Journal of Medieval Military History. Volume XII [12] 1843839369, 9781843839361

Table of contents :
List of Illustrations and Map vi
1. Some Observations Regarding Barbarian Military Demography: Geiseric’s Census of 429 and Its Implications / Bernard S. Bachrach 1
2. War Words and Battle Spears: The 'kesja' and 'kesjulag' in Old Norse Literature / K. James McMullen 39
3. The Political and Military Agency of Ecclesiastical Leaders in Anglo-Norman England: 1066–1154 / Craig M. Nakashian 51
4. Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East: The Georgian Experience / Mamuka Tsurtsumia 81
5. The Battle of Arsur: A Short-Lived Victory / Michael Ehrlich 109
6. Prelude to Kephissos (1311): An Analysis of the Battle of Apros (1305) / Nikolaos S. Kanellopoulos and Ioanna K. Lekea 119
7. Horse Restoration (Restaurum Equorum) in the Army of Henry of Grosmont, 1345: A Benefit of Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War / Nicholas A. Gribit 139
8. The Indenture between Edward III and the Black Prince for the Prince’s Expedition to Gascony, 10 July 1355 / Mollie M. Madden 165
9. Investigating the Socio-Economic Origins of English Archers in the Second Half of the Fourteenth Century / Gary Baker 173
10. War and the Great Schism: Military Factors Determining Allegiances in Iberia / L. J. Andrew Villalon 217
List of Contributors 239

Citation preview

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The Journal’s hallmark is broad chronological, geographic and thematic coverage of the subject, bearing witness to ‘the range and richness of scholarship on medieval warfare, military institutions, and cultures of conflict that characterises the field’.  HISTORY CONTENTS BERNARD S. BACHRACH K. JAMES MCMULLEN CRAIG M. NAKASHIAN MAMUKA TSURTSUMIA MICHAEL EHRLICH NIKOLAOS S. KANELLOPOULOS AND IOANNA K. LEKEA

Some Observations Regarding Barbarian Military Demography: Geiseric’s Census of 429 and Its Implications War Words and Battle Spears: The kesja and kesjulag in Old Norse Literature The Political and Military Agency of Ecclesiastical Leaders in Anglo-Norman England: 1066–1154 Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East: The Georgian Experience The Battle of Arsur: A Short-Lived Victory Prelude to Kephissos (1311): An Analysis of the Battle of Apros (1305)

NICHOLAS A. GRIBIT

Horse Restoration (Restaurum Equorum) in the Army of Henry of Grosmont, 1345: A Benefit of Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War

MOLLIE M. MADDEN

The Indenture between Edward III and the Black Prince for the Prince’s Expedition to Gascony, 10 July 1355 Investigating the Socio-Economic Origins of English Archers in the Second Half of the Fourteenth Century

L. J. ANDREW VILLALON

War and the Great Schism: Military Factors Determining Allegiances in Iberia

Cover: Coll. Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry, MS13, fo. 105r (circa 1170-1190). The Italian artist who illuminated this copy of Gratian’s Decretum beautifully captured the deadly seriousness of medieval warfare -for townsmen as well as knights. Image used by generous permission of the Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry. An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge IP12 3DF (GB) and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester NY 14620-2731 (US) www.boydellandbrewer.com

ROGERS, DEVRIES, FRANCE (editors)

GARY BAKER

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY VIII JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

XII

J ournal of

MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

·  X II · Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS, KELLY DEVRIES and JOHN FRANCE

JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume XII

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

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

The Journal, an annual publication of De re militari: The Society for Medieval Military History, covers medieval warfare in the broadest possible terms, both chronologically and thematically. It aims to encompass topics ranging from traditional studies of the strategic and tactical conduct of war, to explorations of the martial aspects of chivalric culture and mentalité, examinations of the development of military technology, and prosopographical treatments of the composition of medieval armies. Editions of previously unpublished documents of significance to the field are included. The Journal also seeks to foster debate on key disputed aspects of medieval military history. The editors welcome submissions to the Journal, which should be formatted in accordance with the style-sheet provided on De re militari’s website (www.deremilitari.org), and sent electronically to the editor specified there.

JOURNAL OF

Medieval Military History Volume XII Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS KELLY DeVRIES John France

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2014 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 2014 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge ISBN 978–1–84383–936–1 The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate This publication is printed on acid-free paper

Contents

List of Illustrations and Map

vi

1 1. Some Observations Regarding Barbarian Military Demography: Geiseric’s Census of 429 and Its Implications Bernard S. Bachrach 2. War Words and Battle Spears: The kesja and kesjulag in Old Norse 39 Literature K. James McMullen 3. The Political and Military Agency of Ecclesiastical Leaders in 51 Anglo-Norman England: 1066–1154 Craig M. Nakashian 81 4. Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East: The Georgian Experience Mamuka Tsurtsumia 5. The Battle of Arsur: A Short-Lived Victory 109 Michael Ehrlich 6. Prelude to Kephissos (1311): An Analysis of the Battle of 119 Apros (1305) Nikolaos S. Kanellopoulos and Ioanna K. Lekea 7. Horse Restoration (Restaurum Equorum) in the Army of Henry of 139 Grosmont, 1345: A Benefit of Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War Nicholas A. Gribit 165 8. The Indenture between Edward III and the Black Prince for the Prince’s Expedition to Gascony, 10 July 1355 Mollie M. Madden 9. Investigating the Socio-Economic Origins of English Archers in the 173 Second Half of the Fourteenth Century Gary Baker 10. War and the Great Schism: Military Factors Determining Allegiances 217 in Iberia L.J. Andrew Villalon List of Contributors

239

Illustrations and Map

War Words and Battle Spears: The kesja and kesjulag in Old Norse Literature 44 Figure 1. Falk’s proposed kesja, from p. 80 of his work, fig. 17. Figure 2. Falk’s proposed brynþvari , from p. 82 of his work, fig. 18. 44 Figure 3. Potential kesjur in Rygh’s Norske oldsager, ordnede og 46 forklaerde, including the reference numbers from his catalogue. Ref. Nr. 521, 530, 532a. 48 Figure 4. Petersen types I and K spears, and likely kesjur. From Petersen, pp. 31–33. Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East: The Georgian Experience 86 Figure 1. St Eustathios with the couched lance. East facade of Martvili church. Author’s photo. Figure 2. In the foreground a horseman slaying his enemy with couched 92 lance, Psalter H1665, fol. 222r, Courtesy of the Georgian National Centre of Manuscripts. 94 Figure 3. St George slaying the dragon with couched lance. The fifteenth-century icon of Zhibiani, photo by D. Ermakov. Figure 4. Group of cavalrymen on the left in an attack with couched 98 lances. The manuscripts of “The Knight in the Panther’s Skin,” copied by Tavakarashvili, manuscript H599, fol. 138, Courtesy of the Georgian National Centre of Manuscripts. Figure 5. Crowned horseman with long stirrup and a high saddle. Coin 100 of David Narin, obverse, 1247. Courtesy of the Georgian National Museum. Figure 6. Saddle with double girth. Lashtkhveri church of the 101 Archangel, S. Sarjveladze’s photo. Figure 7. Three-line battle formation of the Georgian army: 103 1. Advance guard, 2. left flank, 3. right flank, 4. reserve. (Author’s own drawing) The Battle of Arsur: A Short Time Victory Map of the Kurkar Ridges, sand dunes, and the drainage system along the Sharon Valley (based on Tsoar 2000, Fig. 1 used with the kind permission of H. Tsoar, and Israeli Journal of Earth Sciences).

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1 Some Observations Regarding Barbarian Military Demography: Geiseric’s Census of 429 and Its Implications Bernard S. Bachrach

Introduction1 A dearth of sound quantitative information generally is recognized to be a serious problem faced by scholars who try to understand the history of the Late Antique West.2 In this context, demography surely is among those areas of study in which the substantial lack of statistically significant data is felt most keenly.3 As a result, estimates regarding population sizes in the Late Antique era remain highly controversial.4 The same may be said for the size of urban populations and for the urban districts (civitates) or rural administrative districts (pagi) of which, in each case, the fortified city (urbs) was the capital or administrative center.5 In light of the dearth of reliable statistical data, it is even rare to find a

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I would like to thank Clifford J. Rogers for his editorial contributions to this study. See for example, A.H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602: A Social, Economic and Administrative Survey, 2 vols. (Norman, OK, 1964), 1:62, 194–96, 1040–45; idem, The Roman Economy: Studies in Ancient Economic and Administrative History, ed. P.A. Brunt (Oxford, 1974), pp. 228–56; and J.B. Bury, The Later Roman Empire from the Death of Theodosius I to the Death of Justinian, 395–565, 2 vols. (London, 1931), 1:53. For very useful treatments of this question, see Walter Scheidel, “Progress and Problems in Roman Demography,” in Debating Roman Demography, ed. Walter Scheidel (Leiden, 2001), 1–81; and T.G. Parkin, Demography and Roman Society (Baltimore, 1992). Cf. Peter Heather, Empires and Barbarians (London, 2009), pp. 31–32, who wants to find a way to “avoid numerical quibbling” (p. 31). However, his placing of the problem does not avoid the need that at some point, in order to understand what he means by the impact of migration, some sort of ball park figures, if only for heuristic purposes, are required if only to identify the nature of the relations between the migrating population and the stationary population into whose territory they migrate. For discussion, in some detail, of several methodological problems that arise in Heather’s work, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “The Barbarian Hordes That Never Were,” The Journal of Military History 17 (2010), 901–4. With regard to Gaul, see, for example, the discussion by J.F. Drinkwater, Roman Gaul: The Three Provinces, 58 BC–AD 260 (Ithaca, NY, 1983), pp. 169–70, 221–22, with the literature cited there. For example, see, J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford, 2001), pp. 82–88.

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consensus in regard to whether a particular population was growing or declining over time, or, for that matter, whether it saw no significant change.6 Perhaps the most controversial area of Late Antique demographic research or, at least, the most frequently debated focuses on the size of so-called “barbarian” groups, which in the past were often referred to as “tribes.”7 This is especially the case for those who moved from beyond the frontiers of the empire and settled within its borders.8 For example, there seems to be no general consensus as to the order of magnitude of the population of barbarians, as a whole, during the period from ca. 300 to ca. 500.9 In a narrower context, as will be seen below, there are debates regarding the numbers of particular groups or “coalitions” such

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Scheidel, “Progress and Problems in Roman Demography,” pp. 1–81; Drinkwater, Roman Gaul, pp. 169–70, 221–22; and E. Lo Casio, “The Size of the Roman Population. Beloch and the Roman Census Figures,” Journal of Roman Studies 84 (1994), 23–40 are useful. With regard to some methodological problems, see Bernard S. Bachrach, “Plague, Population and Economy in Merovingian Gaul,” Journal of the Australian Early Medieval Association 3 (2007), 29–56, with the literature cited there; and idem, “Continuity in Late Antique Gaul: A Demographic and Economic Perspective,” in Comparative Perspectives on History and Historians: Essays in Memory of Bryce D. Lyon (1920–2007), ed. David M. Nicholas, Bernard S. Bachrach, and James Murray (Kalamazoo, 2012), 27–50. An immense quantity of scholarly literature has been generated during the past three decades regarding the nature of “ethnicity” and ethnic identity in regard to those so-called barbarians who entered the Roman empire during the Late Antique era. For a very useful collection of essays dealing with this subject, see On Barbarian Identity: Critical Approaches to Ethnicity in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Andrew Gillett (Turnhout, 2002); Walter Goffart, Barbarian Tides: The Migration Age and the Later Roman Empire (Philadelphia, 2006); and Bernard S. Bachrach, “Medieval Identity: People and Place,” The International History Review 25 (2003), 866–70. With regard to many epistemological problems inherent in the study of what has come to be called “identity,” see Rogers Brubaker and Frederick Cooper, “Beyond ‘Identity’,” Theory and Society 29 (2000), 1–47.   Note that in the present study I have avoided discussion of ethnic “identity” and have merely used the names of the “groups” provided in the sources. I have done this for the sake of convenience. I could have, perhaps with less stylistic grace, given each group mentioned in the various texts a number and thus have discouraged those interested in matters of ethnic identity from becoming engaged in what has become almost a ritual polemic. To put it simply, I am interested in a “head count.” The Zusammengehörigkeitsbewussein or Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl often supposed to be found in the heads either of the people being counted or the Late Antique authors, who discuss them, is not of relevance here. See for example, Jones, Later Roman Empire, 1:194–99; Bury, The Later Roman Empire, 1:104–6; Hans Delbrück, Geschichte der Kriegskunst im Rahmen der politischen Geschichte, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1903); these volumes are now available in English translation by W.J. Renfroe as History of the Art of War: Within the Framework of Political History, 4 vols. (Westport, CT, 1975–1982), 2:301–16; and Edward James, Europe’s Barbarians: AD 200–600 (Harlow, 2009), pp. 184–86. See in general, Bury, The Later Roman Empire, 1:104–5; James, Europe’s Barbarians, pp. 184–86. Delbrück, History of the Art of War, 2:20–36, calculated that the population density of “Free Germany” was between four and five persons per square kilometer. Patrick Geary, Before France and Germany: The Creation and Transformation of the Merovingian World (New York and Oxford, 1988), p. 115, accepts earlier estimates that in Gaul ca. 500 there were between six and seven million Gallo-Romans and approximately 150,000 and 200,000 Franks.



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as the Visigoths and their allies who won the battle of Adrianople in 378, or the Alans, Vandals, and Sueves who invaded Gaul in 406. Scholarly estimates regarding the size of barbarian groups, whether individually, e.g. those called Burgundians or those called Alamanni in various sources, or in alliances, e.g. the coalition of 406, bring to the fore yet an even more controversial issue. How large were the barbarian armed forces which crossed into the empire and on occasion faced imperial military forces in particular contexts? Of course, without some realistic appreciation of the numbers of effectives at issue, much less their fighting strengths and weaknesses in the context of the barbarian invasions, it is difficult if not impossible to understand not only an important but an essential aspect of the military history of the late Roman empire. Yet on this crucial question there is no scholarly consensus; recent estimates for the number of “barbarians” who crossed the Rhine in 406, for example, range from hundreds of thousands to just a few thousand. In part, an aspect of this situation is addressed in this study. Historiographical Tradition It is widely accepted by modern scholars that during the period often characterized as the Völkerwanderung, a barbarian group on the move and composed of families could rely upon approximately 20 percent of its total population to be able to participate in armed conflict.10 Some scholars suggest, however, that this percentage is too low and that this figure should be estimated at 25 percent.11 This range of figures, i.e. between 20 and 25 percent, is consistent with the models developed by modern demographers, who have made clear that approximately 30 percent of any substantial population that does not benefit from modern public health facilities will consist of males between the ages of approximately fifteen to fifty-five.12 Whatever models that may be employed, however, there are widely recognized limitations concerning the availability of “hard data” in regard to the demography of the Late Antique era, i.e. the general way in which many special10

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These demographic calculations regarding population distribution within a group, which match Caesar’s observations from 2,000 years ago, have been affirmed by modern demographic research. See Ludwig Schmidt, Geschichte der deutschen Stämme bis zum Ausgang der Völkerwanderung: Die Ostgermanen (Munich, 1933), pp. 286, 293. Peter Heather, “Why Did the Barbarian Cross the Rhine?” Journal of Late Antiquity 2 (2009), 3–29, at p. 5, observes that estimates in this range have been widely accepted. Jones, Later Roman Empire, p. 195, is followed by Hugh Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, AD 350–424 (Oxford, 1996), p. 73; and Peter Heather, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History of Rome and the Barbarians (Oxford, 2006), p. 182. See for example, Ansley Coale and Paul Demeny, Regional Model Life Tables and Stable Populations (Princeton, NJ, 1966), which is a good place to start, and Massimo Livi-Bacci, The Population of Europe: A History, trans. Cynthia De Nardi Ipsen and Carl Ipsen (Oxford, 1999).

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ists now characterize the period from the later Roman empire through the early Middle Ages.13 Obviously, this situation has made each possibly reliable quantitative datum extremely valuable to scholars. In this context, the report by Victor of Vita (b. ca 430) regarding a census purportedly undertaken in Spain by Geiseric, ruler of a coalition of Vandals and Alans, in the winter and/or early spring of 429, was for a very long time considered by scholars a bright light in an otherwise dim twilight zone. The total number of approximately 80,000 men, women, and children supposedly counted in this survey seemed to be one of the few bits of statistical data that not only was considered to be reliable, but largely was not controversial.14 Background to the Census of 429 The forerunner of Geiseric’s coalition in 429 was a coalition or alliance of Alans, Vandals, and Sueves that crossed the Rhine 406.15 There is substantial agreement that on 31 December 406, i.e. Silvesternacht, this coalition began an invasion of Gaul by crossing the then frozen Rhine.16 It is widely agreed, 13 14

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See the useful review of this development by Edward James, “The Rise and Function of the Concept ‘Late Antiquity’,” Journal of Late Antiquity 1 (2008), 20–30. Bury, The Later Roman Empire, 1:105, clarified the confusion evident in Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, ed. J. B. Bury, 7 vols., 4th ed. (London, 1906), 3:402. Regarding the overall acceptance of this figure, see Christian Courtois, Les Vandales et l’Afrique (Paris, 1955), pp. 215–17. Jones, Later Roman Empire, 1:195, makes a strong case for the accuracy of this figure; and see also R. Folz, A. Guillou, L. Musset, and D. Sourdel, De l’antiquité au monde médiéval (Paris, 1972), p. 58. More recently, see Walter Pohl, “The Vandals: Fragments of a Narrative,” in Vandals, Romans and Berbers: New Perspectives on Late Antique North Africa, ed. A. H. Merrills (Aldershot, 2004), pp. 31–47, at 38–39; Stephen Mitchell, A History of the Later Roman Empire: AD 284–641. The Transformation of the Ancient World (Oxford, 2007), p. 195, who follows Herwig Wolfram, The Roman Empire and Its Germanic Peoples, trans. T. Dunlap (Berkeley, CA, and London, 1997), p. 163; Guido M. Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung. Studien zu Migration und Ethnogenese der Vandalen (Husum, 2007), pp. 85–90, 120–23; Helmut Castritius, “Wandalen # 1,” Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 26 (2006), 126–209 and idem, Die Vandalen: Etappen einer Spurensuche (Stuttgart, 2007), pp. 78–79, which is an expanded version of the former and will be cited here throughout. Walter Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, A.D. 418–584: The Techniques of Accommodation (Princeton, NJ, 1980), p. 231, n. 2, provides a list of additional scholars who have found the 80,000 figure to be reliable. The reliability of this datum has been called into question by some scholars, and this crucial matter is treated in Appendix I. By using the term “coalition” in this context, I am reifying my inference that there was some sort of working arrangement among the leaders of the various groups in terms of mutual co-operation and support. This is evidenced, as will be seen below, by the efforts early in 407 of a group of Alans to come to the aid of a group of Vandals. Andy Merrills and Richard Miles, The Vandals (Oxford, 2010), p. 37, prefer to use the term “allies.” By contrast, Walter Pohl, “The Vandals,” p. 36, seems to prefer “loose confederation.” The ingenious effort to redate this “invasion” to New Years Eve 405 by Michael Kulikowski, “Barbarians in Gaul, Usurpers in Britain,” Britannia 31 (2000), 325–45, ultimately has been found unconvincing by most scholars. See on this point A. R. Birley, The Roman Government of Britain (Oxford, 2005), pp. 455–60. NB. Michael Kulikowski, Rome’s Gothic Wars (Cambridge,



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as well, that this invasion in terms of military operations by barbarian armed forces within the borders of the hexagon ceased late in the summer of 409 when what would appear to have been the majority of the coalition migrated across the Pyrenees into Spain.17 For a wide variety of reasons, some of which will be discussed below, most scholars see the Alans and their allies or coalition partners constituting a very large migrating group composed of families.18 Language such as a barbarian “horde” is frequently used by scholars, and, in this context, they recognize that the Alans and their allies were capable of mobilizing a “huge army.”19 As modern scholars agree, our ability to estimate the size of such a

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2007), p. 217, n. 37, seems to back away from his earlier argument. This is noted by Heather, “Why Did the Barbarian Cross the Rhine?” p. 3 n. 1, and reiterated in idem, Empires and Barbarians (London, 2009), p. 660, n. 31, which accepts Birley’s critique. Walter Goffart, Barbarian Tides: The Migration Age and the Later Roman Empire (Philadelphia, 2006), p. 74, prefers Kulikowski’s earlier date. See E. A. Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” Nottingham Medieval Studies, 20 (1976), 3–28; and reprinted in idem, Romans & Barbarians: The Decline of the Western Empire (Madison, WI, 1982), pp. 137–60, at pp. 158–59, for a gathering of the evidence. For the consensus that the coalition was composed of families, see Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, pp. 85–90; Heather, “Why Did the Barbarian Cross the Rhine?”, p. 5, who reports the “traditional view” as affirming that the 406 coalition was comprised of “large groups of men, women, and children all mixed together.” Idem, The Fall of the Roman Empire, p. 107, also makes clear in regard to barbarian demography that “An important starting-point is the fact that both the attack of Radagaisus [405] and the Rhine invasion [406] involved mixed population groups: women, children and other noncombatants, as well as fighting men.”   A minority view regarding the structure of the coalition of 406 is espoused by J. F. Drinkwater, “The Usurpers Constantine III (407–411) and Jovinus (411–413),” Britannia 29 (1998), 269–98, who argues at pp. 272–73 that the coalition of 406 was composed of “young warriors appearing suddenly and traveling quickly.” He reiterated this position, idem, The Alamanni and Rome 213–496 (Oxford, 2007), p. 324, n. 23. This view is also to be found in J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “Gens into Regnum: The Vandals,” in Regna and Gentes: The Relationship between Late Antique and Early Medieval Peoples and Kingdoms in the Transformation of the Roman World, ed. H.-W. Goetz, J. Jarnut, and W. Pohl (Leiden, 2003), 55–83, particularly at pp. 63–65, who characterizes the coalition of 406 as a “huge band of barbarians,” meaning (in context) a force of soldiers, and not of fightingmen with their families. This view is echoed by A.K. Goldsworthy, How Rome Fell: Death of a Super Power (New Haven, CT, 2009), pp. 296–97, 310. Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 26, while also rejecting the view that families were involved, claim that the armed forces of the coalition of 406 “were a small and unprepossessing military group.” See for example, J.B. Bury, The Invasions of Europe by the Barbarians, ed. F.J.C. Hernshaw (London, 1928), p. 81, who refers to “a vast mixed horde of barbarians” and Ferdinand Lot, Les invasions germaniques (Paris, 1928), p. 71, for reference to “ces hordes.” For recent acceptance of the long-standing large-group approach, see R.C. Blockley, “The Dynasty of Theodosius,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 13, The Late Empire, A.D. 337–425. ed. Averil Cameron and Peter Garnsey (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 111–37, who observes (p. 122) “[I]t is said, hordes of barbarians crossed the … Rhine” in 406; Guy Halsall, Barbarian Migrations and the Roman West, 376–568 (Cambridge, 2007), p. 211, who argues for a “huge body” of barbarians; and idem, “The Barbarian Invasions,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. 1, ed. Paul Fouracre (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 35–55, at p. 49, for their “huge army.” Herwig Wolfram, History of the Goths, trans. Thomas J. Dunlap (Berkeley, CA, 1988), p. 153, speaks of “hordes of Alans, Vandals, and Suevi.” Cf. Heather, Empires and Barbarians, p. 173, who eschews the

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huge army with reasonable confidence ultimately depends upon the order of magnitude of the group or coalition of which it was a part at somewhere in the neighborhood of between 20 and 25 percent of the whole. The “Gothic” Analogue When attempting to assess the size of the coalition that entered the empire in 406, scholars are left with no “hard” numbers for the group as a whole. Recent scholarly work has presented figures ranging from thousands to tens of thousands, to hundreds of thousands. There is good reason to believe, however, that the fightingmen of the coalition in 406 likely numbered in a range of something less that 50,000.20 Such a figure for the number of fightingmen would permit the suggestion that the coalition as a whole in 406 may have been in the 200,000person range. Is such a gross figure for a combination of migrating peoples reasonable? This question is answered for us, at least in part, by the Greek historian Eunapius, who provides a contemporary and – despite T S. Burns’s assertion that it is “absurdly high” – likely reasonably accurate estimate for the size of the coalition of Visigoths and their allies as of 378, when its fighting forces met and defeated a very large Roman army at Adrianople.21 Eunapius estimates a total





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“horde” language and is satisfied to characterize the gathering of barbarians in 406 as a “large and disparate grouping.” Bryan Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Roman and the End of Civilization (Oxford, 2005), p. 50, prefers to use the locution “substantial numbers.”  James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 55, estimates the size of the 406 coalition to have been larger than the army that was led into Italy by Radagaisus the previous year. Wolfram, History of the Goths, p. 249, considers Radagaisus’ group a “horde” (p. 154). A substantial part of this force was slaughtered by Stilicho at Fiesole, but Wolfram notes that there were a substantial number of survivors and indicates that high quality fightingmen, i.e. in excess of 12,000 effectives, were recruited into the Roman army. For a detailed examination of matter that supports Wolfram, see Ralf Scharf, Der Dux Mogontiacensis und die Notitia Dignitatum: eine Studie zur spätantiken Grenzverteidigung (Berlin, 2005), pp. 119–20.   However, some scholars take the figure for those survivors of Radagaisus’ force, who were recruited into the Roman army, as the total size of the invading army. See, for example, Thomas S. Burns, Barbarians within the Gates of Rome: A Study of Roman Military Policy and the Barbarians, ca. 375–425 A.D. (Bloomington, 1994), p. 198, who puts Radagaisus’ entire military force in the neighborhood of 12,000 effectives; and Peter Heather, Goths and Romans, 332–489 (Oxford, 1991), p. 14, who observes regarding Radagaisus’ force that it was “certainly … over 10,000 warriors.” Idem, Fall of the Roman Empire, p. 201, aggregates the number of people involved in Radagaisus group of invaders in 405, the 406 coalition, Uldin’s Huns, and the Burgundians, and then concludes that “the years 405–410 saw a huge population displacement out of Germania west of the Carpathians.” See Appendix III. For mere “thousands” see Burns Barbarians within the Gates, p. 223; for “up to a few tens of thousands of people,” see Pohl, “The Vandals,” p. 36; for about 100,000, see Heather, Fall of the Roman Empire, p. 30. Eunapius, fr. 42 (The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire, ed. and trans. R. C. Blockley, 2 vols. (Liverpool, 1981, 1983), wrote his History after the battle of Adrianople in 378 and undoubtedly included the maximum number people as he understood the situation to have been on the eve of the battle. Concerning the value, in general, of Eunapius’



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of some 200,000 men, women, and children for the Gothic coalition in 378, i.e. after the original group that had crossed the Danube in 376 had been somewhat augmented.22 It was the fighting forces of the latter group, including not only Goths but also Alans, Huns, and Taifals among others, which likely provided some 30,000 to 40,000 effectives for the barbarian victory at Adrianople in 378.23 It is also



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History as a source, see J.H.G.W. Liebeschuetz, “Pagan Historiography and the Decline of the Empire,” in Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity: Fourth to Sixth Century A.D., ed. G. Marasco (Leiden, 2003), pp. 177–201, and reprinted with the same pagination in idem, Decline and Change in Late Antiquity: Religion, Barbarians and their Historiography (Aldershot, 2006). T.S. Burns, “The Battle of Adrianople: A Reconsideration,” Historia, 22 (1973), 36–45, at p. 37, originally accepted these figures. In 1994, however, he reversed his position (Barbarians within the Gates, p. 23) and pronounced Eunapius’ estimate to be “absurdly high.” Unfortunately, Burns does not provide the reasoning for his new position nor does he refute the arguments made to the contrary.   For the importance of giving serious attention to large numbers found in Late Antique sources and not simply dismissing them out of hand as being “too big,” which is all too common, see Noel Lenski, Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D. (Berkeley, CA, 2002), p. 355, esp. notes 187 and 189. For a treatment of this problem of ignoring large numbers or dismissing them out of hand in regard to the early Middle Ages, see Karl Ferdinand Werner, “Heeresorganization und Kriegsführung im deutschen Königreich des 10. und 11. Jahrhunderts,” Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo 15 (Spoleto, 1968), 791–843; and Bernard S. Bachrach, “Charlemagne’s Expeditionary Forces: An Essay in Military Demography,” in La conducción de la guerra en la Edad Media: Historiografía (Actas del Symposium Internacional celebrado en Cáceres, Noviembre 2008), ed. Manuel Rojas (Cáseres, 2013), pp. 1–42. At least since the publication by A. Nagl, “Valens 3,” Realencyclopedie der classischen Altertumswissenschaften (Stuttgart, 1948), II:14, col. 2119, Eunapius’ figure has been given serious consideration as an accurate estimate of the total population of the Gothic coalition by the time of the battle of Adrianople in 378. See also Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” p. 159; U. Wanke, Die Gotenkriege des Valens: Studien zu Topographie und Chronologie im unteren Donauraum von 366 bis 378 n. Chr. (Frankfurt am Main, 1990), p. 126; and Lenski, Failure of Empire, pp. 354–55, who provides a useful example of the reasoning fundamental to the acceptance of this large figure along with a catalogue of various groups that joined the coalition between 376 and 378. Jones, Later Roman Empire, pp. 195 and 1107, n. 52, who certainly was not a maximalist in regard to numbers, seems sympathetic to Eunapius’ estimate, which, as noted above, was entered in his History after the barbarian victory at Adrianople. Lenski, Failure of Empire, pp. 54–55, who believes that Eunapius’ 200,000 estimate constitutes a reasonable figure, and would seem to represent the consensus; see above note 18. There are those, however, who view the matter differently: see, for example, Delbrück, History of the Art of War, 1:92, who puts the figure at 18,000; Ludwig Schmidt, Die Ostgermanen (Munich, 1941), p. 403, who argues for more than 30,000 fighting men; and N. Austin, Ammianus on Warfare. An Investigation into Ammianus’ Military Knowledge (Brussels, 1979), p. 78, who follows Schmidt. Burns, who, as noted above, reversed his position from that of a maximalist to a minimalist, argues in his latest work, Barbarians within the Gates, p. 31, for 20,000 effectives; S. William and G. Friell, Theodosius: The Empire at Bay (London, 1994), pp. 178–79, suggest between 20,000 and 30,000 barbarian fightingmen; and Heather, Fall of the Roman Empire, p. 181, and p. 507, n. 2, argues for 15,000 barbarian effectives at Adrianople. He rejects (p. 182) the so-called “maximum conceivable figure,” of 40,000–50,000 fightingmen for the entire coalition of 200,000 men, women, and children because he thinks the figure is

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clear, as many scholars agree, that this Visigothic coalition was unlikely, as a result of communication problems, to have been able to deploy its total force at Adrianople.24 Therefore, it may be suggested that the total number of effectives that were a part of the coalition in 378 perhaps was closer to 50,000, and thus in line with the scholarly consensus on between 20 and 25 percent of a population numbering in the 200,000 range. The general view regarding the size of the barbarian army that actually fought at Adrianople is also consistent with the estimated 30,000–40,000 imperial troops who are widely thought to have been engaged in this battle. This figure for imperial effectives is based upon a detailed analysis of the Notitia Dignitatum, which includes the order of battle of the imperial army, supported by a plethora of inscriptional evidence, and a contemporary report by the very highly regarded later Roman historian, Ammianus Marcellinus.25 According to Ammianus (xxxi. 13.18), two thirds of the Roman field army in the East was wiped out in this battle. As a result, it is widely believed by modern scholars that the Roman army, commanded by the emperor Valens, who also was a casualty, left some 20,000 to 26,000 dead on the field of battle.26 It seems rather unlikely that a barbarian army of very much fewer than 40,000 fightingmen engaged the Roman eastern field army at Adrianople. This conclusion is supported by the fact that the barbarians not only won the battle but that they slaughtered a Roman force that would appear to have been of approximately equal size. To put it another way, it would seem that at least 40,000 barbarian troops, who were less well armed and less well trained than the Romans, would have been required to defeat and, indeed, to slaughter a Roman force of between 30,000 and 40,000 effectives.27

24

25

26 27

“too high,” and, thereby takes direct aim at Lenski, loc. cit., pp. 54–55, who provided a critique of an earlier work by Heather. See the discussion by Wolfram, History of the Goths, pp. 124–26. It is clear, for example, that the battle was begun before a contingent of Alan mounted troops had been deployed and which only arrived on the scene after the forces had been engaged for some time. Regarding the late arrival of the Alans, see Bernard S. Bachrach, A History of the Alans in the West: From the First Appearance in the Sources of Classical Antiquity through the Early Middle Ages (Minneapolis, 1973), pp. 27–29. The basic work remains Dietrich Hoffmann, Das spätrömische Bewegungsheer und die Notitia Dignitatum, 2 vols. (Düsseldorf, 1969–1970), 1:444. For widespread acceptance, see, for example, Wolfram, History of the Goths, p. 124; A.D. Lee, “The Army,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 13, The Late Empire, A.D. 337–425. ed. Averil Cameron and Peter Garnsey (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 211–37, at 221–22; and Lenski, Failure of Empire, p. 339, with the literature cited in n. 113. For estimates of Roman casualties, based on Ammianus’ report, see Hoffmann, Das spätrömische Bewegungsheer, 1:444; Lee, “The Army,” p. 222; and Lenski, Failure of Empire, p. 339. Of course, there have been times in history when a markedly smaller force has defeated a larger enemy army in a set-piece battle. However, there is no evidence for a larger, better trained, and better equipped Roman army to have been defeated decisively by a significantly smaller, less well trained, and less well equipped barbarian adversary in the Late Antique West. Regarding the effectiveness of the Roman army against barbarians during this period, including the “Goths” and their allies over the course of a century, see, for example, Hugh



Geiseric’s Census of 429

9

The figures provided by Eunapius offer a reasonably sound basis for the evaluation of other accounts by Late Antique writers regarding both the demography and more especially the military demography of various groups of invaders. E.A. Thompson, for example, saw Eunapius’ account as providing a useful analogue for the order of magnitude of the 406 coalition of Alans and their allies.28 Thompson’s argument in this regard would seem to be supported by Procopius’ report that at some time prior to 429, and more than likely in 406, the forces of the coalition of Alans and their allies could mobilize somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 fighting men, i.e. between 20 and 25 percent of a total population of 200,000–250,000.29 The value of Eunapius’ account with regard to demographic matters in 378 for providing a base for large numbers in coalitions of barbarians also has been found attractive by Simon Keay. In his basic study of Roman Spain, he accepted Thompson’s views without reservation on this matter in regard to the size of the population of the coalition of 406.30 Javier Arce, one of Spain’s leading specialists in the Late Antique era, whose research focus is on the Iberian peninsula, would seem to have seen the validation of Eunapius’ account as justifying even larger numbers for the size of the 406 coalition. He enthusiastically claims that the remains of the coalition that departed from Gaul in 409 and entered Spain in that year numbered somewhere in excess of 300,000 men, women, and children.31 Geiseric’s Census According to Victor of Vita, Geiseric, the leader of the remnants of the 406 coalition, ordered a census of his people to be taken in 429 prior to their depar-

28

29

30 31

Elton, “Defense in Fifth Century Gaul,” in Fifth-Century Gaul: A Crisis of Identity?, ed. John Drinkwater and Hugh Elton (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 167–76. There is no doubt that various groups of Goths and their allies, which crossed the Danube between 376 and 378, were composed of families not merely of fightingmen. See for example, Ammianus, XXXI, 3. 8; 4.1–2,5,11. Cf. J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “Alaric’s Goths: Nation or Army?” in Fifth-Century Gaul, ed. Drinkwater and Elton, pp. 275–84, who would seem to evoke the warband model with regard to Alaric’s Goths. However, Michael Kulikowski, “Nation versus Army: a Necessary Contrast?” in On Barbarian Identity – Critical Approaches, ed. Andrew Gillett (Turnhout, 2002), pp. 69–84, demonstrates that the warband model is unsustainable. See Appendix III regarding Procopius. To be exact, Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” p. 159, writes “the invaders … amounted in all to rather less than 200,000 persons,” i.e. his calculations regarding the size of the groups that were members of the 406 coalition lead to a gross figure of only 195,000. However, this gross figure is for the group, as a whole, when they entered Spain in 409 and does not take into consideration the losses suffered in Gaul. Simon J. Keay, Roman Spain (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1988), p. 204. Javier Arce, “The Enigmatic Fifth Century in Hispania: Some Historical Problems,” in Regna and Gentes: The Relationship between Late Antique and Early Medieval Peoples and Kingdoms in the Transformation of the Roman World, ed. H.-W. Goetz, J. Jarnut, and W. Pohl (Leiden, 2003), pp. 135–57, at p. 148. See also idem, Barbaros y Romanos en Hispania (400–507 A.D.) (Madrid, 2005), pp. 71–72.

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ture in May from Spain for North Africa. This information appears in Victor’s History of the Vandal Persecution, which was begun perhaps as long as sixty years or so after the migration.32 Victor claims that Geiseric ordered that the entire migrating population was to be counted and, therefore, he emphasizes that the census included old people (senes), young people (iuuenes), and children (paruuli). In fact, Victor goes so far as to indicate that the census even counted newborns. Such a datum would have been consistent with Roman provincial practice, where, as noted in Luke 2.1, “all were to be enrolled.”33 The result, according to Victor, was 80,000 souls of all classes from slaves (servi) to aristocrats (domini).34 Another less detailed narrative, written in Spain by Victor’s older contemporary, Hydatius, calls attention to the migration of 429 as an effort that was undertaken by the Vandals “with their families” (“eorum ... familiis”).35 The 80,000 migrants recorded in this census of 429 was markedly smaller than the approximately 200,000 men, women, and children inherent in Procopius’ observation that probably less than a quarter of a century earlier this coalition could mobilize close to 50,000 fightingmen. In consonance with this discrepancy, the approximately 20,000 fightingmen (see below), whom the coalition in 429 might have been able to mobilize was much lower than the some 50,000 fightingmen reported by Procopius. The difference between what would seem to be the basic figures at issue led Walter Goffart to observe that “at

32



33 34

35

For the basic text, see Victor Vitensis, Historia persecuti Africanae provinciae sub Geiserico et Hunrico regibus Wandalorum, ed. Carolus Halm in MGH: AA, 3.2 (Berlin, 1879), I.2. It should be noted that the edition and translation by Serge Lancel, Histoire de la persécution vandale en Afrique/Victor de Vita: suive de la passion des sept martyrs [et Registre des provinces et des cités d’Afrique] (Paris, 2002), are of considerable importance. Worthy of consultation also are two other translations: Historia persecutionis Africanae provinciae, translated into English by John Moorehead (Liverpool, 1992); and Victor of Vita: Historia persecutionis Africanae provinciae temporum Geiserici et Hunerici regum Waldalorum, translated into German by Konrad Vössing (Darmstadt, 2011).   For the date when Victor wrote his History, see Christian Courtois, Victor de Vita et son oeuvre: étude critique (Algiers, 1954), pp. 5–11. For more current debate regarding the date, see Andreas Schwarcz, “Bedeutung und Textüberlieferung der ‘Historia Persecutionis Africanae Provinciae’ des Victor von Vita,” in Historiographie im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Anton Scharer and Georg Scheibelreiter (Vienna, 1994), pp. 115–40; Danuta Shanzer, “Intentions and Audiences: History, Hagiography, Martyrdom, and Confession in Victor of Vita’s Historia Persecutionis,” in Vandals, Romans and Berbers: New Perspectives on Late Antique North Africa, ed. A.H. Merrills (Aldershot, 2004), pp. 271–90; and Lancel, Histoire, pp. 9–10. Cf. P.A. Brunt, Italian Manpower, 225 B.C.–A.D. 14 (Oxford, 1971), p. 116. Victor, Hist., I.2. I am perplexed by Moorehead’s translation of senes as “old men” and iuuvenes as “young men,” when the context clearly indicates that both words are inclusive, not simply indicative of males, and consistent with paruuli, which he translates correctly as children, and not as male children. Hydatius, Chron., AD 429 (The Chronicle of Hydatius and the Consularia Constantinopolitana: Two Contemporary Accounts of the Final Years of the Roman Empire, ed. and trans. R.W. Burgess [Oxford, 1993], p. 91). Kulikowski, “Nation versus Army,” p. 80, outlines the information available in support of the view that the coalition forces in 429 were accompanied by their family members.



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least half of the Rhine crossers [in 406] were obliterated” by 429.36 However, another possible explanation would be that the size of the migrating population in 406 – for which we have only an estimate, not even putatively the results of a census – was significantly smaller than 200,000 to start with. That possibility would provide an argument in favor of the “minimalist” interpretation of “barbarian” numbers. But in fact, as the following analysis will demonstrate, the decline of the “barbarian coalition” population from 200,000 to 80,000 can credibly be explained by the intervening events. Accepting one figure does not rule out the other as an acceptable data point for military-demographic history. Coalition Demographic Decline Absolute numbers, e.g. near 50,000 fighting men likely in 406, and 80,000 total population with perhaps as many as 20,000 fightingmen in 429, raise the question of how the coalition of 406 lost a considerable part of its population, in general, and many of its fightingmen, in particular, in less than a quarter of a century? If we leave aside for the moment the possibility of out-migration from the group, massive population decreases over a relatively short period of time, especially in technologically primitive societies, usually result from one of three causes or some combination of these. Recurring bouts of disease, e.g. endemic plague or some other highly contagious and deadly disease such as smallpox, would appear to be most effective in pruning a population. Secondly, frequent and widespread famines, which because of their rapid reappearance and broad distributional range preclude effective relief efforts, also can undermine the demographic curve. Finally, a consistent pattern of warfare in which there are frequent battles resulting in large-scale casualties, often in combination with successful sieges of crowded cities, which result in substantial collateral damage, can also play a significant role in population decline. At least one these factors must be present in order to effect a serious drop in the population curve in a relatively short period of time, in this case less than a quarter-century.37 Information that has survived for the period 406 to 409 regarding Gaul, when the members of the coalition are believed to have been within the borders of the hexagon, provides no reason to conclude that the invaders were struck either by an endemic pattern of virulent diseases or widespread and recurring famine. First, it is to be noted that Bishop Paulinus of Béziers, a contemporary of the invasion of Gaul who wrote late in 409, made it very clear that neither famine nor disease accompanied the coalition invasion that began on Silvesternacht 406 and ended with regard to Gaul during the late summer or early autumn of 409,

36

37

Goffart, Barbarian Tides, p. 74, did not, however, embrace either Thompson’s estimate for the size of coalition’s population in 406 nor, for that matter, did he embrace the accuracy of the figure provided by the census, as reported by Victor, See Livi-Bacci, The Population of Europe, pp. 1–5.

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when the Alans and their allies fled into Spain. In fact, Paulinus wrote: “… nil fames, nil denique morbi/egerunt …”.38 Paulinus’ testimony on these matters is exceptionally important because he believed firmly that the Apocalypse was coming soon, and, therefore, he was motivated to proclaim that the Alans and their allies brought disease and famine with them into Gaul as harbingers of the end of days. The fact that Paulinus did not indulge in this type of apocalyptic rhetoric is particularly powerful evidence that the Alans and their allies did not have a substantial material impact on the region and its population.39 Paulinus would seem to have been committed to the view that an accurate discussion of God’s plan is to be preferred to untenable exaggerations. Jerome, by contrast with Paulinus, writing from his monastery in Bethlehem, claims that the southwest of Gaul was struck by a serious famine (fames).40 In a later letter, however, Jerome seems to make clear that the famine was limited to the Toulouse area, where Bishop Exuperius is lavishly praised as a hero for providing food to the suffering people of his diocese.41 If there were a dearth of food available in the markets of Aquitaine, it is plausible not only that Bishop Exuperius, but also other bishops of the region, could feed their flocks. Gallic prelates, in general, controlled massive stocks of grain in their fortress cities, which in the case of the southwest of Gaul, Jerome admits, were not taken by the armed forces of the coalition.42 Jerome’s focus on what obviously was a “failed” famine in the Toulouse region may have been stimulated by his inclination to give great praise to Bishop Exuperius, who is credited, as well, with raising funds in Gaul for the support of Jerome’s monastery in Bethlehem.43 Jerome’s dedication to the disaster topos as a hyper-advocate of the putatively imminent Apocalypse and his lack of interest in recounting “what really 38

39

40 41 42

43

Paulinus of Béziers, Epigramma (CSEL [Vienna, 1888]), vol. 16, lines 30–31. For discussion, see Bachrach, Alans in the West, p. 54; and Agustí Alemany, Sources on the Alans: A Critical Compilation (Leiden, 2000), pp. 65–66. Of primary importance in dealing with Paulinus and other poets of this period who treat the barbarian invasions, is N.B. McLynn, “Poetic Creativity and Political Crisis in Early Fifth-Century Gaul,” Journal of Late Antiquity 2 (2009), 60–74. Cf. M. Roberts, “Barbarians in Gaul; the Response of the Poets,” in Fifth-Century Gaul, ed. Drinkwater and Elton, pp. 97–107 at p. 97, who refers to this text as “pseudonymous Epigramma Paulini,” but gives no reason for departing from the status questionis which attributes the work to Bishop Paulinus of Béziers. See McLynn, “Poetic Creativity,” pp. 62–66. Paulinus lived through the invasion of 406 and its aftermath. He was an eyewitness to many of the events that took place in his diocese and about which he writes in his Epigramma. This work was written shortly after the last of the coalition barbarians fled into Spain. Saint Jérome, Lettres, vol. 7, ed. and trans. Jérôme Labourt (Paris, 1961), Epist., CXXIII, 15. Ibid., Epist., CXXV, 20. Ibid., Epist., CXXIII, 15. R.W. Mathisen, “‘Nature or Nurture?’: Some Perspectives on the Gallic Famine of ca. A.D. 470,” The Ancient World 24 (1993), 91–105, provides considerable insight into the institutional structures at issue which provided bishops with the ability to meet food emergencies. E.D. Hunt, “Gaul and the Holy Land in the Early Fifth Century,” in Fifth-Century Gaul, ed. Drinkwater and Elton, pp. 264–97, at 267–69, 271–72.



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happened” certainly permits the modern reader to doubt his account of famine in southern Gaul.44 Whether there was, in fact, a famine in Aquitaine or even the Toulouse region is problematic. Bishop Paulinus lived at Béziers, only about 150 kilometers from Toulouse, i.e. less than a day’s journey for the relays of post riders who served in the cursus publicus, and, therefore, was in a better position, at least geographically, to obtain accurate information in regard to what was happening in Aquitaine than Jerome, who resided in far-off Bethlehem.45 In addition, Paulinus, given his own apocalyptic orientation, had no less a warrant than Jerome to exaggerate the negative impact of the barbarians on Gaul by bringing famine in their wake during the period 406–409. In regard specifically to the diminution of the coalition’s population, however, it should be noted that Jerome, while trumpeting the supposed or potential impact of famine on the Gallo-Romans, does not indicate specifically that the men, women, and children of the invading coalition suffered from a lack of food. Paulinus, as noted above, makes clear that the Alans, the Vandals, and the Sueves did not suffer from famine. He reports, quite plausibly, that the Alans and their allies took crops that were already standing in the fields and, thus, were ready for harvest. This observation by the bishop of Béziers fits very well with the late summer-early autumn date for coalition operations in the south of Gaul before they crossed the Pyrenees into Spain in 409.46 Although there is no credible evidence that the population of the coalition suffered serious losses from disease or famine in Gaul, some scholars would appear to believe that the situation in Spain was rather different.47 This view is based largely on an account of the first year or so of coalition operations on the Iberian peninsula. Hydatius, who wrote about sixty years after the Alans and their allies entered Spain, observed: As the barbarians ran wild through Spain and the deadly pestilence continued on its savage course, the wealth and goods stored in the cities were plundered by the tyrannical tax collector and consumed by the soldiers. A famine ran riot, so dire that driven by hunger human beings devoured human flesh; mothers too feasted upon the bodies of their own children whom they had killed and cooked with their own hands; wild beasts, habituated to feeding on the bodies of those slain by the sword, 44

45 46 47

S. Rebenich, “Christian Asceticism and Barbarian Incursion: The Making of a Christian Catastrophe,” Journal of Late Antiquity 2 (2009), 49–59 at p. 51, makes clear that Jerome was not interested in any precise historical information. Rebenich’s observation that the picture painted by Jerome is “broadly impressionistic,” however, may be giving the holy man too much credit for some form of accuracy. See with regard to the cursus publicus, A.M. Ramsey, “The Speed of the Roman Imperial Post,” Journal of Roman Studies 15 (1925), 60–74. Epigram., lines 17–21. Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 42.

14

Bernard S. Bachrach famine or pestilence, killed all the braver individuals and feasting on their flesh everywhere became brutally set upon the destruction of the human race. And thus with the four plagues of sword, famine, pestilence and wild beasts raging everywhere through the world, the annunciations foretold by the Lord through his prophets came to fulfillment.48

It is widely agreed by modern scholars, to use Javier Arce’s words, that Hydatius’ work is “overflowing with instructive and moralizing apocalyptic ideas” as he “writes for his monks with moralistic overtones, preparing them for the Last Judgment that he thought was to come in a few years.”49 In fact, Hydatius believed that the world would come to an end on 29 May 482.50 Since the passage quoted above certainly is indicative of Hydatius’ “apocalyptic” views, it would be less than prudent for modern scholars to accept it as plain text either in support of a general account of the situation in Spain during the year or two following the invasion by coalition forces or, for that matter, in regard to specific details. However, whatever one may choose to make of this account, there is a noteworthy absence of specific information that the coalition invaders suffered from the ravages of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse during this brief period.51 Coalition Losses in Gaul In the absence either of significant and recurring epidemics and/or devastating famines, whatever losses the coalition of 406 may have suffered prior to 429 very likely had to occur as a result of military operations, which brought about significant casualties to fightingmen and perhaps even as collateral damage to the old, to the women, and to the children who traveled with them. In this military context, however, it must be recognized that the imperial government traditionally tried to negotiate with their barbarian adversaries so as to avoid armed conflict. This was done not only to limit Roman losses but also to avoid the possibility of defeat on the field of battle.52 We cannot dismiss out of hand the possibility that the Romans initiated significant and perhaps successful diplomatic efforts prior to undertaking military operations against the Alans, Vandals, and Sueves, which, in turn, resulted in defections and, thus, in substantial decreases in the total population of the coalition of 406, in general, and of its fighting forces, in particular. As will be seen below, efforts undertaken by the imperial authorities to diminish the 48 49 50 51 52

Hydatius, Chron., I:6, ed. Burgess, p. 83. Arce, “The Enigmatic Fifth Century,” p. 151. See Giusto Traina, 428: An Ordinary Year at the End of the Roman Empire, trans. Allan Cameron (Princeton, NJ, 2009), p. 81, and pp. 166–67, n. 2. Cf. Castritius, Die Vandalen, pp. 63–64. See for example, Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, pp. 182–87, 191–92.



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fighting forces of the 406 coalition cast considerable light both on the techniques used by Rome and the effectiveness of both military and diplomatic approaches when faced with a large invading force. Goar’s Alans In the context of an effective diplomatic effort, it is of considerable importance that some time before the coalition forces actually crossed the Rhine and invaded Gaul, imperial officials opened negotiations with Goar, one of the Alan rulers (reges). In the course of this effort, it was ascertained that Goar was willing to defect and become a Roman ally. A planned accommodation (receptio) was negotiated, which resulted in the establishment of a foedus or alliance between the Roman government and the Alan leader. The terms of this foedus are not at all clear, but it may be assumed safely that Goar’s Alans were provided with sufficient food and shelter, especially during the very cold winter of 406–407, so that they could survive.53 The survival of Goar’s Alans is strongly suggested not only by the fact that many of the military age males among the people who followed Goar remained a viable fighting force, but also that this group remained loyal to the Romans and did not return to support their former coalition allies. As the subsequent historical record demonstrates in some considerable detail, Goar’s Alans served as imperial military dependants during the next several decades, and they can be seen to have played a considerable role in both high level politics and military operations in various parts of the Gaul from the Rhineland to the middle reaches of the Loire.54 In trying to estimate the demographic impact of Goar’s defection, it is clear that in 406, the coalition as a whole was divided into at least five main groups as adumbrated in contemporary and near contemporary sources. These were Goar’s Alans, Respendial’s Alans, two groups of Vandals, which are generally classified as “Hasdings” and “Silings,” and the Sueves. The Hasding leader is generally thought to have been named Godigisel but the name of the leader of the Silings has not survived.55 The name or names of the leader or leaders of 53

54

55

See the discussion by Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 22–23; Augustí Alemany, “La problemática des las fuentes sobre la presencia alana en la ‘Galia’ e ‘Hispania’,” in Gallia e Hispania en el contexto de la presencia ‘germánica’ (ss. V–VII): Balance y perspectivas, ed. J. Lópex Quiroga, A.M. Martínez Tehera, and J. Moeïn de Pablos (Oxford, 2006), pp. 307–15. Cf. P. Wynn, “Frigeridus, the British Tyrants, and the Early Fifth Century Barbarian Invasions of Gaul and Spain,” Athenaeum: Studi di letteratura e storia dell’Antichità 85 (1997), 69–117, who, relying on the fragmentum of Frigeridus embedded in the late sixth-century work of Gregory of Tours, tries to revise the chronology radically. Goffart, Barbarian Tides, pp. 301–2, demonstrates why Wynn’s reinterpretation is not plausible. See the discussion by Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 22–23; and Vladimir Kouznetsov and Iaroslav Lebedynasky, Les Alains: Cavaliers des steppes, seigneurs du Caucase Ier–XVe siècles apr. J.C. (Paris, 2005), pp. 168–75. Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, pp. 89–92.

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the Sueves also have not survived. It is possible, however, that Hermeric, who appears on the scene in Spain by ca. 410 or shortly thereafter, may have been a survivor from among the Suevic leaders of the trek that had begun in 406.56 Although there is widespread agreement that there were five main groups in the coalition of 406, there is no scholarly consensus regarding the size of any of the groups. For example, some specialists in Late Antique Iberian history argue, “There could not have been more than 300,000 Asding and Siling Vandals …”57 Kaey estimates that some 30,000 Sueves departed from Gaul in 409, while Thompson suggests 25,000.58 With regard to the Alans, Thompson “conjectures” some 30,000 to 40,000 persons.59 It should be emphasized that none of these particular estimates are supported by the surviving sources, although in one way or another they do tend to add up to a gross figure of some 200,000 men, women, and children. The activities in Gaul of Goar’s Alans, who defected in 406, are rather well known and suggest that he led a considerable force of fighting men. Without going into great detail regarding Goar’s lengthy career, the support of his armed forces certainly was crucial in placing Jovinus on the “imperial” throne as Gallic emperor following the defeat and death of Constantine III in 411. In this context, it is important to note that Jovinus was raised to the purple at the fortress city of Mainz, where the then recently redacted Notitia Dignitatum records numerous imperial military assets.60 This latter point, however, may be of greater relevance in relation to Goar’s participation in the deposition of Jovinus in 413.61 On the whole, at this time, the Roman imperial army, deployed over some 700,000 square kilometers in Gaul, was, “on paper” as set forth in the above mentioned Notitia Dignitatum, in the 100,000 range.62 Defection of the Sueves Goar’s Alans do not seem to have been the only early defectors from the coalition. How the military command in Gaul under the leadership of Chariobaudes (d. 408), either on its own or following orders from Stilicho (d. 408), the overall military commander in the West, chose to deal with at least some of the Sueves in the coalition is not as clear as the policy that was pursued successfully with regard to those Alans who followed Goar. First, it should be noted that although the Sueves are listed in some of the narrative texts initially as part of the coalition with the Alans and the Vandals in 406, they soon disappear from the contempo56 57 58 59 60

61 62

Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” p. 165. See for example, Arce, “The Enigmatic Fifth Century,” p. 48, for the quotation. Kaey, Roman Spain, p. 204; and Thompson, Romans and Barbarians, p. 159. Thompson, Romans and Barbarians, p. 159. For a discussion of Roman military units at Mainz, see H. Jacobi, Geschichte der Stadt Mainz und der Regio Mogontiacensis: 58 v. Chr.–um 458 (Mainz, 1996), pp. 773–76; and Scharf, Der Dux Mogontiacensis, passim. Cf. Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 61–62; and Scharf, Der Dux Mogontiacensis, pp. 145–47. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 1:196–99.



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rary and near-contemporary sources. In fact, nothing is heard of them for more than two years, i.e. until the late summer 409, when they are reported as having fled across the Pyrenees into Spain along with various Alan and Vandal groups.63 One way to explain the early disappearance from the sources of mention of the Sueves in the fighting forces of the coalition is to suggest that very soon after crossing the Rhine they asked for or were offered Roman “protection,” i.e. especially food supplies so that they could survive during the exceptionally cold winter of 407. A working relationship of this sort between the imperial government and at least some of these invaders may be suggested by the appearance of several units of Sueves recruited into the imperial army by the Roman government in Gaul. These troops appear to have been sent directly into military service with the Roman army in Gaul as gentiles and were posted to settlements in Lugdunensis II and Aquitanica I.64 Vandal Casualties Returning to events early in 407, the coalition suffered yet another noteworthy loss, this one militarily at the hands of Rome’s Frankish allies, who are credited with inflicting substantial casualties on the Vandals in battle.65 A Vandal group, under the leadership of a king named Godigisel, apparently had been cut off or intentionally achieved a degree of separation from the great mass of other coalition migrants who seem to have been encamped along the west bank of the Rhine during the period immediately after crossing the river. It seems likely that Godigisel’s group had been encamped at the northern terminus of the coalition, i.e. closest to the Franks, perhaps with Goar’s Alans to their left, i.e. to the south. As a result of Goar’s defection, a gap was opened in the invaders’ line of encampments between Godigisel’s Vandals and Respendial’s Alans to the south, who, as will be seen below, ultimately came to the rescue of the Vandals. If this distribution of coalition groups is accurate, then the Siling Vandals either were in line to the left of Respendial’s people or at the southern terminus of the invaders’ line of deployment with the Sueves situated between them. 63 64

65

The chronology here is not controversial, as noted by Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” pp. 158–59. Notitia Dignitatum, Oc., xlii, 34, 35, 44 (ed. Otto Seeck [rpt. Frankfurt am Main, 1962]); and the discussion by Thompson, “Hydatius and the Invasion of Spain,” pp. 158–59. There seems to be some evidence, as well, that some Sueves remained in Gaul after 409 and later served under the emperor Majorian (d. 461). See Merrills and Miller, The Vandals, p. 262, n. 61. The History of Renatus Profuturus Frigeridus is lost, and what does survive concerning this episode is to be found as fragmenta in Gregory, Hist., bk. II, ch. 9 (Libri Historiarum X, eds. B. Krusch and W. Levison. MGH: SSRM, I.1, 2nd edition [Hannover, 1951]). See the brief review of what is known of this text by Helmut Castritius, “Renatus Profuturus Frigeridus,” Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde 24 (2003), 507–8. See also Claudian, Bell. Goth., 421–22; and De Consulatu Stilichonis, I, 232–40 (Claudii Claudiani Carmina, ed. J.B. Hall [Leipzig, 1985]). Regarding the panegyric tone and context of this information, as well as the dating of Stilicho’s activities on the Rhine, see A. Cameron, Claudian: Poetry and Propaganda at the Court of Honorius (Oxford, 1970), pp. 96–97, 149–50, 168–69.

