyond the sight of the defenders of the castle and traveled to there with forty men whose weapons were hidden under their clothes. She asked to be let into the castle. The captain of the garrison and his men did not know that Olivier de Clisson had been beheaded, nor did they suspect that his wife was angry. The captain let down the drawbridge and opened the gate to greet the noblewoman. She came into the castle with her retinue, and then she blew horns to signal the rest of her supporters to advance. The castle was sacked and the garrison was put under the command of the wife of the dead Clisson. When Charles of Blois learned of this, he journeyed to the castle with his army, but Jeanne and her supporters did not wait for his arrival. The noblewoman assembled a fleet, equipped it for naval warfare, and attacked French ships; she plundered a number of French merchant ships. When King Philip VI learned of this, he exiled the Lady de Clisson from France and seized her possessions.34 Jeanne de Clisson traveled to England and there raised her 33 34

Jean le Bel, 1:314–19, and Froissart, 2:149–54. Istore et croniques de Flandres, ed. Kervyn de Lettenhove, Commission royale d’histoire, 2 vols. (Brussels, 1879–80), 2:10, and Chronique des Pays-Bas, de France, d’Angleterre et de

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son, Olivier, together with John, the son of the duke of Brittany. Jeanne of Flanders, duchess of Brittany, later also settled in England, after her husband, released from prison, died in 1345. Jeanne was fatigued by the long conflict, took sick, and stayed in Tickhill Castle in England where she became feeble-minded and, in 1374, died after a lengthy illness. Her son became duke of Brittany from 1365 until his death in 1399 and was succeeded by his own son, so that the dynasty remained in power in Brittany. Jeanne’s fight was thus not in vain.

The Maid, Jeanne Darc, the famous Jeanne d’Arc35 The courageous appearance of Jeanne Darc, who was later ennobled and then took the name d’Arc, had a strong affect on her contemporaries. She was special, a unique or original phenomenon in medieval wars. Jeanne claimed that she had been sent by God to drive the English away and to crown King Charles VII in Reims. When as a sixteen-year-old girl she came before the castellan of Vaucouleurs, Robert of Baudricourt, she could not convince him to send her to Charles VII. The captain thought that the shapely maiden would be much welcomed by his soldiers, as a prostitute.36 After her second visit in 1429 he allowed the girl to travel to the king, because in the meantime the siege of Orléans had intensified. He provided her with an armed escort, the inhabitants of Vaucouleurs bought her a horse, and others gave her arms and armor. After eleven days, on 6 March 1429, she and her companions came to Chinon, and two days later Jeanne was received by the king.37 The general situation was extraordinarily bad for Charles VII. He had lost almost half of the kingdom. The young king of England, Henry VI, was simultaneously king of France, where he was represented by a regent, the duke of Bedford. In the regions still held by Charles VII, the nobles did not show much desire to serve with the army. A number came out of fear of punishments that were expected if they did not fulfill their military service, such as the loss of noble status and their possessions. But they did not want any more of their lives to be lost on battlefields, because they had often been defeated by the English. The princes and upper nobles chose to remain at home to protect their own areas or to live at the royal

Tournai, in Corpus chronicorum Flandriae, ed. J. J. De Smet, Commission royale d’histoire, 4 vols. (Brussels, 1837–65), 3:161–62. 35 There are many works written about Jeanne of Arc. See, for example: André Bossuat, Jeanne d’Arc, Collection “Que sais-je?” (Paris, 1967); Pierre Champion, Jeanne d’Arc (Paris, 1933); and Regine Pernoud, Vie et mort de Jeanne d’Arc: Les témoignages du procès de réhabilitation, 1450–1456 (Paris, 1953). [Note. The translator’s military biography of Jeanne of Arc did not appear until after the initial publication of this article: Kelly DeVries, Joan of Arc: A Military Leader (Stroud, 1999).] 36 Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 271–72. 37 Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 272–73.

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court. The leaders of the fighting units stood at the head of small companies. A large number of such units were led by members of the lesser nobility who had inherited no livelihoods and were forced to take part in war to make a living. These fighting nobles were paid little or nothing, but lived off the inhabitants of the region, which led to numerous abuses and violence. The king also had to hire foreigners and commoners to strengthen the noble fighters. The army of Charles VII was small; the situation seemed hopeless. The king sometimes considered giving up the fight. Luckily for him the war was going even worse for the English army. The king of England had even fewer men and less money to send to the Continent. The duke of Bedford had too few troops to gain a victory. He tried to make himself master of the town Orléans in order to make his enemy lose still more territory. The siege was begun on 12 October 1428, but the English only had 3,500 soldiers. A short time before the appearance of Jeanne a number of citizens of Orléans had considered giving up the town. Thus Jeanne arrived at a propitious moment, considering the weakness of the English soldiers at Orléans.38 The king and his court were skeptical about this young girl who had no military experience. During the lengthy crisis in which the French were living, prophets and prophetesses continually appeared who had visions and made all kinds of predictions. But Jeanne wished to fight alongside them, and that was new. She was sent by the people of her village and region. She came as a representative of the people and of women, from the frontier, to save the land. On 8 March 1429, Jeanne was received by the king and his court, numbering 300 nobles. She succeeded in convincing the king after a meeting with him alone. Jeanne’s enthusiasm gave him great confidence. The court was more cautious. Jeanne had to travel to Poitiers so that she might appear before a group of bishops, theologians, and lawyers, who for three weeks interrogated her about her visions and ideas. An investigation of her life was also undertaken. The queen of Sicily, mother-in-law of Charles VII, and other noblewomen established that Jeanne was a virgin. Thus she had had no relations with the devil. The investigation showed that Jeanne was a simple, innocent peasant girl, who could, however, ride a horse well, was prepared to fight alongside the soldiers, and was convinced that she was on a mission that had been given her by God. The royal attendants then immediately made the good news known throughout France, that a maid had been sent from God to save the land and to drive the English out.39 This happy news convinced a number of nobles to come to the royal court and to fight with the army. Jeanne received the support of the group of commanders who were to wage the war: La Hire, Poton de Xaintrailles, Jean de Bueil, Ambroise de Loré, Gilles de Rais. It was decided to let her take part in a small undertaking, which she could lead, in order to prove herself capable.

38

Contamine, Guerre, état et société, pp. 253–62, and A. R. Myers, England in the Late Middle Ages, The Pelican History of England 4 (London, 1952), pp. 107–08. 39 Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 273–81.

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Jeanne was given better horses and a splendid white armor made to her measurements. She had a sword brought to her from the Chapel of St. Catherine at Fierbois, because she believed that she sometimes heard the voice of this saint. She had her standard made in white linen with fringes, on which the Savior was displayed with a globe in His hands between two kneeling angels; one of the angels carried a lily in its hand. The words “Jhesus Maria” were written on the standard as a motto. Jeanne ordered the soldiers whom she had gathered to confess and to travel in a state of grace. She forbade them to swear or to play with dice. The soldiers also had to leave behind their women and their baggage. On 27 April 1429 Jeanne left with her army from Blois to Orléans. The soldiers first received pay, which was not always easy in the royal army. Priests began the march by singing Veni creator. The soldiers accompanied an important convoy of wagons (600?) laden with provisions and munitions, and a herd of 400 animals was taken with them. The expedition was thus very well prepared to efficiently supply Orléans with victuals and munitions. The army spent the night in the field. The next day they began their march, and around midday they approached Orléans, out of sight of the English, and continued to the harbor of Chécy. In the evening there Jeanne met with the commander of the garrison of Orléans, Jean de Dunois, named the Bastard of Orléans, who protected the town for his brother, the duke of Orléans, then imprisoned in England. Dunois had sent boats to Chécy and had laden them with the provisions and munitions in order to bring them along the river into the town. He asked Jeanne to also come into the town so that she might make an entry and thus give courage to the garrison and the inhabitants. A number of the companies which had accompanied Jeanne returned to Blois with the wagons to pick up new provisions and reinforcements. Jeanne saw that they were not happy to leave, but she believed that they would return quickly.40 In the evening of 29 April the Bastard of Orléans brought Jeanne into the town. Jeanne wore her white armor, rode a white horse, and the Bastard rode to the left of her. Before them Jeanne’s white standard with Christ and the two angels was carried, as was a pennon on which the message of Mary was written. The lords, the nobles, the captains, the men-at-arms of the garrison, the burghers, the burgesses, the citizens and other inhabitants of the town came to meet them. The joy of the townspeople was extraordinarily great. It was as if God Himself had entered. After such a lengthy siege, after all the misery, the angel of salvation rode through the town, with reinforcements, provisions, and munitions. She brought hope and confidence, and perhaps deliverance.41 By 22 March Jeanne had already dictated a letter to the English leaders to insist that they leave France because she was sent from God to drive the English from France. No answer came. At Orléans Jeanne sent two heralds to the enemy to ask for an answer, and she went herself to the bridge to seek out one of the

40 41

Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 283–84. Chronique de la Pucelle, p. 285.

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English leaders to call for withdrawal. Still, she could not convince them to leave. The English were not influenced by this young woman; they counseled her to take care of her cows, scolded her for taking up the life of a soldier and a prostitute, and threatened her.42 On 3 May more French nobles came to reinforce the garrison of the town. On 4 May the men-at-arms returned with a new convoy of victuals, this time along the shortest route, through Beauce. The Bastard of Orléans and Jeanne met the convoy with a unit of soldiers in order to prevent an English attack. In the afternoon a strong assault was made on an English base that was mostly secluded and was thus the weakest point in the English boulevards. Since the English were not strong enough to completely enclose Orléans with a circle of fortifications, they had constructed eleven boulevards, cutting off all entry-routes, but they remained separated by open space. In the afternoon of 4 May an attack was made on the stronghold of Saint-Loup that was the farthest removed from the other boulevards on the north of the Loire. Jeanne had not foreseen this attack, but when she heard the noise of the archery, she rushed there and took part in the fighting. The English leader, Talbot, attempted to relieve it, but Dunois drew a French unit up between them and Saint-Loup, while Jeanne gave the command to conduct the assault. Saint-Loup was conquered.43 5 May was Ascension, a holiday. However, Jeanne wanted to attack the primary English boulevard. The leaders chose not to do so that day, but the next day to attack the other boulevards to the south of the Loire, because these were at a distance from the rest of the English army and could not be helped by them. On 6 May Jeanne led an attack on the boulevards on the south of the river. The English freely abandoned an isolated work and sought protection together in the boulevard of the Augustines and the Tourelles. The Augustines boulevard was conquered by the French. On 7 May an attack followed on the Tourelles, a stronghold on the bridge to Orléans, which was assaulted from all sides. Jeanne was wounded during the attack. An arrow was shot through her shoulder; she worried that she would die and she cried. She was taken to the rear, the arrow was removed from her shoulder, a bandage placed on the wound, and after some rest Jeanne again took her place in the ranks. She led the assault and the English stronghold was taken. The English had thus lost four boulevards. The following day, 8 May, the English leaders decided to retreat. It was a Sunday. The French leaders wanted to follow after them, Jeanne did not, perhaps influenced by the wound in her shoulder. Orléans had been freed in just a few days.44 For Jeanne it was a triumph. But a pursuit of the English with continuous attacks during the march would surely have brought better results. Jeanne did not have enough experience, but she learned quickly. On 10 May Charles VII was able to announce throughout the realm the good news about the victory at Orléans, with

42 43 44

Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 281–83, 285–87. Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 287–90. Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 290–96.

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much praise for the Maid Jeanne. Everywhere prayers were to be made and processions organized. The news spread very quickly to Italy and the borders of the Rhine. Jeanne became the angel of the armies of God. But there was no money and no provisions for the army. On 10 May Jeanne traveled to the king, who welcomed her with great joy. A new army was provided for and it left under the leadership of the duke of Alençon and Jeanne. It wanted to drive the English farther out and marched to Jargeau and Beaugency. On 11 June it appeared before Jargeau which was attacked the whole day and conquered. Afterwards Beaugency was captured. The English had to maneuver further in retreat, but the French leaders used their heavy cavalry well to not allow them to take up a very strong position. They advanced so quickly that they were able to attack the English at Patay before they were well organized. The French vanguard charged the English archers and crushed them. The English troops were dispersed or surrounded. Some mounted men-at-arms were able to escape, but the infantry and the nobles who had dismounted were routed or taken prisoner. The leaders, Talbot, Scales, Rempston, and Hungerford, were captured (18 June).45 Jeanne and the French leaders had found a good strategic and tactical approach that should have been properly employed at the beginning of the war. On this occasion the English were defeated in a battle. They were no longer invincible. The French royal propaganda loudly pronounced that God had sent a Maid, who would always bring victory to their army. Jeanne was named an angel; she was sung about; stories glorified her deeds; she performed miracles; she was portrayed on paintings and in drawings. But for the English and the Burgundians she was a witch, a heretic who had the devil on her side. After her victory at Patay, Jeanne returned to Charles VII and wanted to convince him to travel to Reims with an army and there be crowned so that Charles would be crowned king of France and be better able to fight the uncrowned Henry VI. Some around the ruler wondered if it would not be better to continue with the conquest, while the English were so weak, and to recover Normandy or Paris. Jeanne predicted that the rest of France could be conquered afterwards. It was concluded that they should travel to Reims. On 29 June the journey began. The soldiers received a paltry pay of 3 francs, but many had come to follow Jeanne and did not immediately need pay. On 1 July they came to Auxerre, a town which was liberated on 5 July to Troyes, where Jeanne prepared to make an assault, which led to the surrender of the town after five days of siege. On 10 July the king and Jeanne made a joyful entrance. On 14 July the army came to Châlons, and on 17 July the ruler was crowned in Reims. Several towns surrendered themselves to the king after his coronation: Soissons, Laon, Château-Thierry, Provins, Compiègne, Senlis, and Beauvais. Saint-Denis was occupied; an attack of Paris was planned. But here Jeanne was too hasty and the attack failed. Jeanne was wounded there (8 September).46 Still, afterwards she

45 46

Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 298–307. Chronique de la Pucelle, pp. 310–33.