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Initially, according to Renatus Profuturus Frigeridus, a later fifth-century Gallo-Roman historian, the Frankish attack on Godigisel’s people was very successful. Godigisel, in fact, was killed in battle. Those in his charge, both fighting men and their families, are reported, likely with some exaggeration, to have faced annihilation if the battle had continued in a manner consistent with its early course. However, Respendial, the king of the Alan group that remained loyal to the coalition, led a large force of his troops to the north and engaged the Franks. The tide of battle was turned in favor of the coalition, perhaps because the Alans were mounted archers and could deal effectively at a distance with the Franks, who generally fought on foot in a phalanx.66 In any event, the Franks were forced to retreat, and Respendial’s Alans are credited with having rescued the remnants of Godigisel’s Vandals.67 Renatus provides all of the information that has survived regarding the potential annihilation of this Vandal group and the rescue of the survivors by Respendial’s forces. Renatus states that the Vandals suffered very severe casualties and puts the number at 20,000. However, he pointedly limits his report of Vandal losses to “fighting men.” If this figure represents only Vandal combatants then it would seem that the number of fighting men remaining to the coalition would have been reduced below 30,000. However one may choose to look at the situation, the defection of Goar’s Alans certainly had some significant impact on the total number of the forces of the coalition allies. However, because of the losses suffered by the remains of the coalition in Spain and the total force that was mobilized for the invasion of North Africa (see below), I am reluctant to credit Renatus’ account that only Vandal fightingmen were killed. The loss of non-combatants in large numbers could well have occurred if the Franks had overrun the Vandal camp or camps where non-combatants and baggage had been left prior to the commencement of military operations and also prior to the appearance of Respendial’s relief force. Renatus, prior to reporting both the successful relief by the Alans and the number of casualties suffered by the Vandals, already had made clear to his readers that the entire group was in danger of annihilation, not merely its armed forces. In this context, it is noteworthy that Renatus portrays those Franks, acting in support of Rome, in a rather positive manner. Therefore, consistent with his own Christian values, he may have found it distasteful to record what moderns tend to call “collateral damage,” and, as a result, listed “all” enemy casualties as fightingmen.68 The 66 67 68

Frigeridus, fr. (Gregory, Hist., bk. II. ch. 9); and the treatment of Alan weapons and tactics by Kouznetsov and Lebedynasky, Les Alains, pp. 168–75. See the discussion by Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 53–55. Frigeridus fr. (Gregory, Hist., bk. II, ch. 9). With regard to non-combatants, in general, suffering large numbers of casualties, see A.K. Goldsworthy, The Roman Army at War: 100 BC–AD 200 (Oxford, 1996), pp. 177, 185–89, 219–27. Kulikowski, “Barbarians in Gaul,” p. 326, does not seem to have any objection to the approximate number of casualties suffered by Godigisel’s Vandals even if only fightingmen are meant. Of course, we do not know if or how Gregory may have manipulated Renatus’ text before inserting it into his Histories. See Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 52, and cf. Goffart, Barbarian Tides, p. 301, n. 95, who suggests that “‘twenty



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20,000 figure reported by Renatus in a battle that was seen to have been threatening to take an existential toll on Godigisel’s Vandals may perhaps provide some reason for thinking of the group as a whole as not much greater that 40,000, and certainly far less than somewhere in the neighborhood of 300,000 as suggested by Arce. Constantine III’s Victory In addition to the defections and casualties suffered by the coalition of “invaders,” either just before entering Gaul or almost immediately thereafter, the bleeding was to continue through the early part 407. At this time, a member of the Roman military establishment in Britain had himself elevated by the field army to the imperial office as Constantine III. He then led a force of some 6,000–7,000 high quality troops, i.e. comitatenses, to Gaul.69 In early March, Constantine, after designating a new governor for Britain, landed at the port of Boulogne. Soon after landing and being recognized as emperor by the leaders of the army in Gaul, but not by Chariobaudes, the overall commander in the region, who fled south to join Stilicho, Constantine moved his forces east toward the region of Cologne.70 Then, if his subsequent actions may be taken as a guide to his earlier plans, he apparently intended to move south to Mainz and on to the erstwhile imperial capital at Trier.71 With but one noteworthy exception, Constantine and his commanders in Gaul were not at all challenged militarily by the armed forces of the coalition. However, on the way east toward the Rhine frontier, Constantine found it necessary to command his troops in a battle. This effort is reported to have taken place against what has been characterized as a numerically formidable element of the forces that had been a part of the coalition of 406.72 It should be

69 70

71

72

thousand’ looks exaggerated,” but thinks that the coalition, as a whole, was large and the number of casualties suffered was significant. Birley, The Roman Government, p. 157; and Scharf, Der Dux Mogontiacensis, p. 124. Cologne at various times had been the capital or sub-capital of the so-called Gallic empire, and securing control of the lower Rhine traditionally was the first step by which Gallic emperors established themselves in power. See for example, Drinkwater, “The Usurpers Constantine III … and Jovinus,” p. 276, n. 46. See the discussion of the sources by É. Demougeot, “Constantin III, l’empereur d’Arles,” in Hommages à André Dupont, études médiévales languedociennes. Fédération Historique du Languedoc Méditerranéen et du Roussillon (Montpellier, 1974), pp. 83–125; and reprinted with the same pagination in É. Demougeot, L’Empire romain et les barbares d’occident (IVe–VIe siècles): Scripta Varia (Paris, 1988), pp. 99–101. A very useful map of the Roman road system in this context is provided by Burns, Barbarians within the Gates of Rome, p. 211. The notion that Trier had to be “recaptured” by Constantine (as asserted by both Demougeot and Burns, ibid.) is unfounded speculation based upon untrustworthy claims by Salvian, who wrote ca. 440, but says nothing about Trier falling to the forces of the 406 coalition. These events are recorded by Zosimus, Hist., bk. VI, ch. 3 (Histoire nouvelle [par] Zosime, 3 vols., ed. and trans. F. Paschoud [Paris, 1971–89]). On the whole, Zosimus’ account is generally agreed to be rather confused. It is the burden of Zosimus’ effort to blame Constantine for not

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emphasized that by this time, as seen above, the forces of the coalition had been diminished by defections and defeat. In addition, it is likely that there had been considerable fragmentation among the surviving groups due to the need to find supplies, similar, in effect, to that suffered by Radagaisus’ coalition in northern Italy the previous year.73 It is not recorded whether this enemy force engaged by Constantine was composed of Vandals or of Alans or an army drawn from both groups. Whatever its composition, however, the new emperor is reported to have defeated it thoroughly, and to have inflicted an exceptionally large number of casualties.74 Following this victory, which is depicted as decisive, Constantine chose not to pursue the defeated enemy either to force its surrender or to destroy it. Our source uses this “failure” as a form of condemnation, and claims that the barbarians would have been annihilated had a proper “mop up” action been undertaken. In fact, Constantine allowed some coalition survivors to retreat eastward and permitted them to cross the Rhine.75 Such a line of retreat, which would have required the commandeering of boats, likely could not have been accomplished without considerable imperial connivance. No source comments on the fate of the families of these men. However, it seems likely that if it were Constantine’s intention to use the men at some time in the future then he likely also permitted their families to escape. This criticism of Constantine’s behavior, however, is problematic. It was traditional imperial policy not to wipe out the remnants of defeated enemy forces unless it was thought by the victorious commander that such a course of action was absolutely necessary. The reasoning followed in most cases was that at some remove in time and in different political or military circumstances such survivors could be recruited either for the imperial army as regular troops or hired as mercenaries.76 Whatever may have been Constantine’s motives in this matter, Stilicho’s contemporary and very lenient treatment of Alaric’s Goths may have been something of a rather recent model to be followed.77

73

74 75 76 77

annihilating this particular group of barbarians. In this context, at least, Zosimus would seem to be taking the position that the only good barbarian was a dead barbarian. Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 262, n. 46, call attention to several different interpretations of Zosimus’ account. Cf. Goldsworthy, How Rome Fell, p. 296, who claims that Constantine won some minor victories and seems to have kept the coalition bottled up in the northern regions of Gaul. By contrast, Goffart, Barbarian Tides, p. 98, believes that in March the coalition was still unified and claims, contrary to Zosimus (see note 72 above), that Constantine was unable to follow up his victory. Zosimus, Hist., bk. VI, ch. 3.1. Drinkwater, “The Usurpers Constantine III … and Jovinus,” pp. 274–75. Zosimus, Hist., bk. VI, ch. 3. Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe, pp. 128–36. Heather, Goths and Romans, pp. 208–11.



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The Coalition at Peace in Gaul Whether before Constantine’s victory in the north or after it, those Alans and Vandals who remained in Gaul made a treaty of peace (foedus pacis) with the Roman government, according to Bishop Paulinus of Béziers, a contemporary.78 It is perhaps even more likely that since the forces of the 406 coalition, like those of Radagaisus in Italy, undoubtedly had been divided into smaller units in order to search for food, several foedera of this type had been negotiated with the imperial authorities by the leaders of different groups. This notion of multiple peace agreements is the impression left by Orosius, a younger contemporary of the above-mentioned Paulinus.79 This use of treaties illustrates yet one more way in which the Roman government in Gaul pacified the invaders, at least in the short term. Two types of evidence support the view that the invaders were effectively neutralized as a military threat for a period of almost two years. First, and perhaps more importantly, Bishop Paulinus of Béziers provides contemporary information regarding at least one foedus and indicates that it was only in 409, after crops were already standing in the fields, that the Alans and Vandals violated the peace pact that had been forced on them, and resumed their search for food while trying to reach Spain.80 Secondly, there is an argument from silence, which, in this context, is of considerable importance because, as modern scholars observe, the coalition’s activities, as well as those of Constantine III, received rather good coverage from contemporaries and near contemporaries.81 In fact, there are no specific reports by contemporaries or near contemporaries of Alan, Vandal, or Sueve depredations in Gaul datable between the period following Constantine’s victory in March 407 and the late summer of 409.82 78

79

80 81 82

Paulinus, Epigram., line 11, provides the information regarding a foedus pacis, which specifically mentions both the Alans and the Vandals. Also note Chronica Gallica s. aa. 452, 453, ed. R. Burgess (“Chronica Gallica a. 452: A New Critical Edition with a Brief Introduction,” in Society and Culture in Late Antique Gaul: Revisiting the Sources, ed. R. Mathisen and D. Shanzer [Aldershot, 2001], pp. 52–84). Orosius, Hist., bk. VII, ch. 40. 4–5 (Pauli Orosii historiarum adversum paganos libri VII, ed. C. Zangmeister: CSEL, vol. V [Vienna, 1882]) mentions several foedera, and is more vague than Paulinus; see note 78 above. Orosius talks only of “barbarians” in general. Goffart, Barbarian Tides, p. 99, argues that Orosius’ account demonstrated that the coalition had ceased to be of much trouble to the Romans for some two years. Here he follows Kulikowski, “Barbarians in Gaul,” pp. 331–32, who suggests that the remains of the coalition were “bottled up in the north.” Cf. Drinkwater, “The Usurpers Constantine III … and Jovinus,” p. 282, who does not seem to give Paulinus’ account sufficient attention, and believes that Orosius is referring to pacts made with barbarians on the Rhine, not members of the 406 coalition. However, as seen above, Constantine III’s position on the Rhine was secure, while Orosius refers to foedera that were broken. See Paulinus, Epigram., lines 11–12, who writing in 409 or 410, observed in regard to his local situation: “… primum … foedere /barbarus incumbit …”. Demougeot, “Constantin III, l’empereur d’Arles,” pp. 83–125. See for example, the observations by Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, pp. 39–40, who are on the right track, and, in effect, echo Goldsworthy, How Rome Fell, p. 296, who believes that the

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A Head Count in Gaul In addition to the defection of Goar’s Alans, additional Alans deserted the coalition to serve in the army of Gerontus, one of Constantine III’s generals.83 In addition to the above-mentioned groups of Alans, the defection of some Sueves, the killing of some 20,000 Vandals by the Franks, and the losses suffered in the defeat inflicted by Constantine, including those who had fled east of the Rhine, likely made a considerable dent in the population of the coalition that had originally crossed the Rhine only a few months earlier. If, as Renatus claims, the Vandals lost 20,000 fightingmen, then the total number of effectives available to the coalition surely dropped below 30,000, as Procopius leads his readers to believe that the original force was near to 50,000. Coalition Losses In Spain In Spain, the coalition’s armed forces found themselves engaging in what would appear to have been relatively minor military operations over the course of the next few years, while establishing settlements in several provinces.84 During this period, the Sueves, who settled in the western reaches of Gallaecia, are generally agreed to have defected from the coalition and abandoned their Alan and Vandal partners.85 Shortly thereafter, in 417–418, an army of Visigoths, sent from Gaul by the Roman government, is reported to have campaigned with great success against the remainder of the Alan-Vandal coalition.86 As a result of this conflict, according to the chronicler Hydatius, one group of Vandals in Baetica and the Alans who were dwelling in Lusitania were greatly reduced in size. Hydatius, who, as noted above, likely exaggerated levels of death and destruction consistent with his apocalyptic bias, claims that the Vandals in Baetica were destroyed and the Alans suffered so badly that following the death of their king, the survivors sought out the remaining Vandal king, Guntheric, who in 407 apparently had succeeded Godigisel, to rule over them. This latter point appears to be uncontroversial.87

83 84

85 86 87

coalition forces were “bottled up” in the north, but he does not deal with the “treaties” discussed here. Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 53–55. See Javier Arce, “Los vándalos en Hispania (409–429 A.D.),” in Das Reich der Vandalen und seine (Vor-) Geschichten, ed. G. M. Berndt and R. Steinacher (Vienna, 2008), pp. 97–104, at 98–102; and Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, pp. 41–45. Keay, Roman Spain, p. 204, works with much larger estimates and puts the number of Siling Vandals settled in Baetica at 50,000, with 30,000 Alans in Lusitania and Carthaginensis, 80,000 Sueves in the northwest, and 40,000 Asding Vandals in Gallaecia. These estimates do not seem to have taken into consideration losses suffered in Gaul. Regarding the defection of the Sueves and their early activities, see Arce, “The Enigmatic Fifth Century,” pp. 151–54. Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 45. See Michael Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain and Its Cities (Baltimore, 2004), pp. 170–71; and Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, pp. 44–46.



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The remnants of the Vandal-Alan coalition were engaged in further conflict in Spain. First, they went to war with the Sueves in Gallaecia and then with an imperial army under Asterius, who bore the title comes Hispaniarum. These conflicts likely further diminished the military forces of the coalition. In fact, the defeat inflicted by Asterius apparently was so severe that it sent the remnants of the Vandals and the Alans southward to resettle with their families in Baetica.88 However, shortly after they moved from northwestern Spain to the south, the imperial government again regarded it as necessary to punish the Vandals and Alans. In 422 and 423, Castinus, the comes domesticorum, led an imperial army, reinforced by Gothic federates, into Spain, and inflicted yet two more defeats on the coalition forces. Although the Vandals and Alans, who were now joined under a single ruler, subsequently defeated Castinus’ army because his Gothic allies turned traitor, the remnant of the coalition of 406 likely could not have engaged in three noteworthy battles in the field, two of which they lost, without suffering some significant levels of casualties.89 Coalition Demography in 429 The fact that 80,000 men, women, and children remained of the Vandal-Alan coalition to be recorded by Geiseric’s officials makes it clear that the group that invaded North Africa in 429, about five or six years after its last major battle with the Roman army, was a much reduced shadow of the coalition that had crossed the Rhine in 406. The defection of Goar’s Alans, the death of some 20,000 of Godigisel’s Vandal group, the defection of the Sueves, the losses reportedly suffered by the Vandals and the Alans at the hands of the Visigoths in 417–418 and the Romans in 422–423, even after Hydatius’ penchant for exaggeration is taken into consideration, surely resulted in a substantial loss to the group’s military forces. Even in victory, the coalition forces likely suffered considerably. For example, the Vandals and Alans are supposed to have killed some 20,000 Romans, which, even if traditional exaggeration is at work, could hardly have been accomplished without significant battlefield losses of their own.90 The Invasion of North Africa All of the surviving sources provide good reason to believe that the population of the 406 coalition suffered considerable losses while in Gaul and Spain, i.e. it saw a reduction from an estimated high in the 200,000 range to approximately 80,000 on the eve of its departure for North Africa. There perhaps was some small augmentation in 429 with a unit of Gothic fightingmen to the group that

88 89 90

Ibid. Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain, pp. 174–75; and Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 46. See Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 46.

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departed for North Africa.91 In the context of overall coalition losses in both Gaul and Spain, the battles fought and particularly those in which Alans and Vandals were defeated may have resulted in a larger percentage of fighting men losing their lives as compared to the losses suffered by the old, women, and children, who were not engaged in combat and despite what might be considered collateral damage as in the clash with the Franks. In fact, the fighting forces of Geiseric’s 429 coalition probably dropped even lower than the traditional 20 to 25 percent identified by modern scholars as the norm for such migrating groups. Military Operations in North Africa Geiseric’s coalition of 80,000 men, women, and children sailed during the month of May, probably from the port of Tarifa (Julia Traducta) in southern Spain across the Straits of Gibraltar and likely landed at the port of Tangiers (Tangi).92 Subsequently, Geiseric’s forces conquered much of Roman North Africa, despite the very likely numerical advantage enjoyed by the imperial garrison. The size of Roman forces in North Africa was set out in the Notitia Dignitatum a generation earlier; there were thirty-one regiments of comitatenses, i.e. high quality mobile field forces, and twenty-two regiments of limitanei, i.e. troops of reputedly lesser quality. In all, the North African garrison of regular troops comes to a force “on paper” of some 25,000 effectives.93 These forces, however, were deployed widely throughout imperial territory and, were, in fact, not mobilized to thwart Geiseric’s people from effecting an unopposed landing.94 In addition, Count Boniface, the highly experienced Roman governor in the region, not only commanded a substantial garrison of imperial effectives, but also had the potential to recruit various allies, e.g. Moors, as well as military veterans settled throughout the area, and also civilian militiamen. In light of Boniface’s potential to mobilize a very large force, scholars are in general agreement that the coalition fighting forces in 429, which enjoyed considerable success in subsequent years, was likely in the neighborhood of

91 92

93

94

Possidius, Vita Augustini, ed. M. Pellegrino (Alba, 1955), ch. 28, for the Goths. Courtois, Les Vandales, pp. 155–71; and the brief summary by Heather, Fall of the Roman Empire, pp. 267–71. Also see, Noé Villaverde Vega, Tingitana en la antigüedad tardia, siglos III–VII: autoctonia y romanidad en el extremo occidente mediterráneo (Madrid, 2001). Heather, Fall of the Roman Empire, p. 268; Jones, Later Roman Empire, 1:197; and Yves Modéran, “L’Afrique romaine à la veille de l’invasion vandale: porquoi l’effondrement?” in Gallia e Hispania, ed. López, Martínez and Moeïn de Pablos (Oxford, 2006), pp. 61–77, at p. 64. Cf. Liebeschuetz, “Gens into Regnum,” pp. 67–68, who diminishes the size of the Roman forces as represented in the Notitia Dignitatum and, in addition, questions the effectiveness of the remaining troops. This argument, however, is rather circular, i.e. the imperial army must have been small and weak because it was not able to stop a small and weak Vandal force. Jones, Later Roman Empire, 1:197. Javier Arce, “Spain and the African Provinces in Late Antiquity,” in Hispania in Late Antiquity: Current Perspectives, ed. and tr. Kim Boqles and Michael Kulikowski (Leiden, 2005), pp. 240–361, at pp. 347–48; and Villaverde Vega, Tingitana en la antigüedad tardia, pp. 265–85.



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15,000 to 20,000 effectives, counting the Goths mentioned above.95 Despite the consensus, there are among various scholars a considerable range of estimates regarding the size of the armed forces mobilized by Geiseric in 429. These extend from a low of 10,000 to a high of approximately 30,000 effectives.96 Coalition Forces in North Africa Any effort to evaluate the size of the military forces available in the Vandal kingdom ruled by Geiseric and his successors in North Africa over the next century takes us rather far from our discussion of the size of the coalition of 406, its shrinkage over the next quarter-century as evidenced in Geiseric’s census, and what can be gleaned regarding “barbarian” military demography from this examination. In any event, such a digression would require a quite separate study. However, one last datum seems worthy of note, and perhaps provides some food for thought. In 533, the Byzantine emperor Justinian I (d. 565) decided to invade North Africa with the strategic aim of destroying the Vandal kingdom and reintegrating the region under imperial rule. His military planners decided that in order to execute this strategy, an army of approximately 20,000 effectives would be sufficient.97 The fact that we know that the Byzantine invasion was successful does not, in itself, demonstrate that the plan devised in Constantinople had provided a sufficient number of troops to defeat the barbarians in North Africa. The Vandals may have made both strategic and tactical errors when operating against the Byzantine invasion force, and the planners in Constantinople could not have foreseen these. In their planning, therefore, they certainly could not have counted upon the enemy to make errors in order to assure a victory for Belisarius, the Byzantine commander. By contrast, it is highly likely that the Byzantine planning group did have sound intelligence regarding the order of magnitude of Vandal military assets on the eve of the invasion and, as a result, they mobilized their forces in numbers which they believed likely would result in the execution of a successful operation even if the enemy did not make serious tactical errors.

95 96

97

See Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, p. 122, whose views represent the consensus here. For example, Liebeschuetz, “Gens into Regnum,” pp. 67–68, argues that the Vandal forces in 429 numbered between 10,000 and 15,000, while James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 185, believes that Geiseric’s conquests were carried out with fewer than 10,000 effectives; but his note 44, p. 283, provides no support for this assertion. Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 78, puts the figure at between 10,000 and 15,000 effectives. By contrast, Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 84, embrace an estimate that would seem to reach at least 30,000. Modéran, “L’Afrique romaine,” p. 63, for a figure of between 10,000 and 17,000 effectives; and Egea M.E. Gil, Africa en tiempos de los Vandalos (Alcala de Henares, 1998), p. 191, argues for a force of between 15,000 and 17,000 armed men. The consensus view is provided by Pohl, “The Vandals: Fragments of a Narrative,” pp. 44–45.

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Some Conclusions The pattern of defeats and defections suffered by the coalition of 406 during a period of less than two decades, from 406 to 423, permits the inference that a large segment of the population of Alans, Vandals, and Sueves had been lost from various causes before 429. The census figure of 80,000 in 429 has resulted in a scholarly consensus that the armed forces of the Vandal and Alan coalition that invaded North Africa numbered at most somewhere between 15,000 and 20,000 fightingmen. Procopius, however, records that the coalition much earlier in its history, i.e. likely in 406, could mobilize somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 effectives. Following what appears to be the reliable data provided by Procopius regarding 406 and the equally reliable data provided by the census in 429, it would seem fair to suggest that the total population of the 406 group originally was around 200,000 or about the same size as that of the Visigothic coalition in 378 on the eve of the battle of Adrianople as reported by Eunapius. The broader implications of this investigation of Geiseric’s census and the fate of the coalition of 406 less than a quarter of a century later provides much food for thought regarding military demography. First, the validation of Eunapius’ account of the size of the coalition of 378 as credible helps military historians to come to terms with the possible upper limits of a barbarian group composed of several peoples that sought to enter the empire. This gross figure also provides a good sense of the numbers of fighting men that such large group could put into the field, i.e. more than 40,000 effectives. This latter datum is given strong support by the substantial losses suffered by the Roman army at the battle of Adrianople. By examining the likely reliable figure provided by Procopius for some 50,000 fightingmen in the coalition of 406 and tracing its decline to somewhere between 15,000 and perhaps 20,000 fightingmen in 429, we can glimpse some of the techniques effectively used by the empire to reduce the military threat and overall impact of the 406 coalition in Gaul and Spain. The empire employed diplomatic techniques to gain the defection of Goar’s Alans, who then entered imperial service, and probably the immobilization of the Sueves in Gaul for two years. Through the use of “barbarian” allies, i.e. Franks, the imperial government saw perhaps as many as 20,000 Vandals destroyed, and through the direct use of the Roman army under the command of Constantine III large numbers of the 406 coalition’s fightingmen were killed in battle or driven eastward across the Rhine. By late March of 407, the military viability of the fighting forces of the 406 coalition in Gaul had been undermined and some of its leaders found it necessary to accept treaty arrangements in order to survive. While the Romans were engaged in a civil war, the remnants of the coalition of 406 broke their treaties in the late summer of 409 and fled into Spain. However, once order was restored, the imperial government under the leadership of Constantius, who succeeded as the overall military commander in the West, did not neglect the fugitives. Initially, the remains of the 406 coalition, now in Spain, are recorded to have been seriously reduced in number



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by Rome’s Visigothic allies in the course of several bloody battles. About a half-decade later, an imperial army won two additional decisive victories which futher reduced the armed forces of the coalition. When Geiseric finally moved on to North Africa, the fighting forces of the coalition of Vandals and Alans had been reduced from somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 men, as reported by Procopius, to somewhere between 15,000 and 20,000 effectives as estimated from the census of 429. The initial handling in Gaul by the imperial government of a coalition of some 200,000 migrants, which could mobilize fighting forces in the 50,000 range, in the course of two years provides an excellent perspective from which to judge at least one significant episode of the so-called “barbarian” invasions and their putative impact on the Roman empire. The reduction of the armed forces of the 406 coalition in Spain further highlights the great vulnerability of uninvited “barbarians” to the machinations of the imperial government. These events surely provide strong evidence for effective imperial diplomacy and military strategy early in the fifth century. Modern scholarly claims that the invasion of 406 and its immediate aftermath were a mortal blow to the empire in the West are, like the “end of days” propaganda indulged in by Jerome, highly exaggerated.98

Appendix I Victor of Vita and the Macedonian Phalanx For more than a century, modern scholars have found compelling the logic inherent in Geiseric’s need in 429 to have a census taken in order to arrange for the proper number of ships to effect the transportation of the remains of the 406 coalition from Spain to North Africa.99 It may be added that Geiseric also had to give consideration to the logistic requirements of his people and, therefore, not only had to obtain stores of supplies but to have available ships to move both foodstuffs and household goods.100 Likely of special importance, in this maritime context, was making available a sufficient number of horse trans98 99 100

See for example, the observation by Ward-Perkins, The Fall of Rome, p. 42: “Gaul was devastated in the years 407–409 by the Vandals, Alans, and Sueves.” Ludwig Schmidt, Geschichte der Wandalen (Dresden, 1901; reprint Munich, 1942), p. 31; and the works cited in note 104, below. The need for a census in order to count heads so that enough ships for the journey to Africa would be made available, was, according to Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, pp. 231–32, n. 3, conjured up by Schmidt (see note 99). Goffart, however, finds that Schmidt’s “guess is unobjectionable” regarding the need to take a census.

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ports.101 This was important because the bulk of the effective forces traditionally mobilized both by the Vandals and the Alans were mounted troops.102 Without their horses, these fighting men likely would have been severely disadvantaged against even less than first-class imperial troops.103 In 1980, Walter Goffart, without calling into question Geiseric’s need to have a census taken in 429, claimed that the 80,000 figure used by Victor was merely a topos. Accepting Goffart’s idea that Victor’s number had no real evidentiary value, other scholars concluded that the real total of the Vandals must have been much smaller.104 In fact, Goffart argued that 80,000 was a military topos based 101



102

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104





Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 78, discusses the need for horse transports. Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, p. 123, discusses the necessity of assembling a fleet to transport 80,000 men, women, and children with their impedimenta. He calls attention to the availability of fishing boats, merchant ships, and boat builders, but omits discussion of horse transports. Regarding the history of horse transports in the West, see the brief introduction in Bernard S. Bachrach, “On the Origins of William the Conqueror’s Horse Transports,” Technology and Culture 26 (1985), 505–31; and reprinted in idem, Warfare and Military Organization in Pre-Crusade Europe (London, 2002), with the same pagination.   Discussion of Geiseric’s preparations to leave Spain in 429 makes it necessary to remind the reader of the supposed treaty or treaty-like arrangements that the Vandal ruler is sometimes thought to have made with Count Boniface, the Roman military governor in North Africa, who was at odds with the imperial government in the West. Most scholars quite rightly reject the idea, promulgated by Procopius, that such a treaty existed. See concerning this controversial matter, Pohl, “The Vandals,” pp. 39–40; Schwarcz, “The Settlement of the Vandals in North Africa,” pp. 51–52; Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, pp. 124–27; and Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, pp. 53–54. Regarding the Alans, see Bachrach, Alans in the West, pp. 27–29, especially for their key role in the mounted charge at Adrianople. Concerning the Vandals, see Courtois, Les Vandales, pp. 230–233; Castritius, Die Vandalen, pp. 137–38; and Kouznetsov and Lebedynasky, Les Alains, pp. 168–75. Procopius, BV, I, viii, 27 (Procopii Caesariensis opera omnia, 4 vols., ed. J. Haury [Leipzig, 1962–1964], and for the translation, Procopius with an English Translation by H. B. Dewing [London and Cambridge, MA, 1953], 2:81–82), is probably exaggerating somewhat when he observed that the Vandals lacked skill with missile weapons, e.g. both the spear and the bow, and also lacked the ability to fight on foot. Barbarians and Romans, pp. 231–34. Some scholars would seem to have accepted Goffart’s arguments without question. See for example, Kulikowski, Late Roman Spain, p. 177; Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 48, n. 101; and Schwarcz, “The Settlement of the Vandals in North Africa,” pp. 51–52.   Many of the scholars who reject the 80,000 figure simply claim a priori that it is “too big,” without, however, making any further argument. By contrast, James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 186, employs what may be called a logistical determinist argument in order to claim that it was not possible to mobilize large armies or to move large numbers of people in the Late Antique era as, for example, is indicated by Victor’s report regarding Geiseric’s census. In this context, James bases his argument (loc. cit. 284, n. 61) on a claim by Timothy Reuter, “The Recruitment of Armies in the Early Middle Ages: What Can We Know?” in Military Aspects of Scandinavian Society in a European Perspective, AD. 1–1300, ed. A. Norgard Jorgensen and B.L. Clausen (Copenhagen, 1997), pp. 32–37 at 36; and the support given to Reuter’s argument by Guy Halsall, Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West, 450–900 (London and New York, 1993), p. 129.   According to James, it is the view of Reuter (followed by Halsall) that if an “army of



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on the widespread understanding that historically the Macedonian, Greek, and Trojan phalanxes were composed of 8,000 men as contrasted, for example, to the 6,000-man Roman legion.105 Thus, according to Goffart, divisions of 80,000, e.g. 40,000, and multiples of 80,000, e.g. 320,000, found in Late Antique texts are topoi calculated on a 8,000 base and were used both by Christian and pagan writers to convey some message of military importance or perhaps only to demonstrate the author’s erudition to fellow intellectuals.106 In short, Goffart observes that the supposed non-Roman ideal phalanx underlies computations





105

106

20,000 men (four times the population of Paris) really had been put in the field in the ninth century then it would have had an impact on the local economy and society analogous to ‘the down-wind ellipse of fall-out from a nuclear weapon’.” However, specialists in medieval demography have suggested that the city of Paris ca. 800 had a population of about 25,000. On this point, see P. Bairoch, J. Batou, and P. Chèvre, La population des villes Européennes: Banque de données et analyse sommaire des résultats (800–1850) (Genève, 1988), p. 28.   Secondly, neither Reuter nor Halsall have published research nor do they cite research regarding either later Roman or medieval logistics, and the documentation they provide to support their views, as, for example, those relied upon by James, above, makes clear that they are innocent of relevant logistic studies. For a critique of Reuter, Halsall and their methods, see Bachrach, “Charlemagne’s Expeditionary Forces,” pp. 1–42.   No less important is the fact that a plethora of military historians in ancient and medieval history have demonstrated how logistics will determine the upper limit on the size, speed of movement, and/or distance traversed by an army. See for example, Donald Engels, Alexander the Great and the Logistics of the Macedonian Army (Berkeley, CA, 1978); Marcus Junkelmann, Die Legionen des Augustus: Der römische Soldat in archäologische Experimente (Mainz, 1986); and Jonathan P. Roth, The Logistics of the Roman Army at War (264 BC–AD 235) (Leiden, 1999). Concerning the Middle Ages, see the tour de force by Yuval Noah Harari, “Strategy and Supply in Fourteenth-Century Western European Invasion Campaigns,” The Journal of Military History 64 (2000), 297–333, which provides sufficient facts and figures to undermine minimalist speculations regarding logistics. See also Bernard S. Bachrach, “Some Observations on the Military Administration of the Norman Conquest,” in Anglo-Norman Studies VIII, ed. R. Allen Brown (Woodbridge, 1986), pp. 1–25; and David S. Bachrach, “Military Logistics during the Reign of Edward I of England, 1272–1307,” War in History 13 (2006), 57–78. As Goffart shows (Barbarians and Romans, p. 233), the locus classicus for information regarding the ideal legion was Vegetius, De re Militari, bk. II, ch. 2 (Vegetius, Epitoma Rei Militaris, ed. M.D. Reeve [Oxford, 2004]). Goffart’s insight in this matter raises questions regarding how Late Antique writers prior to the publication of Vegetius’ work learned of this ideal legion and began to use it as a topos. Regarding the date of Vegetius’ De re Militari, see W. Goffart, “The Date and Purpose of Vegetius’ De re Militari,” Traditio 33 (1977), 65–100; reprinted in idem, Rome’s Fall and After (London, 1989), pp. 45–80. As Goffart has shown, De re Militari was likely written ca. 400 or a bit earlier but it was disseminated in the West from a version edited and published at Constantinople in 450. Much useful information is to be found in M.B. Charles, Vegetius in Context. Establishing the Date of the Epitoma rei militaris (Stuttgart, 2007). Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, p. 233, however, does not identify explicit examples of units of 8,000 troops employed by Victor or by Victor’s contemporaries and near contemporaries. Rather, he deals only with multiples of 8,000 in the sources for the period under discussion here.

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which have 8,000 men as its base when military matters are at issue and, therefore, the value of such figures is suspect as demographic evidence.107 In providing this critique of Victor’s account, however, it would seem that Goffart did not give sufficient attention to the author’s explicit statement that the census included old people, young people, children, and even the newborn. Victor, therefore, makes clear that 80,000 was a general figure that included everyone and that it was not merely a census of Geiseric’s military forces.108 In addition, Goffart would appear not to have given appropriate weight to Victor’s own statement that “News of this [the census] spread widely, [and] until today [ca. 490] those ignorant of the matter think that this [80,000 figure] is the number of their armed men …”109 In short, Victor makes clear that other authors, whose works are no longer extant, may have been ignorant of the details of the census, or had misused or misunderstood the information that was available to them in order to claim erroneously that the 80,000 figure was not the number for the total population but only the figure for Geiseric’s army. To put it simply, Goffart may well have been correct had he pointed out that some authors of the period, perhaps influenced by their knowledge of the appropriate size of the “Macedonian phalanx,” misused the census data in the very manner that Victor himself claims to have been the case. Victor, however, not only did not misuse the census data but also he vigorously condemned those who did. Goffart was on the wrong track when condemned the overall census figure that purported to count the old, the young, children, and newborns. Rather, he should have condemned those writers who may perhaps have been influenced by the Macedonian phalanx topos and erroneously reported a fighting force of 80,000 effectives. Goffart’s discussion of Victor’s supposed use of the Macedonian topos nevertheless raises questions regarding the North African’s writing style in the History. In this context, it is important that scholars have recognized that “Victor was not without literary pretensions.”110 However, numerology and 107

108

109 110

Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, p. 233. While Goffart’s argument that Victor was using a topos finds supporters (see above, note 104), others reject the 80,000 figure for various reasons. For example, Goldsworthy, How Rome Fell, p. 329, thinks the number may well be inflated, ignores Geiseric’s need for an accurate census, but gives no support to Goffart’s argument. Heather, “Why Did the Barbarian Cross the Rhine?” pp. 5–7, also seems to believe that the 80,000 figure is too large, notes Goffart’s objections, but adds no clarity to the discussion. James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 185, similarly rejects the 80,000 figure because “it would seem rather to be a standard figure, meaning ‘large’.” James, unfortunately, provides no compelling evidence for such a claim. Victor, Hist., I. 2: “statuit omnem multitudinem numerari … senes, iuvenes, parvuli … octoginta milia numerati.” I find it curious that Merrills, in his review of Berndt, Konflikt und Anpassung, p. 98, would seem to believe that Victor, contrary to the author’s own words, used the 80,000 figure to represent the number of coalition fighting men who crossed into Africa in 429. Victor, Hist., I. 2. Shanzer, “Intentions and Audiences,” p. 278, for the quotation regarding Victor’s literary pretensions, and the literature she cites in n. 51; Lancel, Histoire, pp. 49–63; and in consider-



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number symbolism were not part of his stylistic repertoire either in regard to military matters or other secular matters or even in regard to religious matters.111 There is no reason to believe that the 80,000 figure, which Victor provides presumably as the result of information he had acquired regarding the Vandal census of 429, was inspired by some affectation in regard to numerical topoi that was fundamental or even ancillary to his writing style. We must recognize, at least in this case, that despite the great ingenuity of modern scholarly erudition, which can be brought to bear concerning the study of any number in regard to its possible use as a topos, sometimes a number found in a text is just a number, and an accurate one at that.112 In addition to Victor’s obvious stylistic disinclination to employ number symbolism, it is clear that he was well-positioned to have accurate information regarding various aspects of Vandal history. For example, as Goffart persuasively argues, Victor records important technical details regarding the nature of the Vandal settlement or “accommodation” in North Africa, which took place not long after their unopposed landing in 429.113 Geiseric’s ability to utilize the Roman administrative system both in Spain and in North Africa is not at issue. In fact, the Vandal ruler is reported to have brought with him from Spain to North Africa in 429 at least four high-ranking Hispano-Romans who served as officials in his government. Men such as these surely were as able to organize a census in Spain as they were to deal with the accommodation or settlement of the Vandals, in economic terms, in North Africa.114 How Victor came into possession of technical information found in Vandal documents, e.g. the details of the 429 census and the terms of Vandal settlement in North Africa, is perhaps somewhat more difficult to ascertain than recognition of the fact that he had access to such information and recorded it in his History. In this context, it is well established that for at least part of his adult life Victor lived in Carthage, the Vandal capital, where government documents

111

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114

ably greater detail, see Tankred Howe, Vandalen, Barbaren und Arianer bei Victor von Vita (Frankfurt am Main, 2007). See for example, Victor, Hist., I, 26, where he puts the number of bishops, priests, and other members of the church who were sent into exile at 4,966. This does not seem to be a topos, or at least no one has identified it as a topos, but rather it appears very much like an exact number found in a carefully executed census document. Whether the figure is accurate is another matter. Numerical topoi, as such, do not seem to be an issue for Howe, Vandalen, Barbaren und Arianer, esp. pp. 183–228; he ignores Goffart’s argument. This problem is discussed, for example, by Bernard S. Bachrach, “Magyar-Ottonian Warfare: à-propos a New Minimalist Interpretation,” Francia 13.1 (2000), 211–30, with regard to the complexity of the number 300 in military contexts. Both Walter Goffart, “The Techniques of Barbarian Settlement in the Fifth Century: A Personal, Streamlined Account with Ten Additional Comments,” Journal of Late Antiquity 3 (2010) 61–62; and Moorehead, Victor of Vita, p. xv, call attention to official documents to which Victor very likely had access. See the discussion by Merrills and Miles, The Vandals, p. 61, p. 267, n. 13, who, on the basis of Prosper’s account, accept as accurate the identification of these high ranking “Spaniards” as Acadius, Paschasius, Probus, and Eutycianus.

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were kept by the officers of the central administration.115 In addition, Victor may have been acquainted with very elderly though influential Vandals or other important members of the coalition, who, earlier in their lives, not only had journeyed from Spain to North Africa in 429, but who also had participated in the settlement process.116 Victor most certainly was acquainted with Vandals and others of the coalition, who were the offspring of those who had taken part in the crossing to North Africa.117 Some of the more obvious details of a mass migration, e.g. the gross number of men, women, and children, in general, who went from Spain to North Africa, undoubtedly were remembered by those who took part in such a lifealtering event. Details such as newly born babies being counted in the census likely were told and retold on numerous occasions as an example of how carefully such matters were treated in 429.118 In short, Victor, as Goffart and others have argued, had access to a variety of Vandal administrative documents and was not averse to providing substantial detail, including technical terminology, that he would appear to have seen in various texts.119 In recounting the nature of the census, Victor has been widely read as implying that Geiseric, in ordering the data to be collected, was intending to execute a ruse de guerre so as to fool his enemies into thinking that his army was larger than it was in actuality.120 This is interesting because insofar as any Roman commander, who learned that the total Vandal population numbered in the 80,000 range, likely would conclude that Geiseric’s coalition in 429 would have been able to field approximately 20,000 able-bodied men of military age. However, if the total absolute loss of fightingmen suffered by the coalition between 406 and 429 had been greater in relation to the remainder of the popu115 116 117

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Courtois, Victor de Vita, pp. 5–11; and Lancel, Histoire, pp. 5–7. Lancel, Histoire, pp. 5–7. There is some debate as to whether Victor was a bishop. If in fact he was a prelate rather than a mere cleric, then it is even more likely that he knew influential people in the Vandal government. See Courtois, Victor de Vita, pp. 5–11; and Lancel, Histoire, pp. 8–9. Cf. Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, pp. 231–32, n. 3, who, despite the controversy regarding the census indicated by Victor and the confusion engendered by the information provided by Procopius (see below), argues that “we have no reason to think that anyone bothered to remember the tally, much less to record it, after the crossing was complete.” The question is not whether Victor in his History records specific technical details regarding the fate of “land” in North Africa. Rather, the debate turns on how these details are to be interpreted. See Goffart, “The Techniques of Barbarian Settlement,” pp. 81–82, regarding this point with the relevant literature. Victor, Hist., I, 2. Here I quote from the translation by Moorehead (p. 3): “A large number made the crossing, and in his cunning duke Geiseric, intending to make the reputation of his people a source of dread, ordered then and there that the entire crowd was to be counted ...” Howe, Vandalen, Barbaren und Arianer, p. 195, treats this passage under the rubric of a negative topos that employs “Falschheit,” which is signaled by the use of the word calliditas in Victor’s text. However, from the perspective of military leadership being callidus has a definite positive connotation and this is especially so in the execution of a successful ruse de guerre. See Everett L. Wheeler, Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery (Leiden, 1988), pp. 67–68.



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lation than the normal ratio of combatants to non-combatants, which was likely as a result of losses in battle, then the number of able-bodied men may well have dipped below 20 percent of the total. This would mean that Geiseric was undertaking an invasion of North Africa with, for example, fewer than 20,000 fighting men. In light of the size of the Roman garrison in North Africa at about 25,000 effectives plus additional forces that could be drawn from a variety of sources, it was in Geiseric’s interest to have his adversaries believe that his army was larger, i.e. 25 percent of the total population of 80,000, than, in fact, may have been the case.

Appendix II Procopius and Further Possible Confusion While Procopius was in North Africa between ca. 534 and ca. 538, it is generally agreed that he sought to obtain all kinds of information regarding the earlier history of the Vandals. In addition, it is likely that he continued to do “research” both in Italy and in Constantinople regarding the Vandals and their allies before writing the Vandal Wars around mid-century.121 One datum Procopius encountered in his research was the claim that at some time before 429, i.e. prior to the invasion of North Africa by the coalition of Vandals and Alans, the fighting forces of their coalition numbered something less than 50,000.122 He then obtained information that this coalition or at least elements of this coalition, later, i.e. upon invading North Africa, had an effective force of 80,000 fightingmen. He rejected this latter figure.123 Procopius’ source for this flawed data, or more accurately mis-information regarding 80,000 effectives was more than likely one of the accounts, now lost, that had been so vigorously condemned by Victor, as noted above.124 121

122 123 124

For an instructive example of the ways in which Procopius’ account was confused and in turn created confusion, see the exchange between J. Haury, “Zur Frage nach der Volkszahl der Wandalen,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 14 (1905), 527–28; and Ludwig Schmidt, “Zur Frage nach der Volkszahl der Wandalen,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 15 (1906), 620–21. There also seems to be some confusion in the treatment of Procopius’ information by Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 78. This is discussed in Appendix III, below. BV., I. v, 18. See for example, James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 185, who makes clear that this larger figure was bruited about by some writers in regard to what they believed was part of a ruse de guerre by Geiseric to make his adversaries believe that his army was larger than actually was the case. James also emphasizes that Procopius understood this was an effort at misdirection.

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Procopius, while in the process of trying to figure out these matters regarding “barbarian” military demography, was perplexed by claims made by at least one source claiming that there was an 80,000-man Vandal and Alan army in 429. He was perplexed because he knew that earlier in coalition history, the Alans and Vandals had somewhat fewer that 50,000 men under arms.125 If this latter datum were correct, this would have meant that in less than a quarter-century, i.e. between 406 and 429, the coalition army would have to have increased by some 30,000 fightingmen, i.e. from 50,000 to 80,000 effectives. By contrast, all sources known today and likely some others that are no longer extant indicate that the fighting forces of this coalition, as seen above, had declined during this period. Procopius also knew that in 534, a bit more than a century after the invasions of 429, there were perhaps 20,000 to 30,000 men under arms in the Vandal kingdom. This was the force that had been rather easily defeated by Belisarius’ army of some 20,000 troops.126 Therefore, if the 80,000 figure for troop strength in 429 were accurate, the coalition’s fighting forces would of necessity have decreased by some 50,000 or more, between 429 and 534. Obviously, Procopius found no evidence for such a radical decline in the army of the Vandal kingdom during the century prior to the Byzantine invasion.127 In light of the above noted problems, Procopius espoused the reasonable position that such a pattern of radical fluctuation in coalition troop strength was not plausible. In this context, it is not unlikely that he had some information of the type, discussed above, which saw the coalition of 406 consistently being diminished and, therefore, seeing its troop strength lessened. He may have been aware of at least some of the noteworthy losses suffered by the coalition between 406 and 429, e.g. the defection of Goar’s Alans in Gaul and the Sueves in Spain. Regarding Gaul, he also may have had some information concerning the severe casualties suffered on the Rhine frontier by the Vandals at the hands of the Franks and the slaughter inflicted by Constantine III. This latter information was available in Zosimus’ early sixth-century Greek text. With regard to Spain, Procopius may have found information regarding the large-scale losses suffered by the coalition in 417–418 at the hands of the Visigoths and then

125 126 127

See Appendix III. Regarding the size of Belisarius’ army, see Pohl, “The Vandals,” pp. 44–45. In addition to all of these other figures, further confusion has been sewn by Procopius (Anecdota, xviii, 6), who obviously became confused regarding the numbers of fighting men who had opposed the Roman invasion of North Africa, as he knew to be the case earlier, and claims that the 80,000 figure was that of Vandal fighting men in this later work. James, Europe’s Barbarians, p. 185, reasonably observes that in this later case, Procopius “seems to forget” that the 80,000 figure for Vandal troop strength “had been a lie.” Regarding the Anecdota, in general, see the discussion by Cameron, Procopius, pp. 49–66. In more general terms regarding military demography in Procopius’ works, see J.H.W.G. Liebeschuetz, “The Romans Demilitarised: The Evidence of Procopius,” Scripta Classica Israelica 15. Studies in Memory of Abraham Wasserstein, vol. 1 (Jerusalem, 1996), pp. 230–39; and reprinted with the same pagination in idem, Decline and Change in Late Antiquity: Religion, Barbarians and their Historiography (Aldershot, UK, 2006).



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in 422–423 by the Roman army. It is clear, of course, that Procopius did not include in his Histories everything he knew in regard to the various military matters about which he wrote even though war was the main theme of these works. As a result, it would seem necessary, on occasion, to speculate regarding how Procopius came by the information that he acquired.128 Having doubts concerning the supposed pattern of increase and decrease in coalition troop strength that he found in some of his sources, Procopius then tried to explain why the erroneous figure of 80,000 for Geiseric’s invasion force in 429 came to be bruited about. In this context, he learned that Geiseric had undertaken an organizational reform by which all of the people who were to be counted for the census were divided into groups of 1,000 men, women, and children. The Vandal ruler then supposedly appointed a millenarius, which Procopius translates as chiliarchos, to head each group. Since, in some contexts, a millenarius could mean the commander of 1,000 soldiers, there was bound to be some confusion by some writers, e.g. those who were vigorously criticized by Victor, concerning the nature of Geiseric’s census.129 Procopius, like Victor, also raises the matter of a ruse de guerre, and observes regarding the appointment of chiliarchs that Geiseric was “making it seem [contrary to fact] that his military forces numbered eighty thousand men.” In short, Procopius believes that Geiseric was willing to mislead those who might have believed that the Vandal king’s millenarii, in fact, commanded 1,000 fightingmen each.130 Liebeschuetz made good sense of the situation when he observed, “the millenarius was in fact the officer who was responsible for the civil administration of his subsection of the Vandal people, as well as being the commander of the tactical unit furnished by it on active service.”131 In this context, it may be suggested that each “thousand” could in the best case produce in the neighborhood of between 200 to 250 fighting men, i.e. twenty to twentyfive percent of the total population of the group.

128 129

130 131

Cameron, Procopius, pp. 225–41. BV., I. v, 19. The description of this process by Herwig Wolfram, The Roman Empire and its Germanic Peoples, trans. T. Dunlap (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1997), p. 163, is on the mark. He is followed by P. von Rummel, “Where Have All the Vandals Gone? Migration, Ansiedlung und Identität der Vandalen im Spiegel archäologischer Quellen aus Nordafrika,” in Das Reich der Vandalen und seine (Vor-) Geschichten, ed. Berndt and Steinacher, 151–82, at p. 151. BV., I. v, 19, and see also the translation by Dewing, I.2:53, where the same contrary-to-fact understanding of the situation is made clear. “Gens into Regnum,” p. 68; and with some variation, see Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 79. For further complications with regard to men who are supposed to have been in charge of 1,000 people, whether military leaders or civilian administrators, see Goffart, Barbarians and Romans, pp. 82–86, with the extensive literature cited there.

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Appendix III Procopius’ 50,000 Barbarian Fighting Men While in the process of discussing the history of the barbarian military forces involved in the conquest of North Africa, Procopius makes clear, as noted above, that he knew that at some time prior to the invasion of North Africa in 429 the coalition of Vandals and Alans could mobilize an army that was somewhat smaller than 50,000 effectives.132 As seen above, Procopius, having concluded that the chiliarch model was a ruse de guerre also undoubtedly understood that in 429 the coalition invasion force numbered about 20,000, i.e. some 25 percent of the total 80,000 population recorded in the census. Since the original coalition that crossed the Rhine in 406 was formed sometime during that year, the question at issue is: how long prior to 429 did the forces of the coalition number something less than 50,000 effectives? The losses suffered by the coalition of 406 in Gaul and in Spain between crossing the Rhine and the invasion of North Africa, discussed in detail above, would seem to explain how the fighting forces of the Alans and Vandals were reduced from somewhere in the neighborhood of 50,000 fightingmen to about 20,000 effectives in 429. At no time in either Gaul or Spain is there evidence that the coalition’s forces were augmented in a significant manner. The only addition, as already discussed, were some Goths, who are likely to have joined Geiseric in 429 for the invasion of North Africa. Their subsequent history in North Africa as part of the Vandal kingdom does not lend itself to the conclusion that they were very numerous.133 In short, when Procopius claims that the coalition had in the neighborhood of 50,000 fightingmen at some time in its history prior to 429, it is very likely that he is speaking about the armed forces of the original coalition, including Sueves, in 406. In light of the losses suffered by coalition fighting forces between 406 and 429, this 50,000 figure should be considered to be reasonably accurate. I know of no research that either construes the 50,000 figure as a topos or that undermines its plausibility in any other way. There is no basis to believe that the 50,000 figure was conjured up by Procopius; no apparent reason can be adduced for the creation of a fantasy in this context. By contrast, such an estimate by 132

133

BV., I. v, 18–19, makes it clear that prior to 429, i.e. the departure for North Africa, the number of Vandal and Alan fighting men “had not been higher than fifty thousand.” This figure of approximately 50,000 is accepted by Pohl, “The Vandals,” p. 38, but, contrary to what Procopius says, Pohl seems to regard it as the total number of Vandals. See the translations by Dewing, p. 53; and Alemany, Sources on the Alans, p. 198. Cf. Castritius, Die Vandalen, p. 79. Merrills, Vandals, Romans and Berbers, p. 51, argues that this was a “strong group of Goths.” However, the text he cites in n. 17 (Possidius, Vita Augusti, 28) says nothing of the strength of the Gothic force. Note that, after the conquest of North Africa, the “Goths” who were joined to the coalition in 429 are not mentioned again, at least, not by Merrills, loc. cit.



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Procopius provides some significant support for the hypothesis that the coalition in 406 numbered some 200,000 men, women, and children. To put it simply, an armed force of Alans, Vandals, and Sueves numbering something less that 50,000 in 406 would represent between 20 and 25 percent of a coalition of 200,000 men, women, and children, which as we have seen, suffered considerable losses prior to the invasion of 429.

2 War Words and Battle Spears: The kesja and kesjulag in Old Norse Literature K. James McMullen

The spear is a weapon which does not normally receive an excess of praise in Old Norse literature. Certainly, there are famed weapons like Gísli’s Grásiða, or Óðinn’s Gungnir, but on the whole it seems that, for most medieval Scandinavians, a spear was – to borrow from Oakeshott1 – just a spear. This, however, was not always the case and there is a particular type of spear mentioned in Old Norse sagas, the kesja, which deserves some attention. Kesjur are used in numerous engagements, both large and small-scale, in the sagas. Unlike other spears, the kesja forms part of a compound word – kesjulag – which appears to refer to a specific type of fighting during large battles. Just what kesjur were, and why they would have their own word for a specific type of combat, though, is uncertain. The kesja appears in a large number of Old Norse texts – the Old Norse Prose Dictionary project at Copenhagen lists twenty-nine separate texts which reference the kesja, in genres ranging from contemporary sagas to romances and legendary sagas. It also occurs in Snorra-Edda, appearing in Þattur IV of Skáldskaparmál, the Spjóts heiti,2 which provides a list of alternate words to use for describing spears in poetry. Kesjur also appear in by-names, usually as an indicator of a particularly fierce warrior, as is the case with Harald kesja, son of Erik Ejegod, the Danish king at the start of the eleventh century. The wide variety of texts and circumstances in which the word appears suggests that the kesja was a weapon which would have been both well known and almost certainly instantly recognized by the audience when hearing a poem recited, or a saga read. We will begin with an examination of the word kesjulag,3 rather than kesja itself, as the word represents a specific use of kesjur – whatever they may be – during battles. The term kesjulag, a compound of the noun kesja and the verb

1 2 3

R. Ewart Oakeshott, The Archaeology of Weapons: Arms and Armour from Prehistory to the Age of Chivalry (London, 1960), pp. 45, 60. Snorri Sturlusson, Edda, ed. Sveinbjörn Egilsson (Reykjavik, 1848), p. 115. The only examples of the term kesjulag that I am aware of are in Sverris saga, though this does not mean that the term does not occur in other manuscripts.

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leggja,4 means, literally, “thrusting with a kesja,” however the implications of it in the texts are rather different from what the direct translation implies. It is not simply another way of saying “Bjǫrn and Asgeirr stabbed many enemies with their kesjur,” but rather there is a clear distinction made between between close combat where spears, axes, swords or other weapons are involved, and the use of kesjur in kesjulag. There are two passages from Sverris saga that make the distinction quite clearly. The first occurs during the sea battle at Nidaros: Sóttu Magnúss konungs menn fast at Óláfssuðinni, báru á þá grjót ok skǫt ok kesjulǫg. En fyrir því at þeir stungu stǫfnum at kómu þeir ekki hǫggum við. [King Magnúss’ men sought to press the Ólafsuð hard, bringing against it rocks and missiles and kesjulag. And they could not come to hewing for the prows were turned.]5

In this example, the ships in question are still mobile, not yet brought close enough to one another for boarding and the warriors must content themselves with hurling missiles and stabbing at their enemies from a distance with their kesjur. Sverrir’s men had manoeuvred their ship across the bows of King Magnúss’ ships, an early equivalent of “crossing the T,” which allowed for the majority of Sverrir’s men to bring their weapons to bear, while only a relatively small number of Magnúss’ men – the ones who could stand in the prows of the ships – could respond to the attacks made by Sverrir’s men. Unfortunately for King Sverrir, the battle does not go as well as he had hoped, the Óláfssuð is boarded, and the battle takes a course more conventional for sea battles in the sagas. Another example of the kesjulag occurs, this time on land, when Sverrir’s men ambush a group of King Magnúss’ men while they attempt to relieve the broken Heklungar lines: En þeir er á skipunum váru heyrðu ganga lúðra ok heróp upp á vǫlluna Þá reru þeir at landi ok settu upp merki sín, gengu síðan upp til þeira ok vilja duga sínum mǫnnum. En fyrir því at myrkt var finna þeir eigi fyrr en flóttamennir hlaupa up á þá ok því næst mœttu þeir kesjulǫgum ok sverðhǫggum Bierkibeina. [… those on the ship, hearing movement, trumpets, and war-shouts from the field, rowed their ship to land, set up their standard, and went to their aid. And because it was dark they could not find their missing men and then next met they the kesjulag and sword-hewing of the Birkibeinar.]6

The Heklungar during this incident are apparently in loose order or possibly a column of march as they advance to reinforce their allies. The ambush by 4 5

6

As per the gloss in Cleasby and Vigfusson’s An Icelandic-English Dictionary (Oxford, 1874), pp. 369 and 377. Jónas Kristjánsson and Þórður Ingi Guðjónsson, eds., Íslenzk fornrít XXX: Sverris saga (Reykjavik, 2007), p. 86, hereafter cited as Í. f. XXX. All translations in this article are the work of the present author. Í. f. XXX, p. 112.



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the Birkibeinar would have caused a disruption in either of these formations. While the Heklungar are not described as being in a shield-wall there is the alternate possibility, however, that they were in a regular battle formation when the Birkibeinar attacked them from behind or along a flank, thus throwing them into disarray and allowing the kesjulag to occur. The kesjulag, at least in the situation on land, also allowed the attackers to bring their kesjur to bear against their opponents and not only to exercise the advantage of reach that is provided by a spear, but also to maintain the option of using any additional weapons they had at hand. This tactical flexibility is evident during the final battle during the bœndr uprising at Oslo, when the bœndr lines broke: Þá lugu lindiskildinir at þeim ok dugði ekki fyrir kesjulǫgum Birkibeina. [Then laid they down their linden shields and they could not stand before the kesjulag of the Birkibeinar.]7

When the victorious Birkibeinar made their way into broken bœndr lines, they are described as explicitly engaging in kesjulag, and not hǫggva, or hewing, with swords and axes. This could be because the fleeing bœndr were moving too quickly for the Birkibeinar to get close enough, or it could simply be that the author preferred to use the term when describing the scene. What is clear, though, is that the Birkibeinar were unyielding in their attack on the defeated bœndr, and that they were pursuing a defeated and scattered enemy, rather than a well ordered foe. Now, the kesjulag was not the only way in which the kesja was employed. In fact there are more references to it being used as a missile than in close combat. In Oddr Munk’s version of Óláfs saga, King Óláf is described several times as throwing kesjur at his enemies – and they are described as hurling them at the king as well. We can see this clearly when … hann barðisk undir merkjum, þá tók hann á lopti fljúgandi kesjur ok ǫrvar, svá vinstri hendi sem hœgri, ok sendi aptr jafnt báðum hǫndum. [… he (the king) was fighting under the trees, then he took the flying kesjur and arrows from the air, with his left hand as much as his right, and sent them back with both hands equally.] 8

As well as when … þá skaut Óláfr konungr til jarls báðum hǫndum þrimr kesjum skammskeptum. [King Óláfr then hurled three short-shafted kesjur toward the jarls with both hands.]9

In these scenes, Óláfr is clearly handling a sort of missile. However, what 7 8 9

Í. f. XXX, p. 260. Ólafr Hálldórsson, ed., Færeyinga saga, Ólafs saga Odds, Íslenzk fornrit XXV (Reykjavik, 2006) p. 267, hereafter cited as Í. f. XXV. Í. f. XXV, p. 345.

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is important to note is that in the second extract, when the king is purposely hurling missiles at his enemies and not simply returning them, the kesjur are described as skammskept. This is important as it suggests that kesjur were not normally considered to be particularly short-shafted when compared with other spears of the day, and such modification was possibly made in order to allow a warrior to carry more missiles into battle. The short-shafted kesjur would likely have been less accurate than the long-shafted variety, as a longer shaft provides for better balance when throwing over long distances. Also worthy of note is that Óláfr was carrying three of these kesjur skammskept, and that the kesjur heads were not getting caught or entangled amongst one another. Sverris saga also includes numerous scenes where the kesja is mentioned as being used as a missile weapon, most notably during the ambush by the bœndr during their uprising at Oslo, when Sverrir’s army is caught unaware by the sudden hail of spears. The saga’s author also makes an important distinction that the kesja was a weapon commonly carried by the semi-professional Scandinavian warrior rather than the impressed or volunteering landowner. Prior to the battle of Nidaros, Sverrir’s army – such as it was – was composed primarily of poorly-armed farm-labourers. When the king’s party is approached by one of these, it is noted that the man – Eyvindr – carries no weapon other than a heavy tree-branch and, while such a weapon would be of great value to the duellist or heroic warrior fighting in single combat with ample room to manoeuvre, a soldier would find little use for it. As such, one of Sverrir’s men – Hjarrandi hviða – commends Eyvindr’s bravery for wishing to face the enemy armed only with a great club, but seems to realize the folly of allowing a man to be armed so in combat when he lends Eyvindr his own personal kesja and hand-axe. The loan of his personal weapons so close to battle suggests that Hjarrandi would have had access to replacement equipment – after all, it would hardly do for him to go into battle alongside his king while unarmed. The loan of the hand-axe would be in and of itself a significant reduction in Hjarrandi’s efficacy in battle should there be no replacement for it, but the gift of the kesja is far more worth noting; it suggests a place for Eyvindr – possibly replacing Hjarrandi – within the front few ranks of battle, where his kesja would be able to be used alongside others in a formation. Insofar as Hjarrandi’s replacement of his weapons is concerned, it is likely that replacement of the kesja would be would be of primary concern since – as a spear – it would be able to provide an extension of Hjarrandi’s range in battle. If he carried multiple kesjur, then he could participate in the initial bombardment of the bœndr troops as well as the close-in fighting. It should also be noted that the kesja is found in all three major battle-spaces of the Viking Age: the individual duel, the massed land-battle, and the naval battle. It is a soldier’s weapon, first and foremost, and is most often employed in relatively large-scale conflicts, as is made evident in Ólafs saga Trygvassonar, Sverris saga and Egils saga. It is also used in a naval context, when Egill attacks the men on Rǫgnvaldr’s ship. Egill also carries his kesja when he fights his duel



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against Berg-Ǫnnundr, and both men hurl their kesjur at one another. This use of the weapon regardless of the environment might simply be an affectation of Egill’s, but it is not likely – after all, Berg-Ǫnnundr is also armed with a kesja. As he was leading a company of men to capture Egill at the time. It is likely that Berg-Ǫnnundr would have chosen to outfit himself with weapons which would be best used not only alone, but also in a group of men, should his group be forced to face Egill’s group in a pitched battle. The relatively common occurrence of kesjur in Old Norse texts dealing with military engagements suggests that kesjur were both straightforward in design – being able to be made in great quantities, and in a great number of forges of varying quality – as well as being an extremely efficient weapon for use during large-scale battles. This efficiency is likely due to the multi-use nature of the weapon, as kesjur are used as missiles far more frequently than other spears in the sagas. In Egils saga, for example, during their battle Egill hurls his kesja against BergǪnnundr, who reciprocates in kind, and the results provide us with a surprising bit of information; to which I will turn presently. Egils saga also provides us with a good amount of information regarding the kesja, especially considering it is within the saga that we find what is in my opinion the finest description of a weapon in Old Norse literature. Just prior to the battle of Brunanburh, we are given a description of the gear which Þórólfr and his brother Egill are carrying into the fight. As well as the expected swords, shields, armour, and helmet, we are also told that Þórólfr – who is armed identically to Egill – had kesju hafði hann í hendi; fjǫðrin var tveggja álna lǫng ok sleginn fram broddr ferstrendr, en upp var fjǫðrin breið, falrinn bæði langr ok digr, skaftit var eigi hæra en taka mátti hendi til fals ok furðuliga digrt. Járnteinn var í falnum ok skaftið allt járnvafið; þau spjót voru kǫlluð brynþvarar [a kesja in hand; the feather (or spear-blade) was two ells long and the edges were forged to a square point, and the top of the spear-blade was broad, the socket both long and stout, the shaft was just high enough for the hand to touch the socket, and was extremely thick. There was an iron spike in the socket and the shaft was covered in iron; these spears were called brynþvarar (mail-piercers.)]10

Now, given the lack of such huge spearheads in the archaeological record for period from the tenth to the thirteenth century – bearing in mind that an ell was roughly 50 centimetres in length, and thus two ells would be nearly a metre long – it is almost certainly an exaggeration to suggest that Þórolfr’s kesja had a blade so large. However, the general description of the blade’s geometry does provide us with a solid idea of what we should look for in the archaeological record. While we may not find the monstrously large swords-on-sticks that are described in Egils saga, we can look for long-bladed, broad-headed spears with long sockets. Hjalmar Falk, in his Altnordische Waffenkunde, made an important distinction 10

Sigurður Nordal, ed., Egils saga, Íslenzk fornrit II (Reykjavik, 1933), p. 136.

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Figure 1:  “Kesja” (Falk, Altnordische Waffenkunde, figure 17, p. 80). Scale: one-third of actual size.

Figure 2:  “Brynþvari” (Falk, Altnordische Waffenkunde, figure 18, p. 82). Scale: one-third of actual size.

between the kesja and the brynþvari, which he identified as a separate weapon all together.11 Falk’s proposed brynþvari is based on a spear from Nydam Mose (Figure 2) which has been dated to the beginning of the third century CE. This is, of course, exceedingly early for the artefact to be considered as part of the arsenal of a warrior in the late tenth to early thirteenth centuries. I disagree with Falk here, based on the fact that, were brynþvarar a separate class of spear all together from the kesja, there would have been more reference to them in contemporary sagas, kings’ sagas, or family sagas. As it stands, the word brynþvari occurs a handful of times in fornaldursögur and once in Konungs skuggsjá, but in all of these occurrences it is neither described nor given any special significance. Furthermore, kesjur are referred to as kesjur and not brynþvarar throughout the entirety of Egils saga. It is likely, at least in my mind, that the 11

Hjalmar Falk, Altnordishe Waffenkunde (Kristiana, 1914), p. 82.

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term brynþvarar was used only as an authorial flourish and did not refer to a specific type of spear, kesja or otherwise. Falk also appears to subscribe to the theory that the kesja should have an analogue with Irish weaponry, as the Old Norse word has a potential linguistic connection to the Irish word ceis.12 I agree with Falk’s assessment that the word kesja may be related to the Irish noun ceis, which means spear, but disagree with him as far as the transmission is concerned; rather, I think that the word ceis was adapted from the Norse word kesja by the Irish, as there is no mention of any Irish – or Scots – in the sagas who are armed with kesjur as far as I am aware. The weapon appears to be a wholly Norwegian invention. As far as what the kesja could be, though, we have to look at the description in Egils saga. The first and most important element is that the spearhead is described as broad above, but above what? Falk is right in thinking that the kesja – even if he refers to it as a brynþvari – was possessed of a shoulder that flared out above the socket. He suggests that object 520 in Oluf Rygh’s catalogue of Scandinavian artefacts could have been the kesja.13 If the saga author was referring to the width of the blade at the point, then the kesja would be a rather poor weapon for piercing, as well as being grossly unaerodynamic when used as a missile, so we can rule that out fairly safely. It is likely, then, that the description of the kesja in Egils saga refers to a bulge in the blade, whether at the mid-point or closer to the end of the blade itself. Both options would provide a degree of stability to the kesja as it was thrown, as well as making it more easy to wield in one hand during battle. The question, though, is what is the blade broader than? The safe assumption is that the blade is broader than the socket, and thus the shaft. This does fit fairly well with Falk’s assessment of what kesjur may have been; he interpreted the kesja as a distinct weapon from the brynþvarar as described in Egils saga, and suggested that it was a spear similar to R520, as shown here. Furthermore, the physical appearance of the R520 spear does not closely match the description of the kesjur in Egils saga, being relatively short-socketed, and having a blade with a fairly consistent width and minimal flaring above the socket. Instead, spears similar to Rygh’s 521 and R532a might be more likely candidates. These spears are also classified in Jan Petersen’s De Norske Vikingswerde as classes I and K, differentiated by the shoulder joining the blade to the socket, as well as the decorations and method of affixing the spear to the shaft, with I being affixed by nails, and K having a friction-fitting (see Figure 4).14 The kesja as described in Egils saga has a relatively unique geometry; it is described as being four-sided, which is a clear suggestion of a diamondshaped cross section. Spearheads with a diamond cross section are relatively uncommon in Scandinavian finds from the early part of the period in question, but become more frequent as time passes. Rygh identifies three exemplars with relatively narrow profiles and pronounced medial ribs, while still flaring 12 13 14

Ibid., p. 80. Oluf Rygh, Norske oldsager, ordnede og forklarede (Kristiana, 1885). Jan Petersen, De Norske Vikingswerde (Kristiana, 1919), pp. 31–33.

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Figure 3:  Possible kesjur: Nos. 521, 530 and 532a in Rygh, Norske oldsager, ordnede og forklarede. Scale: all objects one-third of actual size.

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out above the socket to agree with the description in Egils saga (Figure 3).15 The examples in Rygh include a number of features which the kesja in Egils saga is described as having; they are all wider in the blade than the socket, they all have relatively pronounced medial ribs, and their sockets are all relatively long and stout. The only feature – apart from the great size of the kesjur in Egils saga – that prevents any of these from being identified as kesjur is that the description given of the kesjur carried by the Skallagrimsýnir includes mention of an iron spike in the socket. This could be a reference to an additional spike added to the spear, much like the back-spike of a halberd or guisarme, but to the best of my knowledge no such artefacts have been found in a Scandinavian context from the time in question. Instead, I would suggest that the iron spike referred to in Egils saga is a nail affixing the spearhead to the shaft. This would provide a bit more security for the head of the weapon in close combat situations than simply relying on a friction fit, and it would have prevented the shaft from being removed by an enemy whose shield it was embedded in when the kesja was being used as a missile. It also follows with the example given earlier in Óláfs saga Odds when the king is carrying a trio of kesjur with him. Were the járnteinn a protruding spike, it is likely that the king would have had some trouble in ensuring that the kesjur did not become entangled and thus expose him to greater danger while attempting to engage his enemies. It would also provide a great amount of aerodynamic drag, lessening the accuracy of the kesja when thrown. These relatively narrow-bladed spearheads also agree with the description of Egill and Berg-Ǫnundr’s duel in Egils saga. When Egill and Berg-Ǫnundr hurl their kesjur at one another during their duel, Berg-Ǫnundr’s kesja bounces off Egill’s angled shield, while Egill’s own is driven squarely into Berg-Ǫnundr’s, which is held parallel to Egill. This deflection is an important element of identifying the kesja. The flatness of shields from the period when Egils saga is set would generally cause a spear with a wide blade to stick into the boards when stopped in mid-flight, provided the shield was not held parallel or near parallel to the flight-path of the spear, while a quadrangular spearhead with very small projecting edges would need to hit the timber directly or else bounce off, as Berg-Ǫnundr’s did. Also, the use of kesjur as missiles, along with the specific mention of King Óláfs kesjur being skammskept, suggests that the spearhead was relatively large, in order to facilitate a thick enough shaft to be used in close combat, but light enough that the balance point of the kesja was not too far forward when being used as a missile. The next element of the kesja to be examined is the socket connecting the spear-head to the shaft. The relative thickness of spear sockets is uniform throughout the candidates in Rygh, but it could be that the saga author was simply embellishing this element of the weapon to set the Skalla-Grímsynir apart from their compatriots. The length of the socket is of great importance, however, as a longer socket provides more protection for the shaft of the spear, thus denying the opportunity for an opponent to shatter the weapon and leave its 15

Nos. 521, 530, and 532a in Rygh, Norske oldsager, ordnede og forklarede.

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Figure 4:  Possible kesjur: I- and K-Type spears (Petersen, De Norske Vikingswerde, pp. 31–33). First object (on left), one-third scale, second and third objects, two-fifths scale.

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wielder unable to attack effectively. The sockets of R521, R530, and R532a are much longer than average, extending upwards of 18 centimetres in length, once the scale has been accounted for. The length of the socket would then suggest that these three spear-heads are members of the typology under which the kesja would fall. Falk’s choice of exemplar for his kesja is possessed of socket which falls within the average range of all spears shown in Rygh, though at the shorter end of the spectrum. With the assumption that R521, R530, and R532a are indeed the most likely of the previously mentioned candidates to be kesjur, the question now is under which typology they fall in Petersen’s classification?16 Fortunately, Petersen used the same exemplars as Rygh when generating his typology of spears and we can find object R521 as the exemplar for his I-Type spears (Figure 4). The I-Type spears presented in Petersen are approximately 66 centimetres – or just over an ell – in length, with the sockets making up approximately a third of the total size. While these spears are certainly not as massive as the weapons described in Egils saga, they do come close to the gigantic proportions of Þórólfr and Egill’s weapons. This great length does provide a number of advantages for the kesja and its wielder, the most important of which is that it allows for a sizable distance to be maintained between combatants, while at the same time limiting the likelihood of the spear-shaft being damaged or broken during battle. The I-Type spearheads would also make admirable missiles, as their great length would add mass to the head of the spear, while their narrow profiles would give them good aerodynamic qualities when hurled. This form appears relatively late in the context of Scandinavian weapons. The first occurrences of the I-Type spearheads are near the beginning of the tenth century, which would place them well within the time frame of the Battle of Brunanburh, and it is not inconceivable that the general form would have persisted until the thirteenth century. The great longevity of these forms should not be discounted, as weapons are not typically subject to any great changes over the course of time, with swords being the great exception to the rule. Once a spear form has been found which performs its task reliably and effectively, there is little incentive to make any alterations to the basic profile. It is not inconceivable, then, that the Peterson I-Type spear, with a possible lengthening of the blade by the time of the writing of Egils saga, maintained a presence in the armories of Scandinavian nobles for such a long time.

16

See note 14, above.

3 The Political and Military Agency of Ecclesiastical Leaders in Anglo-Norman England: 1066–11541 Craig M. Nakashian

The civil war between King Stephen of England (r. 1135–54) and Empress Maud has long been a period of interest for medieval historians.2 During this violent and destructive time centralized authority largely fragmented and fell into the hands of the local and regional nobility, including ecclesiastical lords. Contemporary observers, such as the compiler of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, complained that God had forsaken England and it was “said openly that Christ and His saints slept.”3 In the midst of societal and governmental upheaval ecclesiastical lords, primarily bishops, became both protectors and despoilers of the countryside. The author of the Gesta Stephani (himself perhaps a bishop) complained that bishops were behaving in much the same fashion as secular lords in warfare: Others (but it was no task for bishops) filled their castles full of provisions and stocks of arms, knights, and archers, and though they were supposed to be warding off the evildoers who were plundering the goods of the Church showed themselves always more cruel and more merciless than those very evil-doers in oppressing their neighbours and plundering their goods. Likewise the bishops, the bishops themselves, though I am ashamed to say it, not indeed all but a great many out of the whole number, girt with swords and wearing magnificent suits of armour, rode on horseback with the haughtiest destroyers of the country and took their share of the spoil.4

1

2 3 4

I would like to thank David Walsh of the University of Rochester, Kira Thurman of the University of Akron, and Daniel Franke of the United States Military Academy for their comments and insights on this paper. In order to avoid confusion between Empress Matilda (Maud) and Queen Matilda, I shall refer to Henry I’s daughter as Maud (rather than Matilda) throughout this article. The Anglo–Saxon Chronicles, ed. Michael Swanton (London, 2000), p. 265. Gesta Stephani,ed. K.R. Potter (Oxford, 1976), p. 157. Where deemed important, I have provided the original Latin quotation in addition to the translation provided in the body of the text. “Alii, quod tamen non erat opus episcoporum, castella sua escis et armorum copiis, militibus et sagitariis refertissime supplebant, dumque maleficos rerumque ecclesiasticarum direptores arcere putarentur, ipsis maleficis in vicinis suis opprimendis, in rebus eorum diripiendis crudeliores semper et magis immisericordes extiterant. Ipsi nihilominus, ipsi episcopi, quod pudet quidem dicere, non tamen omnes, sed plurimi ex omnibus, ferro accincti,

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During this time of anarchic civil war, bishops were active on both sides as military leaders, and as local military lords they used their spiritual positions and military power to project political agency. They did not take on these roles merely because of the unsettled nature of power during the civil war, but rather they were following in the footsteps of predecessors, both in England and Normandy (and elsewhere). The Anglo-Norman bishop occupied an ambiguous position within English society, as bishops had for centuries before as well. They were simultaneously members of the ecclesiastical and secular hierarchical power structures, and as such they had to balance the spiritual concerns of their diocese along with the secular concerns incumbent on being major landholders. Because they were often members of the higher nobility bishops often experienced intense cultural pressure to serve as leading members of secular society, but simultaneously they were expected to avoid the worldliness and courtliness that could undermine their claims to spiritual purity.5 The issue of episcopal service in warfare was related to the arguments over courtliness and worldliness, but was also part of separate discourses on both the propriety of clerics overseeing bloodshed, as well as the importance of protecting one’s flock from attack and destruction. The inherent contradictions for an office that was meant to be both in and apart from the world led to a variety of opinions as to the benefits and dangers of bishops taking on roles in governance. Monks, especially, liked to point out the danger that worldly service posed to the souls of their secular clerical colleagues (and rivals). In The Spiritual Meadow (late sixth to early seventh century), the Byzantine monk John Moschus wrote of an apocryphal monk falling into damnation, despite the attempts by his abbot to rectify his lazy and disobedient behavior. The abbot was then granted a vision of the dead monk in Hell where he was immersed up to his neck in a river of fire. Bemoaning the fate of the condemned, the abbot reminded the monk that he had constantly implored him to take more concern for his soul. The monk replied, “I thank God, father that there is relief for my head. Thanks to your prayers I am standing on the head of a bishop.”6 On the other hand, while active secular service could be derided by monks as necessarily making bishops less holy and more worldly, others could see the value of a bishop who effectively navigated the channels of power in temporal affairs. Ruotger, author of the Life of Saint Bruno (archbishop of Cologne 953–65), claimed that saving souls and saving lives were both important functions of the bishop. Speaking against those who criticized prince-bishops such as Bruno, Ruotger wrote: If anyone who is ignorant of the divine dispensation objects to a bishop ruling the people and facing dangers of war and argues that he is responsible only for their souls,

5 6

armis decentissime instructi, cum patriae perversoribus superbissimis invebi equis, praedae participari.” C. Stephen Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness (Philadelphia, 1985), pp. 176–94. John Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow, tr. John Wortley (Kalamazoo, 1992), Chapter 44, p. 35.



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the answer is obvious: it is only by doing these things that the guardian and teacher of the faithful brings to them the rare gift of peace and saves them from the darkness in which there is no light.7

For Ruotgar, protecting the flock on Earth was just as important as making sure their souls were heading for Heaven. By the middle of the eleventh century, each of these strands of argument came to a head in the controversy over lay investiture and the attempts by the papacy to centralize power into its own hands. While the role of ecclesiastical figures as political leaders in Anglo-Norman England has long been a source of study and consideration among historians, their military roles and contributions have often been overlooked.8 Earlier historians, such as Helena Chew, did consider the interaction of clerics and warfare, but largely from the perspective of ecclesiastical lordship and feudal obligations.9 Ecclesiastical holdings, both monastic and regular, often provided a large amount of monetary and military support to the English throne. English institutional history abounds with evidence of these contributions from the great ecclesiastical houses, and this was an especially popular mechanism for those who sought to trace that hard-to-pin-down continuity from the Anglo-Saxon to Anglo-Norman periods.10 More recently, historians such as David Bachrach have conducted valuable studies on the supporting role played by clerics in

7

8

9 10

Ruotger, Vita Brunonis archiepiscopi Coloniensis, MGH Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum Nova Series 10.23–24. I would like to thank John France for directing me to this source. The entire passage reads, “Causantur forte aliqui divine dispensationis ignari, quare episcopus rem populi et pericula belli tractaverit, cum animarum tantummodo curam susceperit. Quibus res ipsa facile, si quid sanum sapient, satisfacit, cum tantum et tam insuetum illis presertim partibus pacis bonum per hunc tutorem et doctorem fidelis populi longe lateque propagatum aspiciunt, ne pro hac re quasi in tenebras amplius, ubi non est presentia lucis, offendant.” The historiography on Anglo-Norman governance is far too vast to consider here, but a fine place to begin is with the Yale Monarch Series. For this discussion, especially as it pertained to ecclesiastical lordship, see David C. Douglas, William the Conqueror (New Haven, 1999), pp. 289–345; Frank Barlow, William Rufus (New Haven, 2000), pp. 156–213; C. Warren Hollister, Henry I (New Haven, 2001), pp. 370–457. More specialized studies have been done on several of the ecclesiastical individuals discussed in this paper, including Edward Kealey, Roger of Salisbury, Viceroy of England (Berkeley, 1972); Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford, 1978); Sally N. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan: The Innocence of the Dove and the Wisdom of the Serpent (Berkeley, 1987); R.W. Southern, Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape (Cambridge, 1990). Others are noted where the figures are discussed. An interesting point of transnational comparison could be made outside of medieval England, most especially with medieval Germany (where warrior bishops are thought to have been common). An excellent place to begin for English readers is Timothy Reuter, ed., Warriors and Churchmen in the High Middle Ages (London, 1992), especially the articles by Benjamin Arnold, Timothy Reuter, and John Nightingale. Benjamin Arnold also provided much valuable material in his “German Bishops and their Military Retinues in the Medieval Empire,” German History 7 (1989), 163–89. Helena Chew, The English Ecclesiastical Tenants-in-Chief and Knight Service (Oxford, 1932). See Michael Powicke, Military Obligation in Medieval England (Oxford, 1962), pp. 1–47; C. Warren Hollister, The Military Organization of Norman England (Oxford, 1965), pp. 1–42.

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maintaining morale and ministering to the troops.11 Instead of looking at what the lands of the Church provided or the ideological supports for warfare, my aim is to look at the participation of ecclesiastical figures as military leaders on behalf of the king in Anglo-Norman England in order to demonstrate that these figures played vital roles in directing and leading military campaigns, and occasionally leading and fighting in battle. By tracing the military activities of bishops and abbots during the Anglo-Norman period, we can see the importance of ecclesiastical lords serving as generals and projectors of political will, especially on behalf of the king (though occasionally on their own initiative as well).12 This study will limit its focus mostly to a few well-known figures in order to provide a manageable but representative sample. While it will touch very briefly on the value of ecclesiastical contributions to military forces, the main focus will be on the figures within the Church hierarchy who provided military leadership. The approach will be chronological and will cover the reigns of William I, William II, Henry I, and Stephen. Beginning with the period after the battle of Hastings, and continuing through the civil war between Stephen and Maud, we will see that ecclesiastical lords were intimately involved in the prosecution of military activities. William I (r. 1066–1087) Duke William of Normandy’s conquest of England and his subsequent reign relied heavily on loyal service from a number of Norman and Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastical figures, most especially Odo, bishop of Bayeux (William’s half brother); Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances; Remigius, a monk of Fécamp, who later became bishop of Lincoln; Lanfranc, archbishop of Canterbury; Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester; and Æthelwig, abbot of Evesham.13 The Conquest itself was achieved with the active aid and counsel of Bishop Odo of Bayeux and Bishop Geoffrey of Coutances, who both served in Duke William’s inner 11

12

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David Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War c.300–c.1215 (Woodbridge, 2003). John Hosler has written about the military career of Thomas Becket, which falls just outside the purview of this study. John D. Hosler, “The Brief Military Career of Thomas Becket,” The Haskins Society Journal 15 (2004), 88–100. Matthew Strickland reinforces the argument that ecclesiastical leaders, drawing on Old Testament exemplars, usually saw the king as the guarantor of order and stability in medieval society. See Matthew Strickland, “Against the Lord’s Anointed: Aspects of Warfare and Baronial Rebellion in England and Normandy 1075–1265,” in Law and Government in Medieval England and Normandy: Essays in Honour of Sir James Holt, ed. G. Garnett and J. Hudson (Cambridge, UK, 1994), pp. 56–79, especially pp. 60–61. For a general discussion of rebellion and revolt in the Anglo-Norman realm (and beyond), see Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry (Cambridge, UK, 1996), pp. 230–57. Morillo briefly discusses the importance of ecclesiastical military leaders to William I in Stephen Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings 1066–1135 (Woodbridge, 1994), pp. 41–47. For a brief survey of churchmen as military leaders, see Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven, 1996), pp. 168–69.



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circle in the preparations leading up to the campaign. Both were also active on the campaign in England and at the battle of Hastings.14 William of Poitiers, Duke William’s chaplain, wrote in the Gesta Guillelmi that Odo and Geoffrey were instrumental in aiding William to prepare for the invasion.15 The Bayeux Tapestry, in which Odo probably had a hand as patron, demonstrates the importance of Odo’s role by placing him alongside Duke William during the military buildup in Normandy, and at the battle of Hastings.16 Both the Gesta Guillelmi and the Bayeux Tapestry attest to Odo’s direct leadership at the battle of Hastings. According to William of Poitiers, during the battle itself Odo was joined by Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances, and “numerous clerks and not a few monks” whose duty it was to prepare the Norman forces for combat with prayers and exhortations.17 William of Poitiers, himself a former knight, gave Odo and Geoffrey major roles in the battle, though he was careful to make them non-combatants (probably in the light of concerns about armed clerics emanating from ecclesiastical reformers).18 The Bayeux Tapestry depicts Odo’s role, at least, as more directly involved in the military side of the battle. The Tapestry, likely finished by 1075, shows Odo horsed in the battle among the soldiers, wielding his mace and attempting to rally the retreating Norman army.19 Above his image is the caption, “Bishop Odo holding a mace encourages the young men.”20 The image shows Odo wearing armor and active in battle, though there has been a great deal of argument among historians as to whether he was “fighting” in the traditional sense.21 For the purposes of this 14

15 16 17 18

19 20 21

David Bates, “The Character and Career of Odo, Bishop of Bayeux (1049/50–1097),” Speculum 50 (1975), 1–20; Jean Le Patourel, “Geoffrey of Montbray, Bishop of Coutances, 1049–1093,” English Historical Review 59 (1944), 129–61. William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, ed. R.H.C. Davis and Marjorie Chibnall (Oxford, 1998), pp. 100–101. Gale R. Owen-Crocker, “The Interpretation of Gesture in the Bayeux Tapestry,” Anglo-Norman Studies 29 (2007), 145–78, p. 170. See also Douglas, William I, p. 129. William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, pp. 124–25. Marjorie Chibnall’s introduction to the Gesta Guillelmi does an excellent job of discussing William’s background and ideological foundation. See especially William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, pp. xv–xxxi. I am in the final stages of preparing a manuscript on the topic of armed clerics, Warrior Churchmen in Anglo-Norman and Angevin England. English Historical Documents 2, ed. David Douglas and George Greenaway (London, 1961), p. 274. Ibid. “HIC ODO EPS BACULU TENENS CONFORTAT PUEROS.” Earlier historians, such as E.A. Freeman, saw this as evidence that Odo was happily in the thick of battle, whereas more recent observers such as David Bates, Marjorie Chibnall, and H.E.J. Cowdrey see Odo’s role as purely a supporting one. Chibnall further argues that Odo was not even wearing armor, but rather a padded tunic. See William of Poitiers, Gesta Guillelmi, p. 124, n. 3. In fact, it seems as though Odo was wearing armor, as evidenced by mail cuffs poking out of his sleeves, and similarities to the armor worn by William himself. For this latter point, see Michael John Lewis, “Identity and Status in the Bayeux Tapestry: The Iconographic and Artefactual Evidence,” Anglo-Norman Studies 29 (2007), 100–20, p. 105. Lewis further argues that this sort of attire could have denoted higher status. See ibid., p. 113. For Bates’ and Freeman’s views, see Bates, “The Character and Career of Odo,” p. 6; H.E.J. Cowdrey,

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article, however, the fact that he was certainly serving as a military commander and was responsible for rallying the Norman troops at a crucial moment in the battle, a battle that was still very much undecided, is vitally important. Stephen Morillo has shown that medieval armies were especially prone to fragmentation and disintegration, and required strong, effective leadership to maintain order and keep them focused on the enemy.22 John France has also demonstrated the importance of personal leadership within battle to maintain the integrity and morale of the army, though military skill and tactical awareness were also vital components of success.23 The Tapestry shows Odo in this role as commander, intervening on behalf of Duke William, and personally saving the duke’s army from disaster.24 After Hastings, Odo immediately stepped into the role of his brother’s chief military commander in the pacification of England, and was instrumental in crushing any shoots of counter-Conquest unrest. Soon after the Conquest, William returned to Normandy with a number of the chief men of the former Anglo-Saxon regime in custody, and he left the newly-conquered kingdom in the hands of Odo and William FitzOsbern, who had been his steward in Normandy.25 The first action that they were expected to take was the garrisoning and provisioning of strategic castles and defensible locations to consolidate the hold of the Norman aristocracy on England.26 William’s trust in Odo’s competence, loyalty, and military acumen is evident in this appointment. Over the next several years Odo would grow to become one of the wealthiest and most influential landholders in England. William also made him the earl of Kent and entrusted Odo with the defense of the strategic castle of Dover.27 William similarly rewarded Geoffrey of Coutances with lands in England, and his rewards were as rich and magnificent as those of the major secular nobles who had led retinues in the Hastings campaign.28 When lands were given out after the

22 23 24 25 26 27

28

“Towards an Interpretation of the Bayeux Tapestry,” Anglo-Norman Studies 10 (1988), 49–65, p. 50. Cf. Douglas, William the Conqueror, p. 200. Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings, pp. 146–47. John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades 1000–1300 (Ithaca, N.Y., 1999), pp. 139–40. Morillo reinforces the importance of leadership in battle in his discussion of Hastings. See Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings, pp. 163–68. John of Worcester, Chronicon ex chronicis, vol. 3, ed. and tr. P. McGurk (Oxford, 1998), pp. 4–5. Ibid. Douglas, William the Conqueror, p. 207. Odo was among the top five landholders in the Domesday survey of 1086 in the counties of Kent, Surrey, Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset, Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, Lincolnshire, and Norfolk. Furthermore he was the seventh largest in Oxfordshire and Nottinghamshire, eleventh in Worcestershire, and eighteenth in Essex. Marjorie Chibnall, “La carrière de Geoffroi de Montbray,” in Les évêques normands du XI siècle, Colloque de Cerisy-la-Salle, 30 septembre–3 octobre 1993, ed. Pierre Boulet and Francois Neveux, (Caen, 1995), pp. 286–87. Geoffrey was among the top five landholders in the Domesday survey in Wiltshire, Dorset, Somerset, Devonshire, Huntingdonshire, Bedfordshire,



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conquest of England, the security of his newly-conquered kingdom was one of William’s chief considerations. Geoffrey’s share of the lands reflected not only his importance in the conquest itself, but his continuing military abilities and acumen. Chibnall points out that the distribution of fiefs indicated that Geoffrey’s role in the defense of the kingdom was important, as was his command of soldiers in 1069 against Anglo-Saxon rebels (discussed below).29 William utilized Geoffrey to maintain security and order within England, especially in the vital and untamed western counties near to Wales. Over 60 percent of Geoffrey’s lands were concentrated in the southwestern counties of Devon and Somerset where he helped to enforce the Conqueror’s rule.30 The pacification of England continued upon William’s return from Normandy, and it can be said that the first stage of it was not truly completed until 1072. The details of his campaigns will not be rehashed here, though a few points ought to be made. Bishop Odo and Bishop Geoffrey were both instrumental in quelling uprisings, from Exeter in the southwest to Durham in the northeast.31 The Anglo-Norman monastic chronicler Orderic Vitalis (writing in the mid twelfth century) later wrote about Geoffrey’s role in suppressing the 1069 rebellions and Danish invasion. In the western shires of Dorset and Somerset, Anglo-Saxon rebels attacked the castle of Montacute, one of Robert of Mortain’s holdings (and near to some of Geoffrey’s own lands).32 Orderic credited Geoffrey with leading an army composed of soldiers from Winchester, London, and Salisbury that defeated these “West Saxons.”33 The bishop “marched against them, killed some, captured and mutilated others, and put the rest to flight.”34 There were further risings to the west, but the rebels gained no foothold, even in Devon and Cornwall. Orderic gave Geoffrey clear credit for leading the troops; no secular lord was mentioned as playing a significant role. However, if Geoffrey had been unsuccessful, it would have made the Norman position that much more difficult and could have undermined the Norman hold on the region.35

29 30 31 32

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Northamptonshire, Leicestershire, and Warwickshire. He was the sixth largest landholder in Berkshire, Buckinghamshire , and Lincolnshire. Ibid., p. 287. Ibid., pp. 288–89. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, pp. 200–04. See also John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 4–11. Robert was William I’s half-brother, and Odo’s full brother. Brian Golding, “Robert, Count of Mortain (d. 1095),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004) [http://www. oxforddnb.com/view/article/19339, accessed 26 June 2013]. Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. (Oxford, 1969–1990), 2:229. Ibid. Cf. J.H. Bettey, Wessex from AD 1000 (London, 1986), pp. 11–12. For some discussion of the strategic importance of Geoffrey’s actions, see Douglas, William I, pp. 219–20. Douglas put it thus: “The whole Norman venture in England had thus been placed in peril, for at last the resistance to William was assuming a coherence which it had hitherto lacked.” This large-scale Scandinavian invasion and northern rebellion gave birth to other uprisings throughout the country, most especially in the southwest and western counties. William had to act quickly and comprehensively to stifle the budding rebellions. He initially headed north, causing the Danes to fall back, and then struck out west to pacify the regions

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By 1075 we see a shift in the use of ecclesiastical lordship in the promotion of royal power. Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury demonstrated the special capacity of ecclesiastical lords to utilize a variety of avenues of power and authority to support the king during warfare. Lanfranc, serving as justiciar, used both military acumen and spiritual censure to protect William’s hold on the throne. The 1075 rebellion proved a much graver threat to William I’s hold on the throne than the previous uprisings after 1066. Earl Roger of Hereford and Earl Ralph of East Anglia began plotting rebellion during William’s absence in Normandy.36 They drew Waltheof, earl of Northumbria, into the cabal of rebels as well, seemingly against his will. It was Waltheof himself, supposedly repenting of his unwilling participation, who went to Archbishop Lanfranc and revealed that a rebellion was under way.37 The existing sources make it very clear that it was ecclesiastical lords who most vigorously defended the king and his interests during this rebellion. The simultaneous revolt of major landowners and military lords in the West Country, East Anglia, and Northumbria threatened to overwhelm the king-less defenses of England. Archbishop Lanfranc immediately took action to deal with the rebellion. Some of his letters have survived, and they allow a glimpse of how abreast of the situation the archbishop was, and how he relied equally on military power and the spiritual capacity of his office to attack the rebels. He wrote to Earl Roger asking that the earl “imitate the loyalty of his father, Earl William” by abandoning the rebellion.38 He then counseled the recalcitrant earl to come to meet with him and the king in order to discuss their disagreements. This initial letter did not sway the earl, and as the rebellion gathered steam Lanfranc was forced to write again, appealing to the earl as a father would to a son. He wrote, relying on his role as Roger’s implicit spiritual father: I grieve more than I can say at the unwelcome news I hear of you. It would not be right that a son of Earl William – a man whose sagacity and integrity and loyalty to his lord and all his friends is renowned in many lands – should be called faithless and be exposed to the slur of perjury or any kind of deceit … I therefore beg you, as a

36

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bordering on Wales. Afterwards he headed north to Lincolnshire, but he delegated Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances, to suppress a rebellion in Dorset “that was threatening the newly constructed castle of Montacute” and with it Norman control over the region. Geoffrey was successful in this, and the king was able to focus entirely on his northern campaign, which saw him recapture the burned–out city of York shortly before Christmas. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 22–23; Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, pp. 208–9. See also Craig M. Nakashian, “The Use and Impact of the English Levied Soldiers in Anglo-Norman England,” Comitatus: A Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 37 (2006), 12–13. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 24–25. William Kapelle has argued for a more active role by Waltheof. He portrays him as far more of a ringleader and instigator of the revolt, rather than an unwilling participant. See William Kapelle, The Norman Conquest of the North: the Region and its Transformation, 1000–1135 (North Carolina, 1979), pp. 133–37. Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum, ed. H.W.C. Davis, 4 vols. (Oxford, 1913–1969), 1:20– 21, No.78. For a modern overview of Lanfranc’s life, see Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford, 1978), especially p. 156, for her comments on his role in the rebellion of 1075.



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son whom I cherish and the dearest of friends … if you are guilty of such conduct to return to your senses; and if you are not, to demonstrate this by the clearest possible evidence.39

Lanfranc appealed to Roger’s honor and to his familial loyalty, rather than his loyalty to William. These two letters came to naught, however, as the rebels showed no signs of relenting. A final letter from Lanfranc indicates the futility of further attempts at negotiation, and Lanfranc made clear that his patience was at an end: But because the devil’s prompting and the advice of evil men have led you into an enterprise which under no circumstances should you have attempted, necessity has forced me to change my attitude and turn my affection not so much into hate as into bitterness and the severity of justice … Therefore I have cursed and excommunicated you and all your adherents by my authority as archbishop; I have cut you off from the holy precincts of the Church and the assembly of the faithful, and by my pastoral authority I have commanded this to take effect throughout the whole land of England.40

Lanfranc was speaking in this instance in his capacity as the ecclesiastical head of the English Church. His excommunication of the rebels freed their vassals of their own oaths of loyalty. Lanfranc was using his authority as archbishop to separate the rebels spiritually from God and the Christian community as a result of their political opposition to the king, and their sowing of violence and discord in the country. Lanfranc was utilizing all of the weapons at his disposal to aid the king and to bring stability back to the country. As archbishop of Canterbury, Lanfranc was in a particularly strong political position to undermine opposition against the king. He could, and did, appeal to his enemies and allies alike as the chief administrative official of both God and king. Lanfranc, in addition to his spiritual condemnations, also marshaled royal forces and directed them against rebel-held areas. He could rely on the assistance of traditionally militarily active ecclesiastical lords such as Odo and Geoffrey, but also Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester, and Æthelwig, abbot of Evesham. Bishop Wulfstan, among the last of the pre-Conquest Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastical lords, was a dedicated defender of royal power and authority. Æthelwig, also a native 39

40

Lanfranc of Canterbury, Letters, ed. Helen Clover and Margaret Gibson (Oxford, 1979), pp. 120–21, No. 32. The Latin reads, “Auditis de te quae audire nollem, doleo quantum dicere non possum. Neque enim deceret ut filius Willelmi comitis – cuius prudentia et bonitas et erga dominum suum et omnes amicos suos fidelitas multis terris innotuit – infidelis diceretur, et de periurio vel faude aliqua infamiam pateretur … Propterea rogo te dulcissimie fili et carissime amice … si culpam de tali re habes, resipiscas; si vero non habes, manifestissimis documentis te non habere ostendas.” Ibid., No. 33A, pp. 122–23. “Sed quia instinctu demonis et consilio prauorum hominum ea molitus es quae te moliri minime oportuerat, necessitate coactus mentem mutaui, et dilectionem non in odium tantam quantum in rancorem mentis et iustuam seueritatem conuerti … Canonica igitur auctoritate te et omnes adiutores tuos maledixi et excommunicaui atque a liminibus sanctae aecclesiae et consortio fidelium separaui, et per totam Anglicam terram hoc idem pastorali auctoritate fieri imperaui.”

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Englishman, was of sufficient power and wisdom that William I had entrusted much of the western Midlands to him.41 He also had a history of seeking to ameliorate the suffering caused by war and thus probably felt compelled to protect his region from destructive rebellion.42 Wulfstan and Æthelwig, along with William de Warenne and Richard de Clare, met and checked Roger, earl of Hereford, and Ralph, earl of East Anglia, when they attempted to link up their forces at the river Severn.43 According to John of Worcester, Wulfstan, with a great force [cum magna militari manu] and Æthelwig, abbot of Evesham, with his, and with the assistance of Urse, sheriff of Worcester, and Walter de Lacy with huge forces and a great multitude of people, prepared to oppose the earl of Hereford’s crossing of the Severn and his meeting with Earl Ralph and his army at the agreed place.44

John, relying on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but also interpolating a fair amount of the Worcester house tradition, portrayed Wulfstan as having taken a direct and active role in militarily opposing the earls’ rebellion. Meanwhile, Ralph’s forces were engaged near Cambridge by English and Norman troops led by Odo of Bayeux and Geoffrey of Coutances.45 Orderic Vitalis names the place of this battle as Fagaduna (near Cambridge).46 Odo and Geoffrey crushed the earl’s forces, and the defeated enemy fled back towards East Anglia. Any rebel soldier unfortunate enough to be captured was mutilated by having his right foot cut off.47 After the defeat at Fagaduna, Earl Ralph fled back to his castle at Norwich with the royal forces in hot pursuit. They invested his castle for three months, during which time Lanfranc wrote to William I and begged him not to return to

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45 46 47

R.R. Darlington, “Æthelwig, Abbot of Evesham,” English Historical Review 48 (1933), 11–18. For the original, see Chronicon abbatiæ de Evesham, ed. William D. Macray (London, 1863), p. 89. Aethelwig had earlier gained accolades for aiding the refugees from William’s earlier destructive campaigns in the North. See Chronicon abbatiæ de Evesham, p. 90. See also R.R. Darlington, “Æthelwig, Abbot of Evesham (Continued),” English Historical Review 48 (1933), 177–85. Unfortunately, the Chronicon is silent on Æthelwig’s actions during the 1075 rebellion. See Darlington, “Æthelwig, Abbot of Evesham,” 4–5. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 24–25. The best biographical work on Wulfstan is Emma Mason, Saint Wulfstan of Worcester, c. 1008–1095 (Oxford, 1990). Aethelwig, for whom far less evidence survives, has not garnered many modern treatments. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 24–25. “Sed Herefordensi comiti, ne, Sabrina transuadato, Rodulfi comiti ad locum destinatum cum suo exercitu occurreret, restitit Wlstanus Wigornensis episcopus cum magna militari manu, et Aegeluuius Eoueshamnensis abbas cum suis, assicitis sibi in adiutorium Vrsone uiceomite Wigorne, et Waltero de Laceio, cum copiis suis, et cetera multitudine plebis.” Emma Mason presents Æthelwig as a “complex” figure who was astute in politics and knew how to navigate the channels of power. See Mason, Saint Wulfstan, pp. 125–27. Ibid. Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 2:316–17. Ibid.



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England as “you would be offering us a grave insult were you to come to our assistance in subduing such perjured brigands.”48 Lanfranc’s pride at defeating the rebels without the aid of the king is notable, as was his commitment to finishing the rebellion in a speedy fashion. After a three-month siege the castle surrendered, though Earl Ralph himself escaped to Brittany. Lanfranc sent word of the victory at Norwich to William I, writing: Glory be to God on high, by whose mercy your kingdom has been purged of its Breton dung. Norwich castle has been surrendered and those Bretons in it who held lands in England have been granted their lives and spared mutilation … Bishop Geoffrey [of Coutances], William of Warenne and Robert Malet have remained in the castle itself with three hundred heavily-armed soldiers, supported by a large force of slingers and siege engineers.49

The fall of Norwich and the flight of Ralph essentially ended the rebellion. Earl Waltheof was already in William’s custody and Earl Roger had been unable to recover his strategic position after his defeat at the Severn.50 One final action was left to be taken though, and this was in response to a perceived Danish threat that the rebels had attempted to arrange. Royal forces in the North were under the control of Bishop Walcher of Durham, and with Waltheof being implicated in the rebellion, Walcher represented the most powerful lord loyal to William north of York. It was left to him to defend this vital area against rebellion, with potential invasions from Scotland and Denmark. Lanfranc wrote to him after the fall of Norwich castle with the intention of securing the defense of the North. He wrote: “The Danes are indeed coming, as the king told us. So fortify your castle with men, weapons and stores: be ready.”51 As it turned out, the Danes were unable to invade, and the North was secure. When Waltheof was executed by William I upon their return to England, the title of earl of Northumbria was actually bestowed upon Bishop Walcher himself.52 Walcher’s dual appointment as earl of Northumbria and bishop of Durham did not last very long; in 1080 he was murdered by an angry mob as a result of an unrelated local dispute.53 In response to this, King William dispatched a royal force under Bishop Odo to

48 49

50

51 52 53

Lanfranc, Letters, No. 34, pp. 124–25. “quia magnum dedecus nobis faceretis si pro talibus periuris et latronibus uincendis ad nos ueniretis.” Ibid., No.35, pp. 124–27. “Glorio in excelsis Deo cuius misercordia regnum uestrum purgatum est spurcicia Britonum. Castrum Noruuich redditum est, et Britones qui in eo erant et terras in Anglica terra habebant, concessa eis vita cum menbris … In ipso castro remanserunt episcopus Gausfridus, W. de Warenna, Rob. Malet et trecenti loricati cum eis, cum balistariis et artificibus machinarum multis.” After the end of the rebellion Roger obeyed a summons of the king where he was judged guilty of rebellion. He was stripped of his holdings and condemned to a life of perpetual imprisonment. He later died in prison. See Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 2:318–19. Lanfranc, Letters, No. 36, pp. 126–27. Symeon of Durham, Libellus de exordio atque procursu istius hoc est Dunhelmensis ecclesie, ed. David Rollason (Oxford, 2000), pp. 212–13. Symeon, Libellus de exordio, pp. 218–19. See also John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 32–37.

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restore order and seek vengeance for the murder. Symeon of Durham recorded the events: When news of what had been done spread far and wide, Bishop Odo of Bayeux, who was then second only to the king, came to Durham with many of the leading men of the kingdom and large force of armed men; and in avenging the death of the bishop virtually laid the land waste.54

Odo again reprised his role as one of the chief military leaders available to the king. His use in this extremely delicate situation underscores the value that William I placed on him and his contribution to defending the throne. Odo’s military ambitions eventually led to problems, however, as he decided to assemble an army to march on Rome (apparently to make a bid for the papal seat). Orderic Vitalis, writing in the 1140s, claimed that Odo was imprisoned for oppressing the English people during his rule (usually in William’s absence) and for seeking to take his knights, whose purpose according the king was the defense of England, into foreign kingdoms for his own purposes.55 This recounting of Odo’s supposed tyranny as the head of the royal administration then enabled King William to imprison him, regardless of his ecclesiastical position. When Odo protested that his status as a consecrated bishop protected him from such treatment, the king supposedly responded (with prompting from Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury) that, “I condemn neither a clerk nor a bishop, but arrest my earl, whom I have made viceroy in my kingdom, desiring to hear an account of the stewardship entrusted to him.”56 Pope Gregory VII weakly protested Odo’s arrest, though considering the nature of Odo’s presumed crime one can certainly understand Gregory’s reticence in pushing the protest too far. William II (r. 1087–1100) The death of William I in 1087 and the disputed succession between his eldest son Robert and second son William once again demonstrated the importance of ecclesiastical leadership in warfare. When William I died, he left instructions that the duchy of Normandy ought to pass to his son Robert, while the kingdom of England ought to pass to his younger son William. Not everyone was pleased with this arrangement (notably Robert), including his and William’s uncle Odo of Bayeux (released from prison, grudgingly, on the death of William I). The rebellion was a very complex affair, and there are competing versions of why each noble either joined it or fought against it, but we know that three of the chief men involved in the rebellion were Bishop Odo, Bishop Geoffrey, and

54 55 56

Symeon, Libellus de exordio, pp. 218–19. Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 4:43. Cf. William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum, 509. Ibid.



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Bishop William St. Calais of Durham.57 Odo was the chief instigator of rebellion among these three. He launched the rebellion in the spring of 1088, with the aid of the aforementioned ecclesiastics, as well as other powerful secular lords, such as Earl Robert of Northumbria and Earl Roger of Shrewsbury.58 Odo made his base at Rochester, while Geoffrey of Coutances made his at Bristol. With Bishop William of Durham in the North, and the earl of Shrewsbury attacking into Worcester from the west, the situation for the king seemed dire. This rebellion dwarfed that of 1075 in terms of the strength of the rebels and their potential for success. William Rufus was newly crowned, he faced in his brother Robert an enemy well regarded and well positioned for success, and he had lost the support of most of the strongest nobles in the kingdom. While primogeniture had not become the absolute law of the land, Robert’s position as eldest son certainly made him a more than acceptable alternative to William Rufus. William appealed to his English subjects for support, and he was able to raise a large army. Most of the lesser nobility remained loyal to the king, but the greater lords were split between him and his brother. One of the most important men who stayed loyal was Bishop Wulfstan of Worcester. Despite being rather advanced in years, Wulfstan not only rallied to William, but he raised troops and marshaled them against the rebels attacking Worcester.59 According to John of Worcester, Wulfstan worked a miracle by afflicting the limbs and eyes of his enemies, so that they were unable to either flee or defend themselves, and thus were easily crushed by his forces. With the enemy thus hobbled, Wulfstan’s army showed little mercy. John wrote, “The foot-soldiers were killed, the knights, Normans and English as well as Welsh, were captured, the rest barely escaped in a wretched flight.”60 With the aid of Wulfstan and others, William eventually reduced his enemies and besieged Odo at Rochester. After the surrender of the castle and capture of Odo, William sent his army north to Durham to deal with his one-time chief advisor, William St. Calais. Bishop William was besieged in his castle and eventually forced to surrender. He too joined Odo in exile (though Bishop William returned in 1091 and was restored to power). William II’s reign did not see much opportunity for ecclesiastical military leadership, though his chief clerk Ranulf Flambard did rapidly rise up in the royal administration. He oversaw many of the administrative duties for William, and some of these were military in character.61 His most famous military activity during the reign of William Rufus actually came in an administrative capacity. 57 58 59 60 61

For a good overview of the events surrounding the rebellion of 1088, see Barlow, William Rufus, pp. 60–98. In spite of the combination of secular and ecclesiastical lords, most sources name the leaders of the rebellion as Odo, Geoffrey, and William. See esp. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, p. 122. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, p. 223; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 52–55. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 54–55. “Ceduntur pedites, capiuntur milites, cum Normannis tam Angli quam Walenses, ceteris uero uix debili elapsis fuga.” For an account of Ranulf’s impact on the Anglo-Norman kingdom, see Richard Southern, “Ranulf Flambard and Early Anglo-Norman Administration,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 16 (1933), 95–128.

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During the 1094 campaign of William II in Normandy, his troops ran short of funds. The king sent instruction into England and commanded that the fyrd (the Anglo-Saxon system of levied soldiers) be raised and brought to the coast. Instead of having the troops sent over to Normandy he asked that Ranulf take ten shillings from each man, money they had been given in payment for their service, and then send that money to the king.62 Ranulf then ordered the men to return home. His ability to raise and command the royal levy of troops indicates both his level of confidence from the king, as well as his integration into the higher ranks of the military leadership. Ranulf’s faithful service to the king eventually earned him the bishopric of Durham, one of the highest offices that an ecclesiastic could aspire to in England.63 Ranulf was poised to become one of the most powerful figures in England, ecclesiastically, politically, and militarily. Fate, however, intervened most suddenly. On 2 August 1100, William Rufus was hunting in the New Forest when he was shot with an arrow (apparently by accident) by a fellow knight, and died.64 His younger brother Henry, who happened to be hunting with him, rushed to take control of the kingdom and was crowned on 5 August.65 One of Henry’s first acts as king was to arrest Ranulf and imprison him in the White Tower. Henry I (r.1100–1135) Henry’s reign began in much the same fashion as William Rufus’s, with a rebellion against his claim. Ranulf escaped from the Tower and successfully made his way to Normandy where he sought to inspire Duke Robert to come to England to claim the throne from his upstart youngest brother.66 Ranulf, anxious to regain his position of prominence within England, counseled Robert to wrest the kingdom from Henry. Duke Robert dutifully raised a large army and prepared for the invasion. In response Henry ordered men, called buscarls by the chroniclers, to guard the sea and the approaches to England while he himself levied a large army and camped near Hastings.67 Bishop Ranulf advised Robert to undermine the loyalty of the buscarls through bribes and promises, which was so successful that the former defenders of the sea-lanes became pilots for Robert’s invasion force, and enabled him to land unopposed at Portsmouth. From there he was able to march on Winchester, site of the royal treasury, and wait for Henry. Robert’s early successes had the effect of peeling away a number of the more powerful secular nobles from Henry. Henry’s situation was precarious. In 1088 62 63 64 65 66 67

John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 72–73. Anglo–Saxon Chronicles, p. 234. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 92–95. Ibid. Symeon, Libellus de exordio, pp. 272–73; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 96–97. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 96–99.