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undertook an expedition against La Charité-sur-Loire and Saint-Pierre-leMoûtier. The latter place was conquered, but La Charité was not. In December Jeanne’s army was put to flight there, leaving its artillery behind. Charles VII raised the family Darc to the nobility under the name d’Arc. Jeanne’s two brothers had already fought for a time by her side. Other leaders of the royal army had in the meantime conquered Louviers, Chât eau-Gaillard, and Laval. Chroniclers wrote with complete admiration that Jeanne always rode a horse with her armor on and with all her arms. She did it as well as the captains. When the war was being discussed, or when the men-at-arms needed to be placed in their order, it was enticing to hear her and to see the care that she took over everything. When the alarm was sounded, she was the first, on foot or on horse. The captains of the men-at-arms wondered at her understanding of these matters, since, as a simple peasant girl, she should have had no experience in them. She was very pious, always confessing, often taking communion, and courteous in her speech.47 She took to her new profession, the military life, the armor, the men-at-arms, and the nobles. It was said that she could keep on her armor for six days and six nights. The learned writers compared her with other notable women from history: Deborah, Judith, Esther. She exceeded Penthesilea. She was a new Sibyl, but Christian.48 In September 1429 she spent three weeks in the house of Margareta la Touroulde. The housewife heard her happily tell of the combats in which she fought. She asked Jeanne if she had any fear in the fighting, although she was convinced that Jeanne would not be killed. Jeanne answered that it was not safer for her than any other soldier. But she feared more the clergy than the soldiers.49 At her trial she said that she never killed an enemy in combat. She more happily carried her standard than her weapons. Many different great lords would have gladly seduced her, but she remained unapproachable and always wore men’s clothing or her armor.50 On 7 August 1429 the duke of Bedford wrote that Charles VII gave his superstitious people a “troubled woman of low repute, who wore men’s clothing and carried herself licentiously.” In 1430 the king of England sent proclamations to his bailiffs in the town of Rochester indicating that “Captains and soldiers had left their posts due to incantations of a young maid, instead of traveling to France.” During the attack of Paris the Bourgeois de Paris wrote in his diary: “a creature in the image of a woman was in the army and men called her the Pucelle (or maid). Who it was only God knows.” A clerk of the University of Paris wrote to a partisan of Jeanne: it does not suffice to say that someone was sent by God; this must be proven by their works and by scripture. Jeanne was rather sent by the devil, as she wore men’s clothing, forbidden to women, and stirred up the rulers and the Christian people to wage war. She fought a battle on

47 48 49 50

Chronique de la Pucelle, p. 312. Champion, pp. 56, 61. Champion, p. 82. Chronique de la Pucelle, p. 114.

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the day of the birth of Our Lady. She should be sent to the bishop and the inquisitor.”51 In the first half of 1430 Jeanne and her company defeated troops of a Burgundian plunderer, Franquet de Arras, who was taken prisoner and executed. On 23 May 1430 she came to Compiègne to help defend the town. She made a successful sally at 5 o’clock in the afternoon, but then her unit was cut off by the enemy and Jeanne was taken prisoner by Burgundian soldiers. Duke Philip the Good came to look at her and that same evening sent a message to his towns to report that the dangerous opponent was imprisoned. An archer of the Bastard of Wandomme had taken her prisoner and had presented her to his master, who in turn later sent her to his lord, Jean of Luxembourg. He sold her to the duke of Bedford for the sum of 10,000 golden francs, a king’s ransom. The University of Paris and the bishop of Beauvais, Pierre Cauchon, wished to bring her before the court of the inquisition. This occurred at the command of the king of England, Henry VI. On 30 May 1431 Jeanne was burned in Rouen under the pretext that she was a heretic and an apostate.

51

Champion, pp. 72, 79, 85.

Verbruggen ’s “Cavalry” and the Lyon-Thesis

Debate: Verbruggen’s “Cavalry” and the Lyon-Thesis Bernard S. Bachrach*

When, in 1954, J.-F. Verbruggen, who studied under Professor F. L. Ganshof at the University of Ghent, published De Krijgskunst in West-Europa in de Middeleeuwen, IXe tot Begin XIVe Eeuw, it was widely regarded as a pathbreaking work. Ultimately, it received two English editions.1 In his 1956 review of De Krijgskunst, Bryce D. Lyon, America’s leading specialist in medieval Flemish history for a half-century, was not uncritical of Verbruggen’s treatment of some topics. Nevertheless, he concluded very fairly, “Verbruggen has written military history as it should be written, and the reviewer, for one, looks forward to his next study.”2 Lyon has been, and remains, an important scholar in regard to Flemish and especially Anglo-Flemish medieval history. He has maintained very close relations with the Pirenne historical school at Ghent and collaborated with Adriaan Verhulst. Lyon’s teacher, Carl Stephenson, studied with Pirenne. Lyon, himself, not only has worked closely and collaborated in various scholarly endeavors with Pirenne’s students, e.g. Ganshof, but also with Pirenne’s son, an important intellectual figure in his own right.3 At least two of Lyon’s students, including the present author, like Verbruggen, studied with Professor Ganshof.4 In 1988, a year after the publication of his seminal article, “The Role of Cavalry in * [Volume 3 of this journal contained two articles to which the editors asked Professor Bachrach to reply. This article responds to one; his reply to the other, “A Lying Legacy? A Preliminary Discussion of Images of Antiquity and Altered Reality in Medieval Military History,” by Richard Abels and Stephen Morillo, will appear in Volume 5. The Editors] 1 The original Flemish text was published in Brussels. The first English translation by Sumner Willard and Mrs. R.W. Southern, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, from the Eighth Century to 1340 (Amsterdam and New York), expanded the chronological range a bit, but all the scholarly apparatus was omitted. Bryce Lyon, as a member of the advisory board of the series in which The Art of Warfare appeared, played the key role in having De Krijgskunst translated and published. A second revised and enlarged edition was published under the same English title in 1997, by The Boydell Press (Woodbridge, UK, 1997), in the series Warfare in History, edited by Matthew Bennett. 2 The review was published in Speculum 31 (1956), 725–29, at 729 for the quotation. Some of Lyon’s criticisms voiced in this review were expanded in his later publications. 3 With regard to Lyon’s collaborations, see, for example, Bryce Lyon and A. E. Verhulst, Medieval Finance. A Comparison of Financial Institutions in Northwestern Europe (Bruges, 1967); and Lyon’s translation of F. L. Ganshof, Frankish Institutions under Charlemagne (Providence, RI, 1970). Concerning his relations with Pirenne’s son as well as with other Ghent-historians, see Bryce Lyon, Henri Pirenne: A Biographical and Intellectual Study (Ghent, 1974), preface. 4 See the discussion of his work with F. L. Ganshof by Bernard S. Bachrach, Early Carolinglian

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Medieval Warfare,” in one of Belgium’s most prestigious journals, the University of Ghent awarded Bryce Lyon the degree “Doctor Honoris Causa in de Letteren en Wijsbegeerte” for the ensemble of his contributions to the study of medieval history, in general, and medieval Flemish history in particular.5 In light of Bryce Lyon’s exceptionally productive career and highly esteemed connection with key figures of the famous Ghent school of medieval history, the ad hominem attack launched by Verbruggen, not only on Lyon’s thesis regarding mounted warfare in Medieval Europe, but on his reputation as a scholar, was surprising.6 Indeed, it is disappointing to someone such as myself, who has had close ties with Ghent historians, and has recognized, in print, Verbruggen’s signal contribution to the study of medieval warfare, to have been accused (along with Lyon) of “impos[ing our] erroneous dogmas before [we] have studied the art of medieval warfare from the sources” and “manipulating [the texts] in an unscientific manner” – merely because we doubt the “hegemony” of mounted troops on the battlefields of medieval Europe.7 However one may value Verbruggen’s contribution, it is self-evident that scholars have learned a great deal during the past half-century concerning the military history of the Middle Ages, in general, and, particularly, in regard to the role of mounted fighting men in medieval warfare.8 De Krijgskunst, which had not been significantly revised when Lyon wrote in 1987, can hardly be considered to have earned immunity to criticism, despite the stature of its author. Certainly, it is legitimate to criticize the particular views of a scholar on a specific topic, e.g. the supposed overwhelming superiority of mounted troops in war throughout the greater part of the history of medieval Europe. This Verbruggen characterizes as “the hegemony of the cavalry in medieval

5

6

7

8

Warfare: Prelude to Empire (Philadeplhia, 2001), p. xii, and the dedication of the volume to the memory of Professor Ganshof. The full title of this study is “The Role of Cavalry in Medieval Warfare: Horses, Horses All Around and Not a One to Use,” Academiae Analecta, Klasse der Letteren of the Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België 19 (1987), 77–90. “De rol van de ruiterij in de middeleeuwse oorlogvoering,” Belgisch Tijdschrift voor Militaire Geschiedenis 30 (1994), 389–418. All references to this study are to the translation of this article by Kelly DeVries, “The Role of the Cavalry in Medieval Warfare,” in The Journal of Medieval Military History 3 (2005), 46–71. Regarding my positive appreciation of Verbruggen’s work, see, for example, the review by Bernard S. Bachrach of J.-F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages from the Eighth Century to 1340, 2nd ed. in The Historian 61 (1999), 723. For example, Verbruggen “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 53, makes claims such as “Bachrach did not know . . . the difference between strategy and tactics.” On p. 64, Verbruggen claims that “Lyon and Bachrach set out towards a preconceived thesis that is worthless.” See, for example, two articles which provide a general review of the literature: Bernard S. Bachrach, “Medieval Military Historiography,” Companion to History, ed. Michael Bentley (London, 1997), pp. 203–20; and Bernard S. Bachrach and Charles R. Bowlus, “Heerwesen,” in Reallexikon der germanischen Altertumskunde, ed. Heinrich Beck, et al. (Berlin and New York, 2000), pp. 14, 122–36. See, also, the broadly based survey by John France, “Recent Writing on Medieval Warfare: From the Fall of Rome to c. 1300,” The Journal of Military History 65 (2001), 141–73.

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warfare.”9 Indeed, Lyon drew the conclusion that Verbruggen has propagated a romantic idée fixe in this regard. Lyon believes that this romantic bias should be eliminated so that an in-depth understanding of the history of medieval warfare may progress, and so that military history may be taken seriously by medievalists who do not specialize in the f ield.10 In my opinion, Lyon has met the burden of proof in his article “The role of cavalry.” This is not to say, however, that I agree with every word of Lyon’s argument or that I would have written a critique of Verbruggen’s views concerning the use of mounted troops in the Middle Ages in exactly the same way. Nevertheless, in regard to Verbruggen’s arguments, which attack Lyon’s thesis, I think it is important to emphasize that there are norms to which one must adhere in terms of method, evidence, and civil discourse. I believe that on all three counts, Verbruggen has failed. Thus, it is in response to a request by Kelly DeVries and Clifford Rogers, co-editors of The Journal of Medieval Military History, that I have agreed to discuss Verbruggen’s attack on Lyon as a whole. In order to undertake this task, I will refer not only to Lyon’s original article and Verbruggen’s “response,” but to some of the other works published by both scholars. Hopefully, this will help the reader to develop a more balanced appreciation of Lyon’s scholarship, as a whole, and specifically in regard to his contribution to medieval military history. It is important to make clear that Lyon and Verbruggen are known for working with very different types of sources. Verbruggen gained his justified renown as a specialist in medieval military history by exhaustively searching the high- and late-medieval narrative sources, both in Latin and in the vernacular, for his De Krijgskunst.11 A half-century ago, however, scholars were far less methodologically sophisticated in the techniques of validating information provided in the narrative sources. Thus, it often happened that certain basics regarding, for example, the parti pris of a particular author were not given sufficient consideration concerning the nature of the information that he provided.12 9

“The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 1, for the quotation. Verbruggen accurately avers that it is Lyon’s aim to undermine this thesis. 10 “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 80. Regarding the unreasonable disdain in which medievalists hold specialists in medieval military history see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Editor’s Introduction,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2002), vii–ix. 11 Simply reading the footnotes of The Art of Warfare, 2nd Eng. ed., makes this very clear. An examination of the bibliography indicates the overwhelming preponderance of published narrative sources. In fact, Verbruggen (p. 352), lists only seven archival fonds. 12 An important breakthrough in this area was engineered by Walter Goffart, The Narrators of Barbarian History (550–800). Jordanes, Gregory of Tours, Bede, and Paul the Deacon (Princeton, 1988); see my very favorable review article in Francia l7.l (1990), 250–56. On several occasions, I have discussed such matters in regard to military history. See, for example, four studies by Bernard S. Bachrach: “Gregory of Tours as a Military Historian,” in The World of Gregory of Tours, ed. Kathleen Mitchell and Ian Wood (Leiden, 2002), pp. 351–63; “Dudo of Saint Quentin as a Military Historian,” The Haskins Society Journal: Studies in Medieval History 12 (2002), 155–85; “Dudo of Saint Quentin’s Views on Religion and Warfare, ca. 1000. A mise au point,” in Foi chrétienne et églises dans la société de l’Occident du Haut Moyen Âge