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William II could at least claim to be the heir nominated by his father, but Henry could make no such claim. Despite that, Henry was the consecrated king, and he could count on the support of the vast majority of bishops, and especially that of Archbishop Anselm of Canterbury.68 According to Eadmer, Anselm’s biographer, the archbishop immediately and steadfastly came to the defense of his king.69 Eadmer wrote, “Father Anselm, loyally supporting the King, camped with his men in the field.”70 Eadmer was notably proud of Anselm’s support of Henry I, and he probably was inflating the archbishop’s importance to the royal cause (which is itself an interesting insight into Eadmer’s notions of the sources of honor).71 For instance, once Robert landed and the nobles prepared to desert Henry, Anselm sought to craft a peace in order to avoid war.72 Anselm’s loyalty to Henry is noteworthy, and serves as an important contrast with the actions of Odo of Bayeux and Geoffrey of Coutances in 1088. In that instance they had actively supported Robert against William Rufus, and were excoriated by chroniclers for that support. In this case, Anselm was supporting the anointed king against his elder brother, and his support was both praised by contemporaries, and reciprocated by Henry. Eadmer wrote, “The King himself, apprehensive not only of losing his kingdom but even for his life, could not believe anyone or trust anyone except Anselm.”73 Eadmer went so far as openly to state that without Anselm, Henry would have lost the throne.74 With the support of the bishops, and of the “ordinary soldiers, and the English,” therefore Henry was

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William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, ed. R.A.B. Mynors (Oxford, 1998), pp. 716–19. Michael Staunton argues that Eadmer provides us with an “intimate and convincing” portrait of Anselm, one that we should treat as accurate and detailed. See Michael Staunton, “Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi: A Reinterpretation,” Journal of Medieval History 23 (1997), 1–2. Eadmer of Canterbury, History of Recent Events in England, tr. Geoffrey Bosanquet (London, 1964), p. 132. For the original, see Eadmer, Historia novorum in Anglia, ed. M. Rule, Rolls Series 81 (London, 1884), p. 127. “Exercitus vero grandis erat atque robustus, et circa regem fideliter cum suis in expeditione excubabat pater Anselmus.” Anselm’s role in defense of Henry’s interest is similar to what Eadmer claimed he had done with Pope Urban II during his exile. Anselm and the pope traveled to the siege of Capua being conducted by Roger of Apulia, and they camped in the field with the armies. See Eadmer, History of Recent Events in England, p. 101. Eadmer’s praise of Anselm’s defense of Henry I is interesting in light of the fact that “Eadmer’s purpose was not only to write a biography of a contemporary but to exalt Anselm as a saint and defend him against his critics.” Staunton, “Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi: A Reinterpretation,” p. 3. Sally Vaughn argues that, even accounting for Eadmer’s bias, “Anselm’s staunch support of Henry’s cause must have had considerable effect on the outcome of events, for [Robert] Curthose and his men were furious and resentful over it.” Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan, p. 234. Eadmer, History of Recent Events in England, p. 133. “Quod sic esse Anselmus certu relatu agnoscens, doluit, coque magis nequid adversi regi accideret intendere coepit.” Eadmer, Historia novorum in Anglia, p. 127. Ibid. “Rex ipse non modo de regni admissione, sed et de vita sua suspectus, nulli credere, in nullo, excepto Anselmo, fidere valebat.” Eadmer, History of Recent Events in England, p. 133.

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able to raise substantial forces to meet his brother.75 An agreement was reached whereby battle was avoided. The support of the ecclesiastical lords was vital to Henry remaining as king. Henry, while not completely abandoned by his secular lords, was without even the level of support afforded his brother William upon his accession. William II had come to the throne at the express will and desire of his father, despite the claims of his elder brother. Even though primogeniture had not become the effective law of the land, it was still an important consideration. Henry’s crowning, however, was based on little more than his own cunning, timing, and luck. Coupled with the rather convenient nature of his brother’s death, this was not a terribly stable platform upon which to build a strong reign. His recall of Anselm from exile helped to gain some stability, and the value of it was clearly demonstrated by Anselm’s actions in support of Henry during this crisis.76 Anselm’s support very likely went a long way towards garnering the support of the various other ecclesiastics within England. As is clearly indicated by the sources, without the support of the bishops, Henry would have been unable to contest his brother Robert’s invasion and would have very likely lost his throne, if not his life. The power exercised by Ranulf Flambard cannot be ignored either. His escape and flight were an important factor in instigating Robert’s invasion, though little of his direct motivation is revealed in the sources.77 Henry’s imprisonment of him in the Tower of London probably did not endear the new king to him, nor had the recalling of Archbishop Anselm, his bitter enemy, from exile. Ranulf’s actions very nearly precipitated a civil war between Henry and Robert, but that was avoided largely because of the steadfast support afforded Henry by the other chief ecclesiastics of England.78 Soon after the peaceful settlement with his brother, Henry was faced with another threat to his reign. Robert of Bellême, earl of Shrewsbury and count of Ponthieu, fortified his castles against the king, including the city and castle of Shrewsbury, the castle of Arundel, the castle of Bridgnorth, and the castle of Tickhill. Henry immediately invested the castle of Arundel, and built countercastles there to prevent the garrison from dominating the countryside.79 He then brought the main body of his army to besiege Bridgnorth, but he sent a detach-

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John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 98–99. Though it is true that Anselm did go back into exile over finer points of a conflict between Pope Paschal II and Henry over lay investiture. See Hollister, Henry I, pp. 376–77. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, p. 237; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 96–99; William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, pp. 716–17. Ironically, Flambard returned to his diocese after the rebellion, and “thereafter sought persistently but vainly to win King Henry’s full favor through lavish gifts,” until his death in 1128. Hollister, Henry I, p. 384. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 100–01. For a useful discussion of this campaign, see C. W. Hollister, “The Campaign in 1102 against Robert of Bellême,” in Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. Allen Brown, ed. C. Harper-Bill, C. Holdsworth, and J.L. Nelson (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 193–202.



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ment under the command of Bishop Robert of Lincoln to besiege Tickhill.80 With the other centers of the rebellion neutralized, the city of Shrewsbury capitulated as well, with the keys to the castle being transmitted to Henry by Ralph, abbot of Séez, who would later become archbishop of Canterbury.81 It is notable that Bishop Robert is the only commander mentioned specifically by name in the narrative evidence. The stalwart service offered by Bishop Robert is effectively contrasted with the conciliatory approach taken by many of the leading secular magnates of the realm. Orderic Vitalis described, with disgust, their attempts to reconcile the king and Robert of Bellême (whereas Orderic would have seen the recalcitrant nobles punished for treason): The earls and magnates of the kingdom met together and discussed fully how to reconcile the rebel with his lord. For, as they said, “If the king defeats a mighty earl by force and carries his enmity to the point of disinheriting him, as he is not striving to do, he will from that moment trample on us like helpless slave-girls. Let us make every effort to reconcile them, so securing the advantage of our lord and our peer alike within the law, and at the same time, by quelling the disturbance, we will put both parties in our debt.”82

The scheming political mindset is decried by a group of “country knights” who counsel Henry not to forgive a man who had plotted against his life.83 They call the magnates “traitors” and accuse them of seeking to undermine the royal justice.84 The “country knights” are reminiscent of the “English” who had allied with the clergy in 1088 and 1100 in favor of the king during rebellions. The rest of Henry’s reign passed relatively peacefully within England, chiefly because the king was occupied with conquering Normandy. In 1120, however, his son was killed in a shipwreck on his way back to England from Normandy, which left Henry without a legitimate heir.85 Henry took measures to solve this problem, and in 1127 he had the leading men of the kingdom, secular and ecclesiastical, swear to support his daughter Maud’s claim to both England and Normandy.86 She was the widow of Henry of Lorraine, the Holy Roman Emperor, and after the nobles, bishops, and others had sworn allegiance to her, Henry married her to Geoffrey Plantagenet, heir to the county of Anjou. This was certainly not a popular decision by the king, as Anjou and Normandy had long been bitter enemies. Upon Henry’s death in 1135, Stephen of Blois (Henry’s nephew), traveled to England and convinced the leading nobility (many of whom had previously sworn to support Maud’s claim) to crown him

80 81 82 83 84 85 86

Ibid. William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, pp. 718–19. Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 6, pp. 26–27. Ibid. Ibid. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, p. 249; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 146–49. Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, pp. 256–58.

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king, thereby precipitating a crisis of loyalty for many nobles.87 He was aided in this enterprise by his brother, Bishop Henry of Winchester (and abbot of Glastonbury), one of the most powerful ecclesiastical lords in England.88 Stephen (r.1135–1154)89 Bishop Henry was instrumental throughout his brother’s reign in supporting Stephen (with one notable exception, discussed below) and providing a firm backbone to the royal cause. Soon after Stephen had taken the throne he, like his predecessors, faced an uprising from a number of his nobles who refused to accept him as king. While much of this defiance can be attributed to the earlier oath of support given to Maud, some of it was simply endemic to the situation when a new king took control. One of the chief rebels in this early rebellion was Baldwin de Redvers, a major landowner in the southwest of England, who had his main base of operations in the city of Exeter in Devon.90 The king dutifully raised a large army and besieged Exeter, preventing any of Baldwin’s other forces from relieving it. After a while the water supply of the castle ran short, and a delegation was sent to ask for terms. Stephen, roundly considered a man of a kindly and forgiving nature, was inclined to negotiate with them. Bishop Henry counseled the king against showing mercy: for the bishop, observing their sagging and wasted skin, the look of torpor on their faces, drained of the normal supply of blood, and their lips drawn back from gaping mouths, perceived that they were suffering from agonies of thirst and that therefore it was anything but wise to give them permission to leave the castle, it being certain that they would very soon surrender on whatever terms the besieger desired.91

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For discussions of the succession in general, see R.H.C. Davis, King Stephen (Berkeley, 1967), pp. 15–17; John Appleby, The Troubled Reign of King Stephen (London, 1969), pp. 19–25; H.A. Cronne, The Reign of Stephen, 1135–1154 (London, 1970), pp. 29–31; Donald Matthew, King Stephen (London, 2002), pp. 59–67; Edmund King, King Stephen (London, 2010). The support of the house of Blois for the reform papacy also likely aided Stephen’s accession as king. See Jean. A. Truax, “All Roads Lead to Chartres: The House of Blois, the Papacy, and the Anglo-Norman Succession of 1135,” Anglo-Norman Studies 31 (2009), 118–34. Gesta Stephani, pp. 8–9. Historians of the civil war between Maud and Stephen are lucky to possess two very expansive texts that detail events during this period. The Gesta Stephani, possibly written by Robert, bishop of Bath, presents the civil war from a perspective that favors King Stephen. The Historia novella of William of Malmesbury, however, is dedicated to Robert, earl of Gloucester, and thus presents events from a perspective favorable to Maud and her cause. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 218–19. Gesta Stephani, pp. 40–43. “quia episcopus, laxa et effeta eorum cute conspecta, uultibus remissis et a naturali succo uacuatis, labris dispanso hiatu retractis, anhela eos siti laborare deprehendit, ideoque nequaquam consultum esse progrediendi de castello permissum eis indulgere, cum ratum esset in proximo eos ad uotum suum, quocumque modo exoptabant, cessuros.”



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Henry desired to not only defeat this particular batch of rebels as effectively as possible, but also to send a message to everyone in the restless kingdom that rebellion against Stephen would be punished most severely. Stephen’s well known affability worked against his need to maintain the subtle sense of dread necessary to exercise dominion over powerful nobles. A harsh demeanor, or “a front of iron” as it was also described, could go a long way towards dispelling that perception and making the control of the kingdom easier.92 After the defeat of Baldwin de Redvers and his forces, Stephen enjoyed a period of relative peace in England, sufficient at least to justify his traveling to Normandy in order reassert his authority there. During his absence there were attempts to undermine his rule in northern England, and it fell to Thurstan, the aged archbishop of York, to defend the kingdom. In 1138 David, king of Scotland, the Empress Maud’s uncle and her very strong partisan, decided to support his niece’s claim to the throne by invading northern England. The best accounts of the resistance offered by the northern nobles to the Scottish invasions are found in two authors from the North itself, Richard of Hexham and John of Hexham, though accounts can also be found in the chronicle of John of Worcester, in the writings of Orderic Vitalis, and those of Aelred of Rievaulx.93 All of the chroniclers agreed that Thurstan was instrumental in supporting Stephen’s cause and preventing northern England from being lost to the Scots. Thurstan was the second most powerful ecclesiastical figure in England, after the archbishop of Canterbury. The importance of his ecclesiastical position was matched only by the strategic importance of his location in York, which was the most important city in the north of England. Thurstan represented a vital royal presence in an area possessed of fractious nobility and with an increasingly unified Scottish kingdom on its border. Without the strong will of Thurstan the most likely outcome would have been a collapse of royal authority in the North and the loss of Northumbria at the least, and possibly Yorkshire as well. Thurstan can be credited not only with organizing the resistance in a strategic sense, but also and more importantly with organizing it in a political sense. Without Thurstan’s actions Stephen’s forces could not have mounted a successful defense against the Scots, as King David’s invasion represented the most dangerous threat to Stephen’s reign that had yet arisen. Thurstan was a very strong supporter of Stephen from the beginning of his reign, perhaps stemming from Thurstan’s friendship with Stephen’s mother Adela.94 Thurstan was also an important and influential ecclesiastical lord in the broader European Christian community, and he had developed close ties with the papacy.95 The elderly archbishop spent most of the early years of Stephen’s

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Ibid. Sadly, the section of the Gesta Stephani that seemingly reported on this campaign has been lost. David Nicholl, Thurstan Archbishop of York 1114–1140 (York, 1964), p. 215; Truax, “All Roads Lead to Chartres,” 126–28. Truax, “All Roads Lead to Chartres,” 122–25. Thurstan also had a history of making peace

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reign attempting, with Bishop Roger of Salisbury, to ensure the loyalty of the major magnates towards Stephen. He even managed, before 1138, to negotiate a truce with David of Scotland. When David did finally invade, it was chiefly Thurstan, despite being so infirm that he was borne on a litter everywhere he went, who was credited with organizing the resistance. His actions, in the face of reported Scottish atrocities (a common trope of monastic chroniclers), prompted John of Hexham to sing his praises: He [Thurstan] called out the nobles of Yorkshire, and by the watchfulness of his pastoral care, he stirred them up to a steady resistance. There came also Bernard de Baliol, a man well skilled in military tactics, bringing with him soldiers sent by King Stephen to this undertaking. Gathering, therefore, great courage from their joint deliberation, they mutually bound themselves by oaths to firmness and assurance.96

The archbishop “summoned a council of the whole province of York” to meet the invasion of the Scots.97 Arranging this council of secular nobles was a much harder task than one would think at first glance. Richard of Hexham explains why: “Much irresolution was caused by distrust of each other, arising from suspicions of treachery.”98 Many of the northern nobles held lands in both England and Scotland, so each suspected that the others were secretly in league with David. Many, also, had sworn allegiance to Maud in 1127, and this served to undermine their perceived loyalty to Stephen. Richard of Hexham goes on to explain the danger this mistrust caused in defending the North, and the importance of Thurstan in overcoming it: so that it appeared as if they would actually have abandoned the defence of themselves and their country, had not their archbishop, Turstin [sic], a man of great firmness and worth, animated them by his counsel and exhortations.99

King Stephen sent a force of knights under the command of Bernard de Balliol to aid in the defense, but he also sent something perhaps more important, a “royal warrant” that Thurstan could use to act in his name in organizing the

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between Louis VI and Henry I. See C.J. Holdsworth, “Peacemaking in the Twelfth Century,” Anglo-Norman Studies 19 (1997), 1–17, esp. p. 7. John of Hexham, Historia XXV. annorum, ed. Joseph Stevenson (London, 1856; repr. Llanerch, 2000), p. 9. “Venit etiam Bernadus de Baillolio, in exercitis militaribus vir experientissimus, directos a rege Stephano ducens secum milites in hoc opus. Sumpta perinde magnanimitate ex communi deliberation per sacramenta ad constantiam et securitatem sese invicem obligaverunt.” Simeon of Durham. Symeonis monachi opera omnia, ed. T. Arnold, 2 vols. (London, 1882–1885), 2:292. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 251–52. Richard of Hexham, Acts of King Stephen and the Battle of the Standard, ed. Joseph Stevenson, in Church Historians of England, vol. 4 (London, 1856; repr. Llanerch, 2000), p. 47. Ibid. “paene a sua ac patriae suae defensione omnino deficere videbantur, nisi Turstinus eorum archiepiscopus, magnae constantiae atque probitatis vir, sermone ac consilio suo illos animasset.” Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II and Richard I, vol. 3, ed. R. Howlett (London, 1886), p. 160.



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defense.100 Thurstan rallied the nobles to the cause of defeating the Scots, and he promised them further support, both spiritual and functional. In addition to his prayers and intercessions, he promised “that the priests of his diocese, bearing crosses, should march with them to battle with their parishioners, and that he also, God willing, designed to be present with his men in the engagement.”101 The English forces marched towards Northallerton to face the Scots. John of Hexham wrote: They all, marching to Northallerton, erected in a certain plain belonging to the liberty of St. Cuthbert, their standard – that is, a ship’s mast – hanging over them the banner of St. Peter and St. John of Beverley, and St. Wilfrid of Ripon; and they placed over them the Body of the Lord, to be their standard-bearer and the leader of their battle.102

The direct use of his priests as marshals gave this army a definite crusader feel, as did the address to the troops made by Bishop Ralph.103 The chroniclers wrote about the Scots in language reminiscent of the description of Saracens from the First Crusade forty years earlier. Thurstan and Ralph gave impassioned pleas to the English to resist this tide of barbaric invasion, and they emulated Urban II at Clermont by promising absolution for any man killed fighting the Scots.104 Their spiritual support proved well placed, as the English forces were completely victorious. Meanwhile, elsewhere in England other pockets of rebellion had sprung up against Stephen. Maud’s chief supporter among the nobility of England was Earl Robert of Gloucester. He was Maud’s half-brother, an illegitimate son of Henry I. He was one of the most powerful landowners in England, and was an extremely competent military strategist and tactician. His base of operations was the city of Bristol in the southwest. The main base of royalist sentiment in that area was the competing city of Bath. As Stephen was unable to take an active role in defending every area of England himself, he had relied on surrogates to do so for him. Thurstan served this role admirably in the North, while the southwest was entrusted to Bishop Robert of Bath. Robert was not nearly as successful as Thurstan in pacifying the area under his dominion, due mainly to the proximity of Earl Robert’s stronghold of Bristol. The earl’s forces in Bristol took the initiative to launch an attack on the king’s supporters at Bath. Three knights, probably Geoffrey Talbot, Gilbert de Lacy,

100 101

102

103 104

Richard of Hexham, Acts of King Stephen and the Battle of the Standard, p. 48. Ibid. “Promisit etiam eis quod suae diocesis presbyteros singulos, cum crucibus et parochianus suis, pariter cum illis in bellum procedere faceret, et quod ipse cum suis bello interesse, Deo disponente, cogitabat.” Howlett, ed., Chronicles of the Reigns, p. 161. John of Hexham, Historia XXV. annorum, pp. 9–10. “Qui omnes procedentes secus Albertun, in campo quodam de feudo Sancti Cuthberti, Standart, id est malum navis erexerunt, vexillum Sancti Petri et Sanctis Johannis de Beverlaco et Sancti Wulfridi Ripum in eos suspendentes, et corpus Domini super inponentes, ut esset signifier et dux praelii eorum.” Ed. Arnold, p. 293. See Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, pp. 153–61. Nicholl, Thurstan, p. 225; Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, pp. 153–61.

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and William Hoset, set out to reconnoiter the city.105 Their attempt to scout the city was discovered, and Bishop Robert “hoping to defeat the king’s enemies ... gathered a military force, and advanced cautiously against him.”106 Two of the men fled and escaped, but Geoffrey was taken prisoner. Upon learning of Geoffrey’s capture, the earl of Gloucester’s son gathered his forces and advanced on Bath, threatening to hang the entire garrison and the bishop himself if Geoffrey was not released.107 The bishop relented and released Geoffrey, much to the disgust and anger of King Stephen. Stephen even suspected that the bishop was an accomplice of Maud’s, but was eventually convinced that Bishop Robert had “acted in this way unwillingly and out of fear.”108 The Gesta Stephani, which some suspect was actually written by Bishop Robert himself, reported that Geoffrey’s partisans had treacherously seized the bishop and only under pain of death did Bishop Robert order his release.109 In any case, what is clear is that the bishop of Bath was entrusted with control of the largest city in opposition to the very base of the rebellion’s operations. Without his support Stephen would have been hard pressed to maintain any kind of military and political presence in the southwest. While he could not expect to dominate the area, as Bristol and the earl of Gloucester’s forces were too powerful, it was imperative to maintain some level of royal administration so as not to surrender a large portion of the kingdom without a fight and further undermine his hold on and justification for the throne. While ecclesiastics such as Thurstan and Bishop Robert of Bath were important for Stephen’s political agency, none had the political acumen, military power, or ecclesiastical importance of Henry of Blois, bishop of Winchester. In addition to being one of the primary ecclesiastical figures in the kingdom, Henry was also the papal legate, the brother of the king, and lord over great lands; Henry was also a very talented and ambitious man. Henry of Huntingdon called him “a new kind of monster, composed part pure and part corrupt, I mean part monk and part knight.”110 Henry’s description was both extremely telling, and extremely apt. Henry of Blois was seen as a man who took an active interest in secular military and political affairs. Unlike other churchmen who served as

105 106 107 108 109 110

John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 248–49; Gesta Stephani, pp. 58–59. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 248–49. Ibid. Ibid. Gesta Stephani, pp. 58–61, esp. n. 2. Henry of Huntingdon, Historia Anglorum, ed. Diana Greenway (Oxford, 2002), p. 108. Henry of Blois has not been the subject of many scholarly biographies, most likely due to the lack of a contemporary vita. The best is Douglas Senette, “A Cluniac Prelate: Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester (1129–1171)” (unpublished PhD thesis, Tulane University, 1991. Senette’s dissertation updates the existing scholarship on Henry of Blois’ career. Previously the standard treatment was Lena Voss, Heinrich von Blois, Bischof von Winchester, 1129–1171 (Berlin, 1932). For a more recent biography of Henry, though one with little original analysis, see Michael R. Davis, Henry of Blois: Prince Bishop of the Twelfth Century Renaissance (Baltimore, 2009).



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the king’s commanders and military officials, Henry of Blois was seen to truly enjoy and relish the role. Henry consistently served as a major military commander in his own right, and on behalf of his brother. After Stephen’s capture at the battle of Lincoln in 1141, Henry was courted by Empress Maud “because he was reckoned to surpass all the great men of England in judgment and wisdom and to be their superior in virtue and wealth.”111 While Henry did join with Maud during Stephen’s imprisonment, he eventually fell out with her, ostensibly over her intention to disinherit his nephew Eustace from his rightful inheritance of the counties of Boulogne and Mortain.112 Henry then swore to aid his brother’s cause, renounced the excommunication of Stephen’s followers that he had earlier ordered, and began plotting with Queen Matilda (Stephen’s wife) to free the king.113 Empress Maud and Earl Robert summoned a large army to Winchester in the hopes of capturing the bishop before he could escape, though he was able to retreat to his castle.114 Henry called on all remaining royal partisans to converge on Winchester and come to his aid. A large number did so, and they in turn besieged the forces that were besieging the bishop of Winchester’s castle.115 Eventually the earl of Gloucester sought to break out of the encirclement, but he was captured, along with a large number of his men.116 The capture of the earl redressed the balance of power that had swung toward the Angevin party with Stephen’s capture at Lincoln. An agreement was reached shortly after Robert’s capture in which he and the king were to be exchanged.117 Bishop Henry was instrumental in working to free his brother from captivity, and he demonstrated his value to each side during this crucial period in the civil war. Henry spent much of the next several years serving Stephen as a military commander. In 1142, after gaining his release from prison, King Stephen determined that destroying Robert of Gloucester would effectively end the civil war, and he gambled that if he could force Robert to give battle, and decisively defeat him, he could build on the momentum of getting out of prison and crush the Angevin party once and for all. Thus, he brought his army to the town of Wareham, which was held by Robert, and he intended to strengthen the royal castle of Wilton. Henry accompanied him “with a strong body of troops to aid his enterprise.”118 The king’s army was composed of the royal household, the troops under Bishop Henry’s command, and a contingent of loyal barons and other nobles. Earl Robert decided to offer battle at Wilton, and engaged the royal 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118

Gesta Stephani, pp. 118–19. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, ed. K.R. Potter (London, 1955), p. 57; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 296–97; Gesta Stephani, pp. 122–23. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 57; Gesta Stephani, pp. 124–25; John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 297–99. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 58. Gesta Stephani, pp. 130–31. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 60; Gesta Stephani, pp. 132–33. Gesta Stephani, pp. 136–37. Gesta Stephani, p. 145.

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army. Details of the battle are sketchy, as we rely almost entirely on the Gesta Stephani for accounts of it, but ultimately the king’s army broke and fled, with the king and the Bishop of Winchester barely avoiding capture. The following year, Henry again engaged in battle, this time with William de Pont de l’Arche “a man utterly loyal … to King Henry [I] and his descendants.”119 The Gesta Stephani blamed William for various deprivations, and then recorded, with more than a bit of pride, that Henry defeated all of his attacks. “But as the bishop, with a very strong body of troops, always offered a firm and most resolute resistance to him and baffled all his attempts not only by force but by wise judgment.”120 Henry’s abilities as a commander are here explained in more detail, with equal parts bravery and wisdom. The author lauded Henry for his military wisdom and prowess. William wrote to the Empress asking her to send him reinforcements and a good commander to take on the bishop, further indicating Henry’s military skill. The Angevins sent Robert Fitz Hildebrand, “a man of low birth indeed but also of tried military qualities.”121 He was also “a lustful man, drunken and unchaste” and he soon seduced William’s wife and took over his castle. He then joined his forces to those of the king and bishop. Henry was more than happy to welcome him to the royal side, despite his reputation for disloyalty. God was not, apparently, as forgiving, and Fitz Hildebrand died of a wasting illness through His vengeance (according to chroniclers). Henry was the most famous, but not the only warrior bishop active during the end of the civil war. Sources such as the Gesta Stephani make specific mention of the roles bishops played in destabilizing the country and furthering the bloodshed. The author of that text wrote that the bishops ought to have excommunicated the malefactors who were ruining England, and that those who did take a stand either backed down too easily, or became part of the problems themselves by becoming warlords, as evidenced by the quotation with which I began this essay. The author of the Gesta Stephani was distraught to see that bishops had become as worldly, secular-minded, and greedy as the lay nobles responsible for the destruction of England, rather than remaining stalwart defenders of royal power and forces for stability, as they had been previously. The military importance and political agency of bishops during Stephen’s reign is strongly demonstrated by his legal attack on three of the strongest ecclesiastical leaders in the country in 1139 – Bishop Roger of Salisbury, and his two nephews, Bishop Alexander of Lincoln, and Bishop Nigel of Ely. Roger was the “chief justiciar” of Stephen, as he had been for most of the reign of Henry I as well.122 He, and his two nephews, had built and fortified a series of castles at very strategic locations throughout England. Stephen, using the pretext of a 119 120

121 122

Gesta Stephani, p. 151. Ibid. “Verum quia episcopus cum fortissima militantium manu fortiter semper et constantissime restitit, omnesque illus conatus non solum viribus sed et prudentiae suae discretione delusit.” Ibid. Gesta Stephani, pp. 72–73, n. 1.



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brawl between partisans of the bishops and those of Count Alan of Brittany, ordered the bishops arrested and their castles confiscated.123 Bishop Nigel fled and fortified his castle of Devizes against Stephen, though Alexander and Roger were captured and brought before the king. Stephen’s true motivation was likely that he suspected Roger, Nigel, and Alexander of supporting Maud’s claim to the throne and that they were planning to turn these castles over to her upon her arrival in England.124 Their potential for legitimating his opposition reinforces the political importance of the ecclesiastical lords, and the particular concern Stephen had to maintain the loyalty of the highest ranking men in the church. Nigel began plundering and pillaging the area around Devizes, and attempted to raise as many troops as he could to oppose the king.125 Stephen brought his army to Devizes and threatened to starve Roger of Salisbury to death, and hang the bishop’s son, Roger of Poer, unless the castle was surrendered, which it was after three days.126 Roger of Salisbury and Alexander of Lincoln previously had appeased the king by handing over many of their castles. The author of the Gesta Stephani cast their dilemma as dishonorable, but also a natural outcome of ignoring the biblical injunction against mixing secular and spiritual affairs. He wrote, “they were persuaded and firmly convinced that they must get their release from the dishonorable arrest under which they were kept and entirely satisfy the king’s wishes, especially as what belongs to Caesar must be rendered unto Caesar …”127 The arrest of the bishops touched off a debate in England regarding the king’s ability to have secular lordship over the military possessions of the clergy.128 123 124 125 126 127 128

Gesta Stephani, pp. 76–77; William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 27; Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 6:530–31. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 26; Gesta Stephani, pp. 48–49; Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 6:530–31. Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, 6:532–33. Ibid; William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 27. Gesta Stephani, pp. 78–79. There has also been a vigorous scholarly debate over the implications of these arrests for ecclesiastical loyalty to Stephen after 1139. In 1988 Kenji Yoshitake argued that, contrary to popular belief, the arrest of the bishops did not turn many ecclesiastical leaders into partisans of Maud. In 1993, Thomas Callahan amended this by arguing that while it might not have created more Angevin partisans, it did decrease support for Stephen among clerics, as measured by witness lists for charters and grants. Finally, in 2002, Stephen Marritt demonstrated that Stephen enjoyed significantly more loyalty and support from clerics after 1139 than was commonly assumed. See Kenji Yoshitake, “The Arrest of the Bishops in 1139 and its Consequences,” The Journal of Medieval History 14 (1988), 97–114; Thomas Callahan, Jr., “The Arrest of the Bishops at Stephen’s Court: A Reassessment,” The Haskins Society Journal 4 (1993), 97–108; Stephen Marritt, “King Stephen and the Bishops,” Anglo-Norman Studies 24 (2002),129–44. For those who see the conflict with the bishops as undermining Stephen’s authority, see also Marjorie Chibnall, The Empress Matilda (Oxford, 1991), pp. 79–80; Cronne, The Reign of King Stephen, pp. 37–39; Davis, King Stephen, pp. 29–35; Appleby, The Troubled Reign of King Stephen, pp. 64–78; Nakashian, “The Use and Impact of the English Levied Soldiers in Anglo-Norman England,” 27–29; for views that do not see the arrest of the bishops as a crushing blow to Stephen, see Matthew, King Stephen, pp. 91–3

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The best accounts of this debate are found in the Historia novella of William of Malmesbury and the Gesta Stephani. William of Malmesbury reported that: Some were saying they thought the bishops had rightly been deprived of castles they had built in defiance of the canon law: that they should be evangelists of peace, not builders of houses that might be a refuge of doers of evil deeds … This was urged … by Hugh archbishop of Rouen.129

This argument is not unlike the one found earlier in the Gesta Stephani. There were those of the opposite opinion though, and none other than Henry, bishop of Winchester, the king’s brother and papal legate, championed their case.130 He was reported to have argued three main points: (1) Any infractions by the bishops were for canon law to judge, not the king. (2) They ought not to have been deprived of their property without a general council of the clergy. (3) The king had not acted out of righteous zeal, but rather personal greed.131 Henry stridently maintained the rights of the Church, even against the stated interests of his brother and king. A council was held, to which the king was summoned and which he ignored, to debate the justice of the king’s actions in laying hands on the bishops and depriving them of their military holdings. The council, which was held on 29 August 1139, at Winchester, met to determine the validity of Stephen’s actions. According to the Gesta Stephani, a source favorably disposed towards Stephen, the council found that the king had unlawfully laid hands on God’s anointed and that Stephen then “softened the harshness of the Church’s severity by a humble submission, and putting aside his royal garb, groaning in spirit and with a contrite heart, he humbly accepted the penance enjoined for his fault.”132 William of Malmesbury reported that the king had threatened the bishops that acting against him would lead to denial of their reentry to England should they travel.133 The council therefore “broke up without the king’s consenting to bear a canonical censure of the bishops’ thinking it was wise to produce one against him …”134 The ultimate implications of his actions against Roger, Nigel, and Alexander are unknown, but we know that the king’s actions were roundly criticized by contemporary chroniclers, even those sympathetic to his cause.135 Stephen had certainly alienated some of

129 130 131 132 133 134 135

and Graeme White, Restoration and Reform, 1153–1165: Recovery from Civil War in England (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 23–25. For a discussion of the political entanglements of Nigel, bishop of Ely, see Jennifer Paxton, “Monks and Bishops: The Purpose of the Liber Eliensis,” The Haskins Society Journal 11 (2003), 17–30; Liber Eliensis: a History of the Isle of Ely from the Seventh to the Twelfth Centuries, trans. Janet Fairweather (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 346–468. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 28. Ibid. Ibid. Gesta Stephani, pp. 80–81. William of Malmesbury, Historia novella, p. 33. Ibid. Callahan, “The Arrest of the Bishops,” 99.



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the most powerful personages in the kingdom, and he had lost a great deal of standing with some ecclesiastical leaders. Whether these actions were responsible for pushing potential allies into the arms of Maud, or at least away from the king’s side, is an open question, and one largely overshadowed by Stephen’s eventual capture by Maud’s forces in 1141.136 After the bishops’ council ended on 1 September, the Empress Maud landed in England with her brother Robert in order directly to press her claims to the English throne. They landed at the castle of Arundel, and Robert immediately set out for Bristol, while the Empress stayed behind. When it was reported to Bishop Henry that they had landed, he ordered his men to block the roads to Bristol in order to impede Earl Robert. The author of Gesta Stephani suspected that this was not done in order to capture the earl, however: The Bishop of Winchester, on hearing of their arrival, at once had all the by-roads blocked by guards, and at length met the earl, it was rumored, and after a compact of peace and friendship had been firmly ratified between them let him go unharmed.137

Stephen immediately hastened to the area to besiege her and to take her into custody. Henry arrived at the siege at the head of “a large number of cavalry” (cum multa equestrium), and advised Stephen to allow Maud to depart and travel to her brother.138 Henry argued that this would place all of the king’s enemies in one place, where they could be more easily dealt with, and also that if the king was entirely focused on the siege of Arundel, Robert and his adherents would be able to make bloody mayhem throughout the rest of the country. Henry argued that “when both with their forces had been brought into one place he [Stephen] might more easily devote himself to shattering their enterprise and might more quickly arrive with all his forces for a heavier attack.”139 Ultimately this decision did not allow Stephen to destroy both of his enemies, and instead allowed them to concentrate their power in the southwest and forge a separatist regime based in Bristol. Contemporaries and modern historians have used Henry’s advice, which allowed Maud and Robert to consolidate their power in the Bristol area, to call his loyalty to Stephen into question, and even the author of the Gesta Stephani reported rumors that Henry had met secretly with Robert of Gloucester, though he wrote that these were likely untrue.140 Henry’s advice was actually not as bad as it would seem on its face. His reasoning was probably predicated on the successful precedent of 1088, when William II had trapped all of his major enemies in the castle of Rochester and was able to eliminate them all together. He also was anticipating a larger groundswell of support for the Empress than actually happened. Had large segments of the country

136 137 138 139 140

Ibid., pp. 102–3; Marritt, “King Stephen and the Bishops,” 132–33. Gesta Stephani, p. 88. Ibid., p. 89. Ibid. Ibid.

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simultaneously erupted into rebellion, the king would have been caught between numerous enemy forces and separated from his base of support in the southeast. In December of 1139 Bishop Roger of Salisbury died, disgraced and humiliated by his arrest and imprisonment by Stephen, and this was something that his partisans and family would not forget. Upon his death, Nigel, bishop of Ely, immediately cast his lot fully with the Angevin cause. The ecclesiastical writer of the Gesta Stephani described the bishop’s reaction: So, entirely abandoning the weapons of the Gospel and the discipline of the Church militant, he put on the man of blood and after hiring in Ely, at his own expense, knights who were prepared for any crime, ready in hand and mind, he molested all his neighbors, and especially those who supported the king.141

The Empress had gained, through the actions of the king in 1139, a strong and devoted follower in Nigel. The king, however, arrived at Ely speedily with his army and attempted to take the castle which was located in the center of the muddy fens. A local monk who “acted as guide, as well as informant” showed the king and his forces where to cross and how to approach the fortification.142 The royal forces, after having been guided across the natural defenses of Ely, easily captured the bishop’s holdings and many of his knights. The bishop himself fled and made his way to Gloucester, “where all those attacked by the king had assembled as though it were a receptacle for filth …”143 While Stephen had successfully reduced Nigel’s power-center, he had undoubtedly solidified the allegiance of the recalcitrant bishop towards Maud. John of Worcester felt that it was Stephen’s attack upon Ely itself that had driven the bishop to join openly with the Angevins.144 This precipitated the events of 1141 in which Stephen was captured, as discussed above. Conclusions Overall, what can be determined regarding ecclesiastical military leadership in England during the Norman period? It would appear as though ecclesiastical loyalties more often lay on the side of the royal power, rather than with insurgents. Men such as Wulfstan, bishop of Winchester; Anselm and Lanfranc, archbishops of Canterbury; Thurstan, archbishop of York; Robert, bishop of Bath; and Henry, bishop of Winchester, often fought to support legitimate royal power. Even those who fought against the king – Odo of Bayeux, Geoffrey of Coutances, Nigel of Ely – did so on behalf of a candidate whom they considered to be the legitimate ruler. We do not see ecclesiastical lords fighting wars purely for their 141

142 143 144

Gesta Stephani, pp. 98–99. “Armis igitur euangelicis militiaque ecclesiasticae disciplinae prorsus derelicta, uirum sanguinum induit, militibusque ad quodlibet facinus promptis, opera et animo expeditis in Eli sua pecunia conductis, confines omnes, et eos maxime qui regi consentiebantur, turbabat.” Ibid., pp. 100–101. Ibid. John of Worcester, Chronicon, pp. 280–81.



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own benefit, unconnected to royal power. Generally speaking, kings were able to rely on their ecclesiastical lords for loyalty far more than their secular ones. Furthermore, these ecclesiastical lords were uniquely located within the political environment to use spiritual and ideological power to promote and project their political and military agency. The cooperation between the Church and the king was not a hard and fast rule, as evidenced by those clergymen who did take part in rebellions, but rather a likely accommodation and something that more often than not would take place. That this was happening at the time of the investiture controversy makes this all the more interesting. Despite the competition between the king and the ecclesiastical leadership on the investing of bishoprics, there was still enough common ground between them to justify cooperation in military matters. This common ground was generally found in the preservation of stability and the preexisting hierarchical order. The Church almost always favored stability and order over instability and disorder. Disorder brought violence, and violence brought pillaging, death, and the ransacking of churches. Among the first victims in any conflict were the clergy, especially as their churches tended to be repositories of wealth, in addition to serving as military targets in a strategic sense. One only has to read the accounts of contemporary chroniclers, themselves often churchmen, to determine that among their greatest fears was the prospect of having their holdings destroyed by pillaging troops. Therefore, as the king represented temporal order and authority, to support him was often seen as supporting those ideals as well. The Church was also a hierarchy devoted to the concept of loyalty to an all-powerful Lord far above others, and this idea of loyalty meshed very well with that of a king serving as the “head” of his own hierarchy. While the clergy did not blindly follow the king, far from it, they did accept his right to rule and thus rebellion was difficult to justify. Moreover, kings were anointed by God to serve as the leaders of men. To attack one was to strike against God’s anointed and to flout God’s Will. While this ideal was very often not seen in practice, it could tend to explain to a certain degree the loyalty of the Church to the king. Looking forward, this military cooperation between ecclesiastical lords and the king did not end with the accession of Henry II in 1154. Henry II was well served militarily by Thomas Becket, himself a cleric, as royal chancellor in his campaigns of 1159 and 1161 in France, prior to Becket’s elevation as archbishop in 1162. Henry II also benefited from the loyalty and military ability of his illegitimate son, Geoffrey, archdeacon and bishop-elect of Lincoln (later archbishop of York). Geoffrey’s loyalty so impressed his father that Henry was known to remark that his legitimate sons (who were often in rebellion) were the true bastards.145 Henry’s son, Richard I, relied heavily on the military service of Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury, and Hubert Walter, bishop of Salisbury, on 145

Gerald of Wales, Speculum ecclesiae, pp. 367–68. Gerald portrayed Geoffrey as a solid protector of his father’s rights and rule in England. In Cap. II of the Vita, which detailed Geoffrey’s successful assault on a castle of Roger de Montbray, Gerald spoke of Geoffrey as

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the Third Crusade (where Baldwin died).146 Hubert Walter continued this service on behalf of Richard I back in England during Richard’s imprisonment by the duke of Austria. John and his son Henry III benefited from the generalship of Peter des Roches, bishop of Winchester, especially at the battle of Lincoln in 1217 during Henry III’s minority.147 The Norman foundations set the stage for English kings to rely heavily on ecclesiastical lords to administer, command, and lead their armies, usually with less anxiety that they would be betrayed.

146 147

fighting for his father and his country (“pro patre simul et patria dimicare”). See ibid., pp. 364–65. Itinerarium peregrinorum et gesta regis Ricardi, ed. William Stubbs (London, 1864), p. 116. Nicholas Vincent, Peter des Roches: An Alien in English Politics, 1205–1238 (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 137–40.

4 Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East The Georgian Experience Mamuka Tsurtsumia

Over the centuries the horseman has used his lance in several ways: hurled it like a javelin, stabbed the enemy either from above1 or forward,2 or held it in both hands.3 When thrusting the lance, the horseman used his horse only as a combat platform, its power and speed never fully incorporated into the attack. Full use of the potential of the horse became possible after introducing a new combat style, when the medieval warrior held his lance fixed under his arm. As a result, the combined mass of the lance, the horseman and the horse rushing towards the enemy factored into the impact force, which was much greater than possible when thrusting the weapon with the muscles of the arm.4 In such an impact, the energy of the man and the horse is concentrated at the tip of the lance.5 Only the end of the lance was placed under the arm, therefore its point was more thrust forward (“lengthened”), than when using other methods of combat.6 It was the position of the lance behind the center of gravity that caused its being “lengthened,” which imparted a certain advantage to this style of fighting. The name of the new method of combat (couched lance) is due to this specifically: couched means lengthened, stretched out.7 In Georgian its equivalent is tsagrdzelebuli shubi: i.e., a lengthened lance. As suggested above, in this case the lance is firmly held between the arm and

1

2 3

4 5 6 7

In this case, the lance point is on the side of the little finger, the thumb is behind. Dmitry Alexinsky, Klim Zhukov, Alexander Butyagin, and Dmitry Korovkin, Vsadniki Voiny: Kavalerya Evropy [Horsemen of War: European Cavalry] (Moscow, 2005), p. 18. In this case, the lance is held at the thigh, with the thumb in front. Ibid. In this case, both hands were engaged, which makes it impossible to use the shield. Jon Coulston, “Arms and Armour of the Late Roman Army,” in A Companion to Medieval Arms and Armour, ed. David Nicolle (Woodbridge, 2002), p. 15. When fighting with a two-handed lance the effectiveness of guiding the horse with the reins was also reduced. Carroll Gillmor, “European Cavalry,” in Dictionary of the Middle Ages, 13 vols. (New York, 1983), 3:200. Kelly DeVries, Medieval Military Technology (Peterborough, 1992), p. 12. John France, “Technology and Success of the First Crusade,” in War and Society in the Eastern Mediterranean, 7th–15th Centuries, ed. Yaacov Lev (Leiden, 1996), p. 166. Ann Hyland, The Medieval Warhorse: From Byzantium to the Crusades (London, 1994), p. 57. Helen Nicholson, Medieval Warfare: Theory and Practice of War in Europe 300–1500 (New York, 2004), p. 102.

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the body; the energy of the impact is caused by the movement of the horse.8 The only thing for the horseman to do is to aim the lance precisely and hold the shaft firmly and motionlessly.9 The lance is aimed by steering the horse and twisting the rider’s body. The point of the lance is oriented to the left of the horse’s head; the shaft is under the right armpit of the horseman so that the weight of the lance and the force of the impact do not upset the warrior’s balance.10 The disadvantage of this combat technique is that the couched lance can only be directed forward within a small arc.11 The couched lance seems to have gained popularity in Europe from the latter half of the eleventh century.12 Whatever may be the exact date of the introduction of this technique, in the middle of the twelfth century the couched lance was prevalent on the battlefield, and this lasted until the end of the Middle Ages.13 In John France’s opinion the decisive stage in the evolution of the couched lance combat was the First Crusade, when the disciplined battle units used this style on a mass scale.14 The couched lance technique guarantees the most powerful impact the mounted warrior can inflict on his enemy. A couched lance strike could throw the opponent off the saddle; furthermore, it might knock over the horse and the horseman. It is significant that in the East, where traditionally there were numerous ways of lance combat, this method was held in respect.15 One of the most outstanding horsemen of the twelfth century, Usamah IbnMunqidh,16 resting on his broad experience, considered the couched lance tech8 9

10 11

12

13 14 15

16

David Nicolle, Medieval Warfare Source Book: Warfare in Western Christendom (London, 1999), p. 30. Anatoly Kirpichnikov, Drevnerusskoe oruzhie. Dospekh, kompleks boevykh sredstv IX–XIII vv. [Ancient Russian Arms: Armor, Combat Equipment of the Ninth to Thirteenth Centuries] (Leningrad, 1971), p. 68. R.H.C. Davis, The Medieval Warhorse: Origin, Development and Redevelopment (London, 1989), p. 21. David Nicolle, Crusader Warfare: Byzantium, Europe and the Struggle for the Holy Land 1050–1300 AD (London, 2007), pp. 70–71; idem, “The Impact of the European Couched Lance on Muslim Military Tradition,” The Journal of the Arms and Armour Society 10 (1980), 6–40, p. 7, pl. IIIf. It is this transitional period that is represented on the Bayeux tapestry, created to mark the occupation of England in 1066; of the thirty-five mounted figures holding lances, only five keep them stretched out. Bernard S. Bachrach, “Animals and Warfare in Early Medieval Europe,” Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di sull’alto Medioevo 31 (1985), 705–51, p. 744. On the discussion concerning the date of introducing the couched lance, see DeVries, Medieval Military Technology, pp. 13–14. DeVries, Medieval Military Technology, p. 14. John France, Victory in the East: A Military History of the First Crusade (Cambridge, 1994), p. 71. According to the fourteenth-century Arabic military treatise Nihayat al-Su’l, in the Near East three main methods of using the lance by the horseman existed: the Khurasani style, when the warrior used the lance with one hand (“rotating” it), the old method of using the lance with both hands, and a Syrian attack, which was also called the Rumi (Byzantine) style and meant the couched lance. David Nicolle, Crusader Warfare: Muslims, Mongols and the Struggle against the Crusades 1050–1300 AD (London, 2007), p. 155. Unlike Seljuk Turks, the main weapon of Arab mounted warriors was the lance.



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nique the most effective, when the hand holding the lance is pressed to the body and the impact force is conditioned by the movement of the horse. In one fight against the crusaders Usamah broke through the two layers of the French knight’s mail with such a strike.17 On the battlefield the use of the couched lance is the most effective when the riders deliver a coordinated charge, which, in its turn, is based on the discipline of the army unit.18 Even for the Templars, famous for their discipline, to mount a cavalry attack on a mass scale was so difficult that it was described in detail in their Rule.19 A successful attack of the heavy cavalry constitutes a head-on attack of a closely packed unit of horsemen with couched lances on the enemy battle formation, getting through and dispersing it, which demands coordinated movement of the warrior and horse at the same speed and in the same direction. This, doubtless, needed long practice. In an ideal case after breaking through the enemy formation the unit should re-form and launch another attack,20 though this was very difficult and only a highly disciplined army under experienced commanders could do it. Historians call this type of warfare mounted shock combat, which is an exact definition of the power of such an attack. The mounted shock combat technique was so formidable that often the enemy fled from the battlefield even before the battle started.21 Hardly anybody could face such an attack if it was properly executed; it was especially effective against enemy cavalry.22 In R.C. Smail’s opinion, the mounted shock combat of West European knights was the most powerful tactical weapon based on the collective weight of the military unit.23 Christopher Marshall concurs and says that the collective impact of the charge was the most powerful weapon of the medieval army.24

17

18 19 20

21

22

23 24

Usamah Ibn-Munqidh, An Arab-Syrian Gentleman and Warrior in the Period of the Crusades: Memoirs of Usamah Ibn-Munqidh (Kitab al-I’Tibar), tr. Philip K. Hitti (New York, 2000), pp. 68–70. France, “Technology and Success of the First Crusade,” p. 167. France, Victory in the East, p. 372. Tor Franceis was the name of such a tactic of the cavalryman, when during the first attack, having penetrated into the enemy battle formation, he turns back towards his standard, inflicting a second strike. Matthew Bennett, “Why Chivalry? Military ‘Professionalism’ in the Twelfth Century: The Origins and Expressions of a Socio-Military Ethos,” in The Chivalric Ethos and the Development of Military Professionalism, ed. David J.B. Trim (Leiden, 2003), p. 55. See Lynn White Jr., “Stirrup, Mounted Shock Combat, Feudalism, and Chivalry,” in Medieval Technology and Social Change (London, 1962), pp. 1–38, especially pp. 29–33; DeVries, Medieval Military Technology, p. 12. Matthew Bennett, “The Medieval Warhorse Reconsidered,” in Medieval Knighthood V: Papers from the Sixth Strawberry Hill Conference 1994, eds. S. Church and R. Harvey (Woodbridge, 1995), p. 34. R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 113–15. Christopher Marshall, Warfare in the Latin East (Cambridge, 1992), p. 158; idem, “The Use of the Charge in Battles in the Latin East, 1192–1291,” Historical Research 65 (1992), 221–26, p. 222.

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Some think that Western Europe borrowed the couched lance style of combat from Byzantium and suggest that it was in Byzantium that this style reached the highest level of development in the tenth century. It was allegedly introduced by the heavy cavalry of the Emperor Nikephoros Phokas.25 Apart from the couched lance, in David Nicolle’s opinion, Phokas’ Byzantine heavy cavalry used the mounted shock combat tactics that were later characteristic of western European knightly armies.26 I cannot share Nicolle’s opinion: had Nikephoros Phokas been the one who introduced mounted shock combat, he would have placed lancers in the first row of his cavalry, not the warriors armed with mace and sword. The Byzantines seem to have been aware of the couched lance technique, but not the mounted shock combat tactics. In the tenth century, during the reign of Nikephoros Phokas, the most significant weapon of a heavy Byzantine cavalryman, a kataphraktoi, was the mace, and not the lance.27 The kataphraktoi armed with lances appear in the battle formation only from the fifth row, and moreover on the flanks; their number being insignificant, they could never perform any important role in the battle.28 With such armament and formation it is impossible to launch the kind of shock attack familiar to the lance-armed European knight. Furthermore, of Phokas’ 504 (or 384) kataphraktoi 150 (or 80) were armed with bows, and they, from the back rows, supported other kataphraktoi armed with close-combat weapons.29 This manner of fighting has nothing in common with mounted shock combat. Now, the use of couched lance is not always associated with mounted shock combat.30 The couched lance was very well known both to Usama and the Byzantines, but for them it did not grow into mounted shock combat and, moreover, it was never used on a large scale. The couched lance had long been known in the East, but I have no grounds for thinking that it was as prevalent and effective as it became in Europe from the end of the eleventh century. It should be remembered that it takes many years to introduce any tactical method or technological achievement, and in most cases it is only after this period that an appropriate result is attained.31 It seems the couched lance technique had existed for a long

25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Nicolle, Medieval Warfare Source Book: Warfare in Western Christendom, p. 78. David Nicolle, Medieval Warfare Source Book: Christian Europe and Its Neighbours (London, 1998), p. 70. Eric McGeer, Sowing the Dragon’s Teeth: Byzantine Warfare in the Tenth Century (Washington, DC, 1995), pp. 37 and 216. Ibid., p. 37. Ibid. John France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, 1000–1300 (London, 1999), p. 160. For comparison let us take the longbow: this weapon had existed for centuries but it acquired its tactical significance and effectiveness only when the English used it on a mass scale in the Hundred Years’ War: David Whetham, “The English Longbow: A Revolution in Technology?” in The Hundred Years War: Different Vistas, eds. L.J. Andrew Villalon and Donald J. Kagay (Leiden, 2008), pp. 213–32; Andrew Ayton, “Arms, Armour, and Horses,” in Medieval Warfare: A History, ed. Maurice Keen (New York, 1999), p. 203.



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time but it took a long time for shock combat per se to evolve, and it became most effective only in the twelfth century.32 The goal of the present paper is to find the traces of the couched lance and mounted shock combat far from Europe, in the East, and to bring out those numerous parallels which associate the Georgian art of war with the European. It should be noted that the combat art of the medieval Georgian army has hitherto not been studied in detail; it has not been determined which weapons and what kind of tactics were preferred by Georgian warriors, and has never been ascertained what transformations their armament and tactics have undergone over the centuries. George Anchabadze is the only Georgian historian who for years very systematically and consistently maintained that the basic weapon of the medieval Georgian cavalry was the lance.33 However, he never specified the style of lance combat. Therefore my task is not only to prove that in the Middle Ages the Georgian warrior always used the lance in fighting, but also to argue that in Georgia the couched lance was dominant; it is also highly important to demonstrate that mounted shock combat was the main tactical weapon of the Georgian feudal army. It will only be possible to accomplish these tasks through a complex study of sources and iconographic evidence. It should be noted at once that, as a matter of fact, historical sources practically never mention arrow combat by Georgian horsemen, while lance combat is referred to very often.34 There may be a few exceptions from the rule, but these do not change anything.35 In literary sources mainly chivalrous lance combat is described; the use of bows and arrows in jousts was strictly denounced and it is only later, in the seventeenth-century literary works, that bow-and-arrow combat is mentioned without any disapproval. In comparison with narrative sources, the iconographic material is much more problematic. Since representations of the couched lance are often not impressive artistically, iconographic tradition was conservative, as indeed was the case in

32 33

34 35

Matthew Strickland, “Military Technology and Conquest: The Anomaly of Anglo-Saxon England,” Anglo-Norman Studies 19 (1996), 353–82, pp. 361–66. Giorgi Anchabadze, “Kartuli lashkris sabrdzolo tsqoba da brdzolis tsarmoebis kherkhebi teimuraz II-is ‘sarke tkmulta anu dghisa da ghamis gabaasebis’ mikhedvit” [The Battle Formation and Combat Methods of the Georgian Army after Teimuraz IIs “The Mirror of What Was Said or the Dialogue between the Day and the Night”] Matsne 2 (1984), 93–98, p. 95; “Ioseb tbilelis ‘didmouraviani’ rogorts samkhedro-istoriuli tsqaro” [Ioseb Tbileli’s “Didmouraviani” as a Military-Historical Source] Kartuli tsqarotmtsodneoba 6 (1985), 68–77, p. 69; “Sekhnia chkheidzis ‘tskhovreba mepeta’ rogorts samkhedro-saistorio tsqaro” [Sekhnia Chkheidze’s “A History of Kings” as a Military-Historical Source] Matsne 4 (1988), 56–64, p. 61. Of course, implied here are battlefield actions rather than assaults on a fortress. There was one incident in the thirteenth century, when Georgians fought side by side with Mongols against another Mongol army. Zhamtaaghmtsereli (Chronicler), Astslovani matiane [Chronicle of One Hundred Years], ed. Revaz Kiknadze (Tbilisi, 1987), p. 134; in another place, in the seventeenth century, in the Ksani valley it was caused by the necessity of an ambush. Ioseb Tbileli, Didmouraviani [The Great Governor] (Tbilisi, 1939), p. 33.

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Figure 1:  St Eustathios with the couched lance. East facade of Martvili church. Author’s photo.

Europe.36 Apart from rare exceptions Georgian Orthodox art failed to avoid this conservatism, maintaining to the end the traditional style of depicting warrior saints. The foundations of this style were established as early as the ninth to early tenth centuries. Due to the paucity of secular miniatures, only a couple of useful representations have survived. However, iconography provides some material for judging indirectly: in spite of its conservative character artists did still represent the almond-shaped shield, the high wrap-around saddle and the stretched-out leg, which unequivocally point to the couched lance combat style. Georgians must have become acquainted with the couched lance by the latest in the tenth century through Byzantium, their cooperation and military links with the country being very intensive. It may have happened in the reign of Nikephoros Phokas, during their joint struggle against the Arabs. Georgians, as allies, took part in Nikephoros Phokas’ campaign against Cilicia in 964.37 In order to substantiate my conjecture I may refer to the tenth-century relief of Martvili church, representing St. Eustathios38 (Figure 1). The saint holds his 36 37 38

Lynn White Jr., “The Crusades and the Technological Thrust of the West,” in War, Technology and Society in the Middle East, eds. V.J. Parry and M.E. Yapp (London, 1975), pp. 98–99, n. 3. Vasil Kopaliani, Sakartvelosa da bizantiis politikuri urtiertoba 970–1070 tslebshi [Political Relations between Georgia and Byzantium 970–1070] (Tbilisi, 1969), p. 23. The representation dates to the tenth century and not to the seventh, as is assumed in Georgian art history. Natela Aladashvili, Monumentalnaya skulptura Gruzii [Georgian Monumental Sculpture] (Moscow, 1977), fig. 51. The saint’s stirrup undoubtedly refers to a later date. As is known, Sassanian Iran did not use the stirrup at all, the Arabs came to know it only in the eighth century. The earliest representation of the stirrup in the Islamic world is attested in about



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lance (3–3.5 meters long judging by the proportions of the relief) behind the center of balance, in couched manner, in order to use its entire length. It is noteworthy that St. Eustathios, who in Georgia is usually portrayed with a bow, is armed with a lance here, pointing to the increased importance of the lance, which superseded the bow in this traditional composition.39 Evidence is available that throws light on the gradual development of knightly tactics in eleventh-century Georgia. Stephanos Orbeliani gives an account of Liparit Baghvashi’s attack against the Seljuk Turks in 1048, in the battle of Kapetru: “Liparit … would go in and then out … breaking up their units and passing through.”40 Liparit’s style of fighting much resembles that of the knights, whose main goal was to break up the enemy battle formation and pass through it: Stephanos notes twice that Liparit breaks up their units and passes through. The popularization of couched lance techniques must also have been promoted by the western European mercenaries serving in the eastern provinces of Byzantium. In the eleventh century many Frankish soldiers served in the Byzantine Empire; the Norman contingents, led by Crespin, Roussel de Bailleul and Herve Francopoulos, played a significant role in Byzantine campaigns.41 Roussel de Bailleul had up to 3,000 heavy cavalry which constituted the main strike troops of the Empire in the East. In 1057 the Franks attempted to set up an independent principality in Byzantine Armenia, and 1,000 Franks were mustered in Edessa in 1071.42 Furthermore, according to the evidence of Nikephoros Bryennos, following their defeat at Manzikert, the Byzantines attempted to form a cavalry detachment that fought in the European style, for which they trained the cavalrymen specially with blunted lances.43 Thus Georgians must surely have had some contacts with Frankish mercenaries in the East, gaining information about their tactics and the experiments under way in the Byzantine Empire. The final introduction of the couched lance in Georgia must have taken place in the reign of David IV the Builder (1089–1125). The dazzling victory of the Franks in the First Crusade must have provided an extra stimulus for introducing this style. David must also have been informed about the crusaders’ successful use of mounted shock combat by those Georgians who witnessed the First

39

40 41 42 43

730, in the Umayyad Palace near Palmyra. White, “The Crusades and the Technological Thrust of the West,” p. 99. Thus, the Martvili relief cannot be dated to the seventh century. The image of the mounted Eustathios armed with a bow became established in Georgia from an early period, pointing to the influence of Sassanian iconography. In this it differs from Cappadocian images in which the saint was equipped with a lance from the beginning. Piotr L. Grotowski, Arms and Armour of the Warrior Saints: Tradition and Innovation in Byzantine Iconography (843–1261) (Leiden, 2010), pp. 82–85. Stephanos Orbeliani, Tskhovreba orbelianta [The Life of the Orbelianis] (Tbilisi, 1978), p. 35. Jean Richard, “An Account of the Battle of Hattin Referring to the Frankish Mercenaries in Oriental Moslem States,” Speculum 27 (1952), 168–77, p. 171. White, “The Crusades and the Technological Thrust of the West,” p. 99. Jonathan Shepard, “The Uses of the Franks in Eleventh-Century Byzantium,” Anglo-Norman Studies 15 (1993), 275–305, p. 293. This evidence again confirms that Byzantine cavalry did not earlier practice mounted shock combat.

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Crusade.44 Between 100 and 200 crusaders served in David’s army, and their presence must have facilitated this.45 Indirect evidence for this is furnished by the famous battle of Didgori, where in 1121 King David defeated the coalition army of Il-Ghazi. David the Builder’s chronicler provides two pieces of information, incompatible at first sight, as he writes that the enemy was unable to stand the first attack, and at the same time adding that the battle lasted for three hours, which was quite a long time for that epoch.46 It is very easy to reconcile these two seemingly contradictory pieces of evidence, if we take into account that the Georgian army used the mounted shock combat tactics. The events developing on the battlefield may be reconstructed as follows: since the battle lasted for three hours and the very first attack of the Georgians was sufficient to gain victory, it is natural to suppose that this attack was launched towards the end of fighting, and that David the Builder had been waiting until then for a suitable moment. During the first two or two-and-a-half hours the waves of the Turcoman horse archers kept surging at the ranks47 of Georgians (“with a great shouting and din of horses and weapons” and “the fierce banners”), who stood invincible defending themselves (“King David encouraged them”).48 Having chosen a suitable moment, the mounted shock attack of the Georgians penetrated the main nucleus of the Muslims, the standard of Il-Ghazi:49 evidence of this is that Il-Ghazi was wounded in the head.50

44

45

46 47

48 49

50

Fulcher of Chartres, A History of the Expedition to Jerusalem 1095–1127, tr. Frances Rita Ryan, ed. Harold S. Fink (New York, 1973), p. 88. If Fulcherius’s Iberi really denotes Georgians here, this group, which cannot have been numerous, may have followed the crusaders from Constantinople, where there were Georgian colonies. Matthew of Edessa, Armenia and the Crusades: Tenth to Twelfth Centuries: The Chronicle of Matthew of Edessa, tr. Ara Edmond Dostourian (New York, 1993), p. 227; Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, tr. Thomas S. Asbridge and Susan B. Edgington (Aldershot, 1999), p. 169. Smbat Sparapet even names 500 Franks in David’s army: Smbat Sparapet, Letopis [Chronicle], ed. Ashot Galstyan (Yerevan, 1974), p. 83. King David’s Chronicler, Tskhorebai mepet-mepisa davitisi, ed. Mzekala Shanidze [The Life of King of Kings David] (Tbilisi, 1992), pp. 190–93. The tactics of the Turcomans were to get close to the enemy, shower them with arrows, then retreat, only to attack again; as a result the enemy either became much weaker or, pestered by the arrows, launched a haphazard attack which could be repulsed easily. Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, pp. 169–70. In order to avoid the terrible attack of the heavy cavalrymen the Muslims could disperse, avert the initial impact of the charge, and subsequently turn on the disorganized enemy and defeat them by attacking on the flanks or from the rear. That is why the precision and good timing of the attack were of paramount importance, for the attack to reach the main group of the Muslims, so that they might not avoid a direct clash with the enemy where the advantage would be on the side of the heavily armed lancers. When facing the Muslims’ mobile tactics the main problem was to withstand the first stage of the battle and to correctly choose the time and target of the attack. See Smail, Crusading Warfare, pp. 77–83, 112–15; Marshall, Warfare in the Latin East, pp. 35, 158–61; For the importance of attack against the main body of the Muslim army, see Richard, “An Account of the Battle of Hattin,” pp. 169–71; Benjamin Z. Kedar, “The Battle of Hattin Revisited,” in The Horns of Hattin, ed. B.Z. Kedar (Jerusalem, 1992), pp. 203, 206. Walter the Chancellor, The Antiochene Wars, p. 170.



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Whereas so far many things have been viewed on the level of conjecture, at the turn of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries Queen Tamar’s first historian gives an account of a fact whose importance cannot be overestimated: The Histories and Eulogies of the Sovereigns narrates that during the Persian campaign in 1209 Amirspasalar (Commander-in-Chief) Zakaria deployed five hundred of his most valiant warriors, led by Taqaidin Tmogveli, in the advanceguard. They were attacked by the Marandians, encouraged by their advantage in numbers over the Georgians, but the Marandians suffered a crushing defeat. When the warriors of the main bulk of the army viewed the battlefield, they could not believe their eyes: “they beheld the battlefield strewn with the dead bodies of men and horses, and there was not a single Georgian among them. God had granted them so much victory that there were five hundred men and horses pierced with five hundred lances.”51 The chronicler, who seems to have been well versed in the art of war, cannot help being excited and after a few lines repeats: “they had been granted such victory that all the five hundred men had slain five hundred horses and men with their five hundred lances and the bodies pierced with five hundred lances were beheld.”52 This is the best argument in favor of the mounted shock attack of Georgians with the use of couched lances: achieving a similar result by means of some other form of combat method is inconceivable! The chronicler must have fully realized what great skill was needed to launch such a flawless shock attack, assigning so much space to this episode; he never elsewhere describes a battle in such detail. Our conceptualization of what happened will be assisted by the renowned Arab warrior Usamah Ibn-Munqidh, who proudly describes one of his battles, when in an attack sixteen Muslims killed sixteen Franks with their lances.53 The legendary Muslim knight has every ground to be proud of this fact. But if we compare the scales of Usamah’s deed and the Mardin episode, we shall be once more convinced of the importance of the latter; it may be said safely that it would be difficult to find an analog to such an attack even in European annals. As John France notes, in the East the crusaders used mounted shock attacks against the Turks on a much larger scale than in Europe. Only a disciplined and well co-ordinated army could launch such an attack.54 Since it is difficult to mount such an attack on a mass scale along a whole frontal line, in Europe they were carried out in succession by smaller tactical units (constabularia or conrua, formed of ten to forty knights). During the Persian campaign the simultaneous use of the lance by five hundred warriors indicates that it was a single, mass-scale attack, attesting to the high tactical skill of the Georgian army of the period. From another report of Queen Tamar’s historian we learn that a mass 51 52 53 54

“Istoriani da azmani sharavandedtani” [The Histories and Eulogies of the Sovereigns] in Kartlis tskhovreba, ed. Simon Qaukhchishvili, 4 vols. (Tbilisi, 1959), 2:105. “Istoriani da azmani,” p. 105. Usamah Ibn-Munqidh, Kitab al-I’Tibar, p. 86. John France, “Crusading Warfare and its Adaptation to Eastern Conditions in the Twelfth Century,” Mediterranean Historical Review 15 (2000), 49–66, pp. 60–61.

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attack was the customary tactic of the Georgian army. In 1195, in the battle of Shamkor “fighting and clashing started not of all the units but of some from the advance guard.”55 The chronicler notes specially that this time there did not take place a mass attack but only an attack by some of the units in the advance guard. In order not to break up the battle formation too soon the Georgian warriors (like the knightly cavalry) at first approached the enemy at a slow pace, then sped up a little (at a trot) before the charge.56 A charge, carried out in this manner, is very hard to repulse when the whole mass of the cavalrymen reach the enemy. Such an attack, mounted by Georgians in the field of Basiani in 1202, when the army of the Sultanate of Rum was defeated, is described in the sources. At the beginning of the battle Georgians “drew up their units” and “moved in slow manner,”57 “when they saw the Sultan, quickened their horses’ pace slightly and advanced towards them.”58 They “quickened their horses’ pace slightly,” so that the ranks of the cavalrymen would not break up ahead of time, which would reduce the impact of the attack. The Knight in the Panther’s Skin by Shota Rustaveli, written in the same epoch, provides additional details in favor of the above version: I asked for my lance, donned my glittering helmet, Roused by the fury of vengeance, eager to face my opponents, I spurred my horse, lengthened myself and rushed forward … With one thrust of my lance, I smote down a knight and his charger; When the lance broke I drew my trusty blade from its scabbard!59

The attack described here resembles typical fighting of a European knight: before beginning the battle, his armor-bearer hands him his lance, he (Tariel) carries his heavy helmet fastened to his saddle and puts it on at the very last moment.60 Transferring the lance from the vertical position to the horizontal is 55 56

57 58

59 60

“Istoriani da azmani,” p. 70. As early as the sixth century Emperor Maurice understood very well the importance of preserving the horsemen’s formation for a successful attack, and advised them to approach the enemy at a trot. Maurice’s Strategikon, tr. by George T. Dennis (Philadelphia, 1984), p. 38. For a more expanded discussion of the issue, see Matthew Bennett, “La Regle du Temple as a Military Manual or How to Deliver a Cavalry Charge,” in The Rule of the Templars: The French Text of the Rule of the Order of the Knights Templar, trans. J.M. Upton-Ward (Woodbridge, 1992), pp. 184–85. “Istoriani da azmani,” p. 96. Basili ezosmozghuari (Master of the Court), “Tskhovreba mepet-mepisa tamarisi” [The Life of Queen of Queens Tamar] in Kartlis tskhovreba, ed. Simon Qaukhchishvili, 4 vols. (Tbilisi, 1959), 2:137. Shota Rustaveli, The Knight in the Panther’s Skin, tr. from the Georgian by Venera Urushadze (Tbilisi, 1968), pp. 70–71, brought closer to the original by the author. A European knight puts on his helmet exactly like this, right before the beginning of fighting. William Marshal’s well-known example is sufficient to illustrate this; at the last moment in the battle of Lincoln in 1217, his squire reminded him that it was time to put on his helmet. Michael Prestwich, “Miles in Armis Strenuus: The Knight at War,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 6 (1995), 201–20, pp. 205–206.



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described in the Georgian original in highly poetic terms, when the horseman’s silhouette lengthens at the expense of the lance – “I lengthened myself” (i.e. couched the lance). This is followed by a charge, and when the lance breaks he continues fighting with his sword. Obviously, it is a charge with the couched lance and no other technique. In such an attack the lance was held at his right wrist, the shaft was in his armpit. Since the pressure on the wrist was very strong it was difficult to keep it in such a position for a long time, therefore initially the lance was held vertically and only during the attack, at the very last moment, was it lowered – i.e. the lance was transferred into a horizontal position.61 It is this process that Rustaveli describes so beautifully. Much more frequent references to breaking lances in the twelfth-century sources and later indicate the great impact of the blow and combat with the couched lance.62 This is also corroborated by mentions of warriors being thrown off their horses during the battle. The powerful impact that throws the warrior down suggests the use of the couched lance.63 In Mose Khoneli’s Amirandarejaniani, which is a twelfth-century chivalrous romance, there are many instances of lances being broken (“the man attacked him and broke his lance”)64 and of warriors thrown off the horse: “He put on his armor and got hold of his lance. All the six of them attacked him holding their lances; he attacked the enemy, threw them off the horse as easily as if they were only young boys.”65 This episode may be a literary exaggeration, but very clearly describes the knightly style of lance fighting. The Chronicle of One Hundred Years gives an account of the battle with Turks in the middle of the thirteenth century, where the Mandaturtukhutsesi Shanshe killed a Turk with a lance: “As soon as they got close, they formed into a unit and attacked. Shanshe was the first to attack and kill the renowned Turk with his lance.”66 In 1260, when fighting against the Mongols, Georgians attacked with their lances, and the Spasalari of Samtskhe threw the best warrior of the Mongols off his horse: “When they clashed, the Meskhians rushed upon the enemy boldly. And Sargis Jaqeli was the first to attack the enemy detachment and throw the most courageous warrior of theirs, Chin-Bahadur, off the horse with his lance.”67

61 62 63

64 65 66 67

Davis, The Medieval Warhorse, pp. 19–21. Kirpichnikov, Drevnerusskoe oruzhie, p. 68. Bernard S. Bachrach, “Caballus et Caballarius in Medieval Warfare,” in The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches, eds. H. Chickering and T.H. Seiler (Kalamazoo, 1988), p. 194. The term pleine sa hanste indicates throwing the opponent, thrust with a lance, off the horse, when he turns over along the full length of the lance towards the horse’s tail, and refers to the use of the couched lance. Matthew Bennett, “Why Chivalry?” p. 53; Bachrach, “Animals and Warfare,” pp. 745–76. Mose Khoneli, Amirandarejaniani, ed. Lili Atanelishvili (Tbilisi, 1967), pp. 39–40. Ibid., pp. 610–11. Zhamtaaghmtsereli, Astslovani matiane, p. 95. Ibid., p. 124.

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Figure 2:  In the foreground a horseman slaying his enemy with couched lance, Psalter H1665, fol. 222r, Courtesy of the Georgian National Centre of Manuscripts.



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Beginning with the second third of the thirteenth century, the military equipment and combat style of the Georgians changed under the influence of the Mongols: the bow was added to the obligatory military equipment. Despite this, the lance remained the basic weapon, losing its old significance only in the latter half of the eighteenth century.68 It should also be noted that, apart from the couched lance, some miniatures of a later period represent other methods of holding the lance as well: with both hands or like a billiard cue. This is especially apparent in Eastern Georgia, which was greatly under the influence of the Iranians. Other styles of fighting must have existed across the centuries, but the couched lance and shock combat remained the Georgians’ preferred method of warfare. A very interesting piece of information dating from the end of the fourteenth century is also available. In the battle against Timur-Lenk “the Georgian army demonstrated such courage that they broke through the enemy units and massacred them, getting through their ranks and returning uninjured. And so, triumphant they appeared before God’s anointed King Giorgi, congratulating him with success.”69 The attack described here resembles those one launched by European knights, whose characteristic feature is breaking through the ranks of the enemy and getting back, still fighting, to their own formation, then regrouping and launching another attack; it also shows the discipline of the Georgian warriors, when after the assault they return to the king’s standard to re-arrange their formation. There is another piece of evidence on the use of the couched lance in an account of the battle of Aradeti in 1483, when Shalikashvili and Machabeli fought a single combat: “Shalikashvili struck him with his lance, breaking his shield, piercing his shoulder and throwing him off his horse.”70 Without the couched lance technique it is impossible to imagine a strike of such a force, which could split the shield and, hitting the enemy’s shoulder, throw him off the horse. There is some pictorial evidence from the fourteenth to fifteenth centuries, which gives an impression of the Georgian army, transformed under the Mongolian-nomad influence, in which the main combat method of the Georgians remained the couched lance. In the fourteenth-century psalter that provides information about the armament of Georgians who fought against Timur-Lenk, in one of the scenes we can see a couched lance attack and a slain enemy (Figure 2). Despite the conservatism demonstrated in Georgian iconography when portraying St. George, representation of couched lance penetrated even here. Some fifteenth-century repoussé icons that have survived represent the 68 69 70

Mamuka Tsurtsumia, “Sinas mtis tsminda mkhedrebi” [Warrior Saints of Mount Sinai], Kartvelologia 12 (2008), 13–44, p. 32. Kartlis tskhovreba [The Life of Georgia], ed. Simon Qaukhchishvili, 4 vols. (Tbilisi, 1959), 2:462. Beri Egnatashvili, “Akhali kartlis tskhovreba” [The New Life of Georgia], in Kartlis tskhovreba, ed. Simon Qaukhchishvili, 4 vols. (Tbilisi, 1959), 2:347.

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Figure 3:  St George slaying the dragon with couched lance. The fifteenth-century icon of Zhibiani, photo by D. Ermakov.

saint slaying the dragon with couched lance. Such a composition, which is very rare, is depicted in the Zhibiani, Gulekari and Tbilisi Sioni icons, also on the processional cross of Bodorna.71 In spite of nomad influence, which is primarily expressed by the presence of the bow in the soldier’s armament, the cavalryman still fights with couched lance (Figure 3). 71

G.N. Chubinashvili, Gruzinskoe chekannoe iskusstvo [Georgian Repoussé Art] (Tbilisi, 1959), p. 336.



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Interesting information is provided in Kartlis tskhovreba [The Life of Georgia] and by Parsadan Gorgijanidze about sixteenth-century battles in which Kings Luarsab I and Svimon I participated. In the battle of Garisi in 1556, King Luarsab “saw the Muslims, took his lance from the armor-bearer and rushed forward to face the enemy.”72 In 1569, in the battle of Phartskhisi King Svimon “charged the Iranians. King Svimon with a lance broke into the ranks of the Muslims. With his lance he threw many of them off their horses. The king’s lance broke …”73 In the same battle, the king of Kartli attacks a warrior with his lance and throws him off his horse: “King Svimon attacked an armed Qizilbash, struck him forcefully with his lance, throwing him to the ground and slaying him.”74 When defeated in a battle with Dadiani, King Svimon was about to flee; “Saam Turkestanishvili, reared together with the king, said to him, ‘I will not leave here without wielding my lance’. He attacked the enemy, threw a man to the ground and Turkestanishvili felt satisfied in the lost war.”75 In the battle of Nakhiduri in 1599 King Svimon’s charge against the Ottomans is described: The king spurred his horse and the Georgians with lengthened lances headed at once for the enemy at a gallop, like a torrent of rainwater and hail rushing down the mountain slope. They broke into the ranks of the Urums, threw them on to the ground and passed through their formation.… The Urums were surprised at their valor, and they left those who had been thrown on the ground and attacked others, as if each Georgian had thrown four of five Urums off their horses, and the king with his lance attacking the standard of the enemies, breaking up their ranks.76

In these episodes we are informed about fighting with lances, their splitting, the armor-bearer, whose duty it is to hand his master the lance (he is inseparable from his Georgian master), throwing the enemy off the horse and so on. Especially interesting is the battle at Nakhiduri, which represents a classic knightly combat, once again referring to the use of the couched lance (“Georgians with the lengthened lances”). There is especially abundant narrative material about seventeenth-century battles. Ioseb Saakadze, the metropolitan of Tbilisi in the latter half of the seventeenth century, in his historical poem “Didmouraviani” provides very interesting information about the battle of Tashiskari in 1609. At one place Giorgi Saakadze can hardly keep back those craving for an immediate attack, “I grasped the reins of those who had lengthened their lances …”77 It is quite clear that the Georgians were going to attack the enemy with couched lances. Even the author, who is a clergyman, knows that “lengthening the lance” means getting ready for an attack. These lines are interesting as a kind of echo of Rustaveli (“I 72 73 74 75 76 77

Parsadan Gorgijanidze, Istoria [History] (Tbilisi, 1926), p. 9. Parsadan Gorgijanidze, Istoria, p. 11. Kartlis tskhovreba, p. 514. Beri Egnatashvili, “Akhali kartlis tskhovreba,” p. 377. Parsadan Gorgijanidze, Istoria, p. 15. Ioseb Tbileli, Didmouraviani, p. 9.

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lengthened myself”) and they again confirm that it is by couching his lance that Tariel “lengthens” himself. Three of Saakadze’s lances were broken in the battle of Tashiskari (“I dare to inform you, my king, that three of my lances were broken”),78 after which he used his mace and sword; it seems as if we are reading an account of a European knight’s combat. “Our battle is with lances, theirs – with shields, swords and bows.”79 These words of Ioseb Tbileli may be used as an epigraph, as he describes the difference between the Georgian and Muslim battle styles. It should be noted that Georgians always felt they had an advantage in lance combat in comparison with their Eastern neighbours. At the military council in 1625, before the battle of Marabda, Giorgi Saakadze was sure that “the Iranians could not stand our fighting with lances.”80 Parsadan Gorgijanidze describes in minute detail the attack launched by the Georgians in the battle of Marabda. It is a classic European knightly advance: The horsemen “first moved slowly, then covered themselves with their shields, lengthened their lances and attacked the enemy.”81 In the same battle of Marabda, King Teimuraz attacks the enemy: “He struck the enemy with his lance but he covered himself with his shield; the king split his shield, broke his vambrace and his arm, splitting his lance as well and threw his opponent off the horse.”82 The strike of such a force, which broke the shield, split the vambrace, broke the enemy’s arm and broke his own lance at that, is possible only when using a couched lance. The single combat between Saakadze and Edisha Vachnadze, disguised in the king’s robes, during the battle of Bazaleti in 1626, is reminiscent of a joust somewhere in the heart of Europe, both participants breaking their lances against their enemies’ shields: “The Mouravi [G. Saakadze] covered himself with his shield, broke the opponent’s lance and moved on. Then he turned his horse back and struck him with his lance. He also broke the lance against the enemy’s shield.”83 In the seventeenth century there are more accounts of using and breaking lances. King Archil (1647–1713) describes King Teimuraz I’s fight with the Iranians near Zhaleti: “We approached the enemy, they attacked us and we also attacked them, our lances got broken over them in the assault.”84 At the end of the same century, in a battle against the Iranians, Vakhtang, King Giorgi’s nephew, “struck a Persian with his lance.”85 Prince Vakhusthi also writes that Commander of the Sabaratiano army, Zaza Tsitsishvili, broke five (!) lances 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

Ibid., p. 14. Ibid.. Parsadan Gorgijanidze, Istoria, p. 26. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., p. 29. Archili, “Gabaaseba teimurazisa da rustvelisa” [A Dialogue between Teimuraz and Rustaveli] in Archiliani, eds. Alexander Baramidze and Niko Berdzenishvili, 2 vols. (Tbilisi, 1937), 2:54. Prince Vakhushti, “Aghtsera sameposa sakartvelosa” [A Description of the Georgian Kingdom] in Kartlis tskhovreba, ed. Simon Qaukhchishvili, 4 vols. (Tbilisi, 1973), 4:471.



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in one battle: “They launched a fierce attack and Zaza broke five lances in fighting.”86 This unquestionably refers to this style of battle; it is impossible to break so many lances only by arm power. The seventeenth-century literary sources also support the factual data. At the beginning of the century, a famous commander and governor of Kakheti, Kaikhosro Choloqashvili, wrote a continuation of Rustaveli’s The Knight in the Panther’s Skin in prose, called Omainiani. Here the fight between two opponents is described in such a way that, at a glance, it reminds the reader of a typical western European tournament, though we are aware that the author is Georgian and he describes Georgian reality: The riders attacked each other fiercely. At the very first clash their lances got broken; they seized others but they also got smashed, then they unsheathed their swords of Indian steel and kept striking each other, so that after many strikes against the helmets the swords got as blunt as wooden sticks. Then they got their maces and went on fighting courageously.87

Of special interest is a hyperbole used by Kaikhosro Choloqashvili: “‘Now beware, for even a stone wall cannot stand the attack of my lance!’ He passed his lance between the horse’s ears and flew forward like a bird, so that the dust from under his horse’s hooves reached the sky.”88 This agrees with what Anna Komnene had said about European knights a few centuries before: “For a mounted Kelt is irresistible, able to bore his way through the walls of Babylon.”89 Here, too, Choloqashvili speaks of breaking through the wall with a lance; a blow powerful enough to warrant such a metaphor can be inflicted only with a couched lance. An anonymous work of the sixteenth/seventeenth century, Rusudaniani, abounds in descriptions of single combats that begin with the smashing of lances and continue with maces and swords: “They started a combat. At first they attacked with their lances and got them smashed. Then they took their swords and in a fierce clash broke them too. Then they got hold of the maces courageously fighting with them.”90 “They charged at each other, smashing their lances against each other, then kept striking each other with their swords and broke them too. Then they took their maces.”91 “In the very first attack they smashed their lances, then got hold of their maces and started beating each other.”92 “They got their lances smashed, broke the maces and took up the

86 87 88 89 90 91 92

Prince Vakhushti, “Aghtsera sameposa sakartvelosa,” p. 452. Kaikhosro Cholokashvili, Omainiani, ed. Liana Kekelidze (Tbilisi, 1979), p. 104. Ibid., p. 105. Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, tr. E.R.A. Sewter, revised by Peter Frankopan (London, 2009), p. 378. Rusudaniani (Tbilisi, 1957), p. 284. Ibid., p. 291. Ibid., p. 378.

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Figure 4:  Group of cavalrymen on the left in an attack with couched lances. “The Knight in the Panther’s Skin,” copied by Tavakarashvili, manuscript H599, fol. 138, Courtesy of the Georgian National Centre of Manuscripts.



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swords.”93 The combats described here give a clear picture of the Western knightly style of fighting, which prevailed in Georgia in those days. The seventeenth-century material is corroborated by one of the illustrations of The Knight in the Panther’s Skin. Mamuka Tavakarashvili, secretary of the king of Imereti, while in captivity at the court of Levan II Dadiani in Samegrelo, in 1646, copied the poem. The illustrations of this manuscript are unique because their author is a layman and is not restricted by the rules of iconography; therefore his depiction of the surrounding reality is true to life: in illustration 138 a group of knights, ready to attack the enemy with couched lances, is depicted (Figure 4). Here I cannot dwell on all the details of the military equipment of Georgians, though I thought it expedient to concentrate my attention on a few elements since they are directly associated with the use of the couched lance and mounted shock combat. The review of the armament provides ample evidence that the couched lance was already in popular use in eleventh-century Georgia. At least from the first half of the eleventh century an almond-shaped shield is in evidence in Georgia,94 which must have been introduced from Byzantium. Numerous representations of this shield are attested in frescoes, repoussé icons and miniatures. The almond-shaped shield is undoubtedly an adaptation of the couched-lance combat style95 and its coming into popular use in Georgia reflects the introduction into practice of the couched lance. The appearance of the knightly style of sitting on the horse, with the warriors’ legs thrust in the long stirrup and stretched forward, is associated with the use of the couched lance. Beginning with the eleventh century there are many representations of warrior saints in which the long stirrup is depicted; such are the icons of Labechina, Lapsqaldi, Murkmeri, Lemsia and Becho, the frescoes of Pari, Lashtkhveri, Tsalenjikha and Dirbi, the bas-relief of Nikortsminda church and many others.96 Such specimens occur on construction ceramics,97 on the pectoral medallion with a relief representation of St George from Aresha98 and on David Narin’s silver coin99 (Figure 5). Subsequently, as a result of the transformation of the armament of Georgians, we come across later representations

93 94 95

96 97

98 99

Ibid., p. 379. Nino Chopikashvili, Kartuli kostiumi (VI–XIV ss.) [Georgian Dress in the Sixth–Fourteenth Centuries] (Tbilisi, 1964), p. 59. France, Victory in the East, p. 295. White calls the kite-shaped shield the trademark of the mounted shock combat. White, “The Crusades and the Technological Thrust of the West,” p. 99. Tsurtsumia, “Warrior Saints of Mount Sinai,” p. 34. J. Jghamaia, “Samsheneblo keramikis epigrapika shuasaukuneebis sakartveloshi” [The Epigraphs of Construction Ceramics in Medieval Georgia] in Peodaluri sakartvlos arkeologiuri dzeglebi 2 (1974), 238–43, p. 239, fig. II. Levan Chilashvili, Sakartvelos IV–XVIII ss. materialuri kultura [The Fourth–EighteenthCentury Material Culture of Georgia] (Tbilisi, 1990), p. 28, fig. 23. Giorgi Dundua and Irine Jalaghania, Kartuli numizmatikuri leksikoni [A Georgian Numismatic Dictionary] (Tbilisi, 2009), p. 45.

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Figure 5:  Crowned horseman with long stirrup and a high saddle. Coin of David Narin, obverse, 1247. Courtesy of the Georgian National Museum.

with a shortened stirrup and a bent leg, which, first of all, must have been necessitated by the need to use the sabre, though, it seems, neither the bent leg, nor the short stirrup (a la jineta) can impede the use of the couched lance. Most important for the couched lance is the saddle with a high cantle and pommel, so that when thrusting the lance the horseman should have some support to prevent him from falling off the horse. In the medieval representations Georgian saints are always depicted equipped with high saddles, and what is more, there are many representations of wraparound saddles as well. Such a saddle was made in Europe specially, so that the curved cantle should tightly enclose the warrior’s thighs. Though the wraparound saddle restricted the horseman’s movements more, the horseman was squeezed in the saddle as tightly as possible and it was very difficult to throw him off the horse. It must be this type of saddle that provides the most convincing proof of using the couched lance. In order not to overburden the present paper with examples of the high saddle, I will give only some examples of the wraparound saddle, present in Georgia



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Figure 6:  Saddle with double girth. Lashtkhveri church of the Archangel, S. Sarjveladze’s photo.

from the fourteenth century: such are the three different representations of St. George in the church of Tsalenjikha (fourteenth century), two representations of St. George on the Sadgeri cross (sixteenth century),100 the seventeenth-century representation of St. George on the north wall of the Zarati church,101 St. Demetrius and St. George in the Anchiskhati Gulani (a book of hymns for the whole year), and St. George in the prayer-book of 1688.102 I shall end the review of the armament with one detail: Bernard Bachrach refers to the importance of the saddle being firmly fixed when using the couched lance and presents an illustration where the saddle is held in place by a doublegirth system, so that it might not move during the lance attack.103 The horseman with an outstretched leg and the saddle with a double-girth, represented on the north exterior façade of the Lashtkhveri church (turn of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries) provides convincing grounds to think that such a system of fixing the saddle was known in Georgia (Figure 6). The saddles of St. George, St. 100 101 102 103

Amiran Chkhartishvili, Mamne okromchedeli [The Goldsmith Mamne] (Tbilisi, 1978), fig. 16. Zarati (Tbilisi, 2008), p. 45. F.G. Devdariani, Minyatury Anchiskhatskogo gulani [Miniatures of the Anchiskhati Gulani] (Tbilisi, 1990), figs. VI, XXI, XLIII. Bachrach, “Animals and Warfare,” p. 748, pl. 8a.

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Demetrios and St. Theodore depicted in the same church are also held by doublegirths. This must have been necessary when fighting with the couched lance.104 It is interesting that the use of a similar tactical method and combat style results in a resemblance on another level as well. Warriors using the same method work out similar ethics, be it a Frankish knight or a Georgian warrior: both praise the hand-to-hand combat in a similar manner and condemn distance fighting with bows and arrows. In Amirandarejaniani, which represents the views and aspirations of the military circles of that period, it is only a couple of times that episodes of fighting with arrows in a combat are described, and both times it is denounced. It is so immoral to fight with arrows that it is considered to be treacherous even by the archer’s supporters. When Khosro, the king of the Khazars, killed his opponent with an arrow, even his soldiers condemned his using the bow.105 So it is quite clear that the bow was not a weapon suitable for a knight, therefore they avoided using it in combat: “At the very beginning they pledged not to use the bow; everyone was to fight with the lance, sword and mace.”106 When one of the participants violates the combat rules and uses the bow, he is berated in the following manner: “Cursed be you, for you tried to kill me treacherously! It shall never become a knight to act so perfidiously.”107 It is evident that in a joust using the bow is considered treacherous, for it does not befit a good knight. The author, who seems to be speaking on behalf of the knights of all the nationalities in the Middle Ages, explains very plainly why it is despicable to use the arrow in a combat: “In war everything is good for victory, but the arrow can kill the enemy at a long distance and the valor of the warrior is not manifested.”108 Here the role of the arrow in war is admitted but due to its long range of action it is not considered to be a weapon suitable for a knight; combat with the participation of a heavily armed warrior is considered to be showing valor.109 The forming of such ethics in Georgia is highly characteristic, whereas in the surrounding Muslim world the bow and arrow had always been considered a prestigious weapon. Analogous combat styles of Georgian and Western knights were manifested in a similar battle formation as well. According to Prince Vakhushti, when Georgia was a united state 104

105 106 107 108 109

The appearance of the double-girth in the Byzantine world is seen as a sign of the introduction of the couched lance. David Nicolle, “Arms, Armour and Horse Harnesses in the Parma Baptistery Painted Ceiling,” in Warriors and their Weapons around the Time of the Crusades, Variorum Collected Studies (Aldershot, 2002), 1–17, pp. 11–12. Mose Khoneli, Amirandarejaniani, pp. 233–34. Ibid., pp. 472–73. Ibid., pp. 249–50. Ibid., p. 607. Killing the enemy at a long distance with an arrow was considered shameful for Western knights as well: Nicholson, Medieval Warfare, p. 99. For a detailed discussion of the attitude of the caste of knights to archery, see A.T. Hatto, “Archery and Chivalry: A Noble Prejudice,” The Modern Language Review 35 (1940), 40–54.



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Figure 7:  Three-line battle formation of the Georgian army: 1. Advance guard, 2. left flank, 3. right flank, 4. reserve. (Author’s own drawing)

the whole of Iveria [Georgia] was divided into four military-territorial units, for in the advance guard there were warriors from Tori, Tsikhisjvari and Akhaltsikhe, followed by the Meskhians and Klarjians and warriors from Somkhiti, which was under their domain; on the right flank those who were from beyond the Likhi mountain range together with Abkhazians and Jikis; on the left were those from Hereti and Kakheti; the Kartlians were fighting under the king’s banner, together with the mercenaries hired by the king.110

The battle formation of the Georgian army can be reconstructed on the strength of Vakhushti’s evidence and the data on the battles fought by the Georgians in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries: the first line is formed by the advance guard, they seem to be the most numerous, accounting for the force of the first attack; the next line is formed of the right and left flanks, moved back slightly; still farther, in the third line, the king (or the commander-in-chief) is in the reserve111 (Figure 7). Such a battle formation had many advantages: forming a deep, three-line formation needed a comparatively smaller number of warriors than when placed behind one another; the left and the right flanks continued the front line, launched an attack on the front or on the flanks; i.e. after the charge of the advance-guard the second line detachments either neutralized the enemy’s maneuver and defended the flanks, or they themselves attacked the enemy on the flanks. The reserve joined in the battle at the very last, critical moment, ensured the pursuit of the fleeing enemy, or covered the retreat. It is noteworthy 110 111

Prince Vakhushti, “Aghtsera sameposa sakartvelosa,” p. 30. Of course, proceeding from the situation, the commander-in-chief could reinforce any side and divide the army into three parts, instead of four, as indicated by Vakhushti: “They could advance in three parts or in any other manner, as the king and the commander-in-chief thought it best.” Prince Vakhusthi; “Aghtsera sameposa sakartvelosa,” p. 30. The three-line battle formation of the Georgian army and its advantages are analyzed well by Anchabadze, “Kartuli lashkris sabrdzolo tsqoba,” pp. 94–96. However, he is mistaken in believing that Georgians had had such a formation long before the Europeans: it is quite evident that the crusaders were using it widely as early as the beginning of the twelfth century. See J.F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe During the Middle Ages: From the Eighth Century to 1340, 2nd ed. (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 209–10.

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that it was this three-line battle arrangement that the crusaders often employed, as attested in the battles of Sarmin (1115), Atharib (1119), Hab (1119) and Philippopoli (1208).112 Such a three-line, four-element battle arrangement was so effective that even after the disintegration of Georgia in the fifteenth century Georgian kings continued to use it.113 Georgians employed it even as late as the eighteenth century, in the fire-arm epoch.114 Thus, the resemblance between the Georgian combat style, tactics, battle arrangement, ethic and military equipment and those of Europe is considerable. I should also like to focus at the same time on a certain conjecture that concerns combat with the couched lance and deals with its advantages and disadvantages in battles in the East, when facing Muslim armies. In Marshall’s opinion the knights’ attack was a powerful but clumsy weapon. As he suggests, Muslim armies found a key to the knights’ tactics: much lighter and mobile Muslim cavalrymen dispersed, opened their ranks, let the enemy pass through and then attacked from the rear against the advancing knights, who, having lost their target, found it difficult to re-group and launch a new attack.115 Due to its comparative clumsiness David Nicolle considers the couched lance combat a tactical dead-end.116 Of course, against such a mobile enemy as Muslim armies were, the reckless and impromptu attacks of Western knights were doomed to failure. These failures were due to the fact that the crusaders, who had just arrived from Europe, were not aware of the local combat methods. They did not know the tactics of Muslims who tried the knights’ patience by showering them with arrows from a distance, thus provoking a haphazard attack.117 But if the Franks could withstand provocation and deliver their famous mounted charge at the right time, the outcome was totally different. In spite of the strength of mounted archers, it is a fact that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries Muslim cavalrymen considered the lance the most dangerous weapon, reluctantly turning their backs on enemies armed in this manner.118 Al-Tarsusi, author of the well-known military treatise specially written for Saladin, advised the mounted archer, first of all, to pay attention to the opponent armed with the lance, never allowing him to get close, while he

112 113

114

115 116 117 118

Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe During the Middle Ages, p. 210. Prince Vakhushti, “Aghtsera sameposa sakartvelosa,” p. 31; Akaki Klimiashvili, “Masalebi XV–XVIII ss. kartlisa da kakhetis sadroshoebis istoriisatvis” [Materials on the Fifteenth–­ Eighteenth-Century Military-Territorial Units of Kartli and Kakheti], in XIV–XVIII ss. ramdenime kartuli istoriuli dokumenti, ed. Nukri Shoshiashvili [Several Fourteenth–­ Eighteenth-Century Georgian Historical Documents] (Tbilisi, 1964), pp. 121–27. Teimuraz II, “Sarke tkmulta anu dghisa da ghamis gabaaseba” [The Mirror of What Was Said or the Dialogue between the Day and the Night] in Tkhzulebani, ed. George Jakobia (Tbilisi, 1939), pp. 86–87. Marshall, Warfare in the Latin East, pp. 159–61; idem, “The Use of the Charge,” p. 226. Nicolle, “The Impact of the European Couched Lance on Muslim Military Tradition,” p. 6. Marshall, “The Use of the Charge,” p. 222. David Nicolle, Saracen Faris 1050–1250 AD (Oxford, 1994), p. 28.



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should allow one with a sword to get close and shoot an arrow without missing the target.119 Besides, in my opinion, it is not right to speak of an adaptation of Muslim warfare which could render the main weapon of Europeans – the mounted shock combat with couched lance – ineffective. Of course, both sides took into account the specific features and combat styles of their opponents; this was done not only by the Muslims but by the crusaders as well, as attested to by an increased role of crossbowmen and other infantry.120 It should also be borne in mind that the success of mounted shock combat forces depended not only on the enemy’s actions but on the correct and well-considered decisions of their commanders. It cannot be said that the Muslims’ tactics developed in such a way that the crusaders’ failures could be attributed solely to them, then assume that mounted shock combat became outdated.121 Ultimately the crusaders were defeated by an enemy who never avoided hand-to-hand combat and presented a more solid target on the battlefield than earlier Muslim armies. The reason why the Mamluks defeated them was the crusaders’ lesser military potential and shortage of manpower122 and not the key allegedly found by the Muslims to defeating the crusader’s tactics. Given the similarity between the combat style and tactics of the Georgians and the crusaders, the advantages and disadvantages of mounted shock combat against the Mamluks can be determined to some extent on the basis of the military experience of the Georgian army. The proof of the effectiveness of mounted shock combat against the Mamluks’ battle formation can be found in the success of the Georgian contingent participating in the Mongol-Mamluk wars. In all the battles in which the participation of the Georgians is described, they always managed to break up the enemy’s ranks and the enemy failed to stop them.123 Bar Hebraeus narrates that in 1277 in the battle of Abulistan there were 3,000 Georgians in the Mongol army, who offered a stiff resistance to 119 120 121

122 123

David Nicolle, Saladin and the Saracens (Oxford, 1986), p. 17. For the crusaders’ adaptation to eastern conditions, see France, “Crusading Warfare and its Adaptation to Eastern Conditions in the Twelfth Century,” pp. 49–66. The weak points of mounted archers are analyzed in Charles R. Bowlus, “Tactical and Strategic Weaknesses of Horse Archers on the Eve of the First Crusade,” in Autour de la première croisade, ed. M. Balard (Paris, 1996), pp. 159–66. It was due to this fact that practically the crusaders were unable to bring the field army to the battlefield and the enemy always possessed the initiative. Such facts are attested in the battles against other Muslim opponents. In the thirteenth century Juvaini writes about Georgians that “the prowess of their warriors had been secure from the vicissitudes of fortune and whom mighty kings and the princes of Syria and Rum had met on terms of equality for fear of their fierceness in battle, nay from whom they had turned tail in weakness and impotence.” Ata Malik Juvaini, Genghis Khan: The History of the World Conqueror, ed. and tr. J.A. Boyle (Seattle, 1997), p. 449. To a considerable extent this “fierceness” is due to the combat style and is associated with a swiftly advancing cavalryman with couched lance, whose attack was truly dreadful. The shock attack with couched lance makes a similar impression on the viewers: the crusaders’ attack also seems “fierce” and “irresistible.” Anna Komnene, The Alexiad, p. 378.

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Baybars’ army. The Mamluks, who had won the battle, failed to check the attack of the Georgians, who had rushed through the Mamluks’ ranks and “cast down many Egyptians.”124 In the battle of Homs in 1281, the right flank of the Mongol army, with 5,000 Georgians, led by King Demetre, caused disarray in the opposing, left flank of the Mamluks, putting them to flight. In Arsenio Martinez’s opinion, the lion’s share in this success belonged to the allies of the Mongols (Georgians, Armenians, Seljuks) because of their heavy armament.125 Reuven AmitaiPreiss doubts the reliability of this view. He is quite right in his observation that Armenians never distinguished themselves in the battles against the Mamluks; neither is the information about the heavy armament of the Turkish contingent convincing.126 Despite this, in my opinion, Martinez is closer to the truth.127 Amitai-Preiss admits that he has no information about the Georgian army, therefore he finds it difficult to discuss the issue, though he cannot find any contrary argument.128 As for the equipment of the Georgians, it was really heavier than

124 125 126 127

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Bar Hebraeus, The Chronography, tr. Ernest A. Wallis Budge, vol. 1 (1932; repr. New Jersey, 2003), p. 457. Arsenio Martinez, “Some Notes on the Il-Xanid Army,” Archivum Eurasiae Medii Aevi 6 (1986), 129–242, pp. 158–65. Reuven Amitai-Preiss, Mongols and Mamluks: The Mamluk-Ilkhanid War (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 195–96. It is noteworthy that Martinez’s opinion coincides with those of that period: a Dominican traveler Guillaume Adam who had been in the Ilkhan’s Iran ascribes the Mongols’ victory over the Mamluks solely to Georgians, fighting side-by-side with them. Peter Jackson, The Mongols and the West, 1221–1410 (Harlow, 2005), p. 185. Such an assessment of the Georgians’ success is, of course, exaggerated, though this view must have had a real foundation. Some confirmation of this can be found in the Mamluk Chronicles, where Georgians are referred to as “the most powerful allies and most important helpers of the Mongols as well as the most embittered enemies of the Muslims.” J. Pahlitzsch, “Georgians and Greeks in Jerusalem (1099–1310),” in East and West in the Crusader States, eds. Krijnie Ciggaar and Herman Teule, vol. 3 (Leuven, 2003), 35–51, p. 41. Al-Umar, secretary of the Egyptian sultan, characterizes the Georgians in the following manner, “As for the Georgians’ army, they are staunch followers of the faith of the cross and are courageous and bold people. It is said: among the Muslims there are Kurds, among the Christians there are Georgians. They are the might and the wealth of the Hulaguyan army, who are trusted and relied on.” XIV-XV ss. arabi istorikosebis tsnobebi sakartvelos shesakheb [The Fourteenth–Fifteenth-Century Arab Historians’ Evidence about Georgia] trans. Dito Gocholeishvili (Tbilisi, 1988), p. 51; the evidence according to D. Ayalon is specified by Gotcha Djaparidze, “Shua saukuneebis arabta tsarmodgenebi kartvelta tsarmomavlobis shesakheb” [The Views of the Medieval Arabs about the Provenance of Georgians] in Sametsniero paradigmebi (Tbilisi, 2009), p. 196. In Amitai-Preiss’s opinion, Martinez exaggerates the Georgians’ importance in the battle of Herat between Abagha Khan and Barakha in 1270. Amitai-Preiss, Mongols and Mamluks, p. 225. As a result of analyzing the battle, Martinez thinks that the main role was played by the heavy cavalry and the Georgians were the decisive force. Martinez, “Some Notes on the Il-Xanid Army,” p. 155. Besides that there is also a chronicler’s description of a successful attack of the Georgian cavalry: “Georgians started the battle forcefully, as the Khan himself saw that the king and his warriors attacked their opponents and made them flee”. Zhamtaaghmtsereli, Astslovani matiane, p. 152.



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that of Mongols, approximately analogous to the armament of European knights (with a lighter, open helmet, though with better protection of the body – a long mail with chausses and a metal lamellar);129 but the decisive role must have been played not by the weight of their armaments but their fighting style, mounted shock combat, which the Mamluk flank failed to withstand. The Chronicle of One Hundred Years provides interesting details about this successful attack of the Georgians: Sultan Nasir Malik was informed about the coming of the Mongols with all of their troops, and so he came. And when Mangu Demur beheld the sultan and his army, he mounted his horse and deployed his warriors. King Demetre appealed to Mangu Demur to place him and his army in the front line, and his request was granted. And as the Sultan knew that it was not easy to withstand the attack of the king and his army, he chose 12 000 of his best cavalrymen and deployed them in the reserve with two commanders so that when the fight intensified and stiffened the last attackers should overcome the Georgians and put them to flight.130

Thus the chronicler also confirms that the Mamluks knew the might of the Georgians’ first charge and with the help of their reserve intended to neutralize them, which is indisputably logical and adds plausibility to the chronicler’s narration.131 The diplomatic efforts of the sultans of Egypt to hold negotiations with the Georgian kings and to show respect for their interests in the Holy Land point in the first place to the Mamluks’ wish to achieve a consensus with the Georgians and to have their contingent removed from the Mongol army, because the combat style of the Georgians constantly created problems for them. All the privileges which, unlike other Christian nations, Georgian pilgrims enjoyed in the Holy Land (the right to enter the city on horseback, armed and with their

129

130 131

I cannot share A. Martinez’s opinion that in the epoch under consideration the Georgians’ armor was rather heavy though lighter than that of the Franks. Martinez, “Some Notes on the Il-Xanid Army,” p. 150. Zhamtaaghmtsereli, Astslovani matiane, p. 170. In the wake of Robert Bedrosian, Reuven Amitai-Preiss also thinks that Georgians’ fighting in the front lines was conditioned by the fact that Mongols were not concerned about their allies. Robert Bedrosian, “The Turko-Mongol Invasions and the Lords of Armenia in the 13th–14th Centuries,” (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Columbia University, 1979), pp. 195–96; Amitai-Preiss, Mongols and Mamluks, p. 225. I do not think it is right to discuss the issue from today’s viewpoint and not to take into account that in the Middle Ages the honor of fighting in the vanguard was a matter of contest: it was due to such an argument that the Scots lost the battle of Standard in 1138, and the Georgians lost the battle of Sokhoista in 1545. Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 113–14; Kartlis Tskhovreba, p. 499. As it seems, it was much simpler: the Georgians’ fighting style and shock combat conditioned the might of their first attack, making it unsurprising that they were deployed in the front line. It is natural that the Mongols used this capacity of their allies in a due manner, which is attested by the battle of Kose Dagh as well in 1241, where “all the Georgian allies fought in the front lines.” Zhamtaaghmtsereli, Astslovani matiane, p. 77.

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flags unfurled) and which was always emphasized by foreign travelers, present convincing proof of the military potential of the Georgians and indicate the Mamluk sultans’ great wish to effect the removal of the Georgian army from the Mongol forces.132 The great status enjoyed by the Georgians in the Holy Land is corroborated by numerous reports of European authors as well, laying special emphasis on their fighting capacity.133 The crusaders’ plans to regain the Holy Land made up by Fidenzio de Padova, Guillaume Adam, and Philip VI, placed large hopes on the participation of Georgians.134 I think that in the formation of such opinions the lion’s share belongs to Georgians’ practice of mounted shock combat with the couched lance, which greatly facilitated the Georgians’ success in the battles against the Muslim armies.

132

133 134

The first signs of this can be found as early as in Sultan Baybars’ document of 1266, which envisages protecting Georgian monasteries in Jerusalem and its vicinity. Christian Muller and Johannes Pahlitzsch, “Sultan Baybars I and the Georgians: In the Light of New Documents Related to the Monastery of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem,” Arabica 51 (2004), 258–90, pp. 260–61. This went so far that Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad, despite the opposition of Muslim theologians, returned the monastery of the Holy Cross to the Georgians in 1310 (or 1305), abolishing the mosque within it. Pahlitzsch, Georgians and Greeks in Jerusalem, pp. 42–46; Gotcha Djaparidze, “Rodis daubrunes kartvelebs mamlukebis mier mitacebuli jvris monasteri?” [When Was the Monastery of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem, Seized by the Mamluks, Restored to the Georgians?] in Shota Meskhia 90 (Tbilisi, 2006), pp. 289–98. Returning the Moslem mosque to Christians is justly qualified as “an extremely rare case.” Richard B. Rose, “The Native Christians of Jerusalem, 1187–1260,” in The Horns of Hattin, ed. B.Z. Kedar (Jerusalem, 1992), p. 243. Tsurtsumia, “Warrior Saints of Mount Sinai,” pp. 23–26. Guillaume Adam, De modo Sarracenos extirpandi, in Recueil des Historiens des Croisades, Documents Armeniens, vol. 2 (Paris, 1906), p. 534; Adam Knobler, “Missions, Mythologies and the Search for non-European Allies in Anti-Islamic Holy War, 1291–c. 1540” (Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1989), pp. 55–56, 66–67 and 71.

5 The Battle of Arsur: A Short-Lived Victory Michael Ehrlich

Introduction On the twenty-second of August, 1191, the Crusader army led by King Richard Lionheart left Acre.1 More than two weeks later and about 100 kilometers south of Acre, on the seventh of September, the Crusader and Muslim armies clashed in the Forest of Arsur.2 I would like to suggest that the battle was practically inevitable because both sides had good reasons to seek a decisive encounter. The Lionheart could not conquer Jerusalem as long as Saladin’s army was in the coastal plain, whereas Saladin wanted to minimize the damage Richard could do and to avoid the conquest of Jerusalem and the establishment of a viable Crusader state. Therefore, the main questions to be addressed hereafter are the “when” and “where”. Why did the battle take place more than two weeks after the Crusader army left Acre and not earlier? Why did it erupt in the Forest of Arsur and not elsewhere? Neither sources nor studies are conclusive on these issues. Therefore, it is crucial to scrutinize additional data: in this case both sides’ schedules and the battlefield terrain itself are fairly well known and provide clues as to the choice of this specific battlefield. I will demonstrate that although the two armies marched on parallel roads for nearly 100 kilometers, and theoretically could have clashed anywhere along the way, potential battlefields were few, and after a certain point, it was clear that the battle would take place in the Forest of Arsur. The advancing pace of the Crusader army was extremely slow. This was a conscious choice; the Crusader army could have traveled the distance from Acre to Arsur in four or five days. Richard the Lionheart’s decision to advance so gradually gave several advantages: his army was always well supplied and never exhausted or fatigued, its formation was tight, he could alter his plans without pressure, and it was rather easy to control. It also confused Saladin who acted in a high level of uncertainty. On the other hand, Richard was under time pressure. The French King, Philip Augustus, had returned to France, and his presence in Europe gained

1 2

The History of the Holy War: Ambroise’s Estoire de la Guerre Sainte, ed. Marianne Ailes and Malcolm Barber, tr. Marianne Ailes, 2 vols. (Woodbridge, 2003), 2:89. Ibid., 1:99–106.

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him substantial advantages. Philip’s ambitions at this time focused on Flanders whose lord, a close ally of Richard’s, had died on crusade.3 Richard, who remained in the Holy Land, certainly wanted to conquer Jerusalem and to return to his own realm as soon as possible. Conquering Jerusalem implied an effective siege that would have to end before the winter began, i.e. in November. An effective siege demanded no less than the expulsion of Saladin’s army from the Holy Land as early as possible. Achieving this ambitious goal necessitated a sweeping victory in a full-scale battle between the two armies. The results of the encounter are clear: the Crusaders won the battle, but not the war. Saladin’s army suffered a defeat, but not a decisive one. Therefore, the Third Crusade’s outcome was that the Crusaders were able to secure the existence only of a tiny coastal state; they failed to conquer Jerusalem and to re-establish a viable kingdom. Sources The battle of Arsur was described by many contemporary sources. One of the most important is a letter written by Richard the Lionheart to Garnier de Rochefort, abbot of Clairvaux, a few weeks after the battle (on 1 October 1191), in which he described the battle in a very realistic way. This is an account composed by a key participant shortly after the event. This letter avoids unrealistic superlatives and gross exaggerations, but it is also very brief and therefore it does not include many details. The old French translation of William of Tyre’s chronicle includes an extremely brief reference to the battle of Arsur, failing to mention even the name of Arsur. In one version it states that Jacques d’Avesnes was killed and that the Crusaders suffered severe losses during the battle, but still they managed to win the day, whereas the second version suggests that Jacques d’Avesnes was killed along with some other knights.4 Ambroise’s Estoire de la Guerre Sainte provides a lengthy and colorful description of Richard’s campaign in the East, including many details about the events before and during the Battle of Arsur.5 Ambroise’s epic style contributed to the glorification of the Lionheart, and magnified the Crusader victory. Nevertheless, it is so full of superlatives and exaggerations that it becomes difficult to rely on it. The Itinerarium Regis Ricardii is another rich source; yet it is closely related to the Estoire de la guerre sainte. Modern scholars believe that the Itinerarium, which was composed between 1217 and 1222, relied on many sources, of which

3 4

5

Jim Bradbury, Philip Augustus King of France 1180–1223 (London, 1998), pp. 106–109. Margaret Ruth Morgan, ed., La Continuation de Guillaume de Tyr (1184–1197) (Paris, 1982), pp. 132–33; Peter W. Edbury, The Conquest of Jerusalem and the Third Crusade: Sources in Translation (Aldershot, 1996), p. 110. Ailes and Barber, History, 1:99–106.



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the Estoire was the most important.6 Earlier studies suggested that both descriptions derived from a common source which did not survive.7 Muslim sources like Ibn Shadad, Abu Shama and Ibn al-Athir also described the battle, but as they were not eager to describe a defeat, they are relatively short.8 Nevertheless they add many details regarding the precise route of the Muslim army and enable us to better understand its operations before and during the battle. Previous studies There is, therefore, ample source material, yet there are very few detailed studies of this important battle.9 These studies are based primarily on written sources, especially on Ambroise’s epic account. Raymond Smail dedicated to this battle some pages within his magnum opus and highlighted that it was “a normal battle” which was neither a “signal victory” nor a “crushing blow.”10 Smail was right because the battle’s results were rather modest: as remarkable as this Crusader victory was, Saladin’s army remained an imminent threat and, therefore, the Crusaders failed to conquer Jerusalem. David Nicolle, in his detailed monograph about the Third Crusade, deals extensively with the Battle of Arsur.11 He suggests that Richard wanted to avoid an encounter with Saladin’s army, and that attitude was opposed to his practice in Europe where he strove to engage his enemies whenever he could.12 According to Asbridge, Richard was aware of the possibility that an encounter was likely to take place. Therefore, he prepared his army for such a scenario, yet he did not initiate it because it also bore substantial risks. In his opinion, Richard’s threat to conquer Jaffa persuaded Saladin to attack in the Forest of Arsur.13

6 7

8

9

10 11 12 13

Ibid., 2:13 Kate Norgate, Richard the Lion-Heart, (London, 1924), p. vi; John G. Edwards, “The Itinerarium Regis Ricardi and the Estoire de la Guerre Sainte,” in John G. Edwards, Vivian H. Galbraith and Ernest F. Jacob (eds.), Historical Essays in Honour of James Tait (Manchester, 1933), pp. 59–78. Abu Shama, Kitāb al-Rawdatayn fi Aḫbār al-Dawlatayn, ed. Ibrahim Shams al-Din, 4 vols. (Beirut, 2002), 4:161–62; Ibn al-Athir, Al Kāmil fi’-Ta’rik, ed. Carl J. Tornberg, 13 vols. (Beirut, 1966), 12:69–70; Ahmed N. Ibesch, ed., Ibn Shaddad’s Biography of Saladin (Damascus, 2005), pp. 317–19 [in Arabic]. Anne-Marie Eddé, Saladin (Paris, 2008), pp. 310–11; Malcolm C. Lyons and David E. P. Jackson, Saladin –The Politics of the Holy War (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 337–39; Hans E. Mayer, The Crusades, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1988), p. 147; Norgate, The Lion-Heart, pp. 176–88; Jonathan Phillips, Holy Warriors, (London, 2009), pp. 155–56; Joshua Prawer, Histoire du royaume latin de Jérusalem, 2 vols. (Paris, 1970), 2:82–83; Jean Richard, The Crusades (Cambridge, 1999), p. 228; Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1954), 3:56–57. Raymond C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 163–65. David Nicolle, The Third Crusade 1191 (Oxford, 2006), pp. 67–82. Ibid., pp. 37–39. Thomas Asbridge, The Crusades (London, 2010), pp. 466–76.