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As a result, bits and pieces of information often were selected opportunistically from fundamentally untrustworthy sources and subsequently used as evidence that conveniently supported the offending historian’s arguments. Indeed, some specialists in medieval military history still fail to criticize, in a methodologically sound manner, the information provided in the narrative sources they use.13 On the whole, Verbruggen did not, and still does not, vigorously engage, from an epistemological perspective, the biases of the authors of the sources that he uses. This especially has been the case in terms of identifying the distortions inherent in works that tell stories which unwarrantedly and romantically glorified a medieval author’s “chivalric” patrons and their “knightly” way of life.14 Propaganda “puff,” such as “100 noble cavalry could fight [successfully] (IVe–XIIe siècle), ed. Jacqueline Hoareau-Dodinau and Pascal Texier (Limoges, 2004), pp. 241–52; and “Dudo of Saint Quentin and Norman Military Strategy,” in Anglo-Norman Studies 24 (2004), 21–36. For Verbruggen’s views with regard to source criticism, see, for example, De krijgkunst, p. 43. These views encompass the very limited approach of so-called traditional scholarship, in this context, as found in the handbooks of the later nineteenth and early twentieth century, and used by scholars such as Delbrück and Lot whose contributions in this area Verbruggen recognizes. See the discussion, which identifies the limits of Verbruggen’s critical methods, by Kelly DeVries, “The Use of Chronicles in Recreating Medieval Military History,” The Journal of Medieval Military History 2 (2004), 4. 13 See a series of recent book reviews by Bernard S. Bachrach: Matthew Stickland, War and Chivalry: The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996), reviewed in The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 28 (1998), 568–70; Maurice Keen, ed., Medieval Warfare: A History (New York, 1999), reviewed in Journal of International History 22 (2000), 886–90; John M. Hill, The Anglo-Saxon Warrior Ethic: Reconstructing Lordship in Early English Literature (Gainsville, FL, 2000), reviewed in The Medieval Review 3 (2001), 1–3; John Peddie, Alfred, the Warrior King (Stroud, UK, 1999), reviewed in Albion 32 (2000), 468–69; Richard Abels, Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in Anglo-Saxon England (Harlow, UK, 1998), reviewed in Albion 32 (2000), 620–21; Richard Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999), reviewed in The American Historical Review 104 (2001), 1436–37; Ann Hyland, The Horse in the Middle Ages with a foreword by Joan Thrisk (Stroud, UK, 1999), reviewed in Speculum (2001), 740–41; and Guy Hallsall, Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West, 450–900 (New York, 2003), reviewed in The American Historical Review 109 (2004), 959. Many useful insights are to be found in DeVries, “The Use of Chronicles,” pp. 1–17, and it can only be hoped that this tendency has a substantial future. 14 At the crux of Lyon’s critique (“The Role of Cavalry,” pp. 88–90), is the point, “Adulation of the chivalrous way of life made the aristocrat and the ruling class contemptuous of those who fought without a horse,” and many narrative sources, especially those in the vernacular, reflect this prejudice in order to please their patrons. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, ed. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton, 1976), p. 286, made a key observation when he noted: “infantry is the most independent of the arms” and “cavalry is the most easily dispensable arm.” Clausewitz’s particular observations (p. 289), regarding the supremacy of the cavalry during the Middle Ages, rest upon scholarly views “researched” during the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, i.e. the period of high romanticism alluded to by Lyon (p. 78). Nevertheless, Clausewitz recognized that in terms of numbers, the foot soldiers were far more numerous than the cavalry. Indeed, Clausewitz fails to see that his view, “foot soldiers were in low esteem and hardly ever mentioned,” is a source problem engendered by the influence of

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against 1000 foot soldiers,” is taken at face value.15 The idea that one horseman is worth ten foot soldiers in romantic nonsense. Indeed, the English footsoldiers at Crécy and Poitiers proved themselves superior to the French cavalry. In addition, Verbruggen fails to provide a sound critique of the so-called “reports” of supposed actors on the scene which credit small groups of horsemen with victory over large groups of foot soldiers.16 By contrast with the work of Verbruggen, the core of Lyon’s research in medieval history, in general, and in medieval military history in particular, has been document-based. His studies, like those of Verbruggen, also focus on the high and later Middle Ages, but rest on the vast corpora of unpublished documents available in the archives of Great Britain, France, and the Low Countries. In this regard, Lyon’s classic studies of the so-called “money fief ” still are regarded as basic to understanding various key aspects of medieval military recruitment, organization, and finance.17 Indeed, Lyon also has made, and continues to make, significant contributions, usually based on archival documents and sometime on the basis of acta from editions that he himself has made, to the study of the costs of war, logistics, and military communications.18

15 16

17

18

aristocratic patrons over the authors who wrote vernacular accounts. This prejudice, as Lyon points out (pp. 88–90), has continued into the twentieth century. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 51, for the quotation. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 51 for the quotation, where other such claims are uncritically repeated. Indeed, Verbruggen asserts that because Jean de Bueil commanded the successful French mounted unit at Sankt Jacob an der Birs in 1444, which supposedly defeated a much larger formation of Swiss soldiers, he is to be believed regarding the relative sizes of both forces. Verbruggen ignores the general principle, enunciated and defended with considerable enthusiasm by Delbrück, that victorious commanders traditionally exaggerate, on the high side, the order of magnitude of the enemy force while lowering the size of their own force in order to increase their own glory. Conversely, defeated commanders follow this same pattern in their reports in order to justify their defeats. See the discussion by Bernard S. Bachrach, “Early Medieval Military Demography: Some Observations on the Methods of Hans Delbrück,” in The Circle of War, ed. Donald Kagay and L. J. Andrew Villalon (Woodbridge, UK, 1999), pp. 4–7. See, for example, Bryce Lyon: “The Money Fief under the English Kings, 1066–1485,” The English Historical Review 66 (1951), 161–93; “Le fief-rente aux pays-Bas: sa terminologie et son aspect financier,” Revue du Nord 25 (1953), 221–32; “The Feudal Antecedent of the Indenture System,” Speculum 29 (1954), 503–11; “The Fief-Rente in the Low Countries: An Evaluation,” Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 32 (1954), 422–65; and From Fief to Indenture: The Transition from Feudal to non-Feudal Contract in Western Europe (Cambridge, MA, 1957). See, for example, the following recent studies by Bryce Lyon: “The Dividends from War in the Low Countries (1338–1340),” in Peasants and Townsmen in Medieval Europe. Studia in Honorem Adriaan Verhulst (Ghent, 1995), pp. 693–705; “The Infrastructure and Purpose of an English Medieval Fleet in the First Phase of the Hundred Years’ War (1338–1340),” Handelingen der Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde te Gent 51 (1997), 61–76; “Communication during Medieval Warfare: The Campaign of Edward III of England in the Low Countries (1330–1340), Handelingen der Maatschappij voor Geschiedenis en Oudheidkunde te Gent 53 (1999), 61–75; “An Account of the Provisions Received by Robert de Segre, Clerk of Edward I of England, in Flanders and Brabant in the Autumn of 1297,” Bullletin de la Commission Royale d’Histoire 169 (2003), 37–49; “What Were the Expenses of the Kings Edward I and Edward III when Absent from their Realms?” Journal of Medieval History 29 (2003), 331–45.

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It should be made clear, in this context, that two of Lyon’s major book-length editions of medieval documents, which include significant commentaries on military matters, were, in fact, published by the Commission Royale d’Histoire Belge.19 It is necessary to observe in regard to the different types of source bases exploited by both of these scholars, that today, no one of any epistemological sophistication argues that even financial accounts, various types of writs, and other documents produced by government agents to sustain military operations are “objective” sources that do not require a scholarly critique. That is, no claim can be sustained, ab initio on the basis of genre, that such sources have no biases or flaws, and that in all circumstances, if read as plain text, they can not in any way be misleading. However, these acta, by and large, are impartial, and do not succumb to the vast spectrum of biases inherent in all narrative sources. Thus, it is important to emphasize that the genre of the sources that a historian deploys in his work does matter, and often, it matters a great deal. This is especially the case in regard to narrative sources, upon which Verbruggen’s work focuses, that represent, for example, the values and interests of an aristocratic or noble patron, e.g. the military importance of “knights,” in an exaggeratedly positive manner.20 Verbruggen asserts, “Lyon does not know enough military theory and practice to make judgments or write about these problems.” He continues: “this lack of expertise shows in his [Lyon’s] erroneous conclusions.”21 Lyon’s publications in military history, several examples of which are cited above, make clear, however, that his work cannot be dismissed summarily for lack of expertise. Indeed, were Verbruggen ignorant of Lyon’s work, which has a substantial focus on Flemish history, he might be forgiven for these charges. However, it seems far more likely that Verbruggen suffers from the misapprehension that the only legitimate criterion by which to prove oneself to be a historian of warfare is to do “battle history.” Verbruggen seems to affirm his apparently doctrinaire attachment to this unfortunate position when he observes: “Bryce Lyon has not studied the sources of even one battle in the Middle Ages.”22

19

The Wardrobe Book of William de Norwell, 12 July 1338 to 27 May 1340 (Brussels, 1983); and The Wardrobe Book of 1296–1297: A Financial and Logistical Record of Edward I’s 1297 Campaign in Flanders against Philip V of France (Brussels, 2004). 20 Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” pp. 88–90. 21 Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48, for the quotation. 22 “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48. In his idea of source criticism, Verbruggen pretty much limits his horizon (e.g. De krijgkunst, p. 43) to “battle history,” and matters such as the presence of the source on the battlefield or his nationality. See, DeVries, “The Use of Chronicles,” p. 4, concerning the focus of Verbruggen’s interest in criticizing the sources.

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Verbruggen’s Critique of Lyon Lyon argued, in the context of early Carolingian warfare: “The most useful function [my italics] of the mounted warrior was reconnoitering and raiding.”23 However, Verbruggen claims: “According to Lyon cavalry would only [my italics] have been used for reconnaissance and raids.”24 This is a distortion of Lyon’s position. Other distortions aimed at winning rhetorical points are rife even in the first few pages of Verbruggen’s attack on Lyon’s thesis. For example, Verbruggen claims that Lyon refers to “ ‘the Frankish knight’ in the army of Charlemagne.”25 Here Verbruggen fails, perhaps unintentionally, to understand Lyon’s metaphoric use, for effect, of the term “knight” as a synonym for a mounted fighting man trained to engage in combat while on horseback.26 Thus, Verbruggen caustically observes, “Knights did not exist yet, they were vassals.”27 It is true that it is simply wrong to apply the term “knight” as a technical term to the Carolingian era, but Verbruggen is mistaken to take Lyon’s usage literally in this context.28 In this same Carolingian context dealing with Charlemagne, Lyon claims “Not in a single significant battle or campaign did cavalry play a tactically 23 24 25 26 27 28

Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 81. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 47. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48. Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 81. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48. This has not kept those of a romantic bent from trying to project the “knight” back into earlier periods. See, for example, three recent studies: Karl Leyser, “Medieval Canon Law and the Beginnings of Knighthood,” Institutionen, Kultur und Gesellschaft im Mittelalter: Festschrift für Josef Fleckenstein zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, ed. L. Fenske, W. Rösener and T. Zotz (Sigmaringen, 1984), pp. 549–66; Janet Nelson, “Ninth Century Knighthood: The Evidence of Nithard,” in Studies in Medieval History presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. C. Harper-Bill, C. Holdsworth, and J. Nelson (Woodbridge, UK, 1989), pp. 255–66; and Eric J. Goldberg, “ ‘More Devoted to the Equipment of Battle than the Splendor of Banquets’: Frontier Kingship, Martial Ritual, and Early Knighthood at the Court of Louis the German,” Viator 30 (1999), 41–78. I have treated these three studies as a group, not because the three scholars involved all work on the same types of material, but because they all are looking, in one way or another, for the origins of chivalry. Note the valuable corrective by Joachim Bumke, The Concept of Knighthood in the Middle Ages, 2nd trans. W. T. H. Jackson and Erika Jackson (New York, 1982), pp. 22–45, and esp. p. 44, where he observes: “Knighthood did not originate from cavalry soldiers.” It is important to make clear that the English word “knight” is ambiguous. On the one hand, it refers to a member of the lowest rank of the nobility, and on the other hand to heavily armed mounted troops. All knights in a socio-legal sense were, when they were mobilized for military purposes, expected to possess the equipment needed for service as a heavily armed mounted soldier. However, the overwhelming majority of heavily armed mounted soldiers in any medieval army were not knights in a socio-legal sense. See the discussion by Bachrach, “Medieval Military Historiography,” pp. 210–11; and the more pointed observations in the review by Bernard S. Bachrach of Richard Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999) in The American Historical Review 104 (2001), 1436–37.

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decisive role [my italics].” Lyon then goes on to discuss one example in which a mounted charge by a Carolingian force totally failed against a corps of Saxon foot soldiers. This took place in a battle in the Süntal in 782. The Carolingian horsemen who charged the Saxon foot not only were thoroughly defeated, but they suffered immense losses.29 Indeed, it was this battle that evoked from Lyon the rhetorical question: “Does this bespeak the superiority of the Frankish knight?” After criticizing this misuse of the term “knight,” Verbruggen’s initial effort to refute Lyon’s argument also is, fundamentally, rhetorical. He writes, “Lyon has not read my study on warfare in the Carolingian empire (714–1000), nor my two studies on the tactics of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.” He continues, “In total, he should have read ten of my works before he wrote his criticism.”30 But, of the nine articles cited in Verbruggen’s supporting footnote, only one, i.e. the title alluded to above, deals principally with the “Carolingian empire,” while six of the remaining eight concern solely the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.31 Moreover, it is important to note that Lyon does cite one of the two Carolingian articles which Verbruggen has authored. This study, “L’armée et la stratégie de Charlemagne,” is not mentioned by Verbruggen throughout his lament on Lyon’s failure to have read his work on the Carolingians.32 It may be noted also that three of the studies to which Verbruggen alludes, in the above mentioned note, deal exclusively with the period after 1340. This post-1340 period is not treated in Verbruggen’s De Krijgskunst, which is the focus of Lyon’s critique. Much of Verbruggen’s discussion of Lyon’s shortcomings, both as a researcher and as a consumer of the “appropriate” scholarly literature, e.g. Verbruggen’s numerous articles dealing with the later Middle Ages, seems to be a rhetorical device aimed at diverting attention from the weaknesses of his own argument. Even the novice reader will note that Verbruggen fails, in this context, to name even one significant battle during the reign of Charlemagne, for that matter the entire period 714–875, in which he thinks the Frankish “cavalry played the decisive tactical role.” Verbruggen tries to hide this failure to produce the overwhelming evidence that he would like his readers to assume he already has published, but, in fact, which really does not exist (see below). Indeed, Verbruggen later admits explicitly that he has no evidence to overturn Lyon’s argument concerning the early 29 30 31

“The Role of Cavalry,” p. 81. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 47, for the quotations. “The Role of the Cavalry,” note 5. The Carolingian article at issue is “L’art militaire dans l’empire carolingien (714–1000),” Revue Belge d’histoire militaire 23 (1979–80), 289–310, 393–412. Note that this article was written largely as an attack on a well reasoned and well documented study published by John France, “La guerre dans la France féodale à la fin du IXe et au Xe siècle, Revue Belge d’histoire militaire 23 (1979), 177–98, who, p. 188, n. 68, had the temerity to put forth opinions “fort different” from those of Verbruggen. 32 This article appeared in Karl der Grosse, 5 vols. (Düsseldorf, 1965), 1:420–34; and is cited by Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 80, n. 12. The reader can decide for himself why Verbruggen fails to mention his contribution to this prestigious publication which Lyon does cite.