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Figure 1:  Map of the Kurkar Ridges, sand dunes, and the drainage system along the Sharon Valley (based on Tsoar 2000, Fig.1 used with the kind permission of H. Tsoar, and Israeli Journal of Earth Sciences).



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The Sharon Plain The Forest of Arsur was a part of a large wood which once covered the central coastal plain of modern Israel, also known as the Sharon plain. This area, extending between the Yarqon River (which today crosses Tel Aviv) and the Crocodile’s River, around five kilometers to the north of Caesarea, is a narrow valley (up to fifteen kilometers) between the foothills of the Samaria mountains and the Mediterranean. The Sharon is subdivided into three longitudinal parallel valleys by three low ridges of a rock called kurkar, marking early coastlines. In places where streams were powerful enough to pass through the ridge, the surrounding area has been covered by dunes (Figure 1). Where rivers failed to pass the ridge, water accumulated near the ridge’s eastern foothills and created swamps.14 It is important to emphasize that swamps did not cover the entire area to the east of the ridge. There is a clear correlation between the swamps and east-west streams.15 Swamps were more typical of areas near to these streams; farther from them the terrain was dry, especially during the summer and fall arid seasons. Today the Sharon is a densely populated and intensively cultivated region. Nonetheless, for much of its history swamps and dunes made it unattractive for settlement and agriculture.16 The populated areas during these periods were near the foothills of the Samarian Mountains and on top of the western kurkar ridge, where cities like Caesarea and Arsur as well as some minor settlements were established. During most of the historical periods, the area between these two settlement regions was covered with a forest, which included mainly oak and carob trees, dotted with dunes and swamps.17 During the Roman period swamps were drained, and, seemingly, dunes were stabilized. It seems, therefore, that the Sharon was then more populated than in other periods. As a result there are the remains of drainage projects and of roads.18 Drainage systems demand constant maintenance work, which demand expertise and funds. There is no evidence that the drainage system was maintained during the early Muslim period. It is quite clear that during the Crusader period the drainage system did not function. Thus, near Arsur, near

14

15 16 17 18

Yehuda Karmon, “Geographical Influences on the Historical Routes in the Sharon Plain,” Palestine Exploration Quarterly 93 (1961), 43–61; Haim Tsoar, “Geomorphology and Paleogeography of Sand Dunes that Have Formed the Kurkar Ridges in the Coastal Plain of Israel,” Israel Journal of Earth Sciences 49 (2000), 189–96. Ronit Cohen-Seffer, et al., “Late Pleistocene–Holocene Marsh Episodes along the Carmel Coast, Israel,” Quaternary International 140–141 (2005), 103–20. Yehuda Karmon, “Geographical Conditions in the Sharon Plain and Their Impact on its Settlement,” Studies in the Geography of Israel 1 (1959), 111–33 [In Hebrew]. Oren Tal, “The Natural Environment,” in: Oren Tal and Israel Roll, eds., Apollonia-Arsuf Final Report of the Excavations (Tel-Aviv, 1999), pp. 76–80. Israel Roll and Etan Ayalon, “Highways and Roads in the Sharon Plain during the Roman and Byzantine Periods,” Israel – People and Land 4 (1986–1987), 150–52 [in Hebrew].

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the eastern foothills of the central kurkar ridge there was during the Crusader period a swamp, known as Lac de Catorie,19 identified by Charles ClermontGanneu with Bakhret Qatūriè. He also identified a blocked drainage tunnel which is known and visible today and suggested that the blocking of the tunnel caused the creation of the swamp.20 The Frankish name indicates that during the Crusader period this swamp was not drained. If the Crusaders did not bother to drain a swamp near to a town like Arsur, it seems logical to suggest that neither did they do it in more remote areas. Therefore, swamps reappeared, and some Roman roads became useless. The Crusaders lacked the resources or knowledge or motivation to drain swamps, and therefore they paved the road on top of the central kurkar ridge.21 Thus, the road rested on solid soil some meters above the sandy valleys. Between the First and the Third Crusades It was not the first time, in 1191, that a Crusader army passed between Acre and Caesarea. The First Crusade used an almost identical route in 1099.22 In both cases the campaign’s official destination was Jerusalem. Yet, there are substantial differences between these two campaigns. The first is evident: the First Crusade achieved its goal and arrived in Jerusalem, whereas the Third Crusade army did not. In 1099 the Crusader army had a free hand while marching from Acre to Jerusalem, while the Third Crusade was followed by Saladin’s powerful army. The Third Crusade army included residents of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem who were well acquainted with the terrain, whereas the First Crusade marched in terra incognita. The First Crusade continued its journey from Caesarea towards Lydda and Ramla by the road near the Samarian foothills, whereas the Third Crusade proceeded from Caesarea to Arsur via the coast. While the First Crusade passed the route between Caesarea and Lydda (around eighty kilometers) in three days, the Third Crusade arrived in the Forest of Arsur (only about forty kilometers) after a week. Battle Plans Richard’s stated goal was to arrive in Jerusalem and to retake the city. Yet, unlike the First Crusade, which took the shortest road from Caesarea to Jerusalem via

19 20 21 22

Jean Delaville Le Roux, ed., Cartulaire général de l’Ordre des Hospitaliers de Saint Jean de Jérusalem, 4 vols. (Paris, 1896–1904), 3:6–7, no. 2985. Charles Clermont-Ganneau, “Géographie de la Palestine,” Comptes-rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 33/4 (1889), 259–61. Anat Peled and Yvonne Friedman, “Did the Crusaders Build Roads?” Qadmoniot 20 (1987), 119–23 [in Hebrew]. Robert B.C. Huygens, ed., Willelmi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi Chronicon, 2 vols. (Turnholt, 1986), Book VII, Chapter 22, pp. 2:372–73; Albert of Aachen, Historia Ierosolimitana, ed. and tr. Susan B. Edgington (Oxford, 2007), 5.41–42, pp. 394–96.



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the Samarian foothills, Richard proceeded southwards via the western road. This way had three advantages and two weaknesses: Richard’s army advanced on elevated terrain, the army’s left flank was usually protected by the swamps, and it received supplies ferried by sea. On the other hand, the road was slightly longer, and if he wanted to arrive in Jerusalem, his army had to cross the valley from west to east, exposing its northern flank to an imminent attack threat by Saladin’s army, which advanced southwards. Based on Richard’s letter to the abbot of Clairvaux, Asbridge concluded that Richard’s main concern was to arrive in the town of Arsur and not to confront Saladin’s army. According to Asbridge, Richard’s overall priority in this phase of the Crusade was to reach Jaffa and from there to threaten Ascalon and Jerusalem. To look for a decisive fight with Saladin when the Sultan could choose the ground would have been tantamount to gambling the fate of the entire holy war on a dice roll.23 It was very evident, however, that a precondition for conquering Jerusalem was to destroy Saladin’s army. Richard could not begin an effective siege on Jerusalem while Saladin’s army was still in the coastal plain. In that case, even if Richard managed safely to cross the Sharon valley, Saladin could trap the Crusader army between his army and the walls of Jerusalem, as he did at Acre. A major difference between Acre and Jerusalem was that while in Acre the Crusaders received supplies and reinforcements by the sea, in Jerusalem this option did not exist. Saladin could also easily cut the road towards the coastal plain, leaving the Crusader army without supplies and reinforcements for an entire winter. Therefore, it seems that Richard’s best interest was to initiate a decisive encounter with Saladin’s army before he had to cross the valley, and certainly before he began ascending towards Jerusalem. Saladin had the option to disengage whenever he wanted to and to return to either Syria or Egypt. That he did not do this suggests that he was seeking battle. Saladin’s army was tired and probably suffering from low morale after the failure at Acre and the execution of thousands of Muslim prisoners of war by Richard.24 If Saladin wanted to retaliate, he had reason to do it as early as possible in order to restore the self-confidence and morale of his rank and file. It seems that his main goal after the conquest of Acre by the Crusaders was to minimize the damage; namely, to deny the Crusaders further achievements, especially their goal of capturing Jerusalem. Saladin could have decided to attack the Crusaders as they left Acre. Apparently he believed that this would be a premature attack, because the Crusader army was at this stage too near to Acre, whereas his army was far away from its own bases. Further to the south, the Crusader army was protected by Mount Carmel until the Crocodile’s River. Saladin crossed Mount Carmel from east to

23 24

Asbridge, The Crusades, p. 469. Ailes and Barber, History, 2:89.

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west near its southern end, and returned to the coastal plain near to the sources of the Crocodile’s River.25 Saladin’s decision to advance on a parallel route had consequences for Richard. Both commanders knew that the Crusaders would have to cross the Sharon Valley from west to east and that for Richard to arrive in Jerusalem without destroying the Muslim army would be tantamount to gross negligence. Therefore, with both sides seeking battle, timing and location were crucial. From Caesarea southwards, Saladin could have attacked the marching Crusader army, wherever the terrain enabled him to do so; namely, near to the major east-west streams: Flum Mort, Flum Salé and Flum Rochtaillée. In the two first cases he decided not to do more than to harass the advancing Crusader army. Presumably, Saladin did not precipitate a full-scale encounter there because he believed that the Crusader army would be more vulnerable when Richard decided to cross the valley eastwards. Saladin’s best option seems to have been to attack the Crusaders either before or during their ascent to Jerusalem, thus avoiding the siege. In case of failure he still had a second shot; namely, to cut their road to the coast and attack them as they besieged Jerusalem. The Battle The battle in the Forest of Arsur erupted as result of Saladin’s initiative. He understood that Richard wanted to take Arsur and Jaffa, and that the Crusaders would not cross the Sharon valley, but instead continue to the south of the Yarqon River. This option could jeopardize Saladin’s plan: the Yarqon is a serious obstacle which included the river itself, as well as many swamps. It could be crossed either near to its outlet or to its sources, which are about fifteen kilometers from each other (as the crow flies). In these conditions, the Crusader army could have taken the cities and disengaged from the Muslim army. Seemingly, Saladin’s working hypothesis was that Richard’s schedule was pressing. He certainly was aware that Richard remained in the Holy Land, whereas the king of France did not. He also believed that it was in Richard’s best interest to decide the conflict at an early stage, and that Richard did not have time to waste if he wanted to end the siege of Jerusalem before the winter began. Therefore, Richard should have been advancing as fast as possible to Jerusalem. Richard’s extremely slow advance from Caesarea southwards indicates that Richard was seriously considering a stay in Arsur and/or in Jaffa during the winter. In this case, if Saladin wanted to maintain contact with the Crusader army, he would be forced to camp outside the cities. This option would have been Saladin’s nightmare; he was leading a defeated army that had passed two harsh winters outside the walls of Acre. He certainly wanted to avoid a third winter outside Arsur and Jaffa. 25

Ibn al- Athir, 12:69.



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Saladin did not have the option to dismiss his army and to return in the spring. In such a case, the Crusaders could take the entire coastline and thus control also the land road to Egypt. They also would be likely to reconquer additional places, e.g., Ramla, Bethgibelin, Hebron, or even Jerusalem, during the Muslim army’s absence. Therefore, facing all these considerations, Saladin decided to attack before the Crusaders arrived in Arsur. His alternative plan in case of an unsuccessful attack, which was eventually executed, was to retreat to Ascalon. Thus, he could remain near enough to the Crusader army, denying his enemy the freedom of action required to reconquer Jerusalem, and yet stay in better conditions than in the marshy outskirts of Jaffa and Arsur. Therefore, it seems quite clear why he decided to attack before the Crusaders took Arsur. He wanted to decide the conflict before the winter began. The clear disadvantage of the Ascalon plan was that its failure gave the Crusaders a secure west–east passage from the coastline towards Jerusalem. This was the reason why it was only the second-best option Saladin had, and it was executed only following his army’s defeat in the Forest of Arsur. Saladin had only a narrow window of opportunity. The distance from the Poleg stream (Rochetaillée) to Arsur is about eight kilometers. The first three kilometers are still flanked by swamps. The two last are too close to Arsur. Saladin, therefore, could attack the Crusaders only near the present day Kibbutzim Shefayim and Ga’ash – which is where the battle took place. Crusader sources clearly indicate that the battle erupted after the crossing of the Rochetaillée stream.26 In other words, the battle took place exactly where Saladin wanted. This was a good starting point for his army, but it did not suffice to ensure its victory. Summary The battle of the Forest of Arsur was perhaps the climax of the Third Crusade. It took place because both sides wanted to decide the conflict: Richard wanted to retake Jerusalem and to establish a viable Crusader kingdom, whereas Saladin wanted to avoid this scenario. Saladin’s move dictated at a rather early stage that the Forest of Arsur was the most suitable combat area in the coastal plain, providing that at least one of the two armies was seeking the encounter. Both Saladin and Richard were aware of this reality and therefore nobody was really surprised when the battle erupted. The result of the battle was clear: Richard won, but his victory was not decisive enough to remove the Muslim army from the scene. Therefore, he was not able to reconquer Jerusalem and Ascalon. It seems that although Richard won the day on 7 September, in the longer term Saladin achieved his goals. The defeat he suffered at Arsur was bearable and he managed to maintain Muslim rule in Jerusalem and to keep open the land road from Egypt via Ascalon. Thus, he ensured that the recently reborn Crusader 26

Ailes and Barber, History, 2:99.

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kingdom would remain weak and poor. This was the result of a campaign that he had begun about twenty years earlier to uproot the Crusader presence in the East. The Third Crusade, an enormous effort, led by two important kings, yielded no more than a non-viable kingdom. Only Saladin’s successors’ incompetence and the endless conflicts between them, as well as massive European efforts, maintained alive this fragile kingdom for an additional century.

6 Prelude to Kephissos (1311): An Analysis of the Battle of Apros (1305) Nikolaos S. Kanellopoulos and Ioanna K. Lekea

Introduction One of the most impressive military feats of the fourteenth century was the activity of the Great Catalan Company in the eastern Mediterranean area. Initially a band of mercenaries in the service of Frederick of Sicily (1295–1337) and then of the Byzantine Emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos (1282–1328), they turned into an autonomous fighting force against the Byzantines and settled permanently in the duchy of Athens. Their main strength and one of the principal reasons for their success lay in their military skills. They defeated the Turks in a series of battles; defeated the Byzantines at the battle of Apros; and took both the life and the duchy of the duke of Athens, Gautier I de Brienne (1308– 1311) in the battle of Kephissos.1 This last battle is much acclaimed and well documented as it is deemed one of the first conflicts of the fourteenth century where an army of knights was defeated by a force on foot.2 Was Kephissos, however, the first time in the Company’s turbulent history that the Catalans fought on foot and prevailed against a force of horsemen? A fresh analysis of the battle of Apros demonstrates that in all probability in 1305 a Byzantine force of horsemen was defeated by the Catalan foot soldiers. Thus, the objective of this paper is the examination of the Catalan art of war that culminated in the battle of Apros, which can be considered a most accurate foreshadowing of Kephissos. In order to achieve our goal we must turn to the battles the Company fought in Asia Minor and eastern Thrace before 1305, since these conflicts illustrate the 1 2

Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford, 1984; pb edn 2002), pp. 247–48. On the battle of Kephissos, see Kelly DeVries, Infantry Warfare in the Early Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 1996; repr. 2000), pp. 58–65; George T. Kolias, “Η μεταξύ Καταλανών και Μεγάλου Δουκός των Αθηνών μάχη [The Battle between the Catalans and the Great Duke of Athens],” Επετηρίς Εταιρείας Βυζαντινών Σπουδών 26 (1956), 358–79. On the emerging role of infantry during the fourteenth century, see Andrew Ayton, “Arms, Armour and Horses,” in, Medieval Warfare. A History, ed. Maurice Keen (Oxford, 1999), pp. 202–05; Clifford J. Rogers, “The Age of the Hundred Years War,” in Medieval Warfare, ed. Keen, pp. 136–48; Brian Todd Carey, Warfare in the Medieval World (Barnsley, 2006), pp. 4–9, and 139–201; Clifford J. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Middle Ages (Westport, 2007), pp. xxvi–xxvii, and 92–93.

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development of the Catalans’ military tactics. A further issue to be dealt with is the influence, if any, of the Catalan art of war on late Byzantine military practice. This interaction is investigated by examination of Byzantine military tactics throughout the fourteenth century and tracing down any possible connection with the distinctive Catalan methods. The general history of the Company’s operations from 1302 to 1305 is well documented; here we will refer to them briefly, in order to orient the reader to their military characteristics.3 Historical Context The Catalan Company was initially ruled by a soldier of fortune and former member of the Templar Order called Roger de Flor. His mercenary group was hired by Frederick of Sicily in his wars against the house of Anjou for the domination of the island. After the peace of Caltabellota (31 August 1302), the unemployed Catalans of Roger were in a hurry to find a new employer. Roger sent his envoys to the Byzantine Emperor Andronikos II, whose eastern provinces were under constant attack by the Turks. The emperor accepted the offer and the two parties reached an agreement which provided that the mercenaries would receive generous wages4; Andronikos did not realize he had actually called in an enemy that would prove to be as dangerous a threat as the Turks themselves. The state of the Company’s new employer was not a favorable one. In the first years of the fourteenth century Byzantium was a shadow of its former glory. After the capture of Constantinople in 1204 by the Fourth Crusade, then the revival of the empire under the Nicaean rulers and the recapture of its capital by Michael VIII Palaiologos (1259–1282) in 1261, the Byzantine state remained in decline. Military resources, capabilities, army numbers and quality had progressively degraded, while the measures taken by Andronikos II to save the eastern provinces from the Turkish flood proved to be fruitless.5 His son and co-emperor, Michael IX Palaiologos (1294–1320) raised an army to stop the Turks, only to

3

4 5

On the Catalans in Byzantium and Frankish Greece, see Angeliki E. Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, the Foreign Policy of Andronikos II 1282–1328 (Cambridge, MA, 1972), pp. 127–99; Donald M. Nicol, The Last Centuries of Byzantium, 1261–1453, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1993; repr. 2002), pp. 128–35; Antonio Rubió y Lluch, La espedición y dominación de los Catalanes en Oriente juzgadas por los Griegos (Barcelona, 1883); Gustave Schlumberger, Expédition des “Almugavares” ou routiers Catalans en Orient de l’an 1302 à l’an 1311 (Paris, 1902); Mark C. Bartusis, The Late Byzantine Army, Arms and Society, 1204–1453 (Philadelphia, 1992; repr. 1997), pp. 78–82; Kenneth M. Setton, Catalan Domination of Athens, 1311–1388 (London, 1975); Peter Lock, The Franks in the Aegean, 1204–1500 (New York, 1995), pp. 104–7, 112–27; David Jacoby, “La compagnie catalane et l’état catalan de Gréce. Quelques aspects de leur histoire,” Journal des savants (1966), 78–103. On late Byzantine army mercenaries, see Savvas Kyriakidis, “The Employment of Large Groups of Foreign Mercenaries in Byzantium in the Period ca.1290–1305 as Viewed by the Sources,” Byzantion 79 (2009), 208–30. George Pachymeres, Relations historiques, ed. Albert Failler, 5 vols. (Paris, 1984–2000), 4:435–37; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 128–34. On the poor state of the Byzantine army, see Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 114–21.



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suffer a new defeat.6 Disappointed, he retreated to the western provinces, first to fight successfully the Bulgarians7 and then to confront the adventurous Catalans. The first problems arose short after the arrival of the Catalans in Constantinople; a quarrel of some Company members with the Genoese of Galata ended in a small-scale battle.8 They then declared open war on the Alan mercenaries that were also employed by the emperor.9 The cause of the conflict was the much higher pay of the Catalans compared with that of the Alans. This the former considered justified by the Company’s successful campaigns against the Turks. They co-operated in the field with the Alan mercenaries and a Byzantine army led by general Maroules.10 Many cities were relieved from the Turkish blockade, such as Philadelphia. Despite its success, however, the Company’s indiscipline was evident. The Catalans plundered Asia Minor and some adjacent islands, oppressed the population and even besieged the city of Magnesia, which was still ruled by the Byzantines.11 Andronikos called them back to the European provinces where they seized the Kallipolis (Gallipoli) peninsula. A further attempt at reconciliation with the Company included the ascension of Roger to the title of Caesar. It was arranged for the Company to depart again for Asia Minor as the Turks had taken advantage of its absence and resumed their attacks.12 It was then that Roger de Flor decided to visit Michael IX in his camp near Adrianople. The motives for the visit remain obscure: was it a case of paying tribute to Michael, or a pretext for spying on the “enemy” camp? Whatever the reason, the result was Roger’s assassination by the Alans and the massacre of his followers and all the Catalans found outside the fortified Kallipolis.13 The time of open confrontation between the empire and the Company had come. Michael sent a part of his army to fight against the Catalans; this ended in the first defeat of the Byzantines.14 The next step was the mobilization of the bulk of his army in order to crush the Company in a decisive battle. The combat was fought near Apros (1305) and the Catalans overwhelmed the imperial army and put it to flight.15 The battle of Apros marked a turning point in the Byzantine army’s history; it did not fully recover from that defeat to confront 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Pachymeres, Relations historiquess, 4:341–45; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 90–91. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:489–93; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 160–61. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:437–39; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 135. Bartusis, Late Byzantine Army, pp. 75–77. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:451–65; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 135. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:467–71, and 479–85; Nicolae Iorga, “Ramón Muntaner et l’empire byzantin,” Revue historique du sud-est Européen 4 (1927), 340–41. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:527–31, 553–57; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 137. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:571–77; A more detailed account of the Company’s initial involvement can be found in Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 127–47. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:593–95. Ibid., 4:599–605; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 162–63. The battle took place in Himeri, near the town of Apros, on 20 June 1305. Albert Failler, “Chronologie et composition

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the Company in a pitched battle again. The Byzantines employed other methods to put pressure on them to flee the borders of the empire, such as the strengthening of the fortified towns’ guard units and the scorching of the countryside to reduce the resources at the disposal of their enemy. The Catalans were forced to leave Thrace after about two years of plundering and two more victorious battles, one against the Genoese and another against the Alans. They marched through Macedonia and Thessaly, ending in Athens where, after the second great battle they fought at Kephissos (1311) against the Frankish knights, they were permanently established until 1388. The Catalan Art of War before the Battle of Apros The main narrative sources for the Catalan episode are the Chronicle of Ramon Muntaner16 and the Byzantine historians George Pachymeres and Nikephoros Gregoras.17 Of these, Pachymeres and Muntaner are the most reliable, as they lived through the events they describe. Muntaner was a prominent Catalan leader and played an active role in the expedition.18 In order effectively to recreate the battle of Apros, it is useful to understand the way the Company conducted war, based on the descriptions of the engagements before that date.19 The Company was made up of knightly cavalry and Almogavars, a very particular type of foot soldier. These men were trained to fight in close order against the heavy cavalry armies of the period, using a range of weapons including crossbows, javelins and darts. They were protected by their shields and were very experienced in hand-to-hand fighting using spears, swords and even daggers.20 This formidable force was regularly supplemented by other categories of warriors, such as heavy and light-armed horsemen and mounted crossbowmen.21 Characteristic descriptions of this type of fighting are preserved

16

17 18 19

20

21

dans l’histoire de Georges Pachymérès (livres VII-XIII),” Revue d’études Byzantines 48 (1990), 72–73. Ramon Muntaner, Crònica, ed. Marina Gustà, 2 vols. (Barcelona, 1979). English translation of excerpts from the Chronicle in Ramon Muntaner, The Catalan Expedition to the East: from the Chronicle of Ramon Muntaner, trans. Robert D. Hughes (Barcelona and Woodbridge, 2006). Nikephoros Gregoras, Byzantina historia, eds. Ludwig Schopen and Immanuel Bekker, 3 vols. (Bonn, 1829–55). Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 345–50, and 353–54. On Catalan military tactics, see R. Sablonier, Krieg und Kriegertum in der Crònica des Ramon Muntaner. Eine Studie zum spätmittelalterlichen Kriegswesen auf Grund katalanischer Quellen (Bern and Frankfurt, 1971), pp. 95–110. Schlumberger, Expédition des “Almugavares,” pp. 38–39; Ferdinand Lot, L’art militaire et les armées au Moyen Age en Europe et dans le Proche-Orient, 2 vols. (Paris, 1946), 1:258–59, and 374; Jep Pascot, Les Almugavares, mercenaires Catalans du Moyen Âge (Brussels, 1971), p. 30. Sablonier, Krieg und Kriegertum, pp. 51–52. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:68; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 39–40; On Aragonese-Catalan military equipment and tactics, see Paul Douglas Humphries, “Of Arms and Men: Siege and Battle Tactics in the Catalan Grand Chronicles (1208–1387),” Military Affairs 49 (1985), pp. 174–75, and 177.



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by Pachymeres in the narration of the Company’s fights against the Alans and the Turks. Alan nomads were skilled horse archers; the first conflict with the Company took place in an urban area, so when they came upon the Catalans the latter took advantage of their shields’ protection along with the security of the buildings to hit the horse archers with their javelins and other long range weapons. Despite the Alans’ counter firing, the Company won a great victory.22 They adopted similar tactics against the Turks in Asia Minor. It seems that the Catalans were well aware of the danger presented by Turkish horse archery. The Turks used feigned retreats to lure their enemy into a disordered pursuit; once their pursuers were tired and losing formation the Turks ambushed them, killed the horses and annihilated the dismounted men in close combat.23 Pachymeres analyzes the Company’s tactics in detail, showing that they were not tricked by the retreating Turks, so they did not become vulnerable. Instead they marched in good order, arranged in three columns. The effect of the Turkish archery was neutralized as, whenever the horse archers approached, they were hit back by the Almogavars and could not inflict much damage upon their close-ordered and well protected ranks.24 Muntaner completes these accounts by describing the fast counterattack of the Catalans. If the Turks did not decide to retreat or were not able to flee, the Catalan cavalry along with the foot soldiers proceeded to close combat that broke down the remaining enemy force.25 But even for the Catalans, the Turks were a tough adversary. Muntaner recounts how one of the Company leaders was killed during a fight. The Turks retreated to a nearby hill and the Catalan horsemen dismounted in order to pursue them. The Turks released their deadly arrows and the result was the loss of many Catalans, among them this leader.26 The most interesting aspect of the Catalan methods was the close cooperation of their cavalry with the foot soldiers. This interplay is frequently mentioned by Muntaner. The Company applied the same tactics against the Genoese when they besieged Kallipolis. According to Muntaner (who was in charge of the city’s defense), the Genoese crossbowmen ran out of bolts and left the fortress and then the foot and horse soldiers together overthrew the retreating Genoese army.27

22 23

24 25

26 27

Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:463–65. On Turkish tactics in the twelfth century, which remained unchanged well into the fourteenth, see R. C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, UK, 1956, repr. 2005), pp. 75–83. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:469–71. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:75–76; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 55–56; these tactics display a striking resemblance to the methods used by the Crusading armies in the Latin East, see Smail, Warfare, pp. 156–65. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:76–77; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 57–58. Muntaner ordered his men to discard part of their defensive equipment so as to fight comfortably under the high temperature conditions (against their heavily armed and already exhausted adversaries), Muntaner, Crònica, 2:101–102; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 106–7.

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The confrontation between the Company and the Byzantines shortly before the battle of Apros is of equal interest. After the murder of Roger de Flor, Michael IX dispatched a part of his army to Kallipolis to fight against the Company. The Catalans decided to come out of the town to confront the advancing enemy. Our main sources, Pachymeres and Muntaner, complement one another up to a point, and their combined reading provides a reliable description of the fight. Pachymeres informs us about the leaders of the army; these were the megas hetaireiarches Doukas, the megas tzaousios Humbertopoulos and the Bulgarian Vossilas. The narration of Pachymeres focuses on the trick that the Catalans used to cause disorder among the enemy ranks. They made no effort to protect their livestock, pretending to be unaware of the presence of the Byzantine army. The Byzantines broke their ranks to get hold of the valuable booty, when the Catalan army appeared suddenly in close order, horse and foot soldiers alike. Each cavalryman, armed with lance and shield, was accompanied by two crossbowmen, and they ambushed the advancing Byzantines. The battle was a defeat for the imperial army, which lost two hundred men.28 Muntaner gives another account of the battle. He does not mention the above stratagem. Instead, in his version the Catalans formed a battle line in one solid mass, cavalry on the left, foot soldiers on the right.29 Francisco de Moncada, the Spanish historian who wrote about the deeds of the Catalans nearly three hundred years after the actual events took place, adds another interesting detail. The main battle line was that of the infantry; the cavalry protected the left flank whilst the right flank was protected by the terrain, making it inaccessible to the enemy cavalry.30 Here we have a clear first indication of the Company’s ability to take advantage of the lie of the land. The Byzantines left one part of the army guarding the camp while the rest came to fight the Company. They were defeated by the onrushing Catalans and fell back to their camp where the rearguard went out against the Company. In a final effort, the mercenaries crushed them and the imperial army dispersed. The numbers given by Muntaner for the enemy losses are, as usual, exaggerated: six thousand enemy cavalrymen and twenty thousand foot soldiers. The booty gained was of great worth and splendor while of special value was the number of horses, as the Catalans were short of them (they had been deprived of the majority of their horses during the massacre that followed Roger’s murder).31 Both historians agree about the unified horse-and-foot soldiers battle line of the Catalans, but they disagree in the way this combination was achieved. Pachymeres describes a mixed line, crossbowmen placed on both sides of each horseman, while Muntaner suggests they operated in two groups, side by side. In fact, we are inclined to believe that the detailed account of Pachymeres 28 29 30 31

Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:593. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:90; Muntaner, Chronicle, p. 84. Francisco de Moncada, The Catalan Chronicle of Francisco de Moncada, trans. Frances Hernádez (El Paso, 1975), p. 116. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:90–91; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 84–85.



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complements that of Muntaner. The Catalans formed a solid line with infantry on the left and horsemen on the right. In order to protect their horsemen from the Alan horse archers’ incursions, they dispersed a number of crossbowmen – two crossbowmen were attached to each cavalryman – to deter their fast-moving adversary from coming close and harming them. We can also accept that the right flank of the infantry was well protected by the rough terrain, as it would have been very unwise to expose the unprotected flank of the foot soldiers to an army consisting mainly of horsemen. If we add the stratagem described by Pachymeres, we obtain information about another stage of the course of battle as well as a reason for the Byzantine defeat. The Catalans deceived their enemy into breaking ranks and fought on their own ground. Even though the origin of the imperial army’s disorder looks fictitious and makes little sense, we can accept that the Byzantines conducted a badly arranged charge that the experienced Catalans exploited. Pachymeres simply tries to give an excuse for their disarray. In either the case we can follow Muntaner in his description of the successive smashing of the Byzantine main battle line and rearguard. As for the losses, again we have to turn to Pachymeres and discard Muntaner’s exaggerations. If the Byzantine army’s dead were so many, probably there would have been no need for the battle of Apros to take place. More important is the information about the rich booty that the Company obtained; this was a substantial loss of war material for co-emperor Michael. The analysis of these early confrontations makes clear that the Catalan Company developed battlefield tactics based on a combined or mixed cavalry and infantry formation. These tactics were expanded and successfully used in the next full-scale battle against the Byzantines – at Apros – as well as a few years later in Kephissos. The Battle of Apros Reconsidered The defeat enhanced Michael’s will to muster his forces and confront the empire’s enemies in a decisive battle. He put his army in motion from Adrianople to Kallipolis. The Catalans, instead of awaiting their adversary under the walls of the town, decided to confront them for the second time in the open field, at a spot carefully selected to their advantage. We have two main groups of evidence about the course of action that followed. They differ mainly in describing the troops’ arrangement before the battle, a difference that affects also the outline of the final stages of the conflict. The first group comprises the accounts of Pachymeres and Muntaner – again we will try to demonstrate that reading them together provides the most credible description. The other is the account of Gregoras. The Catalans, notified of the enemy movements, left Kallipolis and marched to the area of the town of Apros. They encamped at the foot of a hill when, during the night, they became aware of the presence of the enemy force. Using some Greek deserters to spy on the Byzantines, they were informed that part of the enemy army, possibly the vanguard, under the personal command of

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Michael IX, had set its camp on the other side of the hill, while the rest of the army was on the move to join them. Next morning, the two armies prepared for battle. The position that the Catalans took in order to absorb the enemy attack is of special interest; they chose to move to the top of the hill while the majority of their men dismounted and prepared to fight on foot. As a result, the Company selected a clearly defensive position; they arranged their army so that the protection of the flanks was easier and the enemy charge reached them having lost the necessary order and impetus. More importantly, they prepared to meet the charge not on horse, which makes sense only if taking offensive stance, but on foot – a well considered reaction against a force that outnumbered them, especially in horsemen.32 Pachymeres recounts that the Company formed in four divisions, one of them made up of Turks who had allied with the Catalans.33 The Turks were five-hundred strong, according to Gregoras, but he disagrees with Pachymeres on the arrangement of the army; according to him the foot soldiers were positioned in the center, while the flanks were protected by the Turks, altogether making three groups. Unfortunately, Muntaner does not give the exact arrangement of the Company. Nevertheless, it is of great value that he mentions the dismounted horsemen and not the typical arrangement of “cavalry on the right, foot soldiers on the left” as in the preceding battle descriptions.34 As a result, taking into account the conflicts in which the Company was involved before Apros and the formations used in them, we can assume the following arrangement: the bulk of the army was placed on foot at the center, the flanks protected by the Turkish horse archers and a small number of other mounted men (the “fourth group” of Pachymeres) who probably stayed on horseback, forming a rearguard or dispersed among the infantry ranks. The battle deployment of the Byzantine army is described in detail only by the Byzantine sources but one major difference has to be noted. Gregoras says that the Alans were on the left and the Turcopoles, horse archers, on the right, while the picked cavalrymen from Thrace and Macedonia were in the center with the rest of the army as well as the foot soldiers.35 Pachymeres portrays a different positioning of these groups: the vanguard consisted of the Alans and Turcopoles, under the command of Vossilas; behind them were the soldiers that came from Macedonia, under the megas primikerios, along with those from the eastern provinces, under Michael’s uncle Theodore. The last group was formed by the Vlachs and the thelematarioi36 foot soldiers, under the megas tzaousios Humbertopoulos, who were placed behind the horse troops. The co-emperor, along with the despot Constantine and the pinkernes Senacherim, commanded

32 33 34 35 36

Muntaner, Crònica, 2:91–92; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 86–87. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:601. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:92; Muntaner, Chronicle, p. 87. Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:229–30. On thelematarioi foot soldiers, see Mark C. Bartusis, “On the Problem of Smallholding Soldiers in Late Byzantium,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44 (1990), 13–15.



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his personal retainers and best trained horse soldiers forming the rear guard.37 Thus, Gregoras places the three main army groups in one straight line, whereas Pachymeres places them one behind the other. Michael’s plan of action was fairly simple and predictable. First, the horse archers would inflict as much damage as they could on the enemy lines and would retreat either to drag the Catalans in pursuit or to return for further action. Then, the cavalry would charge at the enemy line while the horse archers would cover the cavalry’s flanks. The foot soldiers would undertake the role of protecting the rear of the cavalry and providing a rally point for whole army. The co-emperor himself with his retainers would intervene wherever and whenever that became necessary. What actually happened was completely different and beyond all expectation. The horse archers were the first to launch an attack. The Catalans – according to Pachymeres – “stood as steady as a tower,”38 a clear reference to their solid infantry formation39. Once again, the Almogavars proved to be masters in repulsing their horse archer foes and nullifying their tactics. At this point, the combination of the disloyalty of the Alans and Turcopoles to the emperor and their failure against the Catalan deployment made them run away and abandon the imperial host. After that, the rest of the Byzantine army started to fall apart and flee as well. This was a crucial event and a critical point in the course of the battle, but not the only one, as the Byzantine sources tend to suggest.40 The two Byzantine historians agree on the horse archers’ betrayal and its impact on the rest of the Byzantine forces, but from this point on their descriptions diverge again. Gregoras reports that the Company moved forward against the unprotected left flank of the infantry and inflicted great damage on them. He describes Michael’s desperate effort to rally his cavalrymen and their futile charge against the advancing Catalans.41 Pachymeres omits the attack of the Catalans and describes only the charge led by the co-emperor.42 Muntaner seems to verify Pachymeres’ account; he mentions only the defeat of the vanguard of horse archers and the ensuing enemy cavalry charge.43 We think that the answer as to which is the most credible account can be given after an examination of the battle’s aftermath. The attempted Byzantine attack was a failure and Michael, having come near to losing his life, was unhorsed and rescued by his men closing around him. Pachymeres records that the Catalans did not pursue the Byzantine army. They were concerned that the unexpected retreat was merely the prelude to an organized ambush.44 Muntaner 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:599–601. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:601. On the Catalan warriors’ invincibility and the reliability of Pachymeres battle account, see Antonio Rubió y Lluch, Paquimeres i Muntaner (Barcelona, 1927), pp. 10–11. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:601. Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:231. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:601–603. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:92; Muntaner, Chronicle, p. 88. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:603.

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confirms their inaction: “So we stayed upon the field of battle throughout that night in all our armour. And the following morning, when we thought that they would give us battle again, we did not find a single one of them alive upon the field.”45 Furthermore, he does not mention an outflanking movement by the Company. He merely reports the typical “and we all proceeded to attack them with great vigour and, likewise, did they attack us.”46 Obviously, the Catalans feared to break their lines and rush upon the fleeing Byzantines. They were mainly on foot, they were outnumbered but secured on a strong defensive position and, moreover, alarmed that this was an enemy attempt to ensnare them. In conclusion, it is unlikely that the Company attacked the Byzantine foot soldiers or performed a general attack, exposing themselves to a cavalry charge or an ambush. The Almogavars preferred to stand fast, repulsing the successive charges of their foes, either horse archers or heavy cavalry. Pachymeres seems to agree with Muntaner, and the flow of action suggests that an outflanking movement of the Company against the Byzantine infantry did not take place. Moreover, since Michael acknowledges the risk of exposing his infantry flank following the attack of the horse archers in case of an “in one line” formation, we argue that Pachymeres’ report on the initial arrangement of the imperial army is the accurate one. Gregoras describes a formation with the horse archers, infantry and cavalry placed side by side, but this now seems less probable. To the contrary, the formation described by Pachymeres gives the sense of successive cavalry charges. It is interesting that later historians describing the battle either followed Gregoras’ account of the initial Byzantine army’s formation instead of Pachymeres’, accepting also the existence of a Catalan flank attack against the infantry, or failed to recognize that the Byzantine army ranks included heavy cavalry. Moncada is one of the first who repeats the version of Gregoras.47 Schlumberger reproduces the accounts of Muntaner and Pachymeres without further comparison and commentary. Additionally, he considers the Macedonian and Thracian troops as foot soldiers.48 Carlos Banús y Comas describes a formation similar to that of Pachymeres’ report, but he also fails to recognize that cavalry forces were included as well. He accepts thus the credibility of the Catalan charge against the Byzantine infantry.49 Ferdinand Lot, based mainly on Schlumberger, repeats Pachymeres’ account, insisting again on the solely infantry base of the Byzantine army. Though he notes that the Company fought on foot at first, he attributes the Byzantine defeat to the shortage of heavy cavalry and the devastating effect of the Catalan cavalry charge on the Byzantine infantry.50 Alfonso 45 46 47 48 49 50

Muntaner, Crònica, 2:93; Muntaner, Chronicle, p. 88. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:92; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 87–88. Moncada, Chronicle, pp. 120–23. Schlumberger, Expédition des “Almugavares,” pp. 196–202. Carlos Banús y Comas, Expedition de Catalanes y Aragoneses a Oriente a principios del Siglo XIV (Madrid, 1927), pp. 105–07. Lot, L’ art militaire, 1:383–85.



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Lowe does not escape the rule and in general accepts the version of Gregoras.51 Jep Pascot keeps on considering the Macedonian and Thracian troops as infantry, though he recognizes the effectiveness of the Catalan tactics against the light horse archers.52 Going a few steps further, if we accept the victory of an infantry force against the Byzantine cavalry, we have to ascertain that the Thracian or eastern provinces and Macedonian troops were cavalry forces. We know that the main force of the late Byzantine army was the heavy cavalry. These cavalrymen were either mercenaries – usually of western origin – or native pronoia soldiers.53 The army that participated in the battle of Apros was no exception. Gregoras clearly reports that the Thracian and Macedonian hand-picked troops were horsemen.54 Pachymeres, describing the recruitment of Michael’s army, reports that the soldiers of Asia who had lost their properties to the Turks (that further means their pronoia revenues) were conscripted. The expenses for their equipment were paid by Michael’s personal treasury.55 These are strong indications of the enrolment of horsemen. Last but not least, the co-emperor’s personal retinue was formed by cavalrymen (one such man gave his horse to Michael, saving his master’s life at the cost of his own). This means it was the Byzantine cavalry that performed the last act of the drama. This was the next significant and crucial event of the battle. Michael, along with at least one of his generals named Chandrenos (as another source reports)56 gathered about him part of his cavalrymen and led them towards the Catalan foot soldiers – who were mixed with cavalrymen such as the one with whom the co-emperor dueled – and lost the battle due to the prevailing Catalan tactics.57 The available evidence for the battle of Apros suggests that the Company lined up on an advantageous natural defensive position and fought on foot, 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Alfonso Lowe, The Catalan Vengeance (London, 1972), pp. 76–78. Pascot, Les Almugavares, pp. 97–98, 172, and 177. On late Byzantine cavalry, see Savvas Kyriakidis, Warfare in Late Byzantium, 1204–1453 (Leiden and Boston, 2011), pp. 197–203. Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:230: “τà δεξιÃν δ’ ο5 τôν Μακεδονικôν τε καÀ Θρªκικôν 5ππέων /πίλεκτοι”. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:491; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 159. Jean François Boissonade, ed., Anecdota Graeca, 5 vols. (Paris, 1829–1833; repr. Hildesheim, 1962), 2:195. Two more sources cite the battle, the “shameful” defeat and escape of the Byzantines: the Catalan version of the Chronicle of Morea, Libro de los Fechos et Conquistas del Principado de la Morea, ed. and trans. Alfred Morel Fatio (Geneva, 1885), pp. 116–17; and a document published in Antonio Rubió i Lluch, ed., Diplomatari de l’Orient Català (1301–1409) (Barcelona, 1947), p. 19. It is interesting that in the West the battle was regarded as a milestone, indicative of the Byzantine military feebleness, and was used as a strong argument in favor of a crusade against the “schismatic Greeks”: Charles Raymond Beazley, “Directorium ad faciendum passagium transmarinum, II,” The American Historical Review 13 (1907), 73–74, and 79–81; Robert Ignatius Burns, S.J., “The Catalan Company and the European Powers, 1305–1311,” Speculum 29 (1954), 756.

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withstanding the Byzantine cavalry charge. Six years after the victory scored in Apros, the Catalans employed once more their well tried tactics: in Kephissos the battlefield location was carefully selected while it is plausible that their defensive infantry formation disrupted the enemy cavalry attack.58 In both cases the Company was outnumbered and on the defensive. It is therefore reasonable to regard Apros as the predecessor of Kephissos and the Catalan episode in the East a link in a series of battles that marked the turning point of medieval warfare where the infantry successfully challenged the mounted warrior. Opponents’ Numbers, Casualties and the Aftermath of the Battle A number of issues need further discussion to complete the picture of the battle of Apros. The first is the participation of the Turkish allies of the Catalans in the course of the battle. Even though the Byzantine sources confirm their presence on the battlefield, no historian reported their role during the fighting. Muntaner does not mention them at all. What happened is obscure and we cannot make out their function or even if there were really Turkish troops allied with the Company at this time. We think that their role, if any, was limited to the protection of the flanks of the Company by keeping up constant archery against the advancing cavalry forces.59 The second issue is the opposing armies’ numbers as well as their casualties. The only clear report on numbers is made by Muntaner. While the given strength of the Company seems reasonable (206 horsemen and 1,256 foot soldiers while 100 men, probably foot soldiers, remained to guard Kallipolis) and the casualties of the Catalans could be credible, the strength and the casualties of the Byzantines are too large to be true.60 According to Gregoras, the Catalan host numbered three thousand men, to which he adds five hundred Turks. He also cites the one thousand Turcopoles of the Byzantine host. Pachymeres does not contribute any evidence about numbers and casualties. Mark Bartusis has suggested that the Byzantine armies of the first half of fourteenth century consisted of no more than a couple of thousand men, maybe as many as five thousand (including mercenaries).61 Michael’s army was a numerous one, so we can suppose it included at least five to six thousand men, if not more. Furthermore, it has been calculated that before the battle of Apros about 1,500 Alan mercenaries remained in the service of the empire.62 From these figures, and accepting Gregoras’ number of one thousand Turcopoles, we estimate a figure of 2,500 mercenaries and 2,500–3,000 native soldiers. The Catalans could not have assembled more than two thousand men. As a result 58 59 60 61 62

DeVries, Infantry Warfare, p. 65. Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, “The Catalans of Athens and the Beginnings of the Turkish Expansion in the Aegean Area,” Studi Medievali 3rd series, 21 (1980), 821–38. Muntaner, Crònica, 2:89, and 91–93; Muntaner, Chronicle, pp. 81, and 86–88. Bartusis, Late Byzantine Army, pp. 266–69. Ibid., p. 79.



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Table 1. Opponents’ strength and casualties according to the sources Muntaner 206 horsemen Strength 1,156 foot soldiers Catalans 11 horsemen Casualties 27 foot soldiers 17,000 horsemen Strength 100,000 foot soldiers Byzantines 10,000 horsemen Casualties “infinite” number of foot soldiers

Gregoras 3,000 500 Turks −

Pachymeres − −

Only the 1,000 Turcopoles − are mentioned − −

a ratio of about 2.5:1 is a reasonable assumption because all the contemporary historians refer to the Byzantine numerical superiority. In any case, the calculation of the opposing armies’ numbers, especially the Byzantine ones, can only be rough estimation; nothing can be determined with certainty. The same rule applies to casualties. The Company, as mentioned above, took a passive stance and did not even pursue the fleeing Byzantines, so we can suppose that both armies’ losses were limited.63 The main “loss” for Byzantium was the coherence of the army, which Michael had mustered and personally financed with intense effort. The mercenary horse archers proved their untrustworthiness. The native troops, except for a number of horsemen, proved once again their unreliability. The Catalans inflicted losses on the best available section of the Byzantine army, those cavalrymen that stayed to fight. Moreover, the spoil the Company gained was a much more severe loss in terms of military equipment for the Byzantines than any other type of casualty. The impact of the battle was confirmed by later events. Byzantium did not manage or dare to assemble an army to confront the Company in the field. Instead, the Byzantines preferred to stay within the safety of fortified places and built a new wall at Christoupolis to block the movement of the Company back from Macedonia to Thrace.64 Besides that, we have information that the general Chandrenos, the veteran of Apros, achieved some success against the Company in Macedonia and Thessaly and forced its members to depart and search for new occupations in the duchy of Athens.65 Neither Muntaner nor the Byzantine histo63 64

65

Banús y Comas, Expedition de Catalanes, p. 108. Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:246. The route from Macedonia to Thrace (part of via Egnatia) passed through Christoupolis and was one of the principal campaign roads throughout the Byzantine era: see John Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World, 565–1204 (London, 1999; repr. 2003), pp. 54–55. On the wall in Christoupolis, see George Bakalakis, “Το περί την Χριστούπολιν Τείχισμα [The Wall of Christoupolis],” Ελληνικά 10 (1935), 307–18. Gregoras mentions the provisioning and preparation of the cities to resist prolonged siege, Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:246; On Chandrenos’ campaigns following Apros, see Anecdota Graeca, 2:195–200; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 220–26.

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rians record this episode in any detail. (Pachymeres ends his narrative in 1307.) We are inclined to think that Chandrenos carried out a form of guerilla warfare and only brief skirmishes were allowed to occur between the two armies. We have to bear in mind that during the period after Apros, the number of the Catalans had been reduced and the Company had been divided into separate parts under different leaders.66 So Chandrenos’ campaign was not a major one that included large-scale battles. Another successful method followed by Andronikos II to put pressure on the Company to leave the Byzantine borders was the desolation of the countryside. He prohibited the peasants from cultivating their fields. The supply system of the Company was based on the plunder gained by ravaging the countryside and when the provisions were exhausted, the empire became too hostile for them to survive.67 Influence of the Catalan Warfare upon Byzantine Tactics. A point to stress is the extent of influence that Catalan battle techniques exercised on the Byzantines. Did they put in the field forces composed exclusively or mainly by foot soldiers? Did they learn from the Catalans the new prevailing approach to war that emerged in Western Europe? In the late thirteenth century and especially in the early fourteenth foot soldiers, recruited from peasants and townspeople, were persistently present in Byzantine armies. This tendency was not exclusively a consequence of new tactical developments but, rather, a necessity generated by the state’s impoverishment and lack of trained soldiers. However, the Catalan paradigm may well be a factor that accelerated this tendency. The Byzantines were aware of the successful campaigning of a relatively small army that defeated its enemies by practicing tactics that included foot soldiers and horsemen on foot or foot soldiers alone. In this context they dared to put in the field small armies composed merely of infantry, and to confront the enemy only when foot soldiers were available. Some examples are well documented. The first is the movement of John Choiroboskos who in 1303–1304 assembled an army of peasants, armed mainly with bows and maces, and had some success against the Turks. When the Turkish horsemen engaged his infantry army in open battle defeat was inevitable and Choiroboskos was imprisoned.68 Another case of interest is that of Hilarion in 1306. This man was a monk at Peribleptos monastery and was assigned to supervise the monastery’s estate in the town of Helegmos. There, the Turks ravaged the area, confining the

66 67

68

On the Catalans in Thrace, see Christos Bakirtzis, “Les Catalans en Thrace,” in ΕΥΨΥΧΙΑ, Mélanges offerts à Hélène Arweiler (Paris, 1998), pp. 63–73. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:691; Angeliki E. Laiou, “The Provisioning of Constantinople during the Winter of 1306–1307,” Byzantion 37 (1967), 91–113; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 182–83. Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:485–89; Nicolas Oikonomidès, “A propos des armées des premiers Paléologues et des compagnies des soldats,” Travaux et mémoires 8 (1981), 364; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 191–92.



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people within the town’s walls. Under the personal direction and command of the brave monk, an army of townspeople assembled and successfully repulsed the invaders. But being a monk, Hilarion acted against canon law, so the Patriarch rebuked him for his sin and he was recalled to Constantinople; the Turks took advantage of his absence, killing the people that were found outside the town.69 The third is the case of an army led by Humbertopoulos against the Catalans and Turks in Thrace in 1307. Following the defeat at Apros, the megas tzaousios and two hundred horsemen garrisoned the town of Vizye. They were not eager to attack the Turks ravaging the countryside, but the townspeople urged them to act, and supplemented their ranks with a considerable contingent of foot soldiers. Pachymeres stresses the failure of the tactics of this improvised army since they did not select a favorable site to fight the Turks such as a hill or a mountainous passage, but they deployed in an open plane. The cavalry pursued the retreating Turks making the infantry an easy prey for the rest of the Turkish force. The Byzantines disregarded two basic rules, essential for an army consisting mainly of foot soldiers: the selection of a proper battleground and the maintenance of strict cohesion between cavalry and infantry.70 The fourth and more interesting case is the Byzantine tactics employed during the campaign against Bulgaria in 1331. Andronikos III Palaiologos (1328–1341), son of Michael IX and successor of Andronikos II, launched this campaign in order to restore his rule over a couple of towns in the Aimos region. The details of this operation are mentioned by both John VI Kantakouzenos (1347–1354)71 and Gregoras. First we will set out the account of Kantakouzenos. After the accession of Tsar Alexander (1331–1371), the Bulgarians invaded Byzantine territory and seized control of a couple of towns. Andronikos III summoned his men to oppose the invasion. The tsar did not dare to confront the ­imperial forces in the open field and took advantage of mountainous passages to block the route of the Byzantines, who were encamped near Rosokastron. As a result, the emperor negotiated a truce with the tsar, but the day before the proper oaths would have been taken, the Bulgarians were reinforced by a contingent of Tatar (“Scythian”72) warriors and took offensive action. The following day, the surprised Byzantines faced a combined Bulgarian and Tatar force. The Byzantine army drew up in two lines, the first one composed of six ranks and the second of ten. The usual three-part division was also observed, and Andronikos  III took command of the center. The Tatars encircled the Byzantines and forced the second line to take flight right back to the walls of Rosokastron; there, the fleeing men turned and defended themselves against the oncoming Tatars. The front line exerted some resistance against the rest of the Bulgarian army 69 70 71 72

Pachymeres, Relations historiques, 4:657. Ibid., 4:693; Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 169. John VI Kantakouzenos, Ioannis Cantacuzeni eximperatoris historiarum libri IV, ed. Ludwig Schopen, 3 vols. (Bonn, 1828–1832). The “Scythians” of the source are identified with the Tatars: see Gyula Moravcsik, Byzantinoturcica, 2 vols. (Berlin, 1958), 2:282.

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but soon was forced to fall back as well. Kantakouzenos points out again and again that the retreat of this line was a disciplined one and the army did not fall into disarray. They marched in order and met the rest of their comrades outside Rosokastron where “united they fought against Mongols and Bulgarians.” There the fight ended in favor of the tsar. The Byzantines lost thirty-seven cavalrymen and sixty-five foot soldiers.73 Kantakouzenos’ description suggests that in certain phases of the battle, such as the controlled retreat and the fight in front of Rosokastron walls, horse and foot soldiers formed a common defense line. The description of the same campaign by Gregoras is clearer. Tsar Alexander responded rapidly to the Byzantine incursion and directed a force of eight thousand men plus two thousand Tatars against the imperial expeditionary force. The three thousand men of the Byzantine army were at a serious numerical disadvantage compared with their formidable Bulgarian rivals. In the battle that took place near the fortress of Rosokastron, the Bulgarians positioned the heavily armed soldiers at the center of their formation, while they extended the left and right flanks with the aim of encircling the outnumbered Byzantine army. To avoid that, Andronikos III did not draw up the army into the three usual divisions, but formed a united line drawing up in a crescent (meniscus).74 This arrangement strongly reminds us of the combined array of horse and foot soldiers that the Catalans used about thirty years before. From the narrative of Gregoras we can additionally deduce that the Byzantines had selected an advantageous position to exercise these tactics. They assembled their force in front of a hill. The Bulgarians started to advance on the hill from behind and the emperor was forced to retreat to Rosokastron; the Byzantines gave up the battle and made peace with the tsar.75 Nonetheless, the tactics of the Catalans had a limited effect on the Byzantines

73

74

75

Kantakouzenos, Historiarum, 1:459–68; Ursula Victoria Bosch, Kaiser Andronikos III. Palaiologos, Versuch einer Darstellung der byzantinischen Geschichte in den Jahren 1321– 1341 (Amsterdam, 1965), pp. 78–80. On the circle or “crescent” infantry formations, see Contamine, War, p. 231; J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages from the Eighth Century to 1340, trans. S. Willard and R.W. Southern, 2nd ed. (Woodbridge, 1997; repr. 2002), pp. 182–85; DeVries, Infantry Warfare, p. 195. Gregoras, Byzantina historia, 1:484–88; on accounts of the two campaigns, see István Vásáry, Cumans and Tatars, Oriental Military in the Pre-Ottoman Balkans, 1185–1365 (Cambridge, UK, 2005), pp. 130–31; but for the proper chronology, see Raymond Joseph Loenertz, Byzantina et Franco-Graeca (Rome, 1970), pp. 120, and 125 n. 2. It is of interest to mention here yet another reference of the crescent formation in a Byzantine text of the fifteenth century. This is a panegyric discourse dedicated to Manuel Palaiologos (1391–1425) and his son John VIII (1425– 1451) that includes a section on the military training of the latter and attests his knowledge on how to draw up the infantry in, among other formations, the “μηνοειδή παράταξιν”. But one should keep in mind that the passage could be viewed as a piece of rhetoric formality that probably reflects archaic and Roman standards; Spyridon P. Lambros, Παλαιολόγεια και Πελλοπονησιακά [Palaiologian and Peloponnesian], 4 vols. (Athens, 1912–1930; repr. 1972), 3:170.



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and foot soldiers never gained a prominent role in the late imperial armies. Some remarks on the origins of this phenomenon should be made: (a) The fragmentary condition of the empire due to continuous civil wars and foreign incursions. This condition resulted in difficulties in raising such armies as well as achieving proper military training. Moreover, the distaste of Andronikos II for native soldiers is well known, as these men could be turned to favor potential usurpers of the imperial throne under the leadership of a capable general. This was one of the primary reasons that the Catalan Company were recruited to fight the Turks; some years earlier the general Alexios Philanthropenos had achieved victories over the Turks and then rebelled against the imperial authority because of the public support he enjoyed in Asia Minor as a result.76 (b) The turn to a strategy of defense of fortified towns and strongholds. The general diminishing status of the Byzantine army, both in numbers and quality, forced the authorities to use the townspeople in defense of city walls and not in precarious pitched battles.77 We have to bear in mind that an army of foot soldiers can be effective under certain limited conditions and most likely when it acts in combination with a force of horsemen. (c) The nature of the opponent. This was a very important factor. Usually, foot soldiers or knights on foot were opposing heavily-armed cavalry attempting to break their formation by a frontal attack.78 Turkish (as well as Tatar and other nomad peoples’) tactics were different in nature. The fast-moving horse archers could inflict severe losses, encircle, ambush and finally cause the disintegration of an infantry force. The counter fire of archers or crossbowmen was one remedy, but this presupposes a high level of training and discipline which the Byzantine population lacked.79

76

77 78 79

Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 81–84; Angeliki E. Laiou, “Some Observations on Alexios Philanthropenos and Maximos Planoudes,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 4 (1978), 89–99; Radivoj  Radić, “Byzantine Military Commander Alexios Philanthropenos,” Zbornik Radova Vizantološkog Instituta 37 (1998), 97–109. On guard service in late Byzantium, see Bartusis, Late Byzantine Army, pp. 306–21. DeVries, Infantry Warfare, pp. 191–92; Verbruggen, Art of Warfare in Western Europe, pp. 185–87. For a more elaborated discussion on the failure of the “peasant militias” in late Byzantium, see Mark C. Bartusis, “The Cost of Late Byzantine Warfare and Defense,” Byzantinische Forschungen 16 (1990), 88–89. Also Kyriakidis, Warfare, pp. 216–20. Another interesting aspect of the Catalan influence on the Byzantine army is in the form of the light cavalry force similar to the Spanish jinetes that joined the imperial guard. Elizabeth A. Zachariadou, “Les ‘janissaires’ de l’empereur byzantin,” in Studia turcologica memoriae Alexii Bombaci dicata. Istituto Universitario Orientale seminario di studi Asiatici, Series Minor XIX (Naples, 1982), pp. 596–97. A different opinion about these “janissaries” has been expressed in Andrea Babuin, “Per I giannizzeri di Giovani VIII Paleologo,” La parola del passato 370 (2010), 15–33.