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Carolingians, when he points out that the only real battle narrative which exists in the sources for the times of Charles Martel, Peppin III and Charlemagne is the description of the battle in the Süntal in 782 – and there, far from the Frankish cavalry playing the decisive role, it was, as Lyon shows, decisively defeated by Saxon foot soldiers. 33 Lyon, in fact, pinpointed Verbruggen’s methodological error in claiming that Charlemagne’s mounted troops played the tactically decisive role in early Carolingian warfare. Lyon observed, “It seems that scholars inferred the primacy of cavalry in battle from Carolingian efforts to assure the availability of horsemen . . .”34 The unnecessary assumption made by Verbruggen, and others, was that because Charlemagne maintained a strong interest in having available contingents of mounted troops in his armies, such contingents must, by definition, have been the decisive tactical element in Carolingian warfare. Having available mounted troops merely means that their commanders likely could commit them to combat in a significant battle. However, this does not prove that they were committed on horseback in a significant battle, and more importantly, it fails to demonstrate that they were the tactically decisive element in a significant battle. Verbruggen’s idée fixe regarding the supremacy of mounted troops leads him to ride roughshod over the evidence provided in the relevant Carolingian sources in order to explain away the fact that they do not support his position.35

Verbruggen’s Mini-Military History of the West After failing to provide evidence, much less compelling evidence, that Lyon was wrong to claim that mounted troops were not the tactically decisive element in Charlemagne’s armies or for that matter in the armies of the Carolingian era as a whole, Verbruggen changes the subject. He produces a mini-history of Western warfare which has two purposes. First, it is an effort to demonstrate that in Western history prior to the Middle Ages, mounted troops were very important. Secondly, Verbruggen apparently wants to obscure the essential elements of Lyon’s thesis, which thus far he has failed to disprove, much in the same way that in the first few pages he attacks Lyon’s legitimacy as a military historian because supposedly he never studied the sources for a single battle. At the start of this mini-history, Verbruggen makes clear that he believes Aristotle’s account of the development of mounted forces and foot soldiers among the ancient Greeks. He gives special attention to Aristotle’s views on the importance of “cavalry.” Indeed, it is well established that there was a deep 33

Cf. the effort by Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 59, to explain away the defeat of Charlemagne’s cavalry in the Süntal. 34 “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 81. 35 Concerning the numerous useful sources for the early Carolingian era, see Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare.

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interest during the early Middle Ages in ancient texts. However, Aristotle’s views on Greek military organization are unlikely to have been available to Charlemagne or to any other Carolingian ruler. Nevertheless, after lavishing attention on Greek mounted troops, Verbruggen states, “When the Greek cities became larger and richer, their foot soldiers became more important.”36 Indeed, any balanced treatment of the military of the Greek city states would certainly discuss the overwhelming importance of the hoplites, and accord them at least as much attention as given to mounted troops. To leave his readers with the mere acknowledgement that “foot soldiers became more important,” illustrates the kind of bias regarding the centrality of “cavalry” inherent throughout Verbruggen’s critique of Lyon’s thesis.37 According to Verbruggen, the “cavalry” also “played an important role” in the armies of Alexander the Great, and particularly in his conquest of the Persian empire. Verbruggen does not, however, claim that these mounted troops were the tactically decisive element of Alexander’s army.38 After this mention of Alexander, Verbruggen then emphasizes that Hannibal was victorious over Rome’s foot soldiers at Cannae in 216 BC because of his “cavalry.” Verbruggen claims, as well, that the Romans failed to conquer the Persian empire because they lacked adequate “cavalry.” Verbruggen illustrates this point by calling attention to the defeat that Crassus suffered at the battle of Carrhae in 53 BC. Verbruggen follows up this insight with a list of defeats supposedly inflicted by barbarian horsemen on Roman foot soldiers. The list culminates in the Gothic victory at Adrianople in 378. Finally, Verbruggen discusses early seventhcentury Byzantine history, which obviously can tell us nothing of Carolingian warfare even if one is wont to date the beginning of the empire in 714.39 Apparently, this mini-history is aimed at proving the tactical importance of mounted troops through the course of the history of Western Civilization. All of these opportunistically selected examples, however, are irrelevant to Lyon’s thesis regarding the lack of hegemony enjoyed by mounted troops during the period 714–1340 as the subject is treated misleadingly by Verbruggen in De Krijgskunst. Verbruggen omits from this mini-history of warfare the great successes enjoyed by hoplites, who generally are seen to have dominated much of ancient Greek military history, especially in some of its most successful phases. These troops are commonly considered infantry by Anglophone scholars.40 Verbruggen, however, castigates Lyon for using the word “infantry” to describe medieval foot soldiers, and writes:

36 37

“The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 49. Concerning the great importance of hoplites see Victor Davis Hanson, The Western Way of War: Infantry Battle in Classical Greece (New York, 1989). 38 “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 49, for the quotation. 39 “The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 49–53. 40 Hanson, The Western Way of War, passim.

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Lyon does not know enough concerning military theory and practice to make judgments or write about these problems. This lack of expertise shows in his erroneous conclusions. It shows also in the use of the word “infantry” for the footsoldiers of the time [the Middle Ages]. Infantry was first introduced in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. The word “infantry” appears in English around 1579.41

Verbruggen concludes with the ex cathedra pronouncement “Lyon may not use it [the word “infantry”] for the Middle Ages.”42 Verbruggen certainly is correct in regard to the date of the introduction of the word “infantry” into English usage. However, he might well have noted that the second edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, which provides this information regarding “infantry,” also has an entry on “cavalry” with a variety of spellings. Thus, were Verbruggen to have been consistent in light of his own expertise and command of “military theory and practice” for the purpose of making judgments or writing about these problems, he might have followed up his research in the Oxford English Dictionary, and shared with his readers that the first use of “cavalry” in English usage appears, in this worthy compendium, to have been 1591.43 It might be kind, in this context, to draw a curtain of charity over Verbruggen’s delicts, as evidenced by his own willingness to approve DeVries’ use of “cavalry” to translate ruiterij as a term of art for medieval mounted troops, despite the late entry of the word into English usage. However, it must be noted that Clausewitz, who is considered very much an authority by Verbruggen, used the word “infantry” in regard to medieval foot soldiers when, for example, he observed, “It is the common view that in the Middle Ages the proportion of cavalry to infantry was far higher than now, and has gradually declined ever since.”44 Citing the English translation here is acceptable only because Verbruggen cites this same translation (even in the Dutch original of the article), and in The Art of Warfare does not criticize Clausewitz for this putative anachronism.45 Indeed, Verbruggen castigates Lyon for not having relied on Clausewitz’s writings.46 This diversion by Verbruggen into the history of English usage may have been successful, in so far as the reader may have been distracted from his one-sided treatment of warfare in the ancient world. Thus, it must be reaffirmed 41 42 43 44 45

46

“The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48, for the quotation. “De rol van de ruiterij,” p. 391. DeVries translates mag as “should.” “Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48. Oxford, 1989. For “cavalry,” see 2:1007. On War, p. 289. Concerning the high esteem in which Clausewitz is held by Verbruggen, see The Art of Warfare (2nd ed.), pp. 2, 276, 280, 325, 327, 329, 348, 349. Indeed, Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 48, n. 6 (= “Rol van de Ruiterij,” p. 391, n. 5) quotes from the very page in the Howard/Paret translation on which Clausewitz refers to medieval “infantry.” “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 66, for failing to start with “the definitions of Clausewitz.” Indeed, Verbruggen attacks me for using “modern American definitions of strategy” rather than those of Clausewitz, as though it is to be assumed that early nineteenth-century definitions are inherently superior to late twentieth-century definitions.

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that hoplite infantry defeated the armies of the Persian empire on more than one occasion, and the Roman infantry certainly played a key role in winning the Punic wars despite the loss at Cannae. With regard to the success of Rome against the barbarians during the later empire in the West, the views of Ammianus Marcellinus, the last of the “greater Roman historians” and a professional military officer, are informative.47 Ammianus observes that after the victories of the emperor Aurelian (d. 275), the barbarians remained quiet for a very long time, i.e. until the time he was writing in the early 390s. Thus, with the confidence of a well-informed soldier, he asserts that the only exceptions were “single bands of robbers who made raids into nearby regions.” This, however, he reminds his contemporaries, occurred “very rarely and to their own destruction.”48

The Merovingians Verbruggen continues his skewed mini-history of Western warfare with lists of battles in which the Frankish King Clovis (481–511), and some later Merovingians took part. These are as irrelevant to the Lyon-thesis as the comments regarding Aristotle et al., and every bit as useless to our understanding of the supposed decisive role played by “cavalry” in significant battles during the Middle Ages, 714–1340, to which Verbruggen is committed.49 As I made clear more than thirty years ago, Clovis fought four important battles in the field during a career of thirty years. These victories, along with the sieges of several fortress cities helped Clovis to conquer three quarters of Gaul and make much of the fourth part tributary. In the first battle, he defeated Syagrius at Soissons (486), in the second he won against the Alamanni at Tolbiac (496), in the third he defeated a Burgundian army in the environs of Avignon (c.501), and in the fourth he bested the Visigoths at Vouillé (507).50 Of these four engagements, the only one that provides any information regarding mounted troops is

47

In general, regarding Ammianus’s worth as a historian, see M. L. W. Laistner, The Greater Roman Historians (Berkeley, 1947); and with particular attention to Ammianus as a military historian, see N. E. J. Austin, Ammianus on Warfare: An Investigation into Ammianus’ Military Knowledge (Brussels, 1979). 48 Res Gestae, XXXI, 5, 11–17. The view of Ammianus and other later Roman sources have now become the orthodoxy among specialists in later Roman military history. See Brent D. Shaw, “War and Violence,” Interpreting Late Antiquity: Essays in the Post Classical World, ed. G. W. Bowersock, Peter Brown, and Oleg Grabar (Cambrigde, MA, 2001), p. 153 (with the cited literature), who observes: “set battles were not typical of the multifarious confrontations between barbarian and Roman.” 49 “The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 53–55. 50 Bernard S. Bachrach, Merovingian Military Organization 481–751 (Minneapolis, 1972), pp. 3–17; see more recently Bernard S. Bachrach “Quelques observations sur la composition et les caractéristiques des armées de Clovis,” in Clovis: Histoire et Mémoire, ed. Michel Rouche, 2 vols. (Paris, 1997), pp. 689–703.

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Vouillé, where Clovis’ foot soldiers soundly defeated the Visigoths’ mounted troops.51 This victory by Frankish foot soldiers over the Visigothic horse may raise, in some scholars’ minds, a question as to what, in fact, really happened at Andrianople in 378, when the Visigothic “cavalry” are supposed to have defeated a huge force of Roman foot soldiers. 52

The Early Carolingians After numerous diversions, Verbruggen once again addresses the question of the Carolingian “cavalry,” where, as he has made clear, he has published a major article (although we know that he published two studies and that Lyon cited one of them, which Verbruggen never mentions) during an otherwise very productive career of more than fifty years. In this context, Verbruggen follows the thesis put forth in 1897 by Heinrich Brunner. The latter argued that the Frankish army, whose forces were dominated by foot soldiers, was converted by Charles Martel into a force in which “heavy cavalry” was the decisive arm. Brunner argued that Charles’ experience at the battle of Poitiers in 732 was the stimulus for this massive conversion in military organization. Verbruggen makes clear his view that “The evolution of an army in which the heavy cavalry won dominance as vassals was explained by Heinrich Brunner and his account remains still the best.”53 Verbruggen obviously fails to agree with the broad consensus, now more than thirty years old, that the Brunner-thesis is without merit.54 Indeed, Verbruggen would seem to lead the reader to believe that he does not know that Brunner’s argument rests, au fond, upon a mistranslation of the word pedetemptim in the Annals of Fulda for the year 891. This mistranslation,

51

Bachrach, Merovingian Military Organization, p. 11. It is not clear that Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 54, believes that the Visigothic “cavalry soldiers,” whom he extolled in regard to the Roman infantry at Adrianople (p. 50), in fact, fought at Vouillé. 52 In my reading of events, a combined force of Alans and Visigoths, which attacked the Roman flank by surprise and rolled it up, played a key role in the barbarian victory at Adrianople. However, there is no question of a frontal assault on a Roman phalanx by barbarian horsemen. See Bernard S. Bachrach, A History of the Alans in the West, from their first appearance in the sources of classical antiquity through the early Middle Ages (Minneapolis, 1973), p. 27. On the whole now, however, the battle of Adrianople is seen primarily as an infantry battle. See, for example, Thomas Burns, “The Battle of Adrianople: A Reconsideration,” Historia 22 (1973), 336–44. According to France, “Recent Writing on Medieval Warfare,” p. 444, this view, which was already in the field almost twenty years before Verbruggen wrote “The Role of the Cavalry,” represents the consensus of both ancient historians and medievalists. 53 See “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 62, for the quotation. 54 Kelly DeVries, Medieval Military Technology (Peterborough, Ontario, 1992), pp. 95–122, provides an excellent discussion of the scholarly works that dismantle the Brunner thesis and its stirrup appendage. See the very positive review of this work by Bernard S. Bachrach, in The Journal of Military History 56 (1992), 687–88. In addition, France, “Recent Writing on Medieval Warfare,” p. 447, observes, “In 1970 the Brunner thesis was effectively demolished in two articles.”

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however, was exposed in 1970, in an article that Verbruggen claims to have read.55 Verbruggen begins his examination of the Carolingians with Charles Martel, and claims that by 734, the mayor of the palace was able to send “Childebrand with an army to Avignon, in order to besiege this fortress, apparently with his cavalry.”56 Thus, by this example, Verbruggen would seem to illustrate the rapidity of the conversion of the Franks from an army of foot soldiers to one of “heavy cavalry.” Needless to say, the mounted troops in question were not the means by which this great fortress city was captured. In fact, Verbruggen found it necessary to recognize that Avignon was taken by assault “with battering rams and ladders.”57 What is perhaps more interesting, however, is Verbruggen’s treatment of the decisive victory won by Charles Martel’s massed Frankish foot soldiers over Abd al Rachman III’s Muslim horsemen at Poitiers in 732. Verbruggen writes: “In 732 Charles marched against the Saracens and fought them at Poiters.”58 Had Verbruggen examined this battle in proper detail, he might have admitted to his readers that Charles was victorious.59 However, more importantly, any intelligent person might be just a little bit skeptical regarding Brunner’s thesis, mistranslations aside, when learning of Charles’ decisive victory at Poitiers. Why, for example, would an experienced commander, such as Charles Martel, whose outstanding military ability was proven in the course of a quarter-century of regular campaigning, choose to undertake a massive reorganization of the armed forces of the regnum Francorum just after proving the tactical superiority of his foot soldiers over the enemy’s mounted troops?60 After convincing himself, following Brunner, that Charles Martel engineered a military revolution, Verbruggen then lists numerous military operations 55

56 57 58 59 60

Bernard S. Bachrach, “Charles Martel, Mounted Shock Combat, the Stirrup and Feudalism,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History 7 (1970), 49–75 – and reprinted with the same pagination in Bernard S. Bachrach, Armies and Politics in the Early Medieval West (London, 1993), pp. 51–53 – exposed Brunner’s mistranslation. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 62, n. 50, cites this article. The article by Bachrach is one of the two cited by France, “Recent Writing on Medieval Warfare,” pp. 447–48, to have effectively demolished the Brunner thesis. The other study is Donald Bullough, “Europae Pater: Charlemagne and his Achievement in Light of Recent Scholarship,” English Historical Review 75 (1970), 84–90. For the convenience of the reader, see The Annals of Fulda, ed. and trans. Timothy Reuter (Manchester and New York, 1992), s.a. 891 (p. 122), for the key text that Brunner mistranslated. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 56. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 56. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 56. See Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 26–32, with the literature cited there. For a detailed examination of Charles’ military campaigning see, Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 19–36, with the literature cited there; and compare the list provided by Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 55–57. Paul Fouracre, The Age of Charles Martel (Harlow, UK, 2000), pp. 145–49, has nothing to add regarding Charles at war, and is more interested, for example, in the stylistic influences of the Bible on the sources that treat Charles’ activities. As suggested earlier, this type of analysis is an important prelude for anyone who would use these sources to write military history. Fouracre, however, is satisfied simply with the stylistic analysis.

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undertaken by Charles, Peppin (741–68), and the latter’s son Charlemagne (768–814). In this list, Verbruggen is unable to identify a single significant or for that matter insignificant battle in which the Frankish “cavalry” played the tactically decisive role. Indeed, Verbruggen admits that he has no evidence for the tactically decisive role of “cavalry” in any battle during this period, i.e. 714–814. He explains: “Bryce Lyon takes a period in which the texts are so scarce and so brief that there are no narratives of battles for the time of Charles Martel, Peppin III [I], and Charlemagne.”61 This admission that Lyon is, in fact, right regarding the fact that the early Carolingian sources fail to provide evidence for Verbruggen’s thesis, comes almost a dozen pages after he tried to discredit Lyon for not having read a particular article which supposedly proved the importance of “Carolingian cavalry” during the period. Contrary to Verbruggen’s assertions regarding the sources, considerable detail is recoverable concerning various battles fought during the early Carolingian era. Indeed, there is even a great deal of detailed information concerning numerous efforts to capture the great fortress cities and lesser fortifications, largely of later Roman origin, that dominated the military topography of the hexagon, northern Italy, and northeastern Spain during the century under consideration. Early Carolingian warfare, that was intended to result in territorial conquest and the integration of the conquered regions into the Carolingian regnum, was dominated by sieges and assaults on the enemy’s massive fortress cities and lesser fortifications. Decisive victories won by heavily armed mounted troops in signficant battles in the open field were not a major feature of Carolingian warfare under Charlemagne and his predecessors. 62

“Cavalry” Decisiveness 840–1000 Before treating Verbruggen’s views on “ ‘Cavalry’ Decisiveness 840–1000,” it should be emphasized that half way through his attack on Lyon, Verbruggen gives up trying to prove that under Charles Martel, the supposed originator of the “heavy cavalry revolution,” his son Peppin III/I, and grandson Charlemagne the “cavalry” played the tactically decisive role in any significant battles. Indeed, Verbruggen has explicitly recognized that he has no evidence to prove his case. As a result, he retreats to a fallback position, and asserts: “The period from 840–1000 is indeed characterized by the dominance of the heavy cavalry in West Francia.”63 Following his usual methods, Verbruggen provides a list of battles: Andernach 876, the Dyle (891), Riade 933, Lechfeld 955, somewhere in western Francia in 943, Cap 82, Fiorenzuola 923, Spoleto 940, Nouey in 1044,

61 62

“The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 61. See Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare. Verbruggen simply does not have an in-depth knowledge of the Carolingian sources, and paraphrases a few chronicles and annals. 63 “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 64, for the quotation.

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and somewhere in Scandinavia in 1134, that supposedly prove the hegemony of heavy cavalry in Western European warfare during this period. 64 On the basis of the battles, listed above, which purport to provide conclusive evidence for the dominance of “cavalry,” Verbruggen concludes sarcastically, “If we are to believe Bryce Lyon there were no battles before the eleventh century in which armored cavalry played the primary role [my italics]”.65 Lyon, however, does not speak of the “primary role” of “armored cavalry,” but of the decisive tactical role of cavalry in significant battles during the early Carolingian era. Lyon does not comment upon the later ninth century or on the tenth century. Nor does he deploy lists of specific examples for this period. Rather, Lyon focuses his attention on the battle of Hastings (1066) in the eleventh century, before moving on to the decisive victory won by the foot soldiers of Milan and its allies over Frederick Barbarossa’s heavily armed mounted troops at Legnano in 1176. 66 Lechfeld 955 Verbruggen’s assertion that the battles, listed above, sustain the view that “heavily armored cavalry” played the “primary role,” much less the decisive role, cannot be sustained. For example, the only cavalry action taken by Otto I’s forces at the battle of the Lech (955), was the recapture of the royal baggage train by horsemen under the command of Count Conrad of Franconia. The victory in the field over the Magyar light horse was won by the mass of Saxon foot soldiers and their supporters, who drove their adversaries into the river Lech by the force of their massed strength.67 It should be emphasized, in this context, that Otto’s army was deployed from Saxony and other parts of Francia orientalis to the south of the German kingdom for a specific purpose. His aim was to relieve the investment of the fortress city of Augsburg that was being pressed at this time by the Magyar army with a wide variety of siege machines.68 Andernach 876 Concerning the battle of Andernach in 876, Verbruggen writes: “A first example [my italics] [of the primary role played by cavalry] is the battle of

64

65 66 67

68

“The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 62–64. Note that only two of these battles took place in “West Francia,” and one of them occurred in 1044, i.e. forty-four years after Verbruggen’s selfimposed chronological terminus of 1000. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 63, for the quotation. “The Role of Cavalry,” pp. 81–82. See, Charles Bowlus, The Battle of the Lechfeld, forthcoming. Also see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Magyar-Ottonian Warfare: à-propos a new minimalist interpretation,” Francia 13.1 (2000), 211–30. This is the focus of the study by Bachrach, “Magyar-Ottonian Warfare,” pp. 211–30.

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Andernach in 876.” He prefaces his observation with the by now tiresome rhetorical flourish “If [Bryce Lyon] had read my article on the art of war from 714–1000, he would have found several [examples of battles before the eleventh century in which armored cavalry played the primary role.]”69 Since, as noted above, Lyon did not treat the later ninth century, Verbruggen’s criticism is hardly merited. Concerning the battle itself, Verbruggen notes that it was “waged by Charles the Bald against his nephew, Louis the Younger. In both armies the battle was fought by units of cavalry; there were no footsoldiers reported [my italics]”.70 This statement is problematic. While it is true that the sources fail to make it explicit that Louis employed footmen, they also do not make it explicit that only cavalry were used, and careful consideration of the course of the battle makes it very probable that infantry actually played a principal role in the fighting. In addition, a careful treatment of the evidence illuminates Louis the Younger’s tactical sophistication in planning a battle that hardly sustains the traditional romantic notion, preferred by Verbruggen, that heavy cavalry, at will, broke up masses of foot soldiers by an unsupported frontal assault.71 At the battle of Andernach, Louis the Younger, the East Frankish king, learned, through his intelligence gathering network of spies and scouts, that Charles the Bald, toward dawn, was planning to make a surprise attack on his camp. Thus, Louis deployed his forces some distance forward of his encampment. At the center, he projected forward a force of Saxon soldiers, most likely footmen, and stationed his mounted troops refused in line on either flank. The horsemen were screened, at least in part, by wooded land. The formation looked something like a drawn bow. When Charles’ army came within sight of Louis’ camp, the West Frankish ruler is reported to have been surprised that Louis’ foot soldiers already had been deployed. He did not see the screened enemy horsemen, and immediately ordered his own mounted troops to charge the Saxon foot soldiers. After initial contact, the latter, following Louis’ plan, gradually gave ground until their backs were up against the walls of their fortified camp. Then, like the Saxons in the Süntal, Louis’ foot soldiers held their ground. Charles’ horsemen pressed forward, but were unable to break up the Saxon formation, which now constituted a refused center with Louis’ horsemen on the enemy’s flanks. When the West Frankish mounted troops were in the trap, Louis’ horsemen executed a double envelopment which resulted in the utter defeat of Charles army.72 69 70 71

“The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 63–64. “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 64, for the quotation. I take Verbruggen’s unqualified quotation of the observation by Malcolm Vale that “Heavy cavalry could carry all before it through the momentum and impact of a properly-conducted charge” to mean that he (Verbruggen) embraces this view. In his discussion of Lyon’s use of Vale, Verbruggen has completely misunderstood Lyon’s meaning. Lyon is citing Vale as evidence for the continued practice of unregenerate romanticism. 72 See Bernard S. Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius in Medieval Warfare,” in The Story of Chivalry, ed. H. Chickering and T. Seiler (Kalamazoo, 1988), pp. 173–211; and reprinted with

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Surely, this was not merely a “cavalry battle,” as Verbruggen asserts. From a tactical perspective, the Saxon foot soldiers must be acknowledged to have played a key role. First, they attracted the full force of the enemy’s uninhibited mounted attack. Then, as an indication of their sound training and tactical skill, the foot soldiers gradually withdrew, i.e. refused the center, while under attack, in order to make the envelopment of Charles’ mounted troops possible by Louis’ horsemen deployed on the flanks. Moreover, it must be emphasized that in the last phase of the battle, the Saxon foot held fast, and were unbroken. As a result they served effectively as the “anvil” upon which Charles’ horsemen were crushed. Finally, it is not at all clear from the sources that Louis’ mounted forces were dominated by heavily armed or light horse, or, for that matter, whether all of the West Frankish mounted troops were heavily armored. The Dyle, 891 Despite Verbruggen’s claims, a detailed study of the battle of the Dyle (891) does not demonstrate the view that “armored cavalry played the primary role.” In this battle, King Arnulf, followed up a rapid pursuit of a force of Viking raiders by reconnoitering the fortified camp into which they had fled. Arnulf concluded that the vast majority of his troops, most or all of whom were mounted, would have to dismount, advance slowly, i.e. step by step (pedetemptim) against the Vikings’ position, and in the process endure an unnerving hail of enemy missiles. Arnulf maintained a small number of his troops on horseback to serve as a reserve. This force was to protect the rear of the East Frankish army that was advancing on foot against the Vikings, should any of the latter slip out of their fortified position in an attempt to attack Arnulf ’s men from the rear.73

the same pagination in Bernard S. Bachrach, Warfare and Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe (London, 2002), p. 190, n. 78. Above, I considered the possibility that the Saxons at the center of Louis’ formation could possibly have been lightly armed horsemen. Upon further consideration, however, I later concluded that the Saxons were likely foot soldiers, because even lightly armed mounted troops would have had great difficulty in executing the type of gradual withdrawal while under attack that, in fact, was effected. In addition, with their backs to the wall of the castra and no room for maneuver, a force of light horse could not hope to hold fast against a hard charging and much larger force of heavily armed mounted troops. In addition, there is no sound source account that demonstrates the existence of Saxon light horse at this time in the development of Saxon military organization. It should also be noted that the sources indicate that it was Charles’ plan to execute a surprise attack, probably at dawn, on Louis’ castra. Such an attack on a properly built and defended encampment could not be carried out through a mounted charge, as illustrated by the tactics Arnulf was required to use at the Dyle in 891 (see below). In short, in order for Charles to have carried out his initial plan, his horsemen would have had to have dismounted, and attacked on foot. 73 Bachrach, “Charles Martel, Mounted Shock Combat, the Stirrup and Feudalism,” pp. 51–53; and with additional detail, Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius,” p. 185.

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Cap Colone, 982 With the exception of Riade, there are no compelling reasons to believe that the other battles named by Verbruggen, i.e. Fiorenzuola 923, Spoleto 940, and Cap Colone 982, all fought in Italy, and Nouey 1044, fought in the west of Francia occidentalis, saw heavily armed cavalry play the tactically decisive role. Cap Colone, in fact, provides a very good example of why it is necessary to suspect Verbruggen’s treatment of the sources in regard to demonstrating the supposed tactically decisive nature of heavily armed mounted troops. Indeed, as illustrated above, Verbruggen clearly failed to provide a convincing assessment of the role played by heavily armed horsemen in the battles of Andernach, the Dyle, and the Lechfeld. At Cap Colone, Otto II commanded a large army that included several thousand heavily armed horsemen mustered in Germany. He was preparing to attack a Muslim army, under the command of Abdul Kasim, which was composed, in large part, of lightly armed mounted troops. As the armies came into position to face each other, the Muslims, on a signal from their commander, bolted before Otto’s army could engage, and began a very rapid retreat. Otto’s mounted forces followed, as fast as their comparatively large and heavy war horses could, in the vain hope of overtaking the Muslims. The latter drew away from their pursuers rather easily. After several kilometers of hard riding, the war horses carrying the heavily armed Germans began to slow down, and to show the effects of their labor. In the meanwhile, the Muslims had stopped their “feigned retreat,” and concealed themselves under cover along the sides of the road. When the Germans passed by their positions, the Muslims launched a vigorous attack from the flanks on the enemy, whose horses no longer were fit for battle. The Muslim light horse won a decisive victory over Otto’s heavily armed mounted troops, who suffered immense losses, and the emperor barely escaped with his life.74 Riade, 933 It is only with the battle of Riade in 933 that Verbruggen even comes close to demonstrating the “superiority” of “heavy cavalry” which is essential to his thesis, that was respectfully criticized by Lyon. Henry I, the Saxon ruler of Francia orientalis, learned that a large force of Magyars had invaded his kingdom, and he decided to set a trap for them. Having ascertained the enemy’s line of march, Henry placed his force of heavily armed mounted troops in a screened position along the route, and sent out a force of lightly armed (inermes) Thuringian horse to lure the Magyars into a trap. When the Magyars 74

Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius,” p. 192. Note that Verbruggen, “L’art militaire dans l’empire carolingien,” p. 396, provides a description consistent with the above, but in “The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 63–64, he implies that Cap Colone illustrates the superiority of heavy cavalry.