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Final Remarks – Some Notes on Byzantine Strategy As a final discussion, we will go over the reasons for the defeat at Apros as well as the overall Byzantine strategy. It is obvious that the Byzantine tactics were inadequate and out-of-date. Andronikos II was inexperienced in warfare. Never during his long reign did he demonstrate deep interest in military issues. Even in the time of the ultimate danger when a Catalan attack against Constantinople threatened, it was Patriarch Athanasios I who urged him to take matters seriously and personally look over the city’s defense system.80 Andronikos II was not the person to reverse the Catalan tide by military means and delegated this task to his son. Michael IX was a soldier himself and involved in military matters from an early age.81 It seems that long before the battle he had assembled his army and prepared and trained his men intensively in a camp near Adrianople. Regardless of his efforts, he was not a commander who inspired his men and imposed proper cohesion and discipline upon them. Above all, he did not learn from earlier failures to adapt his methods to the Catalan tactics. After he led his army to a disadvantageous fight and sought battle disregarding various aspects of strategy and tactics, his personal skill and courage could not turn it to a victory. The Byzantine historians accuse the horse archers of betrayal and establish that as the main cause of the defeat. It was, of course, an incident that weakened the Byzantine army both in manpower and morale. But Michael failed to recognize the deviousness of these mercenaries and, above all, their ineffectiveness against the Catalan style of war. In spite of everything, he launched an almost suicidal attack, predestined to fail. The combination of an ill-conducted operation and old-fashioned tactics with the treachery of the Alans and Turcopoles formed the basis of the embarrassing outcome.82 The Catalan affair is a significant paradigm of the various phases of different strategies adopted by a medieval state to deal with an “external” enemy having invaded its soil. When every effort at reconciliation failed, Byzantium turned to an active offensive policy.83 After the new failure, a policy of devastation of the countryside and constant harassment of the enemy forces was applied. This approach presupposed lengthy operations and imposed heavy burdens on the already impoverished state. Notwithstanding, the new strategy proved fruitful, and what Byzantium could not gain at Apros was accomplished a few years later. The fact that the declining empire initially selected a battle-seeking policy and then, despite the serious defeat, succeeded in driving out the Catalans proves that Byzantium had not lost its vitality and military effectiveness 80 81 82

83

Letter to Andronikos II; The Correspondence of Athanasius I Patriarch of Constantinople, ed. and trans. Alice-Mary Maffry Talbot (Washington, D.C., 1975), pp. 42–43. Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, pp. 6, and 158–60. Laiou, Constantinople and the Latins, p. 162; Banús y Comas, Expedition de Catalanes, p. 110 insists on the lack of patriotic fervor of the heterogeneous Byzantine host combined with Michael’s lack of firm authority and leadership, despite his personal military valor and bravery. Clifford J. Rogers, “The Vegetian ‘Science of Warfare’ in the Middle Ages,” Journal of Medieval Military History 1 (2002), 10.



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entirely. Moreover, the successful strategy proves once more that the defeat at Apros neither exhausted Byzantine military resources nor had a dramatic effect on the number of soldiers.84 In 1305 the Catalan tactics contributed to the sound defeat of one of the last Byzantine field armies and proved the degradation of empire’s military capabilities. The battle of Apros has to take its place among the line of fourteenthcentury battles where a force on foot won against an army of horsemen and has to be studied as a step in tactical development before the much acclaimed battle of Kephissos.

84

Bartusis, Late Byzantine Army, p. 349; and above pp. 131–32 (19–21).

7 Horse Restoration (Restaurum Equorum) in the Army of Henry of Grosmont, 1345: A Benefit of Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War Nicholas A. Gribit

A grene hors, gret and ȝikke, A stede ful stif to strayne, In brawden brydel quik – To ȝe gome he watz ful gayn.1

The vivid description of the horse at the beginning of the alliterative poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is, apart from its colouring, an accurate portrayal of a medieval warhorse which would have been used in battle by many of the elite knights who served in English armies during the first half of the fourteenth century.2 Indeed, many of the warhorses would have shared the characteristics described above: big enough in size to dominate the opposing forces and of sufficient strength to carry a fully-equipped knight, as well as being covered 1

2

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, ed. J.R.R. Tolkien and E.V. Gordon, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1967), p. 6. A modern rendering of the text by Brian Stone: “To the sight, Green and huge of grain, Mettlesome in might And brusque with bit and rein – A steed to serve that knight!” in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, trans. Brian Stone, 2nd ed. (London, 1974), p. 27. I am grateful to Dr. Alan V. Murray (University of Leeds) for his helpful comments and suggestions on an early draft of this article, and to Dr. P.H.W. Booth (Keele University) and Dr. Simon J. Harris (University of Keele), who provided expert advice when translating the more ambiguous of the administrative documents upon which this piece is based. Any errors are entirely my responsibility. The size of medieval warhorses has been the subject of much debate amongst historians and although it has become largely accepted that a typical warhorse of the fourteenth century probably stood at around 15 to 16 hands at the withers (a couple of hands smaller than a modern day shire horse), there would inevitably have been horses of exceptional size. Although the extraordinary size of the Green Knight and his steed can be attributed to his mythical status and should certainly not be considered as typical, it is interesting to note that Sir Gawain’s horse, Gringolet, is described later in the poem as “that great huge horse”: Stone, Gawain and the Green Knight, p. 97. A horse sent to China in 1342 – the only example of a warhorse for which measurements are available – is a case in point; it was “6 huai ch’ih 8 ts’un” in height and “11 huai ch’ih 6 ts’un” in length (Charles Gladitz, Horse Breeding in the Medieval World (Dublin, 1997), p. 158); that is, 207 cm (20.41 hands) by 358 cm (35.24 hands). For an assessment of the historiography relating to medieval horses, see Matthew Bennett, “The Medieval Warhorse Reconsidered,” in Medieval Knighthood V: Papers from the Sixth Strawberry Hill Conference, ed. Stephen Church and Ruth Harvey (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 19–40.

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with barding (coopertum) for its own protection and of a temperament conducive to the scenes of battle. The warhorse was a potent symbol of status and as such was the most expensive item of a soldier’s equipment if he belonged to the ranks of knight or esquire which constituted the category of “man-at-arms” in an English army at that time. It is little surprise, therefore, that horse restoration (Latin: restaurum equorum) – a payment of compensation for horses lost, either killed or injured, during the course of a military campaign – was a welcome benefit of service upon its introduction by the English Crown in the 1280s.3 Although the policy of horse restoration operated until the 1370s, its importance had grown commensurately with the development of the warhorse, which had reached its peak by the mid fourteenth century.4 The aim of this article is to use a detailed study of a single campaign to uncover the process of horse restoration in greater detail than has been possible hitherto. It will examine all aspects of horse restoration relating to the English army which Henry of Grosmont, earl of Derby (or Henry of Lancaster, as he was more commonly known), led to the duchy of Aquitaine in 1345.5 The earl’s objective of recovering English territory and possessions lost to the French was part of a coordinated attack designed by Edward III to bring his French adversary to battle – something that had eluded Edward since the outbreak of the Hundred Years’ War in 1337.6 A detailed study of horse restoration in Lancaster’s army is 3

4 5

6

We cannot be certain when the custom of horse restoration first began in England. The earliest extant documents produced in connection with the appraisal of warhorses date from 1282: Andrew Ayton, Knights and Warhorses: Military Service and the English Aristocracy under Edward III (Woodbridge, 1994), p. 50. Michael Prestwich suggests that restaurum equorum might have been customary practice in the royal household from as early as the beginning of the twelfth century: Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven, 1996), p. 96. An early example of compensation for the loss of horses occurred when the First Crusade was on the brink of starvation in January/February 1098 at the siege of Antioch. Because of fear of losing horses knights were refusing to escort foraging expeditions, and so Count Raymond of Toulouse set aside 500 marks to recompense any of his knights who suffered such a loss. This obliged the other crusader leaders to follow suit: J.H. and L.L. Hill, eds., Le “Liber” de Raymond d’Aguilers (Paris, 1969), pp. 54–55; translation by the editors as Raymond of Aguilers (or d’Agiles), Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Iherusalem (Philadelphia,1968), pp. 36–37: I owe this reference to Professor John France.The ad-hoc decision made rather later by Tancred, prince of Antioch, to pay his knights compensation for any horses lost during their attack on the infantry of Shaizar in 1110 is another interesting example of horse restoration operating in a different military context, see The Autobiography of Ousama, ed. and trans. G.R. Potter (London, 1929), p. 89. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 37. The latest record of horse restoration was that offered to Thomas de Wennesley by John of Gaunt in 1384: Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, p. 97. Henry of Grosmont was created earl of Derby in 1337, earl of Lancaster in 1345, and the first duke of Lancaster in 1351: W.M. Ormrod, “Henry of Lancaster, First Duke of Lancaster (c.  1310–1361),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edition, January 2008. For detailed discussions of the outbreak of war see: W.M. Ormrod, Edward III (London, 2011), pp. 212–46; Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy under Edward III, 1327–60 (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 127–216; and Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War I: Trial by Battle (Philadelphia, 1999), pp. 185–369.



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of particular interest and worthy of investigation for two reasons. Firstly, 1345 was an illuminating year of military developments, not least in terms of the benefits of service offered to men who set out with Lancaster to the duchy. It was the first expedition where the Crown offered all three rewards of service to menat-arms: wages, regard (a bonus payment intended to contribute to the preparatory costs of war), and horse restoration. Secondly, this campaign produced a plethora of administrative documents, including a restaurum equorum account, which was subsequently enrolled on the Pipe Rolls.7 This important document has not previously been used by historians and provides a valuable insight into the process of horse restoration and its wider implications in the organisation of war. It is transcribed, translated and analysed below. The royal administrative records produced in connection with the process of compensation for lost horses have often escaped the attention of historians; indeed, up to twenty years ago a detailed study of such rich source material had yet to be undertaken. It was Andrew Ayton’s in-depth study of the documentary records that first demonstrated how the qualitative data relating to warhorses can be linked to a larger corpus of documentation to provide valuable information not only about the horses, but also their owners, and to develop our understanding of the “military community” in medieval England. His assessment of the records created by the administrative procedures that underpinned the policy of horse restoration was essential to the subsequent use of the horse records which have since been used to greater effect by historians.8 However, to date no real attempt has been made to illustrate the administrative processes at work for a single military campaign. This article will therefore examine the administration of horse restoration for Lancaster’s army and attempt to illustrate the different procedures which underpinned this benefit of service. It will reveal the identities of the personnel involved in the administrative practices, as well as explore the types of horses used by soldiers in battle. Furthermore, the number of warhorses taken on overseas expeditions by men-at-arms will be analysed and the evidence will also be used to explore the motivations of men who decided to purchase their mounts upon their arrival in the duchy of Aquitaine. The benefit of horse restoration was offered by the Crown to men-at-arms, but not to mounted archers who, from the 1330s onwards, served alongside them in the retinues of an English army.9 The policy worked on the principle that one warhorse for each man-at-arms was valued during a formal appraisal 7 8

9

Kew, The National Archives, E 372/191, m. 55. All documents cited hereafter are located at The National Archives. David Simpkin, among others, has made effective use of the horse inventories to help reconstruct the military careers of soldiers who served in the royal armies of later medieval England: David Simpkin, The English Aristocracy at War: From the Welsh Wars of Edward I to the Battle of Bannockburn (Woodbridge, 2008), p. 5. The appraisal of horses belonging to mounted archers in the retinue of Sir John de Tibetot in 1336 is an exceptional case, cited in Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 169, n. 165; E 101/19/36, m. 5d.

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process prior to a military campaign, and should the horse be subsequently lost in war, then restitution of the appraised cost was made by the king. It has been observed that the survival of the records relating to horse restoration – namely horse inventories and restaurum equorum accounts – is inconsistent and patchy, and the sources pertaining to the expedition in 1345 are no exception. The inventories were essentially working records, compiled during the appraisal of an army’s horses and designed to be annotated in the field. The restaurum equorum accounts consist of lists of horses lost on active service, and were based on information contained in the inventories – they were usually drawn up after the campaign when the losses and the compensation paid had to be accounted for.10 The horse inventories which often contain detailed evidence of the horses and their owners are missing for this particular expedition. There is, however, a restaurum equorum account enrolled on the Pipe Rolls relating to Lancaster’s own retinue, which has not previously been used by historians.11 In addition, the accounts of service of Lancaster and Laurence de Hastings, earl of Pembroke, contain items of expenditure relating to the costs of horse restoration which they paid to men in their retinues.12 Although the sums of these expenses only represent the aggregated costs, they provide valuable evidence of the quality and types of warhorse that were used by men in the duchy. These records can be supplemented by other extant documents, such as the debentures sealed by the constable of Bordeaux, which authorised payments to captains for the restoration of their retinue’s mounts, and the corresponding entries in the Exchequer Issue Rolls.13 These records provide a small but valuable corpus of evidence which illuminates the workings of the horse appraisal and restoration processes in action in 1345. The Appraisal of Warhorses The task of horse appraisal was usually performed at the army’s muster point, which for overseas expeditions was often the designated port of embarkation. Henry of Lancaster, however, was given the option in 1345 of having his retinue’s mounts appraised at Southampton “en manere acustumee,” or if his men preferred to buy their horses in Aquitaine, they would be appraised by the constable of Bordeaux.14 It has been recently argued that the horses of Lancaster’s retinue were appraised after they had reached Bordeaux, and

10 11

12 13 14

Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 49–50. E 372/191, m. 55. Although the document might not be considered a conventional horse restoration account because it lacks a detailed list describing the appearance and valuation of horses lost by men in military service; nevertheless, it is a formal account of horse restoration which provides valuable evidence of the administrative process in 1345. E 372/191, m. 54d. E 43/78; E 403/340, m. 19; E 404/490/174; E 404/496/500; E 404/508/131. E 159/123, m. 254.



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that the majority of the warhorses were purchased there.15 The corresponding restaurum equorum account, however, proves that both points are incorrect. Although some horses lost by Lancaster’s men were appraised at Bordeaux, the majority, almost three-quarters in fact (72.3%), were appraised at the port of Southampton (see Table 1). The horses were valued there on 8 June 1345 by Master William Dalton, the controller, and Sir Thomas de Bourne, usher of the king’s household.16 The drawing up of the horse inventory was done by Dalton, who had previous experience of the procedure, while Thomas de Bourne’s position as the king’s serjeant-at-arms, and his overseas campaigning experience, suggests that he had the credentials and necessary knowledge to perform the task of estimating the value of each mount.17 Indeed, Bourne was no stranger to the handling of expensive horseflesh, as the king’s brother, John de Eltham, earl of Cornwall, had granted him a horse worth £90 at some point before 1336.18 The appraisal of warhorses was a highly bureaucratic process during which each man-at-arms would wait his turn before declaring his identity and presenting his horse for inspection. A clerk would compile an inventory, or appraisal list, containing the details of the colour and distinguishing marks of each horse, the type of horse that it was (in terms of breed or function) and its estimated value. These details were recorded on a single line next to the owner’s name. An extant horse inventory relating to Lancaster’s service in Scotland in 1336, for example, states that one of the soldiers serving in his retinue “habet j equum nigrum grisellum cum parva stella mixta in fronte, precii X marcarum.”19 The horse would then be branded following inspection, and possibly a second mark was made to indicate the owner’s retinue.20 Several copies of the original inventory would probably have been drawn up for administrative purposes.21 We know that at least one duplicate of the original horse inventory was made in 1345. The restaurum equorum account of Lancaster’s retinue refers to two horse appraisal lists: one was retained by the commander himself, and another, probably the original, was sealed by William

15 16 17

18 19

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Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 52. E 372/191, m. 55. Dalton appraised the earl of Northampton’s horses at Portsmouth and Southampton in 1342: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 52 n. 12. Bourne served overseas in the retinue of Sir Bartholomew de Burghersh the elder in 1329 and is described in the Patent Rolls as the king’s serjeant-at-arms in 1344: CPR, 1327–30, p. 443; CPR, 1334–38, p. 360. After Cornwall’s death in 1336, the horse was taken from Bourne for the king’s use: CPR, 1334–38, p. 336. E 101/19/36, m. 5d. A soldier with the surname of Rammesay “had one dark grey equus with a small variegated star on its forehead, worth 10 marks,” while the modest mount of another man is simply described as “one grey hobby, worth 5 marks.” In France a second brand-mark was used to identify the company or retinue of the man-at-arms whose horse was being appraised: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 55–56. The survival of duplicate inventories is very rare; the four extant versions of the horse inventory for the war of Saint-Sardos, for example, is unusual: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 53, n. 17, p. 55.

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Table 1. Number of horses lost in Aquitaine by men in the retinues of Henry of Lancaster and the earl of Pembroke and the place of their appraisal Retinue Lancaster Pembroke Total

Bordeaux 43 5 48

Southampton 112 19 131

Total 155 24 179

   Source: E 372/191, m. 54d., m. 55.

Dalton.22 It is likely that one of these lists, or possibly yet another duplicate, was kept as a working record and subsequently amended throughout the course of the campaign.23 There was a slight deviation, however, in the appraisal of horses at Bordeaux. An item of expenditure in Lancaster’s account of service, relating to horse restoration, shows that the details of each horse that was appraised in the duchy were recorded in an indenture rather than being listed on a roll.24 It is likely that one part of the indenture was kept by Lancaster and that the other was retained by the constable of Bordeaux. There are similar examples of horse inventories being compiled in this manner for expeditions undertaken in 1337 and 1364, although the fact that the majority of extant horse inventories are recorded on rolls suggests that the use of indentures was not common practice.25 Further details concerning the appraisal process of warhorses that embarked from Southampton can be gleaned by linking the evidence of Lancaster’s restaurum equorum account to the other pay records relating to the expedition. Firstly, the fact that Sir Walter Mauny’s retinue joined the expeditionary forces waiting at the muster point on 8 June 1345, the same day that Lancaster’s horses were valued, suggests that the appraisers waited for all of the retinue contingents to arrive at the port before beginning the process of valuing the principal warhorse of each soldier.26 Secondly, it is unlikely that the entire process took more than a few days because a royal writ made on 11 June states that

22 23 24 25

26

E 372/191, m. 55. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 53. E 372/190, m. 55; details of the horse appraisal were recorded “in quadam indentura predictorum marescalli, constabularii, et contrarotulatoris sub pede magni sigilli Regis.” Ayton asserts that the serrated side of the horse inventory for the Scottish campaign, 1337 to 1338, indicates that two identical copies were made in a similar style to an indenture of service: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 55 n. 28. In 1364 Walter Dalby, king’s clerk, was ordered to appraise the horses of men in William de Windsor’s retinue “according to the form of war, making indentures between the said receiver [Dalby] and the said William and the other owners of the name, colour and price of every horse”: CCR, 1343–46, p. 573. E 43/78. Clerks probably seldom waited for all of the military retinues to arrive at the army’s muster point before valuing the horses. The appraisal process for larger armies could often take weeks with contingents being added to horse inventories as they arrived at the muster point: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 51.



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Lancaster “has shipped his horses for the most part and is hastening to the said parts.”27 Assuming that some of the soldiers from each of the four retinues that assembled at Southampton had their mounts appraised before embarkation, and using the rounded figure of three-quarters, which represents the proportion of Lancaster’s lost horses that were appraised in England, we can estimate roughly that 323 horses were inspected and valued at the port.28 It is certainly feasible, therefore, that all the warhorses could have been appraised over a period of three to four days.29 The date of the payment of wages to Walter Mauny’s retinue and to five hundred Welsh foot is also of interest. The royal pay for both contingents began on 8 June, on which day Dalton and Bourne had already started the appraisal of Lancaster’s horses.30 Although this date represents the arrival of Mauny’s retinue, the Welsh infantry would have arrived at the army’s muster point several days earlier.31 Does this suggest that the appraisers also performed a muster and review of the said troops? Undoubtedly, it would have been too great a task for Dalton and Bourne alone, but if they functioned primarily as overseers of the appraisal process and had several subordinate clerks at their disposal, then it seems both feasible and practical that the team of royal officials may have reviewed the newly arrived soldiers as well as appraised the horses.32 We cannot be sure whether Lancaster’s choice of having his retinue’s horses appraised at either Southampton or Bordeaux was offered to all the retinue captains in his army, although we can be certain that these favourable terms were also granted to the earl of Pembroke.33 A payment for restaurum equorum recorded in Pembroke’s account of service shows that nineteen horses lost by 27 28

29

30 31 32

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CCR, 1343–46, p. 573. The fifth retinue-based contingent, led by Sir Ralph Baron of Stafford, had already arrived in Aquitaine around mid-March: Nicholas A. Gribit, “Henry de Lancaster’s Army in Aquitaine, 1345: Recruitment, Service and Reward during the Hundred Years’ War” (unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Leeds, 2012), p. 111. The estimate of 323 horses is based on the retinues comprising the following number of men-at-arms: Lancaster, 250; Pembroke, 80; Walter Mauny, 60; James Audley, 40. The minimum number of horses appraised at Southampton was 323, because we know that Audley’s retinue embarked with its full quota of horses; see below. At the peak of summer time in England the long days would have provided up to eighteen hours of sunlight; thus, four days would have provided a maximum of 72 daylight hours in which horses could be appraised at a rate of four to five horses per hour. E 43/78; E 372/190, m. 41d. Gribit, Henry de Lancaster’s Army in Aquitaine, pp. 110–18. Appraisers were sometimes responsible both for valuing horses and overseeing the muster process of soldiers. In 1342, for example, the royal clerks William de Northwell and John de Kermond were appointed to appraise the horses of the retinue of Hugh de Audley, earl of Gloucester, as well as undertake a muster and review of the men-at-arms and archers in the earl’s retinue: C 76/17, m. 18. For other examples of letters appointing men to simultaneously perform both tasks see C 76/16, m. 6; C 76/17, m. 31, cited in Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 60, n. 59. Pembroke’s indenture of service includes the clause: “Et en cas que les uns des gentz darmes [ne se voilent monter des] chavalx decea la meer, mes faire lour pourveanceis es parties de dela la meer, que adonqes, meismes ceux chivalx ensi [… soient prisez illoeques par le conestable de Burdeux en la manere suisdite].” E 101/68/3/60 (indenture badly damaged).

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men in his retinue were valued at Southampton by the same usher and controller of the royal household who we know appraised the horses belonging to men in Lancaster’s retinue.34 Table 1 illustrates that these lost mounts represent more than three-quarters (79.2%) of the total number of equestrian losses sustained by men in Pembroke’s retinue and that roughly one-fifth of the total number of horses lost by Pembroke’s retinue – a smaller proportion than Lancaster’s retinue – were appraised at Bordeaux. Unfortunately, there is no documentary evidence of the appraisal or the compensation of any of the horses owned by the men who served in the retinue of Sir James Audley, lord of Heighley. This, however, is of little surprise considering that the Staffordshire baron’s force of forty men-at-arms and forty mounted archers represented the smallest of the mounted retinues, which also served for the shortest period of time.35 The chances of suffering any warhorse casualties, therefore, must have been substantially reduced. An item of expenditure recorded in Audley’s particulars of account for the “passagium et repassagium” of 164 horses proves that the standard shipping allowance of four horses for a knight, three horses for an “esquire” and one horse for each mounted archer was allowed by the Crown, but, more importantly, it implies that his retinue embarked with its full quota of horses and presumably, therefore, would not have needed to purchase mounts upon its arrival at Bordeaux.36 Although we know that a warhorse belonging to the retinue captain Sir Ralph Baron of Stafford, was valued at Bordeaux, there is no surviving evidence which reveals whether any of his retinue’s horses were also appraised in the duchy.37 Similarly, the appraisal of the horses owned by men in Walter Mauny’s retinue also remains unknown.

34 35 36

37

E 372/191, m. 54d. E 101/24/20; Audley’s retinue served for a total of 239 days. E 101/24/20; for a transcription, translation and analysis of the document, see Nicholas A. Gribit, “Accounting for Service at War: The Case of Sir James Audley of Heighley,” Journal of Medieval Military History 7 (2009), 147–67 at pp. 163–67. In 1340 the English Crown had been willing to pay the costs of passage for the same number of horses for each rank of man-at-arms from Sluys to England: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 58. Although a much later comparison, it is interesting to note that the majority of the 39 men of unknown rank who served in the earl of Oxford’s retinue on the Normandy expedition in 1415 took only one horse overseas, whilst only two men took four mounts. E 101/46/36, m. 2. Furthermore, three of the men whom James Ross has identified as esquires took only two horses each, rather than three horses as was customary practice in the mid 1340s: J. Ross, “The de Vere Earls of Oxford, 1400–1513” (unpublished doctoral thesis, Oxford University, 2004), pp. 218–21. Although it was conventional practice for the Crown to cover the cost of shipping one horse for each mounted archer on an overseas expedition, it was, as noted earlier, highly unusual for their horses to be valued during the appraisal process. Moreover, the administrative records provide little evidence of how a mounted archer was able to keep his mobility and, indeed, his status if his mount was injured or killed during a military expedition. E 404/490/174.



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The Appraisal of Warhorses in Aquitaine The administrative records prove that only a minority of the horses of Lancaster and Pembroke’s retinue which were lost on the campaign were actually appraised at Bordeaux. The team of appraisers who valued the horses in the duchy was slightly larger than the one at Southampton and consisted of Sir Thomas Cok, marshal of the army, Master John de Wawayne, constable of Bordeaux, and Master Bernard Brocas, controller of Bordeaux.38 These men each had a wealth of experience in their own field of expertise. Thomas Cok was a trusted and capable knight who by 1345 had already served in Lancaster’s personal retinue in at least five different theatres of war, including Aquitaine, Brittany, Spain, Scotland and the Low Countries.39 His experience was called upon again in 1350 when he served in the same capacity as an appraiser of Lancaster’s horses in the duchy.40 The chief financial officer in the duchy, John de Wawayne, was a capable administrator who had held the office of constable since 1343.41 Bernard Brocas, who is emphatically described by E.C. Lodge as being “Far the most important Controller of the period [Edward III’s reign],” was appointed for life in 1330, and remained in office until the mid-1360s.42 Inevitably, there was a slight variation of the persons who appraised warhorses in the duchy after the initial appraisal of horses had been performed at Bordeaux. Sir Ralph Baron of Stafford, for example, who was seneschal of the duchy, was compensated for the loss of his mount which had only been valued by Bernard Brocas and Thomas Cok. Clearly, it was not necessary for all three men from the original appraisal process to be present as long as there was one trained clerk and capable knight to make the valuation.43 These same principles would have applied in January 1346, when the constable of Bordeaux was ordered to appraise the warhorses 38 39

40

41

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E 101/25/9; E 372/191, m. 54d. Aquitaine, 1344: C 76/19, m. 19; C 81/1724/49. Brittany, 1342: C 76/17, m. 25. Spain, 1343: CPR, 1343–1345, p. 18. Scotland, 1336: C 71/16, m. 14; E 101/15/12. Low Countries, 1338: C 76/12, m. 7; E 36/203, fol. 126. E 404/508/51–79; Sir Thomas Cok, Sir Stephen de Cosington and Sir Robert de la Mare appraised Lancaster’s horses in 1350. Note that a clerk was not included in the team of appraisers. E.C. Lodge, “The Constables of Bordeaux in the Reign of Edward III,” English Historical Review 50 (1935), 225–41, at 241; he held the office of constable of Bordeaux from 22 September 1343 to 11 March 1348. Lodge, “Constables of Bordeaux,” p. 237. He is not to be confused with his nephew and namesake who served on military campaigns overseas in France, Scotland and Spain from the mid-1340s up to the 1380s: Henry Summerson, “Brocas, Sir Bernard (c.1330–1395),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edition, October 2005. For an example of confusing Master Bernard, the administrator, with Sir Bernard, the soldier and diplomat, see Kenneth Fowler, The King’s Lieutenant: Henry of Grosmont, First Duke of Lancaster 1310–1361 (London, 1969), p. 185. A.E. Prince, “The Indenture System under Edward III,” in Historical Essays in Honour of James Tait, ed. J.G. Edwards, V.H. Galbraith and E.F. Jacob (Manchester, 1933), pp. 283–97 at p. 294; “the valuation was usually made by a king’s clerk trained to the work and a capable knight.”

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of the retinue of Peter de Gretheved, king’s clerk, who was to act as receiver of money and victuals in the duchy during part of the course of the expedition.44 Although the accounts of service and of horse restoration illuminate certain aspects of horse appraisal in 1345, far less is known about the sequence of events following the loss of a warhorse. It is the conventional view that a soldier would have only one horse appraised (and therefore eligible for compensation) at any given point during his military service, but he could offer another mount to the appraisers for valuation following his initial horse loss.45 However, if this were the case then it must have been imperative for a soldier who lost a horse in the field to have its replacement valued as soon as possible, considering that restitution of its cost was dependent upon a proper valuation of the mount. The postponement of its appraisal, therefore, would have left a soldier seriously disadvantaged if his replacement horse, which had yet to be valued, was also lost on the campaign. In 1345 the responsibility of appraising a soldier’s replacement, or second mount, lay with the constable of Bordeaux, as was the case ten years later when Edward, prince of Wales, led an English expedition to the duchy. Furthermore, the indenture made between Edward III and the prince in 1355 stipulates that “serra fait garrant au dit Conestable de les priser” (a warrant shall be sent to the said constable to make such valuations), which implies that the appraisal could only be performed on the specific authority of the military commander.46 Indeed, if this was the case in 1345 then soldiers would have faced a potentially long delay from the time at which the replacement horse was first used, up to the point of its valuation, which would probably have been made at Bordeaux because it is unlikely that either the constable, or the controller of Bordeaux, was itinerant in the field.47 The prince’s indenture also states that “nul homme darmes perde nul chival avant prise que de temps en temps lour chivalx queux ils purvoierount soient prisez par le dit conestable en convenable manere.”48 This clause which is also included in the indentures of both Lancaster and Pembroke in 1345 implies two things; firstly, that the replacement horse was a newly acquired mount purveyed in the duchy, rather than one of the numerous horses that each manat-arms brought with him overseas.49 Secondly, that the appraisal of a replace-

44 45 46 47

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C 61/57, m. 1 (order of horse appraisal). Gretheved’s retinue of 19 men-at-arms and 100 foot archers served in Aquitaine for a quarter of a year from the end of 1345: C 62/122, m. 9. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 59. E 36/278, fol. 88. Translated in Register of Edward the Black Prince, ed. and trans. M.C.B. Dawes, 4 vols. (London, 1930–1933), 4:143–45. After the great ordinance of 1279 the Gascon court ceased to be itinerant in the duchy and remained fixed at Bordeaux: Pierre Chaplais, “The Chancery of Guyenne 1289–1453,” in Studies Presented to Sir Hilary Jenkinson, ed. J. Conway Davies (London and New York, 1957), pp. 61–96 at p. 77. E 36/278, fol. 88r. There is a slight variation in Lancaster’s indenture which simply states that the replacement mounts should be appraised “que de temps” (at an appropriate time) by the constable, rather than



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ment mount was not immediately forthcoming nor, indeed, imminent because it only happened de temps en temps (as and when convenient).50 It also raises doubt over whether the appraisal of a replacement horse was a benefit of service offered to all men-at-arms. If this was a term of service offered to men of this rank, then why was the exception of allowing a retinue leader to have two warhorses appraised at the same time regarded as a privilege? In 1361, for example, Sir Ralph Stafford was allowed to have two horses valued for himself, but only one horse for each of his men-at-arms.51 Obviously Stafford benefited by receiving financial cover for an additional horse, but the greatest benefit may have been that a second appraised horse was readily available for service on the battlefield should his principal mount be lost. This suggests that the appraisal of a replacement horse must have been an arduous and lengthy process, and certainly one that may not have been available to all men-at-arms. There is also some doubt surrounding the number of warhorses that each man-at-arms took on campaign. If, as Ayton suggests, “knights certainly, and esquires very probably, took more than one real warhorse on active service,” then the great majority of men-at-arms would have risked serving with a second warhorse for the loss of which they would not be compensated. Although men would probably have kept an adequate horse of sufficient quality “to do the job” in the event of an initial horse loss, it seems illogical for men to have risked taking their second prized and un-appraised warhorse overseas. The quality of the horses taken on a campaign depended, obviously, on the theatre of war, as well as the personal wealth and financial resources of the individual (or sometimes their captain), but it seems misleading to presume that most men-at-arms would have been able to afford, or even have desired, to set out from England with a second warhorse. Indeed, those men who did have the means to own a second warhorse of good quality must have been reluctant to take it on campaign knowing that its loss would not be made good by the Crown.52 The above example of Sir Ralph Stafford is a case in point. The fact that the second horse

50

51

52

“de temps en temps.” Men-at-arms invariably needed several types of horses on the campaign for different purposes, such as transport and baggage, for example. Note that “acquired” or “purveyed” is a more accurate translation of “purvoierount,” rather than “purchased” as translated by Dawes: BPR, 4:144; http://www.cnrtl/fr/definition/dmf. Although Dawes renders “de temps en temps” as “from time to time” (as in modern French), his translation seems too informal for a contractual clause: Dawes, BPR, 4:144. An alternative translation, “as and when convenient,” suggested by P.H.W. Booth seems more logical and accurate. E 101/28/7, m. 4: Stafford was contracted to serve in Ireland with 100 men-at-arms and an equal number of mounted archers. For earlier examples of retinue captains who were allowed to have more than one horse appraised, see Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 57. On the rare occasion where men can be shown to have had more than one warhorse on an overseas campaign, there is no evidence to suggest that these “extra” mounts were in the men’s possession at the start of active service. In 1346, for example, the “trois grauntz chivalx” with which Sir Roger de Huse returned to England may have been procured over the course of the successful Normandy expedition rather than having been transported overseas at the start of the campaign. Similarly, in two other instances cited by Ayton of men possessing more than one

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presented for appraisal by the baron in 1361 is described as a trotter (named the “Black Horse of Kent”), and was, therefore, not a true warhorse suggests that soldiers did not always risk taking their second best warhorse on campaign, even if they were offered the privilege of having it valued.53 It is possible, of course, that Stafford took a second warhorse on the expedition which was worth less than the trotter, valued at £20, although this seems unlikely considering that his principal warhorse was deemed to be worth 80 marks (£53 6s. 8d.).54 A nobleman such as Stafford would not have struggled to have taken a second warhorse of a quality reflective of his status; in all likelihood, it was his intention to embark overseas with only one warhorse. The view that most men-at-arms did not take a second warhorse on overseas campaigns is also supported by the standard shipping allowance for soldiers’ mounts during the 1340s. If we consider that most esquires would have taken only three mounts on a military campaign, as indicated by the Crown’s shipping allowances, then there would have been little space for a second true warhorse. An esquire would have required a horse for riding on the march or chevauchée, such as a palfrey, as well as a packhorse (probably a sumpter) to carry his baggage; thus giving room for only one horse for use in battle.55 In the instance of knights banneret and bachelor, who were allowed a higher shipping quota of four and five horses respectively, the additional mounts may have served as substitutes which could be utilized in one of the roles aforementioned, or perhaps for use by the page who was responsible for looking after the knight’s team of horses.56 One of the most intriguing aspects of horse restoration in 1345 concerns the reason why Henry of Lancaster and the earl of Pembroke were given the option of having their retinue’s horses appraised either in England or in Aquitaine. Furthermore, was such a policy regarded as a privilege by the retinue leaders? A shortage of mounts in England, the difficulty of arranging sufficient horse

53

54

55

56

warhorse whilst on active service, it is feasible that the mounts were procured during or at the end of a campaign: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 59. E 101/28/11, m. 3; the trotter is described as being “noir pomlee appelle morell de Cantz.” In the twelfth century Thomas Becket’s biographer, William Fitz Stephen, obscurely described a trotter as a horse that moves “roughly but speedily”: John Clark, ed., The Medieval Horse and its Equipment, c. 1150–1450 (London, 1995), p. 7. It is also possible that Stafford’s benefit of having a second horse appraised at the start of the campaign may have applied only to riding horses, such as trotters. A comparative example of a retinue leader who served in the same theatre of war during the same period, and benefitted from the appraisal of two horses is that of Sir Eustace d’Auberchicourt. He presented two coursers, each worth 20 marks, for inspection in 1364 before setting out for Ireland: E 101/28/11, m. 2. Gladitz, Horse Breeding, pp. 155–57. The palfrey and the sumpter were complementary and often purchased and stabled together. The gait of the palfrey was the amble which enabled a more comfortable and faster paced ride than horses that trotted, while the speed and flexibility of the sumpter made it an invaluable pack horse in war. Davies cites no evidence for his assertion that a knight required at least six horses for battle, which seems too great a number, R.H.C. Davies, The Medieval Warhorse: Origin, Development and Redevelopment (London, 1989), p. 26.



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transports when other royal expeditions were being prepared and the potential hazards of a long sea passage may have been the reasons for such terms, but the fact that Bordeaux was an English-held port with a ready supply of quality horses for sale must have also been a contributing factor.57 The same terms were offered to the Black Prince in 1355 and to John of Gaunt in 1369, and on each occasion Bordeaux was the port of destination.58 Obviously, a policy that allowed men the choice of where their mounts could be appraised (and also purchased) would have been futile if the fleet were to disembark at a port located in hostile territory. It was probably through necessity or personal preference that a soldier might choose to purchase a warhorse at Bordeaux. The greatest advantage of this policy was that soldiers were able to avoid the complicated and risky business of transporting their warhorses on a potentially long voyage. The great stress experienced by horses on the sea passage was compounded by the lack of exercise and a poor diet which often rendered the animal unfit for immediate service after disembarkation.59 Those men who purchased mounts in the duchy also had the advantage of choosing from the famous and highly regarded Gascon breed of horses which had been bred extensively since the thirteenth century.60 However, there were also drawbacks associated with purchasing mounts in Aquitaine. Once a soldier had forgone the choice of bringing a warhorse from England, he would have been reliant upon finding in the duchy a suitable horse, which was not only the most expensive but also the most personal item of his equipment.61 Furthermore, there was little guarantee that the newly acquired horse would have been specially trained for battle and the demand for mounts within a short period of the army’s arrival at Bordeaux meant that horses were probably 57 58

59

60 61

H.J. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition of 1355–1357 (Manchester, 1958), p. 33; Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 52. Dawes, BPR, 4:144 (1355); E 101/396/13 (1369). In 1361 Sir Ralph Stafford was also given the option of having his mounts appraised either in England or upon his arrival in Ireland: E 101/28/27, m. 4, CCR, 1360–64, p. 198. It is interesting to note that William de Bohun, earl of Northampton, who led an expeditionary force to Brittany in July 1345, was not given the option of having his retinue’s horses appraised in Brittany despite the English control of Brest and the extensive breeding of horses in the northern duchy. Northampton’s indenture with Edward III simply states, “that the said clerk is able to appraise the value of the horses of the said earl and the other lords, and that the said values should be delivered to the clerk who will be present in Brittany, lest loss should ensue”: Thomas Rymer, ed., Foedera, Conventiones, Litterae etc., rev. A. Clarke, F. Holbrooke and J. Coley, 4 vols. (London, 1816–69), 3:37. Although Charles Gladitz notes that horse breeding was carried out extensively in Brittany we should not presume that a ready supply of horses would have been available for sale at the port: Gladitz, Horse Breeding, p. 141. For a brief discussion of the adverse effects of sea travel on horses, such as mental stress and muscle wastage, for example, see Ann Hyland, The Medieval Warhorse. From Byzantium to the Crusades (Conshohocken, PA, 1996), p. 148. Hyland asserts that horses need at least five days to fully recuperate following a short but rough one day crossing of the North Sea. Gladitz, Horse Breeding, p. 141. It takes time to build confidence between a horse and its rider, and the development of a rapport with one another is equally important: Hyland, The Medieval Warhorse, p. xii.

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bought at a premium cost.62 It is interesting that the choice of purchasing horses at the port of disembarkation seems to have been offered exclusively to aristocratic captains of considerable wealth, men who could afford to pay a high price for horseflesh and whose retinues were likely to have comprised men of high status.63 It is no surprise, for example, that James Audley’s retinue embarked at Southampton with its full quota of horses. All but one of the men-at-arms in Audley’s retinue belonged to the rank of esquire and would therefore have been paid wages of approximately £18 5s. for one year’s service.64 This figure represents just over half of the mean value of horses purchased by Lancaster’s retinue in Bordeaux, which suggests that Audley’s men would have struggled to meet the high prices demanded by the horse sellers in the duchy.65 There were also occasions when soldiers needed to purchase their warhorses overseas out of necessity. In 1352, for example, some of the men in Sir Ralph Stafford’s retinue were forced to send their horses back from the port before setting out to Aquitaine due to a “lack of shipping.”66 However, it was not just an insufficient number of horse transports but also a shortage of horses at home which may have caused a soldier to wait until he arrived in Aquitaine before investing in a warhorse.67 The vadia section of Pembroke’s account of service includes the cost of £10 for shipping eighteen “great horses” from the island of Guernsey to England prior to his embarkation at Southampton, which suggests that his retinue struggled to acquire quality warhorses in England.68 A soldier’s decision to purchase his warhorse overseas would also have benefited the Crown. The reduced costs of shipping fewer horses and organizing fewer horse transports would have been welcomed, especially when, as noted earlier, other expeditions were being prepared simultaneously.69 The option given to men of either bringing horses from England or purchasing them in Aquitaine was therefore mutually beneficial to soldiers and the Crown. The main beneficiaries amongst the military ranks, however, would have been of high status;

62

63

64 65 66 67

68 69

Matthew Bennett highlights the importance of discipline and obedience among horses which had been specifically trained for warfare: Bennett, “The Medieval Warhorse Reconsidered,” p. 37. The retinue captains, mentioned above, who were given the option of purchasing horses at the army’s port of disembarkation all belonged to the higher nobility of England; indeed, Lancaster and the prince of Wales were the wealthiest laymen in England after the king. Based on 365 days of service at the customary rate of pay of 12d. per day. The mean value of horses appraised at Bordeaux was approximately £32 4s. 0d. Hewitt, Black Prince’s Expedition, p. 88; E 101/26/25. The shortage of suitable warhorses in England was precipitated by the growing need for stronger mounts capable of bearing extra weight, following the transition from mail to plate armour, in addition to horse armour which came into general use around the 1260s: Gladitz, Horse Breeding, pp. 157–60. E 372/191, m. 54d. Hewitt asserts that permission given to men to buy their horses in Aquitaine in 1355 was intended to lessen the need for shipping and the problem of obtaining mounts during the military preparations for other expeditions: Hewitt, Black Prince’s Expedition, p. 33.



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that only a minority of men in Lancaster’s army purchased mounts in the duchy suggests that it was a privilege intended to benefit the elite. Types of Warhorse and Compensation for their Loss In the absence of any horse inventories relating to Lancaster’s army we are left with no indication of the circumstances surrounding the demise of the horses that perished on the campaign in Aquitaine.70 However, it has been argued that “For most campaigns a very significant proportion, if not the majority, of warhorse losses arose from the rigours of the march,” while the shipping of horses overseas and the problems associated with a long sea voyage were also a major cause of loss.71 It is hard to imagine that men in Lancaster’s retinue, for example, who departed from the duchy at the end of 1346, were able to avoid any equestrian casualties during the “immensa tempestas” which caused their fleet to stay at sea for sixty-two days before its eventual return to England on New Year’s Day in 1347.72 The period of restoration recorded in Lancaster’s restaurum equorum account reveals that the first horse was lost by his retinue on 12 August, within two weeks of their arrival in the duchy and before any serious fighting had taken place.73 It was not only for a fatality, however, that compensation was awarded. Men whose warhorses were no longer fit for service due to injury, disease, lameness or exhaustion, also received recompense. In such cases clerks often noted in the margin of inventories that the horses had been “handed over to the caravan” (redditur ad karvannum), which constituted a pool of horses no longer fit for military service but which could be used for other duties such as haulage.74 The term used by clerks to describe the vast majority of warhorses during the reign of Edward III was equi, or chivals. The horses in Lancaster’s restaurum equorum account are referred to simply as equi; thus, we are given no indication of their quality or the type of horses that they were, other than the fact that they were true warhorses, rather than mounts used for other purposes such as riding or transporting baggage.75 Lancaster’s account of service, however, refers to two

70 71 72 73

74

75

The marginal notes or annotations in horse inventories can sometimes reveal the circumstances of a horse loss. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 72–74. E 372/191, m. 54d. E 372/191, m. 55. There is a discrepancy over the period of compensation recorded in the document; the heading of the account states that horses were lost from 17 August 1345 to 1  January 1347, but the following “restaurum” section records a slightly longer period from 12 August 1345 to 1 January 1347. Lancaster arrived at Bordeaux on 9 August 1345: E 372/191, m. 54d. Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, pp. 96–97. The marginalia “redditur ad elemosinam” also indicated that horses had been withdrawn from service. For discussion of the annotations and different phrases in the marginalia of horse inventories indicating that a horse had been withdrawn from active service, see Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 72–76. Gladitz defines an equus as being a medium-sized horse: Gladitz, Horse Breeding, p. 152.

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other categories of warhorse which were appraised at Bordeaux. The expenses section of the account records a payment of £1,384 13s. 4d. for the restoration of forty-three “dextrariorum, cursariorum et alterorum equorum.”76 The destrier was the elite warhorse “of noble size” owned by only the minority of the chivalrous class due to its comparatively high price. These specialist horses were invariably stallions, of exceptional strength and bred for their use in battle. They are characteristically described as fortes et veloces by medieval commentators.77 The courser – a swift, but heavy, hunter – was also “clearly a cut above the ordinary equus and second only to the destrier in value.”78 These premium types of warhorse may have been present among those appraised at Southampton, but if so, they are hidden from view behind the generic term of equi. Table 2, however, shows that Lancaster’s mounts appraised at Southampton had a mean value almost three times lower than those appraised at Bordeaux, which implies that few of the horses appraised in England would have been of a superior quality to a standard equus. A similar comparison of the horses lost by Pembroke’s retinue shows a smaller disparity than Lancaster’s retinue between the mean values of horses appraised at Southampton and Bordeaux.79 Nevertheless, there is still a stark contrast between the values of Pembroke’s horses which were appraised at either end of the sea passage.80 Table 2. Mean value of horses lost in Aquitaine by men in the retinues of Henry of Lancaster and the earl of Pembroke and the place of their appraisal Retinue Lancaster Pembroke

Bordeaux £32 4s. £25 16d.

Southampton £10 15s. 2d.a £13 16s. 6d.

     Source: E 372/191, m. 54d, m. 55. This mean value is based on a restoration payment of £1,205 for 112 horses recorded in Lancaster’s restaurum equorum account. The lower compensation payment of £1,193 also recorded in the same account gives a mean value of £10 13s.

a

The type of horses owned by men in Pembroke’s retinue is reflected by the clerk’s use of the term “magnus equus,” which was typically used to describe 76 77 78

79 80

E 372/191, m. 55. Gladitz, Horse Breeding, p. 158. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 63. In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the “high steed” ridden by the castellan during his hunting expedition is described as a courser: Stone, Gawain and the Green Knight, p. 64, p. 80. Pembroke’s horses appraised at Bordeaux were almost twice the value of those appraised in England. The quality of horseflesh in Aquitaine is also reflected by the horses lost during the expedition by one of the principal Gascon lords allied to the English, Sir Ezi-Bernat, lord of Albret, which had a mean value of £27 2s. 3d. Albret was paid 2,440 gold scutos for eighteen horses lost during his service from 1 August 1345 to 1 May 1346. E 404/508/131.



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mounts of better quality than a normal warhorse.81 Interestingly, the clerk uses the same term indiscriminately to describe all of the horses appraised at both locations and the difference in their value or quality, therefore, is not reflected by the use of different terminology. The use of magnus equus as a catch-all term to describe Pembroke’s warhorses, however, is probably the result of a clerical whim rather than a true reflection of the appraisers’ interpretation of the horse type to which they belonged. Indeed, the generic use of the phrase “great horse” in this instance also highlights the lack of a standardisation of terminology for horse types during the first half of the fourteenth century. Claims for Horse Restoration The payment of compensation from the Crown represented the final stage of the restoration process. How did a captain in 1345 claim compensation for the losses sustained by his men, and how long did it take before the claimant and the captain himself received recompense? Claims of compensation were usually handled by the marshal or the clerk involved in the initial appraisal process. They would often be presented with the branded portion of the horse’s hide as proof of loss by the prospective claimant, and sometimes the ears and tail of the dead animal were presented as evidence for the claim. In cases where the carcass was not recoverable, a simple declaration of oath would suffice. A claim of restoration of each horse had to be verified against the information contained in the inventory, which was the absolute authority for the sum that was due in compensation. Once the claim had been authorised, the details of the loss would be noted in the inventory and a warrant authorising payment to be issued was subsequently made.82 In 1345, however, it seems that the individual warrants were enrolled into a single list containing details of all of the horses lost by men in each retinue.83 The restaurum equorum account of Henry of Lancaster, for example, refers to “a certain roll for the loss of the said horses under the seal of Bernard Brocas.”84 In addition to the roll of horse losses, the Exchequer would also have required the original inventory, which had been drawn up at Southampton, and Lancaster’s copy of the appraisal roll in order to make account of his restoration.85 A similar process was used during the Scottish expedition in 1336 where evidence of the horses lost by men in Lancaster’s retinue was listed on a single roll rather than recorded in individual warrants.86 It is possible that Lancaster’s clerks had adopted this method of accounting for horse restoration on a more permanent 81 82 83 84 85 86

Davies, Medieval Warhorse, p. 21; the phrase “great horse” became a technical term for a superior warhorse in the fourteenth century. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 76–77. The only extant warrant for the restoration of an individual warhorse is that of Sir Ralph Stafford: E 404/490/174. E 372/191, m. 55. E 372/191, m. 55. E 101/15/12.

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basis, but a dearth of similar sources relating to other military campaigns, or even a reference to such types of document which were produced during the penultimate stage of the administrative process renders such thoughts as speculative. Once the account of horse restoration had been made at the Exchequer, it could take months, and very often years, before a captain received full payment for the cost of his retinue’s lost horses. Lancaster, for example, completed his service for the expedition in Aquitaine on 1 January 1347 and an account of his service was subsequently made at the Exchequer within one month.87 A separate account for the restoration of his retinue’s horses which were valued at Southampton, however, was not made until the following year at the end of June.88 Sir Ralph Stafford also had to wait more than a year before he received payment for the loss of his expensive warhorse. He was paid £142 on 13 December 1347,89 although compensation had already been authorised by the constable of Bordeaux on 1 November 1346.90 Similarly, an account was made with Stafford on 1 February 1347 for the restoration of horses lost by his retinue in Aquitaine, but no compensation payment was made until December of the following year.91 Walter Mauny accounted for his men’s horse restoration, amongst other benefits of service on 3 January 1346, but the clause at the bottom of his debenture proves that he did not receive a payment of compensation until 1351.92 Although these examples offer only a partial representation of the payments of restaurum equorum made to the men-at-arms who served in Aquitaine, it is clear that the great majority of soldiers or retinue captains, at least, received payments of compensation in arrears long after the dust of the campaign had settled. Very little is known about how promptly captains paid their men for their losses. There are a few examples of captains who agreed prior to a campaign to pay horse restoration within a given period of time, such as forty days or half a year.93 There is also evidence of soldiers later in the fourteenth century having to wait for their captains to receive recompense from the Crown, or another superior contracting party, before they received payment themselves.94 However, the 87 88 89 90 91 92 93

94

E 372/191, m. 54d; on 30 January 1347 the king ordered the Treasurer, Barons and Chamberlain of the Exchequer to account for Lancaster’s service. The account was made on 26 June 1348 and payment was made on 5 July following: E 372/191, m. 55; E 403/341, m. 19. E 403/340, m. 19. E 404/490/174. E 404/496/500. E 43/78. The indenture made between Aymer de Valence, earl of Pembroke, and Sir Thomas Berkeley in 1297 stipulated that the latter would receive recompense within forty days should he suffer a horse loss. Indenture printed in facsimile in B. Lyon, “The Feudal Antecedent of the Indenture System,” Speculum 29 (1954), 503–11. In 1350 the earl of Arundel guaranteed payment within half a year for any horses killed or maimed; Berkeley Castle, Select Charter 526. Both examples are cited in Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 82. Simon Walker, “Profit and Loss in the Hundred Years War: The Subcontracts of Sir John Strother, 1374,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 58 (1985), 100–6, p. 102.



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policy of administering compensation payments would have varied from one captain to the next. A variety of factors, such as the relationship between the soldier-claimant and the paying-captain, the financial resources of the captain, or the nature of the campaign, perhaps, would all probably have affected the payment of restoration. Indeed, a captain’s ability to compensate his men for the loss of a warhorse may have been an important consideration for men in deciding whether to serve under his command, or to serve in another retinue. It is difficult to imagine that soldiers would have been content to wait until the end of a campaign before receiving payment for restaurum equorum, particularly if they served for a long period, as was the case for men who served in Lancaster’s retinue in 1345. Feelings of discontent are more likely to have been prevalent among those soldiers who were dependent upon swift payments of compensation in order to purchase new mounts following their initial loss. Prominent captains such as Lancaster who were of considerable wealth would have had the financial resources to make swift payments of horse restoration to men in their retinues. However, we cannot be sure if it was the captain himself, or one of his sub-retinue captains, who was responsible for any payments of compensation that were made in the field. It is possible that men were compensated by the leader of the company or sub-retinue to which they belonged. This initial outlay may have been essential to purchasing a replacement warhorse in the duchy, especially if the claimant served on a prolonged campaign and did not have sufficient means to acquire a new mount. The sources reveal nothing about how restoration operated at this level, but any subordinate captain who made an initial payment of horse restoration during the course of the campaign must have been reimbursed later on by the retinue captain who, ultimately, was responsible for the payment of restoration. These costs were reimbursed to him when he accounted for his service with the Crown. The payments of compensation can also often reveal attributes of the horses’ owners, in terms of their status and the general character of the body of men-atarms in each retinue. For example, Table 2 shows that the mean value of horses lost by men in Lancaster’s retinue, which had been appraised at Bordeaux, was £7 2s. 8d. higher than that of Pembroke’s retinue. This is no surprise considering that the former retinue comprised a greater proportion of knights among its men-at-arms.95 Table 3 shows that the horses lost by Lancaster’s retinue in 1345 had the second highest mean value out of five other retinues which Lancaster led throughout his military career. The exceptionally high mean value of £32 4s. of the mounts purchased at Bordeaux surpasses the value of horses lost by his other retinues. Furthermore, the total of 155 horse losses in 1345 suggests that the evidence is more representative than that for all of the other retinues in the table except for the Reims campaign in 1359. Indeed, 95

In Pembroke’s retinue 22 out of 80 men-at-arms (27.5%) were knights, compared with Lancaster’s retinue which comprised 8 bannerets and 92 knights out of 250 men-at-arms (40%). However, the mean value of the total number of horses lost by men in both retinues is almost the same: Lancaster, £16 14s. 2d.; Pembroke, £16 3s. 5d.

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the number of losses, or more specifically, the proportion of a retinue’s losses can also reflect the nature of a campaign. The greater proportion of horses lost by men in Lancaster’s retinue compared with those in the earl of Pembroke’s retinue in 1345, for example, might be explained by the captains’ involvement in particular events of the expedition. The Anglo-Gascon army was often split into smaller forces throughout the campaign; it is inevitable therefore, that each retinue leader did not share the same experience of warfare in Aquitaine. Captains who were granted custody of a captured town or who laid siege to an enemy stronghold, perhaps, would not have remained with the main force that operated under Lancaster’s command. Table 1 shows that less than a third (30%) of men-at-arms in the earl of Pembroke’s retinue sustained horse casualties in the duchy, but more than double that proportion (62%) in Lancaster’s retinue claimed compensation for horse losses. The comparatively low proportion of Pembroke’s equestrian losses probably resulted from his absence from the battle of Auberoche. Moreover, his appointment as one of the captains who garrisoned the besieged town of Aiguillon may also have reduced his retinue’s horse losses. The use of warhorses by men in his retinue would have been drastically reduced in the garrison town, and their only engagement with the French forces was probably limited to the few occasions on which the Anglo-Gascons sortied out of the castle. Table 3. Mean values of warhorses of Lancaster’s retinues, 1336–1359 Date 1336 1338–40 1342–43 1345–47 1349–50 1359–60

Place Scotland Low Countries Brittany Aquitaine Aquitaine Reims Campaign

Mean Value (£) £8 4s. 7d. £29 2s. £11 1s. 5d. £16 14s. 2d.d £13 4s. £9 16s. 5d.

No. of Horses 79a 27b 18c 155 42e 216f

a E 101/19/36, m. 1; total value of horses, £650 4s. Ayton rounds the mean value to £8.3; Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 241. b E 36/203; The Wardrobe Book of William de Norwell, 12 July 1338 to 26 May 1340, ed. by M. Lyon et al. (Brussels: Académie Royale de Belgique, Commission Royale d’Histoire, 1983), pp. 325–62. c E 36/204 (Edington’s wardrobe book); Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 241. d Total compensation for 155 horses is £2,589 13s. 4d. Ayton calculates a mean value of £32 but he does not include evidence of Lancaster’s enrolled restaurum equorum account: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 243. There is a discrepancy over the total sum of horse restoration; the heading of the account records a payment of £1,193, but the “restaurum” section records a higher payment of £1,205. The mean value in Table 3 is based on this higher figure. e The mean value is based on the sale of 42 horses by twenty-seven of Lancaster’s men to the constable of Bordeaux in 1350: E 403/355, m. 19. For a brief discussion of the interpretative problems of this source, see Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 208, p. 243. f E 101/393/11 (Farley’s wardrobe book); Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 241.