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spotted the Thuringians, the latter fled, and the former gave chase. The careless over-eagerness of the Magyar pursuit brought their forces into range of the concealed German heavy horse. At the appropriate moment, the Germans, who appear to have been under the direct command and disciplined control of King Henry, struck and chased the Magyars from the field, although they could not win a decisive victory against their f leet opponents.75 The supremacy of the German heavily armed mounted troops over the Magyar light horse in hand-to-hand combat at the battle of Riade is proven by the recognition by the latter that they could not engage the former. King Henry, however, knew that it required a successful ruse de guerre for his heavily armed mounted forces to be able engage the enemy. By contrast, at Cap Colone in 982, the German heavily armed horsemen were crushed by lightly armed Muslim mounted troops after being decisively outmaneuvered. At the Lechfeld in 955, it was the mass of several legiones of German foot soldiers which defeated the Magyar light horse. Looking further ahead, it is clear that the heavily armed mounted troops commanded by William the Conqueror, reputed by some modern scholars to have been the best of their day, were unable to break the English shield wall at Hastings in 1066 by the force of several frontal assaults. As Lyon observes: “It cannot be argued that the mounted knight prevailed because of his superiority over the Saxon foot soldier.”76 At Legnano in 1176, as Lyon observes, the German heavy horse failed to break the formation of Italian foot soldiers, and were decisively defeated, when “After stopping the German charge, the Milanese foot soldiers counter-attacked, inflicting a crushing defeat on the Germans and capturing many knights.”77

Fulk Nerra Medieval commanders, at least those who were successful, were wellschooled in battle tactics. Two battles won by Fulk Nerra, help to illustrate the sophistication of some commanders in the deployment of their mounted forces. Fulk, count of the Angevins from 987–1040, was one of Europe’s most 75 76

Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius,” pp. 188–89. Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 81, for the quotation. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 30, tries to convince his readers that William’s heavy cavalry actually won the battle of Hastings, but is not able to sustain the position that the Anglo-Saxons were defeated as a result of a frontal assault by Norman heavily armed horsemen. In dealing with the order of magnitude of the Anglo-Saxon population on the eve of the Norman invasion, and the sources for the size of both Harold’s and William’s armies, Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 65, n. 66, makes clear that he is ignorant of modern demographic methods, and equally ignorant of the canons of Sachkritik as developed by Delbrück. With regard to the latter, see Bachrach, “Early Medieval Military Demography,” pp. 3–20. 77 See the discussion by Lyon, “The Role of Cavalry,” p. 82, for the quotation. Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 30, tries to explain away the defeat of Frederick’s heavily armed horsemen, by pointing out the military organization of the city of Milan included heavily armed mounted troops.

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successful military men for more than a half-century. He owes his fame to the fact that he was a great builder of fortifications, which he used effectively to create an extensive principality in the West of France. As a result, he won from posterity the sobriquet “le grand bâtisseur.” The principality that Fulk built ultimately served as the base from which King Henry II of England, his direct descendant, constructed what has come to be called the Angevin empire.78 In addition to all of his great building efforts, Fulk is said by his grandson, Fulk le Réchin, the chronicler of the fortunes of the Angevin counts until 1096, to have fought two battles in the field, “dua campestria prelia.”79 In Fulk le Réchin’s view, however, these battles were a minor theme in his grandfather’s very long and successful military career. Fulk emphasizes not the “dua campestria prelia” that his grandfather won, but the “plurima castella,” that he built.80 Conquereuil 992 The first of these battles was fought at Conquereuil in Brittany in 992. Count Conan of Rennes was besieging the Angevin-controlled fortress city of Nantes when he learned that Fulk Nerra was on his way to relieve the beleaguered garrison with a large army composed of not only of Angevins but also of numerous allies and including mercenaries. Immediately upon receiving intelligence of the approach of the enemy army, Conan raised the siege, and began a long march back toward Rennes with Fulk in pursuit. Conan soon concluded that he would not be able to outrun Fulk’s pursuit, and decided to make a stand at Conquereuil. He had his troops build an earthwork of sorts across a field that he knew Fulk would have to cross in order to attack, and had the area trapped with pits covered up with sod and branches. Conan then deployed his troops, both foot and horse, with the latter dismounted, behind the barricade.81 When Fulk’s forces came into sight, Conan immediately ordered his men to leave the barricade and retreat. This was, in fact, a feigned retreat, executed to encourage Fulk to attack before having the field reconnoitered for traps. The ruse worked, as Fulk temporarily lost command and control, and his lead unit attacked without proper caution. Fulk managed to restrain his reserve, but he himself charged along with the first unit in order to regain control as best as he could. As the Angevin horsemen of this first unit began to flounder in the pits, Conan’s troops, both foot and horse, counter-attacked, and badly mauled Fulk’s force. Indeed, Fulk’s horse went down in the traps, the standard bearer, Viscount Aimo of Nantes, was killed, and the count’s banner fell to the ground. With the commander unhorsed, and his standard lowered, this being the traditional signal 78

The basic work is Bernard S. Bachrach, Fulk Nerra – the Neo Roman Consul: A Political Biography of the Angevin Count (987–1040) (Berkeley–Los Angeles, 1993). 79 Fragmentum Historiae Andegavensis, in Chroniques des comtes d’Anjou et des seigneurs d’Amboise, ed. Louis Halphen and René Poupardin (Paris, 1913), pp. 234–35. 80 Fragmentum Hist. Andegav., pp. 234–35. 81 Bachrach, Fulk Nerra, pp. 41–45.

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for retreat, Fulk’s forces withdrew from the field. The Bretons also disengaged, apparently deterred from a hot pursuit of the defeated and disorganized Angevin attacking force by Fulk’s reserve, which held its position. Thus, when Fulk reached the safety of his own lines, he rapidly reassessed the situation. Almost immediately, he led his intact and alerted reserve against the now disorganized Bretons, who undoubtedly thought that the field of battle was theirs, and that the enemy had been beaten. The Angevin counterattack caught the Bretons by surprise. They were driven from the field with great losses, and Count Conan was killed.82 Pontlevoy 1016 Fulk’s second battle in the field, also a great victory, took place in the course of a campaign to interdict a large Blésois army of milites and pedites led by Count Odo II. This army was on its way to lay siege to the Angevin stronghold of Montrichard. When, late in the afternoon of 6 July, Odo’s forces arrived at Pontlevoy, the Blésois count is reported to have been astonished see Fulk’s army drawn up in front of him astride the route to Montrichard. Following a traditional tactical regime, the Blésois forces immediately began the process of deploying from column to line, and drew their pedites into a tightly packed mass. The milites dismounted to strengthen the formation. Fulk attacked all along the enemy front in the hope of catching the enemy in mid-deployment. However, Fulk miscalculated the ability of the enemy to execute the maneuver, and the rapidly forming Blésois “phalanx” held. When the Angevin mounted troops smashed into the enemy formation, Fulk was unhorsed, and his standard bearer, Sigebrannus, the castellan of Chemillé, was either severely wounded or killed. The count’s banner fell to the ground, the signal to withdraw, and Fulk’s forces severed contact with the enemy.83 At this point, seeing Fulk’s army retreat from the field, Odo’s troops stood down. The Blésois milites, rather than remounting and executing a vigorous pursuit, are reported to have taken off their armor, which likely seemed unbearable in the hot July sun. As this was happening, Fulk, obviously recovered from having been repulsed in his initial attack on the Blésois formation of reinforced foot soldiers, sent a message to his second in command, Count Herbert of Maine. The latter had been stationed with a large reserve of mounted troops in the Angevin camp at Bourré less than five thousand meters to the west of Pontlevoy. Herbert was ordered to attack the Blésois immediately. The Angevin reserve came up from the west. It was largely unobserved because the late afternoon sun was in the eyes of the enemy. Just as the reserve struck the left flank of the surprised Blésois, Fulk’s main force, now reformed, attacked again along the enemy front. Odo’s army, unprepared for a second attack, especially on the

82 83

Bachrach, Fulk Nerra, pp. 43–45. Bachrach, Fulk Nerra, p. 149.

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flank, was routed with great losses. The pedites, who, unlike the milites, found it impossible to flee successfully from the battlefield, are reported to have suffered immense casualties.84 These two victories by Fulk Nerra have much in common, both with each other and also with several of the battles discussed above. The Angevin army was in the field either to raise a siege or to stop one from being initiated. In both cases, Fulk’s horsemen charged the enemy. Initially, they were bested with considerable losses inflicted by well prepared and apparently well disciplined troops fighting on foot because the Angevin count either lost command and control of part of his force or miscalculated the effectiveness of the enemy’s ability to deploy from column to line. The decisive factor in each victory was Fulk’s maintenance of a reserve, the knowledge or effectiveness of which was unknown to his adversaries. However, Fulk’s victories occurred only after the discipline and readiness for battle of the initially victorious enemy soldiers were relaxed as a result of their commanders’ failure to appreciate the threat posed by Fulk’s reserve. Fulk, in effect, was successful because of his superior planning. Fulk did not win either battle because a frontal assault by his mounted troops made his tactics inherently superior to the men fighting on foot whom he ultimately defeated. Indeed, these two battles tend to illustrate just the opposite. Fulk’s generalship was much enhanced by the errors committed by Conan and Odo. Both men failed to secure their positions after an initial success, and failed, in addition, to follow up the advantage that had been secured by their foot soldiers over Fulk’s hard-charging horsemen. Fulk’s mounted reserves, which ultimately were responsible for winning both battles, were victorious because of the count’s sounder tactics, which enabled him to take advantage of enemy mistakes.

Anglo-Norman “Cavalry” Both Conqereuil and Pontlevoy illustrate the effectiveness of foot soldiers against a frontal assault by mounted troops. Both battles also illustrate that it was prudent to strengthen a concentration of foot soldiers with high quality mounted troops, who were deployed dismounted for just that purpose. Indeed, C. Warren Hollister made this point when he called attention to the fact that “in every important battle of the Anglo-Norman age the bulk of the feudal cavalry dismounted to fight [my italics].” He makes clear that at Tinchebrai, in 1106, “an eyewitness account reports that 96 percent of King Henry’s army was on foot, including the king himself and all his barons.” Regarding Brémule in 1119, Hollister avers that “a high percentage of King Henry’s forces . . . was made up of dismounted knights, and according to one contemporary, the battle was won by a charge of closely packed infantry.” In addition, “At the battle of Bourg 84

Bachrach, Fulk Nerra, pp. 149–50.

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Théroulde (1124),” Hollister continues, “most of the Anglo-Norman knights again fought on foot . . .” Further, at Northallerton (1138), Hollister makes clear that the cavalry “dismounted to a man and fought behind a shield wall such as had been employed earlier by Anglo-Saxon armies.” Finally, Hollister notes that “at Lincoln (1141), the king and his knights again dismounted and fought as infantry.”85

Later Middle Ages Obviously, a great deal more can be said regarding the role of mounted troops on the field of battle during the period from the later Roman empire through the high Middle Ages in order to illustrate the methodologically unsound and rhetorically reckless nature of Verbruggen’s attack on Lyon and his thesis.86 In this context, the reader, will note, however, that I have not addressed the question of the supposed tactically decisive role putatively played by heavy cavalry in the later Middle Ages through the first half of the fourteenth century, which is covered in Verbruggen’s book, and against which Lyon argued. I have left this period aside because I subscribe to the thesis argued by Kelly DeVries in his masterful study, Infantry Warfare in the Early Fourteenth Century: Discipline, Tactics, and Technology, which, as I read it, fully supports Lyon’s position, that there was no hegemony of the cavalry in later medieval warfare.87

Conclusions Verbruggen’s method of making lists of battles that took place during the high Middle Ages in which mounted troops can be seen to participate, in one way or another, is neither an adequate critique of Lyon’s thesis nor a fair assessment of the use of horsemen on the battlefield. Most importantly, such lists,

85

Anglo-Saxon Military Institutions on the Eve of the Norman Conquest (Oxford, 1962), pp. 131–32, for the quotation. Although Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare, 2nd ed., p. 107, lists these same battles, he fails to note with Hollister, whose work is cited in the bibliography, that “in every important battle of the Anglo-Norman age, the bulk of the feudal cavalry dismounted to fight.” In a similar vein, Strickland, War and Chivalry, p. 23, fails to do justice to Hollister’s views, as quoted above, and speaks merely of the “propensity of knights to dismount to fight on foot” in “most [my italics] Anglo-Norman armies.” Strickland holds, consistent with his romantic-chivalric bias, that cavalry “remained an integral, if not the predominant arm in most Anglo-Norman armies.” 86 Verbruggen, “The Role of the Cavalry,” p. 70, says of Lyon’s use of the work of Malcolm Vale that we must either conclude Lyon did not read the conclusion of the book he cites, or else “we must presume a deception by Bryce Lyon.” As already indicated above (n. 74) this appears to be the result of Verbruggen’s completely misunderstanding Lyon’s purpose in citing Vale’s work. 87 (Woodbridge, UK, 1996), and see the review by Bernard S. Bachrach in Technology and Culture 39 (1998), 362–63.

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without detailed analysis, have no methodological validity. The discussion, above, all too brief, of several well-documented battles, makes it clear that Verbruggen’s doctrinaire position that cavalry was the primary element of armies during the high Middle Ages cannot be sustained. It is far more accurate to affirm that during the early and high Middle Ages, military tactics concerning battles in the field did not depend on the doctrine of heavy cavalry hegemony peddled by Verbruggen.88 In fact, the deployment of mounted troops was much varied during the high Middle Ages, and depended upon a complex of often interrelated factors. For example, competent commanders found it necessary to consider the overall strategic aims, both long- and short-term, that were at issue in the decisions to fight, when to fight, where to fight, and how to fight. In considering how mounted troops were to be deployed, it is no less important to make clear that the tactics used by one side depended, in part, and sometimes in large part, on a commander’s perception of his enemy’s strategy and tactical capabilities. In all cases, the order of magnitude and composition of both armies were factors that helped to condition how mounted troops were deployed by their commanders. In most cases, natural topography, military topography, weather, and the availability of supplies, also were crucial to tactical decisions and to the subsequent deployment of mounted troops. Because of the nature of Verbruggen’s attack on Lyon’s thesis, this paper has, of necessity, focused on battles, and even more narrowly on the role played by mounted troops in battles during the high Middle Ages. No attempt could be made in a work of this length to be exhaustive. Indeed, because the mission was to examine the validity of Verbruggen’s attack on Lyon’s thesis, the discussion was even more limited than I would have liked. For example, in neither Lyon’s critique of Verbruggen nor in Verbruggen’s critique of Lyon are the battles of the Crusades examined, and the role of mounted troops illuminated. An examination of the use of mounted troops by Westerners in the Middle East would certainly have amplified our understanding of the use of horsemen during the Middle Ages. The narrowness of the topic of this paper, limited to discussion of battles, must, however, not be allowed to mislead the reader into overestimating the importance of such encounters in the field during the Middle Ages. It is generally agreed that in medieval Western Europe, battles in the field, much less decisive battles in the field, whether or not mounted troops were tactically deci-

88

It is perhaps more amusing than sad to read Verbruggen’s efforts (“The Role of the Cavalry,” pp. 61–63), to explain how the Vikings, who occasionally stole horses for riding about the countryside and hauling booty, became “heavy cavalry” as a result. Verbruggen seems unaware that a stolen cart horse or plow horse is not a war horse. In order to create a war horse, the animal requires extensive training. Indeed, the rider must have considerable training also in order to engage in mounted combat. See, the very important article by Carroll Gillmor, “Practical Chivalry: The Training of Horses for Tournaments and Warfare,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, n.s. 13 (1992), 7–29; and Bachrach, Early Carolingian Warfare, pp. 122, 128.

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sive or even involved, were very rare.89 Medieval warfare, especially those campaigns that were intended to result in the conquest and holding of enemy territory, was dominated by the capture of fortress cities and lesser strongholds. Hans Delbrück spoke for the pre-World War Two generation when he wrote: “Throughout the entire Middle Ages we find . . . the exploitation of the defensive in fortified places . . .”90 Charles Oman, Delbrück’s contemporary, took much the same position.91 With regard to the state of the question in the later twentieth century, Philippe Contamine noted: “In its most usual form medieval warfare was made up of a succession of sieges accompanied by skirmishes and devastation . . .” Indeed, Contamine goes so far as to suggest, correctly I believe, that medieval warfare was dominated by “fear of the pitched battle” and a “siege mentality.”92 It is important to emphasize that the focus on siege warfare was a legacy bequeathed to the Middle Ages by their Roman predecessors who built great fortress cities and lesser fortifications throughout the west during the later empire.93 One recent specialist in Roman military history has called attention to the fact that in the conflicts between Rome and her Persian neighbor, real war, i.e. war of conquest, was focused on sieges.94 Thus, Shaw observes: “Siege 89

90

91 92

93 94

See, three basic studies by John Gillingham, “William the Bastard at War,” in Studies in Medieval Military History presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. C. Harper-Bill, C. Holdsworth, and J. Nelson (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 141–58; “Richard I and the Science of War in the Middle Ages,” in War and Government in the Middle Ages, ed. J. Gillingham and J. C. Holt (Woodbridge, 1984), pp. 78–91; and “War and Chivalry in the History of William the Marshal,” in Thirteenth Century England. Proceedings of the Newcastle upon Tyne Conference 2 (1987), pp. 1–14. All three have been reprinted in Anglo-Norman Warfare: Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman Military Organization and Warfare, ed. Matthew Strickland (Woodbridge, 1993), pp. 143–60, 194–207, and 251–63, respectively. In a rejoinder entitled “Up with Orthodoxy! In Defense of Vegetian Warfare,” Journal of Medieval Military History 2 (2003), 149–58, Gillingham effectively defends the modern consensus against the effort to overturn the critique by Clifford J. Rogers, published as “The Vegetian ‘Science of Warfare’ in the Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2002), 1–19. Hans Delbrück, Geschichte der Kriegskunst im Rahmen der politischen Geschichte, 2nd ed. (Berlin, 1923), vols. 2 and 3. For the convenience of the reader I have cited the English translations, History of the Art of War within the Framework of Political History, vol. 2, The Germans, and vol. 3, The Middle Ages, trans. Walter J. Renfroe (Westport, CT, 1980, 1982), 3:324, for the quotations. History of the Art of War in the Middle Ages, 2 vols. (2nd ed. 1924; repr. New York, 1964), 2:52–54. La Guerre au moyen âge (Paris, 1980) and translated by Michael Jones as War in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1984), pp. 101, 219, for the quotations; pp. 102–06, 116, 193–207, 211–12, 240–41, 247–48, 283, where the discussion is essentially focused on siege weapons. The fourth edition of Contamine’s standard work (1994), remains unchanged. Regarding the key role played by sieges during the Crusades and in the Crusader states see R. Rogers, Latin Siege Warfare in the Twelfth Century (Oxford, 1992). Ferdinand Lot, L’Art militaire et les armées au moyen âge et dans le proche orient, 2 vols. (Paris, 1946), 1:17, observed, “la guerre de sièges . . . joué un . . . grand rôle dans les siècles qu’on a passés en revue.” Stephen Johnson, Late Roman Fortifications (Totowa, NJ, 1983). See Bernard S. Bachrach, “Imperial Walled Cities in the West: an examination of their early

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warfare arose when there was a clearly defined frontier between relatively balanced opposing forces and when large and heavily fortified urban centers were present in the frontier zone.” In the context of war between Rome and Persia, he makes clear: “the relative stability and balance of the forces on either side combined to produce a classic zone of siege warfare.” Shaw notes further with regard to Western Europe: “a city like Aquileia that was located on the borderland between two halves of the empire was besieged (unsuccessfully) many times.”95

medieval Nachleben,” in City Walls: The Urban Enceinte in Global Perspective, ed. James T. Tracy (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 192–218. 95 “War and Violence,” p. 143, for the quotations.

Dogs of War

Document: Dogs of War in Thirteenth-Century Valencian Garrisons1 Robert I. Burns, S.J.

In the mid-thirteenth century, King Jaume I of Arago-Catalonia began to use the captured paper industry of Islamic Játiva to record his reconstruction of conquered Valencia into a multi-ethnic Christian kingdom. His wandering chancery employed local notaries to scribble much abbreviated originals, from which parchments might later be drafted as needed. Over two thousand such registered paper charters on Valencia survive from the last twenty years of Jaume’s reign. Their content is multifarious, a kaleidoscope of medieval life: military action, land distributions, personal affairs, religious institutions, pardons of crime, trial transcripts, and the parallel societies of the new kingdom’s Muslims and Jews. Hidden among the more amply documented topics are glimpses of life once routine but now rarely encountered in such early records. Among these are passing notices about dogs of war.2 Dogs had seen service in the ancient and classical empires, and are deployed today by all the American military services as well as by the CIA, the FBI, and some police departments. Boot camp for military dog recruits is at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. There has even been a “dog-gate” scandal recently at Camp Pendleton in California where six Marines have been court-martialled and eleven more punished for fiddling with the dogs’ personnel files.3 In history dogs have been used to carry messages, for sentry duty and patrols, to flush out ambushes, to detect explosives, as hunters, trackers, and food tasters, and to break up cavalry charges. Monastic solitaries used them to convey messages to their fellow hermits – dogs of peace? The Gauls outfitted their dogs with metal armor and spiked collars; modern war dogs suit up in Kevlar jackets. No other animal has so mingled into combat, though aggressive cavalry mounts may rival them and one hears of snakes flung onto decks of enemy ships, foxes let loose on crops with flaming brush attached to their tails, and of course the odd elephant. It is unlikely that cats of war ever caught on. King Jaume’s paper registers conceal any number of war dogs. A survey of 1 2

An earlier version of this article was read at the 39th International Congress on Medieval Studies, at Western Michigan University, 7 May 2004. For bibliography and general introduction see John Grier Varner and Jeannette Johnson Varner, Dogs of the Conquest (Norman, OK, 1983), and Mark A. Mastromarino, “Teaching Old Dogs New Tricks: The English Mastiff and the Anglo-American Experience,” The Historian 49 (1986), 10–25.

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The Kingdom of Valencia, showing major natural divisions as grouped administratively in the Tomás López map of 1788

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five hundred of his Valencian paper charters during 1270 to 1273 for example reveals no less than five items on war dogs individually budgeted in castle garrisons. I have transcribed these below. A somewhat wider search through Jaume’s registers easily turns up six more castles and nineteen more war dogs. Presumably others lie doggo in the fuller materials from later reigns. The first of these five episodes commits custody of Játiva castle in September 1270 to the head of the king’s household, the seneschal Peric de Montcada (Castilian Perico de Moncada).4 Játiva was a magnificent double castle in central Valencia, one of the most powerful defenses in the kingdom. The king assigns to Peric a large garrison of thirty men-at-arms, with a budget of 120 Valencian sous as salary for each man to a total of 3,600 sous, as well as 1000 sous in salary for the castellan, and one pack animal at 100 sous, “And for two dogs of war [together] 100 sous.” These sums are to be paid out “every year,” to a grand total of 4,800 sous, by the crown bailiff “from Our revenues and income” of the Játiva district. The allotment for the dogs came to 50 sous per dog per year, including handler and maintenance. The garrison of thirty men represented units of several men each; possibly they also supplement fighters already on the spot. The unusual size of both castle and garrison might be thought to explain the small number of dogs; but two dogs were a common ratio in a Valencian castle of any size. The second transaction concerns the castle of Biar in March 1271.5 Strategically located on a pedestal of land at the inside corner of the Valencian kingdom’s far southern border, Biar controlled defense and commercial customs on that frontier. The king installs Pere [Pedro] de Segura as the castellan there for the indefinite future. As garrison he is to receive “12 men and 1 woman and 1 muleteer and 1 pack animal and 3 dogs.” The stipulation of a woman sounds odd in this bellicose context, but seems to have been normal in war dog assignments in those parts. Is there an echo from Roman times, when Caius Marius in 101 BC had difficulty defeating the Cimbri because of that enemy’s fierce dogs of war “led by women?” Or were women more suitable to the canine temper? In this Biar arrangement the king promises “to give you for each aforesaid man and woman and muleteer 120 sous, and for the three dogs collectively 180 Valencian souls in every year,” as well as two almuds or fourth bushels of fodder daily for the pack animal and for “the necessities of the two animals.” Here each dog gets individually 60 sous a year. To record the transaction more securely, the king agrees to incorporate this budget formally into the annual audits of the castle’s revenues.6

3

4 5 6

On US military dogs and on the Marine scandal see “False K-9 Records Land Marines in the Doghouse,” Los Angeles Times, November 4, 2003, p. 10; and “Protection for a Marine’s Best Friend,” ibid., February, 21, 2004, p. 8. Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó (Arch. Crown), Reg. 16, fol. 212 (19 September 1270), in appendix below, Doc. I. Arch. Crown, Reg. Canc. 16, fol. 235v (16 March [1270] 1271), in appendix below, Doc. II. The Cimbri battle is in Varner, Dogs of the Conquest, p. 34. Arch. Crown, Reg. Canc. 14, fol. 116v (1 April 1271), in appendix below, Doc. III.

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The third case concerns the king’s son, Pere Ferran (Pedro Fernández), who has “come to Us now in Valencia for a total and legal reckoning” of all debts the crown owes the prince “up to the present day, with and without charters,” especially for the “castles of Alcalá and Gallinera” whose revenues “you were holding in pledge for Us,” and for 10,000 sous Pere owed the king in connection with an interchange with the castle of Buñol. The upshot of the audit was that on balance the king owed the prince 20,532 sous, to be paid to Pere from the revenues of the castles of Alcalá and Gallinera “for as many years namely and so long” as required. The two castles in question stood in adjoining districts at the kingdom’s Mediterranean southeast. Gallinera dominated the Valle de Gallinera; Alcalá de la Jovada or Alcalá de Gallinera dominated the Valle de Alcalá. “For the custody of Alcalá castle you ought to keep 6 men and 2 dogs (which equal 1 man), and for the tenure of Gallinera castle 15 men-at-arms and 6 dogs (which equal 3 men).” That formula is standard in the king’s registers: in reckoning dogs’ salaries and maintenance, 2 dogs make 1 man, 4 dogs make 2 men, and so on. “Every year for every man,” 100 sous were to be paid from the revenues of Alcalá and Gallinera castles; thus the total for 21 men would be 2,100 sous. The 8 dogs for the two castles collected annually 400 sous, at the formula of 100 sous per man and 50 sous per dog. The woman handler is not explicitly mentioned. The penultimate charter centers on the same two castles.7 Pere Roiç (Pedro Rodriguez) de Corella had lent 15,453 Valencian sous to the king’s son, Pere Ferran (Pedro Fernández). In return Pere Roiç has received from the king tenure of Alcalá de la Jovada castle and Valle de Gallinera castle in July 1271, to keep “all their revenues, profits, income, and fees” until the loan was fully repaid. The resident castellan who would actually administer both places and collect those revenues for Pere Roiç and the king is Pere de Roda [Rueda]. Roda is also to receive 100 sous per man-at-arms assigned, to a total of 1,200 sous each year. The arrangement includes an annual allotment of dogs. “We grant besides to you Pere Roiç and to the said Pere de Roda in your place that you are to keep as garrison for the castle of Alcalá 4 men and 2 dogs (which equal 1 man), and as garrison for the castle of Gallinera 8 men and 4 dogs (which equal 2 men).” In the interval of four months since the previous charter concerning Alcalá and Gallinera, does the new garrison supplant or supplement the first arrangement?8 The last in our series of dog assignments takes place at Penáguila castle in the mountainous southern interior of the Valencian kingdom near Alcoy in December 1272. The king hands over to the knight Berenguer de Llacera the crown castle of Penáguila at a castellan’s salary of 1,500 Valencian sous every year, to be collected from the revenues of that district. “But it must be noted that you ought to keep in the garrison of the said castle 8 men-at-arms with 1 pack animal, 1 man [as muleteer], and 2 dogs.” The contract arranges for the salaries

7 8

Arch. Crown, Reg. Canc. 21, fol. 5v (29 July 1271), in appendix below, Doc. IV. Arch. Crown, Reg. Canc. 21, fol. 78 (11 December 1272), in appendix below, Doc. V.

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of men and dogs to be taken from the 1,500 sous, with “the remainder” assigned to “castellanship.” Assuming that each of the nine men receives 100 sous apiece each year, and that the 2 dogs get 50 each, the castellanship would have amounted to 500 sous. The woman handler would have been included within the dogs’ stipend. Such dogs were simply incorporated into each routine audit or business. Assuming there was no repetition between the various charters, 19 dogs are involved in the selected set of 500 randomly preserved items. The number usually assigned in a given charter is 2 dogs, with one case of 3 dogs. The cases here vary widely in the kingdom’s geography from north to south. The castles themselves vary in size and importance from mighty Játiva to smallish Penáguila. Combat salaries for individual dogs hover around 50 and 60 sous, though such specifics are not always given. Glancing elsewhere through King Jaume’s registers, again at random but with a wider field, we can find more dogs of war. Heavily fortified Murviedro (today Sagunto) in the late 1260s received 10 men, 4 dogs, and a pack animal. Castalla castle got a large contingent: 25 men, 6 dogs, and 2 pack animals. Játiva received the most: 40 men, 6 dogs at 75 sous each, and a pack animal. Sumacárcel was given 4 men, 1 woman, and 1 dog. Onda listed 6 men and 1 woman in the budget of 1261 but did not specify the usual pack animal or dogs except by implication from the woman’s presence in this military accounting.9 These 6 castles add 19 more dogs to the 19 we encountered above. Dogged research through Jaume’s archives should reveal more. Where did all these trained animals come from? Was there a depot to hold them? How were they transported in those rocky parts? Was there an import arrangement to acquire ferocious dogs, like the English mastiff or the Irish wolfhound? Indeed, what sorts of breeds were then available? Hunting dogs were an essential part of the Arago-Catalan royal court. Jaume’s son and successor, Pere, elevated the specialists in charge of his hunting dogs to be officials of his household under a supervisor, but restricted the dogs themselves to a maximum number of four per hunter plus a bitch for breeding. Unlike the dogs of war, these more domestic units had no woman in attendance.10 In sixteenth-century Valencia, when dogs of war seem to have been more commonly used and more decisive in battle, a singular encounter took place. Henry VIII of England had gifted his ally the Holy Roman Emperor with 400 dogs of war; at the siege of Valencia their combined dogs swept the dogs of

9

Robert I. Burns S.J., Society and Documentation in Crusader Valencia, Diplomatarium of the Crusader Kingdom of Valencia 1 (Princeton, 1985), 216–17. Burns, Transition in Crusader Valencia: Years of Triumph, Years of War, 1264–1270, Diplomatarium 2 (Princeton, 2001), p. 18, with transcriptions. 10 Marta Vanlandingham, Transforming the State: King, Court and Political Culture in the Realms of Aragon (1213–1387) (Leiden, 2002), pp. 184–85, for hunters at court. A later example of war dogs in these parts is noted by M. T. Ferrer Mallol at the Catalan castle of Montgrí (28 February 1298), as 10 men and 2 dogs, citing Arch. Crown, Reg. Canc. 196, fol. 128v.

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Francis I of France from the field of combat. From that century too we have a famed training manual by the Italian Ulysses Aldrovandus, and extensive tactical information from the Spanish conquest in the New World. The best study of dogs in the Spanish conquests, by John and Jeannette Varner, quotes a caution from Johannes Caius in his Of English Dogges in 1576; such huge dogs “might give occasion of feare and terror by his bigge barking.”11 King Jaume’s many war dogs in his Valencian kingdom alone conjure up a spectacle of “bigge barking” from one end of Valencia to the other, a lively sound track or auditory supplement to the Spanish Reconquest.

11

Varner, Dogs of the Conquest, 12 (Caius), 34 (Henry VIII, Aldrovandus).

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Appendix: Transcription From the royal archives of the Catalan-Aragonese state, the Arxiu de la Corona d’Aragó, Conselleria, Jaume I. The MF number is the MartínezFerrando published catalog number. The Madrid Normas for historical editing are followed, with appropriate paragraphing, punctuation, and capitalization, and extension of abbreviations. Proper names are translated into Catalan forms with Castilian alternative; geographical names are in their modern Castilian form. For editorial sigla see Burns, Diplomatarium, I, xi.

I Valencia Reg. 16, fol. 212

19 September 1270 MF: 1012

Nos Iacobus dei gracia promittimus vobis, Pericono de Montechateno senescalco nostro, quod dabimus vobis dum castrum Xative pro nobis tenueritis ad triginta homines custodes dicti castri, pro unoquoque videlicet homine CXX solidos regalium Valencie, et pro alcaido ipsius castri M solidos, et pro duobus canibus C solidos, et pro una azemila C solidos, in unoquoque anno. Et sic est summa quod debemus vobis dare, quolibet anno dum dictum castrum pro nobis tenueritis, quattor mille octingentos solidos regalium. Mandantes baiulo Xative quod donet et solvat vobis quolibet anno, de reditibus et exitibus nostris Xative, quattuor mille octingentos supra dictos. Datum Valencie, XIII kalendas Octobris, anno domini MCC septuagesimo.

II Valencia Reg. 16, fol. 235v

16 March (1270) 1271 MF: 1064

Volumus et concedimus tibi, Petro de Segura alcaido de Biar, quod in custodia seu retinencia dicti castri, dum cum [sic] ipsum tenueris, habeas et teneas duodecim homines et unam feminam et unum açemilarium et unam azemilam et tres canes. Pro quibus promittimus tibi dare pro unoquoque homine et femina et açemilario predictis centum et viginti solidos, et pro tribus canibus centum et octuaginta solidos regalium in unoquoque anno, dum castrum tenueris supra dicto, et duos almutos cibarie ad opus dict e açemile in unoquoque die. Volumus eciam et concedimus tibi quod tu habeas et recipias singulis diebus, dum dictum castrum tenueris, porcionem ad duas bestias; et quod predicta

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omnia recipias et tibi retinere possis singulis annis de reditibus castri predicti. Et nos promittimus ipsos recipere tibi in computum eorundem. Datum Valencie, XVII kalendas Aprilis, anno domini MCC septuagesimo.

III Valencia Reg. 14, fol. 116v

1 April 1271 MF: 1082

Recognoscimus et confitemur vobis, Petro Ferrandi dilecto filio nostro, vos venisse nobiscum modo in Valencia ad summam et compotum legitimum, super omnibus et singulis debitis que vobis debe[ba]mus usque in hunc presentem diem cum cartis et si[ne] cartis, tam racione retinencie castrorum de Alcalano et da Gallinera quam qualibet alia racine; et super renditibus et exiti[bus] ac aliis iuribus nostris omnibus castrorum predictorum de Alcalano et de Gallinera, que a nobis in [pig]nore tenebatis per nos vel per [al]iu[m] loco nostri, inde habitis et receptis usque in hunc diem; et de decem milibus solidorum regalium Valencie quos nobis dare et solve[re] tenebamini racione revocacionis concambii quod feceratis nobiscum de cast ro de Bunyol. De quo computo vestri bene paccati su[mus] nostre voluntati, facientes inde vobis et vestris bonum finem et pactum semper de non petendo; ita scilicet quod super predictis vel eorum aliquo vos vel vestri non teneamini nobiscum vel cum nostris de cetero computare nec ullam nobis vel nostris reddere racionem. Immo sitis vos et vestri quicii et penitus perpetuo apsoluti sicut melius dici, scribi vel intelligi potest ad vestrum et vestrorum bonum et sincerum intellectum. Et sic est sciendum quod, coequatis debitis cum recepcionibus et decem milibus solidorum ante dictis remanet quod debemus vobis inter omnia viginti mille quingentos triginta et duos solidos regalium Valencie. Pro quibus obligamus et inpignoramus vobis et vestris predicta castra nostra de Alcalano et de Gallinera, que sunt in regno Valencie, cum omnibus reditibus, exitibus, proventibus, ac aliis iuribus nostris predictorum castrorum et terminorum ac pertinenciarum eorundem; ita scilicet quod vos et vestri seu quos volueritis habeatis, teneatis, et possideatis dicta castra iure vestri pignoris, et recipiatis reditus, exitus, et proventus ac iura nostra omnia dictorum castrorum in solucionem dicti debiti tot annis scilicet et tam diu donec sit vobis inde satisfactum in toto debito supra dicto et in missionibus omnibus et expensis quas in custodia in retinencia ipsorum castrorum facietis. Promittentes vobis in bona fide quod predicta castra nostra de Alcalano et de Gallinera vobis vel vestris non auferemus, nec de predictis que vobis obligamus aliquid tangemus seu percipiemus, nec tangi vel percipi faciemus aut permittemus. Immo faciemus vos et vestros seu quos volueritis habere, tenere, et possidere in pace et sine aliquo inpedimento dicta castra, cum omnibus supra dictis que vobis obligamus, donec sitis paccatus de toto vestro debito ante dicto.

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Robert I. Burns, S.J.

Et est sciendum quod hoc computum factum est inter nos et vos de reditibus et exitibus ac aliis iuribus nostris dictorum castrorum, et de retinencia ipsorum, et de omnibus que dimisimus, dedimus, vel accepimus ibidem aliqua racione in quindecim mensibus transactis et usque in hunc diem, et de sexcentis solidis quos episcopus Valencie habuit de reditibus predictis racione decimi sui. Est eciam sciendum quod in custodia seu retinencia castri de Alcalano deberis tenere sex homines, et duos canes qui faciunt unum hominem; et in retienencia castri de Gallinera quindecim homines, et sex canes qui faciunt tres homines. Et debetis recipere, in unoquoque anno pro quolibet homine, centum solidos regalium tantum de reditibus et exitibus ante dictis. Datum Valencie, kalendas Aprilis, anno domini MCCLXX primo.

IV Valencia Reg. 21, fol. 5v

29 July 1271 MF: 1188.

Noverint universi quod nos Iacobus dei gracia rex Aragonum etc. recocnoscimus et confitemur debere vobis, Petro Roderici de Corella, et vestris XV mille quadringentos quinquaginta et III solidos regalium Valencie, quos nunc nobis mutuastis ad quitanda castra de Alacalano [et] de Gallinera, que Petrus Ferrandi filius noster pro ipsis a nobis obligata tenebat, et ipsos denarios de mandato nostro dedistis et solvistis eidem Petro Ferrandi. Pro quibus quidem XV mille quadringentis quinquaginta III solidis regalium obligamus et impicnoramus vobis et vestris castra predicta de Alcalano et de Galinera, cum omnibus reditibus, exitibus, proventibus, et iuribus eorundem. Ita videlicet quod Petrus de Roda loco nostri teneat castra predicta; et omnes reditus, exitus, et proventus eiusdem [=eorundem] percipiat et colligat libere et in pace; tam diu et tanto tempore donec in ipsis reditibus, exitibus, proventibus, et aliis iuribus ipsorum castrorum sitis vos dictis Petrus Roderici et vestri plenarie persoluti de omnibus denariis ante dictis. Promittentes vobis et vestris quod dicta castra [v]el aliquod vobis vel dicto Petro de Roda non auferemus; nec reditus, exitus, et proventus eiusdem emparabimus [nec] nos accipiemus; nec auferri, emparari, vel accipi ab aliquo vel aliquibus faciemus aut permittemus; immo faciemus dictum Petrum de Roda loco vestri ipsa castra tenere, et reditus et exitus et iura eorundem percipere et colligere libere et in pace, donec in eisdem ut dictum est sit vobis et vestris de omnibus dictis denariis satisfactum. Volentes et concedentes quod dictus Petrus de Roda non teneatur ipsa castra vel aliquid ex ipsis nobis reddere, nec de reditibus, exitibus, et iuribus eorundem aliquid dare, nec alicui pro nobis vel mandato nostro, donec in eisdem de dictis denariis fueritis vos persoluti; nec nos vel nostri possimus inde dicere malum sibi, racione alicuius fori Ispanie vel aliqua alia racione. Concedimus insuper vobis, et dicto Petro de Roda loco vestri, quod teneatis

Dogs of War

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in custodia castri de Alcalano IIII homines, et II canes qui faciunt unum [h]ominem; et in custodia castri de Gallinera , et IIII canes qui faciunt III homines. Pro quorum quolibet ipsorum hominum promittimus vobis dare, et in anno. Datum Valencie, IIII kalendas Augusti, anno domini MCCLXX primo.

V Béziers Reg. 21, fol. 78

11 December 1272 MF: 1366

, Berengario de Lacera militi, castrum nostrum de Penaguila quod pro nobis modo emparare debetis. Damus et et alcaidia vestra dicti castri mille et quingentos solidos regalium Valencie singulis annis, dum tenue. mille et quingentos solidos assignamus vobis habendos et recipiendos singulis annis in reditibus castri predicti, dum . sciendum quod vos debetis tenere in retinencia dicti castri octo homines et unam azemilam cum uno homine, , et residuum dictorum mille et quingentorum solidorum damus vobis pro alcaidia vestra. Datum Biterris, tercio idus Decembris, anno domini MCCLXX secundo.