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The proportion of horses lost by the retinue of Bernart-Ezi, lord of Albret, is another example of how the evidence of horse restoration can reflect the martial activities of a retinue captain. His garrisoning of the town of Bergerac following its surrender on 24 August 1345 and his subsequent absence from the battle of Auberoche is reflected by the fact that fewer than one out of ten (9.8%) of his mounted troops were compensated for horse loss.96 Although the period for which Bergerac remained in Albret’s custody is unknown, we might extrapolate from the markedly low proportional horse loss of his retinue and the period of coverage of horse restoration (from 1 August 1345 to 1 May 1346) that the Gascon lord served at Bergerac for a long period, perhaps for the entire duration of the first campaign. An analysis of the extant documents produced in connection with horse restoration has thrown further light on some aspects of the administrative process at work in 1345 and identified the personnel responsible for the appraisal and compensation of warhorses. Although the evidence of the sources is not representative of all of the warhorses that were used by the English army it has provided a fresh insight into the administrative nuances when restoration was made for horses lost in Aquitaine. The evidence has developed further our understanding of military organisation by exploring the types of horses and the quality of horseflesh used by men in Lancaster’s army. It has also been shown that the evidence of horse restoration can relate to the course of events of the expedition itself, and provide an insight into the martial activities of individual retinue captains. The sources have demonstrated that despite the absence of horse inventories, or conventional restaurum equorum accounts, there is still much of interest to be learnt concerning horse restoration for Lancaster’s army in 1345, but also for other military campaigns undertaken during the first half of the fourteenth century.

96

Just eighteen horses were lost by Albret’s retinue, which comprised 185 homines armati equites and 940 foot sergeants. E 404/508/131 (horse restoration); E 404/508/132 (retinue composition).

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TEXT: E 372/191, m. 55 Compotus Henrici de Lancastr’ Comitis Henrici de Walton’ clerici et attornati eiusdem Comitis sic continetur in Memorandis de Anno XXIo inter attornatos de termino Sancte Trinitatis pro eo de precio quorundam equorum subscriptorum nuper in obsequio Regis in partibus Vascon’ perditorum per breve Regis de privato sigillo directum Thesaurario Baronibus et Camerariis huius scaccarii datum IIIo die Junii Anno XXIIo irrotulatum in Memorandis de eodem Anno predicto termino Sancte Trinitatis per quod Rex mandavit prefatis Thesaurario Baronibus et Camerariis quod computent cum prefato Comite de precio equorum suorum nuper in obsequio Regis in partibus Vascon’ perditorum qui ante passagium ipsius Comitis versus partes predictas per Willelmum de Dalton’ Contrarotulatorem Hospicii Regis et Contrarotulatorem Regis Burdegale97 et Thomam de Bonrum tunc hostiarium eiusdem hospicii fuerunt appreciati allocando eidem Comiti per testimonium predicti Contrarotulatoris hospicii Regis et Contrarotulatoris Regis Burdegale precium dictorum equorum sic perditorum unde idem Comes nullam hucusque in dicto scaccario cepit allocationem et id quod prefati Thesaurarius Barones et Camerarii per compotum illum dicto Comiti invenirent deberi ipsi Thesaurarius Barones et Camerarii eidem Comiti solvere vel litteras inde sub sigillo dicti scaccarii patentes ipsum habere facerent videlicet de dicto precio equorum militum et aliorum hominum ad arma de retinentia dicti Comitis per idem breve et per testimonium predicti Willelmi de Dalton’ Contrarotulatoris dicti hospicii Regis quo ad appreciationem predictorum equorum et Magistri Bernardi de Brocaz Contrarotulatoris Regis Burdegale quo ad perditionem eorundem equorum in predicto obsequio Regis in dictis partibus Vascon’ scilicet inter XVII diem Augusti anno XIXo et primum diem Januarii anno XXIo incipiente per rotulos dictorum Contrarotulatorum necnon per unam indenturam de restauro equorum eiusdem Comitis et hominum ad arma de retinentia sua predicta allocandos annotatos inferius. restaurum equorum Idem computat in perditione CXII equorum militum et aliorum hominum ad arma de retinentia predicti Comitis per diversa precia apud Suht’ VIIIo die Junii anno XIXo ante passagium ipsius Comitis cum retinentia sua predicta et skip-

97

The clerk has underlined “et Contrarotulatorem Regis Burdegale” in the text.



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TEXT: E 372/191, m. 55 The account of Henry, earl of Lancaster, Henry Walton, the Earl’s clerk and attorney as is contained in the memoranda rolls for the twenty-first year among the attorneys for the term of Holy Trinity concerning the value of certain horses underwritten, lately lost in the King’s service in the parts of Gascony by the King’s writ of the privy seal1 directed to the Treasurer, Barons and Chamberlains of this exchequer dated on 3 June in the twenty-second year, enrolled in the memoranda rolls for the same year for aforesaid Holy Trinity term, by which the King has ordered the aforesaid Treasurer, Barons and Chamberlains that they may reckon with the aforementioned Earl for the value of their horses lately lost in the King’s service in the parts of Gascony, which before the passage of the same Earl to the aforesaid parts by William Dalton, Controller of the King’s household and the King’s Controller in Bordeaux and Thomas Bonrum at that time usher of the same household, were valued by allowing to the same Earl by testimony of the aforesaid Controller of the King’s household and the King’s Controller in Bordeaux the value of the said horses lost in this way, for which the same Earl has hitherto taken no allowance in the said exchequer, and that which the aforementioned Treasurer, Barons and Chamberlains should have found to be owed to the said Earl by that account to the same Earl. The Treasurer, Barons and Chamberlains should have paid to the same Earl, or they should have let him have letters patent under the seal of the said exchequer, namely for the said value of the horses of the knights and other men-at-arms of the retinue of the said Earl, by the same writ and testimony of the aforesaid William Dalton, Controller of the said King’s household with regard to the valuation of the aforesaid horses and Master Bernard Brocas, the King’s Controller in Bordeaux, with regard to the loss of the same horses in the aforesaid King’s service in the said parts of Gascony, namely between 17 August2 in the nineteenth year and 1 January at the beginning of the twenty-first year by the rolls of the said Controller, and also by a single indenture for the restoration of the horses of the same Earl and men-at-arms for his retinue allowing and it is noted below. Restoration of Horses The same accounts for the loss of 112 horses of knights and of other men-atarms of the retinue of the aforesaid Earl of different values at Southampton on 8 June in the nineteenth year, before the passage of the Earl himself with his aforesaid retinue and freightage of the aforesaid valued horses to the aforesaid 1 2

E 159/124, m. 147; writ dated 3 June 1348. Available online: http://aalt.law.uh.edu/E3/ E159no124/aE159no124fronts/IMG_6025.htm Lancaster’s period of service commenced upon his arrival at the army’s point of muster (Southampton) on 22 May 1345. The date of 17 August 1345 probably represents the start of the period of horse restoration. The corresponding period recorded in the restaurum equorum section (below) begins five days earlier on 12 August 1345.

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pamentum equorum predictorum versus predictas partes Vascon’ per Willelmum de Dalton’ Contrarotulatorem hospicii Regis et Thome de Bonrum tunc hostiarium eiusdem hospicii appreciatorum et in obsequio Regis in guerra sua de partibus predictis inter XII diem Augusti predicto anno XIXo et primum diem Januarii anno XXI incipiente perditorum per quod tempus idem Comes cum dicta retinentia sua moram traxit ibidem in obsequio Regis predicto sicut continetur in compoto ipsius Comitis de vadiis et expensis suis hominum ad arma et sagittariorum secum in eodem obsequio Regis ibidem retentorum Rotulo XXo Rotuli compotorum quorum equorum colores et dictorum hominum ad arma nomina particulatim tam in quodam Rotulo de perditione dictorum equorum sub sigillo predicti Magistri Bernardi de Brocaz Contrarotulatoris Regis Burdegale et in quodam Rotulo de appreciatione eorundem equorum sub sigillo predicti Willelmi Contrarotulatoris hospicii Regis predicti quam in Rotulo ipsius Comitis de particulis hic in thesauro liberatos annotantur. De quorum etiam equorum restauro vel eorum precio nulla fiebat eidem Comiti prius allocatio sive satisfactio prout idem Comes per predictum attornatum suum dicit super sacramentum suum Nec huiusmodi allocatione quicquam compertum est per predictum compotum suum98 predicto Rotulo XXo MlCIIIIxxXIII li. per predictum breve Regis et per quamdam indenturam inter Regem et prefatum Comitem factam in Memorandis de anno XXIo inter Recorda de termino Sancte Trinitatis irrotulatam et in predicto compoto ipsius Comitis dicto Rotulo XXo allocatam. In qua quidem indentura inter cetera continetur quod equi eiusdem Comitis et hominum de retinentia sua predicta ante skippamentum equorum eorundem in partibus cismarinis modo consueto appreciarentur et quod de restauro huiusmodi equorum suorum in predicto obsequio Regis amissorum cum ipso Comite computaretur et id quod ei per compotum illum esset debitum inter alia sibi debita solveretur sicut continetur in dicto Rotulo de particulis et etiam in dictos99 Rotulis dictorum Contrarotulatorum de appreciatione et perditione equorum predictorum in thesauro liberatos. Summa Ml CCV li. De quibus fit certificatio Regi in Cancellaria pretextu brevis Regis dati XXVIto die Junii ao XXIIo irrotulati in memorandis de eodem anno termino Trinitatis sicut continetur in eisdem memorandis.

98 99

“compotum suum” is interlined. The clerk has mistakenly written “dictos” instead of rendering the ablative form of dictis.



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parts of Gascony, by William Dalton, Controller of the King’s household and Thomas Bonrum, then usher of the same household, lost in the King’s service in his war in the aforesaid parts between 12 August in the aforesaid nineteenth year and 1 January at the beginning of the aforesaid twenty-first year, during which time the same Earl with his said retinue stayed in the King’s aforesaid service, as is contained in the account of the Earl himself for the wages and expenses of his men-at-arms and archers retained with him in that very place in the aforesaid King’s service in rotulet 20, in the roll of accounts.3 The colours of the certain horses and names of the said men-at-arms are noted in detail, both in a certain roll for the loss of the said horses under the seal of the aforesaid Master Bernard Brocas, King’s Controller in Bordeaux, and in a certain roll of the appraisal of the same horses under the seal of the aforesaid William, Controller of the King’s aforesaid household, and in a roll of the Earl himself for the particulars delivered in the treasury. No allowance or satisfaction has hitherto been made for the restoration of the horses, or their value, to the same Earl, as the said Earl through his aforesaid attorney says upon oath. Nor for the allowance of this type has anything been discovered in his aforesaid account in the aforesaid Roll 20 – £1,1934 by the aforesaid King’s writ and by a certain indenture made between the King and the aforesaid Earl made in the memoranda rolls for the twenty-first year enrolled among the Recorda of the Holy Trinity term5 and allowed in the aforesaid account of the Earl himself in the said Roll 20. In which indenture, indeed, there is contained among other things that the horses of the same Earl and of the men of his aforesaid retinue before the freightage of the same horses should be valued in the parts this side of the sea in the customary manner and that account should be made with the Earl himself for the restoration of such horses of theirs lost in the aforesaid King’s service, and that which is owed to him should be paid as due by that account, amongst other debts, as is contained in the said roll of particulars, and also in the said rolls of the said controllers for the valuation and loss of the aforesaid horses, delivered in the treasury. Sum – £1,205. Concerning which a certificate is made to the King in the Chancery by authority of the King’s writ dated 26 June in the twenty-second year enrolled in the memoranda rolls for the same year for the Holy Trinity term, as is contained in the same memoranda rolls.

3 4 5

Lancaster’s formal account of wages and expenses is enrolled as an exchequer foreign account in the Pipe Rolls: E 372/191, m. 54d. There is a discrepancy of £12 between £1,193 and the corresponding sum of £1,205 for horse restoration recorded at the end of the account. Indenture of service made between Edward III and Henry of Lancaster on 13 March 1345: E 159/123, m. 254d. Transcribed in Fowler, King’s Lieutenant, pp. 230–32.

8 The Indenture between Edward III and the Black Prince for the Prince’s Expedition to Gascony, 10 July 13551 Mollie M. Madden

On 19 September 1356 an English army under the command of Edward of Woodstock (1330–1376), also known as the Black Prince, won a smashing victory over a numerically superior French army led by Jean II (1319–1364). Jean II, of course, was captured. While it was unclear who could claim the honor of actually having done so, what was not in dispute was that Edward III (1312–1377) would ultimately claim the ransom. In fact, this provision was specifically spelled out in the 10 July 1355 indenture between the king and the prince.2 The prince was free to “have his will” of any prisoners “except only the head [chief] of the war.” In exchange, the prince would receive suitable compensation.3 In addition to the ransoms of prisoners the indenture spelled out the prince’s and Edward III’s responsibilities and obligations. In this, it was like other indentures of the period. The indenture was, essentially, a contract for military service made between the recruiter, e.g., Edward III, and the captain, e.g., the Black Prince. The captain would then subcontract with the men in his retinue and he would pay their wages out of the moneys he had received from the king.4 The system of indentures, particularly for overseas service – given Edward III’s foreign policy, overseas deployment was highly likely – had replaced the feudal levy before the 1350s.5 It generally stipulated the rate of pay, regards, the number of men the party was to provide, the period of service, sometimes the location of that service, and often compensation for lost horses,6 although usually a man 1 2 3

4 5 6

My thanks to Cliff Rogers for guiding me through the finer points of Anglo-Norman paleography. Any remaining errors are mine. Kew, The National Archives (TNA), E 36/278, f. 88. An English translation of the following text is available in Michael Charles Burdet Dawes, ed., The Register of Edward the Black Prince Preserved in the Public Record Office, Part IV (England), A.D. 1351–1365 (London, 1933), pp. 143–45. The Black Prince’s Register, IV, p. 145 (hereafter BPR). H.J. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition of 1355–1357 (Barnsley, 1958), p. 19. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, p. 18. Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven, 1996), pp. 57–81. Andrew Ayton, Knights and Warhorses: Military Service and the English Aristocracy under Edward III (Woodbridge, 1994), passim. Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, pp. 92–97.

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only had one horse valued. That said, the earl of Salisbury managed to negotiate for “restor” of his personal mount and his “horse-at-arms.”7 The prince’s indenture with Edward III is typical of the military indentures of the period. It specifies that the prince will provide 433 men-at-arms, 400 mounted archers, and 300 foot archers for service in Gascony. It further details who would accompany the prince and provide their own retinues: the earls of Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, and Suffolk, as well as John de Lisle and Reynold (Reginald) de Cobham.8 Each of these men would have made his own indentures, both with the prince and also with the members of his own retinue. Unlike many indentures, the one between Edward III and the prince does not specify the prince’s wages or regard; it says only that “the king has paid him in advance war wages and reward for himself and the men of his retinue for a half year” from when the prince reached Plymouth.9 While the precise actions the prince was to take in Gascony are not laid out it is clear that he is to further the king’s goals: bring rebellious vassals back to their allegiance, project royal authority, and, perhaps most important, stop the encroachments of Jean I, count of Armagnac, in Gascony.10 Edward III’s responsibilities included providing wages and sufficient shipping,11 reimbursing the prince and others for the value of lost horses, and supplying Soubise, Rochefort, Tonneins, and Taillebourg with provisions. He would also ensure that the prince’s interests in England did not suffer during his absence “on the king’s service overseas.”12 If the prince were besieged or needed reinforcements, the king would “rescue him one way or another.”13 In the event that the expedition was cancelled, the king would keep in mind the prince’s expenses and “deal with him in such a way as shall satisfy him.”14 Aside from these more martial details the indenture endowed the prince with royal authority as the king’s lieutenant in Gascony. He was granted “full power under the king’s great seal” to remove and appoint ministers, make ordinances, oversee the collection and use of rents, mints, and customs, grant lands gained in war, make truces, take ransoms (except that of Jean II – that ransom would go to Edward III who would recompense the prince), and pass judgment on “any who are rebellious and disobedient in those parts, and to pardon them and grant 7 8 9 10

11

12 13 14

TNA, E 101/68/3, no. 66; Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, p. 96. BPR, IV, 143–44. TNA E 36/278, f. 88r. BPR, IV, 144. TNA E 36/278, f. 88r. The prince’s campaign was a direct response to Jean d’Armagnac’s pressure on the frontiers of the duchy and the request of the Gascon nobles, particularly Jean de Grailly, captal de Buch, Guillaume Sans, lord of Lesparre, and Auger de Montaut, lord of Mussidan. These men, particularly de Buch, had close ties with England. For the most recent work on cross-Channel transport, see Craig Lambert, Shipping the Medieval Military: English Maritime Logistics in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2011), in particular pp. 152–55. BPR, IV, 144. TNA E 36/278, f. 88r. BPR, IV, 145. TNA E 36/278, f. 88v. BPR, IV, 145. TNA E 36/278, f. 88v.



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them life and limb.”15 The prince’s powers as the king’s lieutenant were quite broad and far-reaching; he was the king’s representative, “as if the king were there in person,”16 and a representative of English royal authority – as well as the means to enforce it. The indenture makes it clear that the prince’s expedition was not just a simple raid. It was about restoring – and augmenting if possible – England’s control in Gascony and by extension furthering Edward III’s goal of possessing Gascony in full sovereignty. These stated goals reflected the king’s previously stated intentions in other documents, such as the 27 April orders to arrest ships and mariners for the prince’s passage, which state the expedition is “pro salvatione and defensione regni nostri Angliae ad partes Vasconiae.”17 The text of the indenture also bears a striking resemblance to another text, a “letter” to the prince, also dated 10 July 1355 and enrolled in the Gascon Rolls, which states explicitly that Edward III is sending the prince to Gascony “pro reformatione statûs et regiminis ducatûs nostri Aquitainiae, et aliorum terrarum et locorum in regno nostro Franciae, ac recuperatione terrarum et jurium nostrorum, quae sunt per rebelles nostros perperam occupata …”18 The prince’s indenture with the king, then, dealt with military matters both tactical (e.g., rescue) and strategic (e.g., the establishment of royal authority in Gascony). Sending the prince of Wales, the king’s heir, had the advantage of reassuring the Gascon nobility that the English king cared about the duchy and was responsive to their concerns, was willing to defend his – and their – lands and rights. This was a project of signal importance to the Gascon nobility. They did, after all, request the military intervention of the duke of Gascony (i.e. Edward III) and specifically that the prince lead such an expedition.19 The prince, then, was someone whom the Gascons were willing to acknowledge as

15 16 17

18

19

BPR, IV, 144–45. TNA E 36/278, f. 88. BPR, IV, 144. TNA E 36/278, f. 88r. Foedera, conventiones, literæ et cujuscunque generis acta publica, inter reges Angliæ et alios quosvis imperatores, reges, pontifices, principes, vel communitates, ab ineunte sæculo duodecimo, ed. Thomas Rymer (London, 1727), 3:299 (hereafter, Foedera). TNA C 76/33, m. 12. Foedera, III, i, p. 307. TNA C76/33, m. 6. While the close parallels of this entry with the indenture might suggest that it is, in effect, a summary of the indenture, it fails to address the details of the campaign (e.g., the number of men-at-arms) and focuses instead on the prince’s actual authority. It is also a “letter” to the prince rather than a formal contract like the indenture. Jean de Grailly, the captal de Buch (d. 1376), Aguer de Montaut, lord of Mussidan, and Guillaume Sans, lord of Lesparre, led the Gascon embassy, and these men specifically asked for the prince to lead the English forces. See Peter Hoskins, In the Steps of the Black Prince: The Road to Poitiers, 1355–1356 (Woodbridge, 2011), p. 15; David Green, Edward the Black Prince: Power in Medieval Europe (Harlow, 2007), p. 53; Clifford Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 293–94; Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, pp. viii, 3. According to Le Vie du Prince Noir, Jean de Grailly, the captal de Buch, led a contingent of Gascon barons to Edward III in London and requested a “chieftaine de vostre sang.” See Chandos Herald, Le Vie du Black Prince Noir, lines 542–43, ed. Diane B. Tyson. (Tübingen, 1975), p. 63.

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a leader and follow, and the indenture’s terms acknowledge that in the extramilitary powers granted to the prince. Yet prince or not, heir to the throne or not, the prince of Wales still had to negotiate the terms of his military service in much the same way as other captains. While his indenture with the king is certainly more involved because of his position and title, it remains at the core a contract for military service. Transcription notes The following conventions have been used: Italics: expanded abbreviations \ /: lowered superior letter(s) Text (Kew, The National Archives, E 36/278) [fo. 88] Iuyl Lan XXIX20 Engleterre Ceste endenture faite parentre notre seign\ur/ le Roi dune part et ­monsie­\­ur/ le Prince de Gales son eisnez filz dautres tesmoigne que notre dit sie\ur/ le Roi ad ordine son dit filz daler en Gascoigne destre son lieutenant illoeques ove cccc xxx iij hommes darmes et Dcc archers dount les cccc seront a chival et les ccc a pie queux le dit Prince avera de sa retenue propre et ovesquez les gentz darmes et archers queux les countes de Warrick21 Suffolk22 Oxenford,23 et Salesbires,24 monsieur Johan de Lisle25 20 21

22 23 24

25

In the right margin: “Lendenture parentre le Roi et monsieur le Prince de sa viage en Gascoigne.” Thomas Beauchamp (1313–1369), one of the original Knights of the Garter. He was the constable of the army and one of the commanders of the first column during the 1355 campaign. Orders to arrest ships for his voyage to Gascony date to 10 March 1355 (Foedera, III, i, p. 297; TNA, C 76/33, m. 14). The orders for the prince’s ships come more than a month later. Edward III, then, was sending Warwick to Gascony possibly before the prince was officially named the commander of the expedition and certainly before the council met at Westminster after Easter (5 April 1355). Also, Warwick and Suffolk mustered and sailed from Southampton, not Plymouth with the rest of the force. Robert de Ufford (1298–1369), KG. He was one of the commanders of the third column and sailed from Southampton with Warwick. He was head of the prince’s council in 1351. John de Vere (1312–1360). He served in the center column under the prince’s command. William de Montacute (Montagu) (1328–1397), one of the original Knights of the Garter and the only one of the four earls of an age with the prince. He commanded the third column with Suffolk. John de Lisle (1318–1355), one of the original Knights of the Garter. He died 14/15 October, only ten days into the campaign, after being struck by a quarrel during an action at Esteng the previous day. Baker’s Chronicon indicates that the action and fatal wound occurred on 13 October, with his death on 14 October (Galfridi le Baker de Swinbroke, Chronicon Angliae Temporibus Edwardi II et Edwardi III, ed. J.A. Giles [New York, 1967], p. 231), but John de Wengefeld’s letter to the bishop of Winchester says de Lisle was shot on 14 October and died 15 October (Robert of Avesbury, De Gestis Mirabilibus Regis Edwardi Tertii, ed. Edward Maunde Thompson [London, 1889], p. 443; Richard W. Barber, Life and Campaigns of the Black Prince, from Contemporary Letters, Diaries and Chronicles Including Chandos Herald’s ‘Life of the Black Prince’ (New York, 1986), p. 50).



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et monsieur Reynaud de Cobh\a/m,26 qi irront as dites parties ovesque le dit Prince, y meneront en lour compaignie et demoerera es dites parties come lieutenant le Roi tan come plerra au Roi. et le Roi lui ad fait paier devant la main p\ur/ lui et ses dites gentz de sa retenue propre gages de guerre et regard p\ur/ demy an le quel demy an comencera le primer iour27 qil vendra a la mier ovesque ses dites gentz p\ur/ son passage, et a la fin de cel demy an il sera paiee de gages et regard p\ur/ lui et ses dites gentz p\ur/ un autre demy an devant la mein en cas qil plest au Roi qil demoerge plus avant en celles parties. Et auxint il avera ovesque lui une summe dargent sufficeaunte p\ur/ conforter les gentz du pais et p\ur/ autres choses qil verra que soit affaire p\ur/ profit le Roi. Et avera auxint plein poair souz le g\ra/und seal le Roi dordiner et faire en toutes choses que touchent notre seign\ur/ le Roi en la Duchee de Gascoigne et ses terres celles parties p\ur/ la salvacion et bon governement diceles sicome il verra que mieltz soit p\ur/ lon\ur/ et profit du Roi et p\ur/ lestat du pais si avant come le Roi y feust meismes. Et que le dit Prince puisse remuer toutes maneres des ministres en la dite Duchee et terres susdites selonc le p\ur/port de sa commission et mettre autres en lour lieux ∫ tiels come il voit que soient p\ur/ le profit le Roi. Et auxint que toutes maneres des profitz, rentes, custumes, monoies, et autres profitz queconques surdantz en la dite Duchee et que sont avenantz au Roi ne soient nul part mys ne despenduz saunz lordinaunce le dit Prince. Et que les ditz deniers surdantz de la dite Duchee ne soient assignez a nul seign\ur/ ne a nul autre, mais qils soient despenduz s\ur/ les busoignes que le Roi avera affaire illoeques par lordinance et vewe le dit Prince. Et le Roi trovera au dit Prince et touz ses gentz navie covenable et sufficeaunte p\ur/ lour passage ensemblement ove bordes, clayes, et toutes autres necessaires p\ur/ lour eskippeson en alant et reto\ur/nant a les custages le Roi en touz pointz. Et les chivalx le dit Prince et de ses gentz seront resonablement prisez devant son passage. Et en cas que ascuns de ses gentz darmes ne se voillent mounter de chivalz pardecea mais faire lour p\ur/veaunce pardelaa ∫ que adonques meismes les chivals soient preisez pardelaa par le Conestable de Burdeux28 en manere susdite. Et a quele heure que nul homme darmes perdre nul chival avant prise ∫ que de temps en temps lour chivalx queux ils p\ur/voierount ∫ soient prisez par le dit Conestable en covenable manere come dessus est dit. Et sera fait garrant au dit Conestable de les priser, et de ceux que seront prisez et perduz en le service le Roi par tesmoignance du Conestable ∫ soit restor fait au dit Prince. Et si le dit Prince mette nulles maneres des custages en celles parties p\ur/ le profit notre seign\ur/ le Roi par lavis des seign\ur/s que sont assignez 26 27 28

Reynold (Reginald) de Cobham (1296–1361), KG. He was the Marshal of the army and in the first column with Warwick. The scribe does not differentiate between “i” and “j”. John de Stretelee was the Constable of Bordeaux. He made several loans to the prince. He also, at least on occasion, handled the payments to Gascon soldiers. See for example, TNA, E 213/250; TNA, E 213/12; TNA, E 213/230.

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daler ovesques lui ∫ soit restor fait au dit Prince de meismes les coustages. Et que le dit Prince puisse doner les terres que seront gaignez de guerre selonc ce qil entent que soit p\ur/ le profit le Roi. Et si nulles reversions dez terres, gardes, marages, ou queconques autres profitz eschecent au dit Prince en Engleterre par le temps qil demorra en service le Roi es dites parties pardelaa que la liveree ent soit faite maintenant a ses Atto\ur/nes et ministers nient countreesteaunte sa absence. Et que le dit Prince eit plein poair souz le g\ra/und seal le Roi de prendre trewes longes ou courtes et soeffraunces le quel qil voit que soit affaire p\ur/ profit le Roi et les affermer. Et que le Roi ∫ soit tenuz a vitailler Tanneye, Talleburgh, Subise, et Rocheford, et si nul de les quatre villes soit perdu par defaute des vitailles ∫ que le dit Prince soit de cela saunz blame. Item le Roi ad g\ra/untee au dit Prince qen cas que prisons soient pris es dites parties par le dit Prince ou les soens qil puisse faire de eux sa volentee si ce ne soit le chiefe de la guerre et en tiel cas que le Roi lui ferra covenable regard. Et qil puisse avoir toutes autres avantages de guerre forspris villes, chasteux terres, rentes et homages queconques qil soient p\ur/ queux choses le dit Prince avera plein poair par commission de les du\n/er29 ou lesser selonc ce qil verra que mieltz \sera/ p\ur/ le profit le Roi. Item que le dit Prince eit plein poair par commission de seisir en la main le Roi toutes terres tenementz, villes, chasteux, fraunchises, custumes, profitz des monoies et toutes autres choses en queconqe manere a la [ ]30 Duchee de Guyene en nul temps regardantz en queux mains que ces soient devenuz parla on il verra qil le puisse faire par bone et iouste cause et de les tenir ensi en pees en la mein notre seign\ur/ le Roi tanques il lui ent eit certyfiee, issint que par soun [88v] Engleterre Iuyl Lan XXIX avis le Roi puisse eut ordiner ce que mielt soit. Item que le dit Prince eit poair par commission de faire Juyse des rebeux et desobeisantz celles parties et a eux pardoun faire de lour trespas et g\ra/unter a eux vie et membre et les covenantz qil ferra ovesquez eux seront tenuz et parfourniz par notre ­seign­\­ur/ le Roi. Item le Roi g\ra/unte. Item le Roi g\ra/unte que si nul poair soit g\ra/unte a ascun autre acordant a nul des pointz compris en ceste endenture que meisme celle poair soit desore de nulle force. Item le Roi ad ­g­\­ra­/­unte et premis31 au dit Prince que sil aviegne qil soit assieggez ou presse par si ­g\­r­ a­/u­ nt force de gentz qil ne se p\ur/ra aider saunz estre rescouz du poair le Roi ∫ que le Roi lui ferra rescoure par une vaie ou par

29

30 31

The text itself is d, followed by three minims, then er. I have normalized this as duner. Cf. the indenture between Henry of Lancaster and the king in Kenneth Alan Fowler, The King’s Lieutenant: Henry of Grosmont, First Duke of Lancaster, 1310–1361 (London, 1969), 230–31. There is a blank space here, and it appears a word may have been rubbed out, possibly “susdite” or “dite”. “Premis” is a variant spelling for “promis”.



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autre issint qil soit rescous covenablement. Et a cel rescous faire le Ducs32 de Lancastre, les Countes de Norhampton, ∫ Arundell, de la Marche et Stafford ount premis loialment et done lour foiz de mettre leide et conseil qil p\­ur/ront saunz nul defaute. Et sil aviegne qil soit assiegez ou si presse des Enemys que sa persone seroit en peril et que rescous ne lui viegne par temps ∫ que adonques p\ur/ sauvetee de son corps et de ses gentz il se p\ur/ra aider par trewes ou soeffraunce prendre ou par queconqe autre voie qil verra qil le p\ur/ra mieltz faire. Item en cas que ceste voiage soit par ascune cause chaungee ou destourbez ∫ le Roi ad premis qil avera regard a les coustages queux le dit Prince ad fait et coment faire par ceste cause come en retenaunce des gentz, p\ur/veaunces faire et en autre manere, et que le Roi fra ensi devers lui qil se aggreerd par reson. Et p\ur/ greindre surtee du dit Prince les ­hon­\u­ r/ables pierres en dieu, Lercevesque Deverwik,33 chanceller, Levesque de Wyncestre34 tresorer notre dit seign\ur/ le Roi ount loialment asseurez le dit Prince de mettre lour entier aide et conseil toutes parts par toutes les bones voies qils p\ur/ront et saveront que les choses susdits soient en touz pointez tenuz et perfourmiz come dessus est dit. Eduard ter et cetera Donne et cetera a Westminster le x iour de Iuyl lan et cetera xxix ;. Lendent\ur/e du seal le Roi feust35 baille a Roi clerc monsie\ur/ Iohn de Wengfeld

32 33 34 35

This seems to be a phonetic spelling of “Dux”, as it is certainly not a plural form. John of Thoresby, archbishop of York (1353–1373) and chancellor of England. Also the head of the prince’s council in England while the prince was in Gascony. The text here is nearly illegible.

9 Investigating the Socio-Economic Origins of English Archers in the Second Half of the Fourteenth Century Gary Baker

On 25 May 1383 the soldiers of an English army advanced out of the gates of Dunkirk to confront a Flemish force attempting to remove them from the Low Countries.1 According to Froissart, a herald sent across the field to negotiate was butchered by the Flemish. With tensions already high, this act seems to have sparked a battlefield encounter.2 The English chronicler, Thomas Walsingham, was in no doubt as to who was responsible for the subsequent English victory. But among all and before all it was our archers who on that day deserved praise and glory. For they sent such a rain of flying arrows upon the enemy that at the end of it no more armed warriors were still on their feet than if the very arrows had been piercing bare bodies. Such was the density of the flying arrows that the sky grew dark as if from a black cloud, and such was the frequency with which they were loosed that the enemy dare not lift up their faces.3

Walsingham’s account of the battle, like many of his depictions of warfare, can easily be described as colorful hyperbole. Indeed the veracity within fourteenth-century chronicles of accounts of war, of which many authors had no practical experience, has rightly been questioned.4 There is little reason, however, to doubt either the graphic depiction in Walsingham’s account of the 1

2

3

4

Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War, vol. III: Divided Houses (London, 2009), pp. 493–510 for the wider campaign, p. 498 for the battle. For the wider causes of the expedition: Kelly DeVries, “The Reasons for the Bishop of Norwich’s Attack on Flanders in 1383,” in Fourteenth Century England III, ed. W. M. Ormrod (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 155–65. Jean Froissart, Chroniques de Jean Froissart, publiées pour la Société par Siméon Luce, vol. 11, ed. Gaston Reynaud (Paris, 1869), p. xxv; “Le héraut, un nommé Montfort, qui appartient au duc de Bretagne, est tué par les Flamands,” p. 593. Thomas Walsingham, The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham (1376–1477), trans. David Preest with introduction and notes by James G. Clark (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 201–2. Walsingham clearly revelled in such depictions: see ibid., pp. 84, 89, 109, 323–24, 328, 414, 416, 422, 435. See Kelly DeVries, “The Use of Chronicles in Recreating Military History,” Journal of Medieval Military History 2 (2004), 1–15. See also: Christopher Allmand, “Reporting of War in the Middle Ages,” in War and Society in Medieval and Early Modern Britain, ed. Diana Dunn (Liverpool, 2000), pp. 17–33; Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven, 1996), p. 1.

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effect of English archery generally, or that it was archers who were responsible for many of England’s successes on the battlefield – or in small scale skirmishing throughout the fourteenth century – because of the sheer number of contemporary accounts that make similar claims.5 Regardless of whether or not claims of protracted English “arrow storms” are entirely accurate, even in the example given above, the salient point is that contemporaries, or near contemporaries, believed that massed archery was a war-winning tactic.6 When it is remembered that the majority of chroniclers’ accounts are taken up by the activities and exploits of those at the top of medieval society, to commend the ability of archers, certainly men of more modest social station, was high praise indeed. The time at which English archers became so potent in the field is not here our concern.7 Nor were they invincible, as they required deployment within a tactical system in conjunction with dismounted men-at-arms. At Mauron in 1352, for example, archers on Sir Walter Bentley’s right flank, unsupported by cavalry, heavy infantry, or favorable terrain, were routed and cut to pieces.8 Nevertheless, by the 1350s archers, or rather mounted archers, riding on campaign and dismounting to fight, had become the numerically predominant type of soldier within English armies, or at least English royal armies.9 This was not purely an issue of cost effectiveness, though this was an added benefit for the English crown. Whilst it is true that archers were cheaper for the crown to recruit than 5

6

7 8

9

See, for example, commentary by Froissart, John le Bel, Chandos Herald and the unknown author of the Brut: Peter Ainsworth and Godfried Croenen, eds. The Online Froissart, version 1.4 (Sheffield: HRIOnline, 2012), Translation of Book I (140 v.) 1–284, folio 140v. (Accessed 4 January 2013); Clifford J. Rogers, ed., The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge, 1999), pp. 38, 132; Chandos Herald, The Life of the Black Prince, trans. Mildred K. Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Cambridge, Ontario, 2000), p. 42. Another active participant in the wars of the day, Sir Thomas Gray, the author of Scalacronica, whilst describing the exploits of archers on occasion, seems to have been more concerned about the exploits of those of his martial class (the knights and their superiors) and focuses more on their deeds of arms rather than on the mechanics of English victories. Sir Thomas Gray, Scalacronica 1272–1363, ed. and trans. Andy King (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 153–57. Andrew Ayton suggests that “arrow storms” would likely have been in short concentrated bursts rather than a constant hail. Andrew Ayton and Sir Phillip Preston, “Topography and Archery: Further Reflections on the Battle of Crécy,” in The Battle of Crécy, 1346, ed. Andrew Ayton and Philip Preston (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 359–62. For the most recent comprehensive survey: Matthew Strickland and Robert Hardy, The Great Warbow, from Hastings to the Mary Rose (Stroud, Gloucestershire, 2005). Bentley, injured in the engagement, ordered thirty of the surviving English archers who had fled to be beheaded for cowardice. T.F. Tout, “Some Neglected Fights between Crécy and Poitiers,” English Historical Review 20 (1905), 726–30. Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke (1303–1356), ed. Edward Maude Thompson (Oxford, 1889), p. 120. Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War II: Trial by Fire (London, 2001), pp. 94–95. Andrew Ayton, “Military Service and the Dynamics of Recruitment in Fourteenth-Century England,” in The Soldier Experience in the Fourteenth Century, ed. Adrian R. Bell, Anne Curry, Adam Chapman, Andy King, and David Simpkin (Woodbridge, 2011), pp. 9–59 at p. 39. Michael Prestwich, “Transcultural Warfare – The Later Middle Ages,” in Transcultural Wars from the Middle Ages to the 21st Century, ed. Hans-Henning Kortüm (Berlin, 2006), p. 51.



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men-at-arms – paid 6d. as opposed to the12d. per day received by the latter – it is clear that their martial effectiveness was appreciated by contemporaries as far afield as Italy and Hungary, where they were highly prized as mercenaries.10 In the later fifteenth century Sir John Fortescue could write of his own times, and perhaps looking back to the past, that, “[w]e shull be a pray to all owre enymyes, but yff we be mighty off owre self, wich might stondith most vppon owre pouere archers.”11 It may come as something of a surprise, then, to those unfamiliar with English martial records of the fourteenth century, that so little is known about who these archers actually were, where they fitted within the bounds of the English military community, and within society in general.12 Compared with, at least, the upper social echelons within the ranks of the men-at-arms, the archers remain largely in the historical shade.13 Aside from the difficulties inherent within the source materials related to military service in the fourteenth century, the archers continue to remain enigmatic because the vast majority of these materials are concerned with the propertied members of the military community: largely the

10

11 12

13

Andrew Ayton, “From Muhi to Mohács – Armies and Combatants in Later Medieval Transcultural Wars,” in Transcultural Wars, ed. Kortüm, p. 224; idem, Knights and Warhorses: Military Service and the English Aristocracy under Edward III (Woodbridge, 1994), p. 21. Sir John Fortescue, The Governance of England: Otherwise Called the Difference between an Absolute and a Limited Monarchy, ed. Charles Plummer (Oxford, 1885), p. 224. The major recent work on the English military community and the growing professionalism of English soldiers in this period: Andrew Ayton, “Armies and Military Communities in FourteenthCentury England,” in Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen: Essays in Honour of Maurice Keen, ed. Peter Coss and Christopher Tyerman (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 215–39; idem, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 9–59; idem, “The English Army at Crécy,” in The Battle of Crécy, 1346, ed. Andrew Ayton and Philip Preston (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 159–252, is an excellent summary of recent research. Other studies include: Adrian R. Bell, War and the Soldier in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2004); David Simpkin, The English Aristocracy at War from the Welsh Wars of Edward I to the Battle of Bannockburn (Woodbridge, 2008); Gary Baker, “The English Way of War, 1360–99” (Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, The University of Hull, May 2012), pp. 44–137. These works built upon foundations laid by Philippe Contamine in researching the military community of France and, to a lesser extent, that of Philip Morgan on the community of medieval Cheshire: Philippe Contamine, Guerre, état et société à la fin du Moyen Age: Études sur les armées des rois de France 1337–1494 (Paris, 1972); Phillip Morgan, War and Society in Medieval Cheshire, 1277–1403 (Manchester, 1987). Technically speaking all soldiers from members of the peerage like dukes paid 13s. 4d. per day down to knights and esquires of the gentry were classified as men-at-arms. This fact, of course, does not mean that they formed a single unitary group within medieval society, or shared any form of “social kinship,” other than, perhaps, the fellowship gained between men in combat. There is also no clear delineation that modern scholars can determine between those socially elevated enough to be considered, and fight as, men-at-arms, and those who served as mounted archers; the edges between the two were blurred. There were doubtlessly grades and distinctions within and between the two that were obvious to contemporaries which are lost to modern observers, with standard rates of pay masking a highly complex social situation. Indeed some men fought as both men-at-arms and archers in their martial careers: Adrian R. Bell, Anne Curry, Andy King, and David Simpkin, The Soldier in Later Medieval England (Oxford, 2013), pp. 162–67.

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men-at-arms.14 The completion in 2009 by Anne Curry and her team of the Soldier in Medieval England project, containing a searchable database of a large swath of martial records from 1369 to 1453, and the printed volume resulting therefrom, has certainly made research into the military community a much more manageable task.15 Nevertheless whilst we can now easily access a large number of archers’ names we know very little else about them. The key question with regard to English archers in the second half of the fourteenth century is: from where did they originate in medieval society? In other words, what was their social status in relation to other fighting men of the period; was there such a thing as a “socially-typical” mounted archer? It is always difficult to define “social status,” and to categorize individuals and groups based on their social standing or rank, within medieval society, especially those from the lower echelons of the social pile – where archers have been seen to have originated. This is especially true of England in the second half of the fourteenth century, where the Black Death, and subsequent plague outbreaks, resulted in great social and economic upheaval.16 Any attempt to define social status solely through financial wealth, for example, fails to take into account that in medieval eyes a man’s birth and descent was paramount; “rank by blood was more important than wealth in deciding a man’s status.”17 A man of gentle blood might be financially poor and yet still be deemed a “social cut” above his richer yeoman neighbors by contemporaries.18 Nevertheless wealth can still be a good, if imperfect, barometer of social standing in later fourteenth-century England.19 At a time when stratified social boundaries were breaking down in the wake of the plague, at least below the ranks of the titled nobility, men able to gain wealth, and in turn invest that wealth into the buying of larger landholdings, gained the potential for social advancement, if not for themselves then for their descendants. “After all,” as James Bothwell notes, “property ownership was an important indicator of status in medieval

14 15 16 17 18

19

Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 3, and pp. 138–93 for wider discussion of the major sources. See online: http://www.icmacentre.ac.uk/soldier/database/. Bell et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England. For a good recent work on the Black Death and the upheaval it caused: Ole J. Benedictow, The Black Death, 1346–1353: The Complete History (Woodbridge, 2004). John A.F. Thomson, The Transformation of Medieval England, 1370–1529 (London, 1983), p. 110. Only an unwillingness to undertake manual labor – seen as incompatible with gentility – separating him from his yeoman neighbors: Sylvia L. Thrupp, The Merchant Class of Medieval London, 1300–1500 (Chicago, 1948), p. 238. This can be seen in John Ball’s preaching during the Peasant’s Revolt: “When Adam delved, and Eve span, Who was then a gentleman?”, Thomas Walsingham, Chronica maiora, p. 162. Indeed whilst in the thirteenth century social labels for the peasantry were primarily based on legal status – such as freeman, villain, and serf – “thereafter [they] were increasingly based upon their economic status, such as yeomen, husbandmen, artisans, labourers, and servants.” Mark Bailey, Medieval Suffolk: An Economic and Social History (Woodbridge, 2007), p. 36.



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society.”20 It is possible, therefore, that a man could set in motion the rise of his family from peasant smallholders into the ranks of the yeomanry, even gentry if they were extremely lucky, in two or three generations, his sons and grandsons experiencing the benefit of this social elevation, mixing in higher social circles and perhaps securing favorable marriages, even if on occasion they had “to contend with conservative prejudice against the parvenu.”21 Indeed, John Thomson concludes, “urban society provided a common intermediate stage, by providing facilities for accumulating wealth which could then be used to acquire land, social ambition [being] the main motive.”22 It is more than likely that even some established landed families could count amongst their ancestry members of both the yeomanry and urban artisans, even if this is difficult to prove, with trails disappearing the further back, and more obscure, a family’s origins.23 In other words, though not a universal truism, the economic standing of an individual, as evinced by his landholding, is a good indication of his social position. The more he possessed, the more likely he was to be of some standing within society. The question of the socio-economic standing of mounted archers is so pertinent because of the fact that English armies underwent wholesale structural changes during the course of the fourteenth century. At least by the resumption of the Anglo-French war in 1369, there had emerged a new type of English army, with armies that have been described as “structurally uniform” replacing the old “feudal” (“structurally hybrid”) forces that had changed little in their composition since the Conquest.24 In simple terms the feudal host recruited by the provision of unpaid men-at-arms by tenants-in chief in fulfilment of their military obligations, and large numbers of foot soldiers raised by commissions of array, was superseded by contract armies of paid volunteers. These new structurally-uniform armies were recruited via military contracts known as indentures 20 21

22 23 24

James Bothwell, Edward III and the English Peerage: Royal Patronage, Social Mobility and Political Control in Fourteenth-Century England (Woodbridge, 2004), p. 47. Thomson, Transformation of Medieval England, p. 126. For a highly successful, if perhaps atypical example, see that of the Paston family of Norfolk in the fifteenth century. Richard Barber, ed. The Pastons: The Letters of a Family in the Wars of the Roses, new edition (Woodbridge, 2004). Thomson, The Transformation of Medieval England, p. 125 and pp. 125–33. Kenneth Bruce McFarlane, The Nobility of Later Medieval England (Oxford, 1973), pp. 9–10. Ayton, “Armies and Military Communities,” pp. 5–7. Whilst it is true that a “traditional” feudal levy was called in 1385, structurally this army proved typical of the new style of armies later to be labeled as “structurally uniform” by Andrew Ayton. The issuing of the levy was intended purely for financial considerations, the crown hoping to raise scutage to help pay for the expedition which, in the end, it was unable to do because of the opposition to the scheme in parliament. It was not intended as an attempt to turn the clock back to the recruitment and army structures of the past. N.B. Lewis, “The Last Medieval Summons of the English Feudal Levy, 13 June 1385,” English Historical Review 73 (1958), 1–26, and “The Feudal Summons of 1385,” English Historical Review 100 (1985), 729–46; John J.N. Palmer, “The Last Summons of the Feudal Army in England (1385),” English Historical Review 83 (1968), 771–75. See also: Nigel Saul, Richard II (London, 1997), p. 144.

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between the crown and individual captains, the retinues thus formed consisting of men-at-arms and mounted archers in roughly equal numbers, at set rates of pay, for a set length of service. By the second half of the fourteenth century this had become the predominant method of raising armies.25 So profound was this transformation that it has become au-fait amongst historians to put it at the center of an English or Edwardian medieval “military revolution.”26 Furthermore, it has recently been convincingly argued that these changes to the composition of armies and the military community also encompassed a growing “professionalism” in arms. Repeated and multiple periods of military service by large numbers of men, who spent the majority of their time in the saddle on campaign as opposed to in other, domestic occupations, engendered within the community a large core or skilled veteran soldiers: “professionals” at least by the standards of the day.27 Indeed one might suggest that the term “professional soldiers” more readily applies … [to archers] than to their social superiors, for with them [the archers] there was less pressure to disguise the impulse to careerism behind a veil of traditional service connections or by reference to obligations incumbent on status within a domestic political context.28

Whilst the careers of mounted archers cannot be reconstructed as easily as those of men-at-arms, considering that the former were in general from lower down 25

26

27

28

Andrew Ayton, “Sir Thomas Ughtred and the Edwardian Military Revolution,” in The Age of Edward III, ed. James Bothwell (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 107–32. These contracts were not new. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 11–12; A.E. Prince, “The Indenture System under Edward III,” in Historical Essays in Honour of James Tait, ed. J.G. Edwards et al. (Manchester, 1933), pp. 283–97; N.B. Lewis, “An Early Indenture of Military Service, 27 July 1287,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 13 (1935), pp. 85–89; idem, “An Early Fourteenth Century Contract for Military Service,” Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research 20 (1944), pp. 111–18. There is no set date by which these changes occurred. There was much continuity from earlier decades and each structurally-uniform force was different in terms of its structure and personnel. James Sherborne, “Indentured Retinues and English Expeditions to France, 1369– 80,” in War Politics and Culture in Fourteenth-Century England, ed. Anthony Tuck (London, 1994), pp. 1–28; N.B. Lewis, “The Organisation of Indentured Retinues in Fourteenth-Century England,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 4th ser., 27 (1945), 29–39. There has been much debate on the subject. For a recent summary: Clifford Rogers, “‘As if a New Sun had Arisen’: England’s Fourteenth-Century RMA,” in The Dynamics of Military Revolution, 1300–2050, ed. MacGregor Knox and Williamson Murray (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 15–34. See for example: Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 50–51; Kelly DeVries, “The Question of Medieval Military Professionalism,” in Arms and the Man: Military History Essays in Honor of Dennis Showalter, ed. Michael Neiberg (Leiden, 2011), pp. 113–30. They were not professional in the sense that they constituted a medieval standing army, which did not appear in England until the seventeenth century. Henceforward the term “professional” will not be in quotation marks. Cf. David Cornell, “English Castle Garrisons in the Anglo-Scottish Wars of the Fourteenth Century” (Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Durham, 2006), p. 140, who believed that garrison troops may have represented such a body. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 177.



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the social scale and nominal record linkage is thus more tentative, it is nevertheless possible to assemble skeletal career profiles for some of these men. The two best known examples are that of Robert Fishlake and Thomas Stanton, who both gave evidence before the Court of Chivalry in the Grey v. Hastings case during the reign of Henry IV. From Fishlake’s testimony, and investigation into other martial sources of the period, it can be demonstrated that he served as an archer on a minimum of six expeditions over an eleven-year period from 1378 to 1388, mostly in the service of the Hastings family of Esling, Norfolk. Thomas Stanton, on the other hand, served with several different military captains in a career spanning at least twenty-five years.29 Other, less well known examples can also be cited. John Pecok (Peacock) served in 1369 in France under the command of Aymer de St. Amand, and on the naval expeditions of 1374, 1387, and 1388.30 John Justice served upon the seas in 1372 and with the earl of Northumberland on the Scottish Marches from 1383 to 1385.31 The archer John Pope appears in several martial sources. If these are all instances of the service of the same man he served twice with Humphrey de Bohun, earl of Hereford, in 1371 and 1372, whilst from 1372 to 1374 he was with Gaunt at sea and in France.32 In 1383 the name appears with Sir William le Scrope in Aquitaine (here described also as a goldsmith).33 Finally Thomas de Sherbourne seems to have fought at the varying frontiers of the English war effort. He received a letter of protection for service in the Calais garrison in April 1373, was in the Scottish West March with Lord Walter Fitz Walter in 1384, and had a protection revoked for service in the Cherbourg garrison, Normandy, in 1390 as he “tarried in London on his own affairs.”34 Despite the problems of nominal record linkage for men of this rank, and also remembering that official government records only denote a portion of an individual’s career-in-arms,35 at least some mounted archers were evidently frequent campaigners. Circumstantial evidence can also be presented to support the idea of a more professional mounted archer in the second half of the fourteenth century. In a complaint to the king made in 1399, for example, because, “there are certain men in his country who intend to disseise him while he is away in the King’s

29 30 31

32 33 34

35

Ibid., pp. 167–70, 170–77, for a wider discussion of martial professionalism in the period. Kew, The National Archives (hereafter TNA), E101/33/25 m. 1; 40/33 m. 14; 41/5 m. 2; C76/52 m. 9. London, British Library (BL), Cotton Roll XIII.8, m. 3; TNA, E101/31/35 m. 1; C76/55 m. 23. There was also an individual with this name serving as a man-at-arms in France under Edmund of Langley in 1375: E101/34/3 m. 3; 34/5 m. 3. TNA, E101/31/15 m. 2; 32/20 m. 5d; 32/26 m. 2d. TNA, C61/96 m. 10. TNA, C76/56 m. 29; E101/39/38 m. 3d; Calendar of Patent Rolls, Preserved in the Public Record Office, Prepared under the Superintendence of the Deputy Keeper of the Records, Richard II, vol. IV A.D. 1389–92 (London, 1902), p. 299 (hereafter C.P.R. and dates of volume). Government records only concern service in which men were in the pay of the Crown and does not include freelance martial activity outside official government sanction, like the routier bands that ravaged France in the 1360s.

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service,” a David de Crouton explicitly stated that his occupation was that of an archer.36 It is possible of course that Crouton was not a professional archer but merely intending to serve in this capacity in the near future and that he had another primary occupation. There is also the possibility that he was a household archer in the pay of a prominent individual, which might explain why his name – or any derivation thereof – does not appear in any other martial source in the later fourteenth century. Yet if either of these scenarios were the case then why not state the alternative occupation, or the name of his captain? Other circumstantial evidence can be found that may hint at bands of professional archers, like the eight men who were specifically listed as being archers from a list of two hundred names of men ordered to be arrested and taken to Newgate gaol for some unspecified crime.37 Were the mounted archers who rode to war in the structurally-uniform armies of the second half of the fourteenth century of the same social standing as those archers who had fought at Bannockburn, Stirling Bridge, Falkirk, and elsewhere? The prevailing historical consensus is that the foot-archers, raised via commissions of array and fighting within the structurally-hybrid armies of the early fourteenth century, came from amongst the mass of the peasantry, reflected in their rate of pay of 2d. or 3d. per day.38 Andrew Ayton writes that “we should probably envisage not only husbandmen, possessors of a plough-team and a respectable landholding, but also, perhaps in greater numbers, landless wagelabourers, cottagers and famuli – men who could be more easily spared by the village community and had little to lose by being away from home.”39 Was the process of creating a mounted archer, therefore, simply a matter of putting a foot archer in the saddle? In other words, was it the recruiting context rather than the social caliber of the men that had changed? Or were mounted archers, as is often assumed, men of higher social standing than their infantry forebears, men of yeoman stock, “of some standing in local society;” landowners in their own right and a cut above the rest of the peasantry?40 As mounted archers 36 37

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TNA, SC/8/249/12406. See also the instance of Walter de Gouda who did the same in 1339: TNA, SC 8/245/12247. C.P.R. 1370–74, pp. 489–92. The seven men listed and singled out as being archers may have formed part of a naval crew because the first name on the list, Robert Cavendyssh, is listed in the Patent Roll two weeks earlier as being “captain of the barge of London.” The archers were: John Symond, John Jacmyn, Philip Yle, Philip Sampton, John Reynold, William Moys, John Wytle, Richard Souter and there may have been others depending on the transcription made of the calendared roll. This “would not have impressed a wealthy freeholder or skilled artisan, [but] it would have been altogether more appealing to a labourer with little or no land, or to a household servant, just as it would be to those who were surplus to local requirements – the younger sons and the ‘marginal’ elements of society.” Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 220 and footnote 305 for archers’ rates of pay compared with those of civilians. Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” pp. 220–21. Morgan, Medieval Cheshire, p, 41; C.P.R. 1343–1345, p. 495; Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 16, n. 33; idem, “English Army at Crécy,” pp. 215–24; Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval Society, p. 154; Jim Bradbury, The Medieval Archer (Woodbridge, 1985), pp. 171–79;



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were clearly an integral part of the military community by the second half of the fourteenth century, knowledge of their social station is clearly important to understanding how the community of the period came into being, especially considering the rise in their numbers within English armies. The purpose of this article, therefore, is to shed some much needed light on the socio-economic standing of English mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century, the period in which great changes were taking place in the composition of English armies and, coincidentally, when the source materials for the task become richer. The archers who are the primary focus of this article are the professional “freelancers” who were becoming increasingly numerically predominant in the retinues of English armies of the period and were a source of complaint for contemporaries.41 These unaffiliated men showed little to no loyalty to one particular captain and can be differentiated from “household” archers of wealthy captains, retained in theory for life, whether resident permanently within their lord’s household or not, and from arrayed levy archers from the counties, who had virtually disappeared from English field armies by c.1360.42 Whilst this work cannot hope entirely to remedy the deficiencies in both evidence and scholarly neglect it is hoped that it will provide the basis for further investigation, enabling a greater understanding of later fourteenthcentury English armies, and benefitting more generally the social history of fourteenth-century English society. Though it has never been satisfactorily proven, most scholars tend to agree that the mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century came from a more lofty social position than their infantry forebears (largely peasant husbandmen raised by commissions of array), but from a lower social station than the “gentle” men-at-arms, in effect bridging the gap between the two. This is evidently a generalization. There were no socially-typical mounted archers any more than there were men-at-arms. The terminology used in martial documents to describe mounted archers, however, is instructive. Whilst specialist terms like sagitarii armati and archers armez were sometimes used, and it was of course dependent on the language the document was written in, the word

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Robert Hardy, The Longbow, A Social and Military History, 5th ed. (Somerset, 2012), pp. 75–81. Hence the statute of 1390 which attempted to regulate the distribution of livery to retainers, particularly “livery of company” including provision that: “no such noble shall give such a livery to any ‘valet’ called a yeoman archer nor to any other person of lower estate than esquire unless he is a family servant living in the household.” Statutes of the Realm 2, ed. A. Luders, T.E. Tomlins et al. (London, 1812), pp. 74–75. For their increasing predominance in retinues: Ayton, “Armies and Military Communities,” pp. 217–21. The use of the term “freelance” in this work is meant in its modern sense as of one who is unaffiliated with any one single employer, rather than its literal medieval meaning as a mercenary lancer. Henceforward the term “professional” archer will be used to denote these “freelancers.” Whilst captains’ personal archers may have shared social similarities to the professionals, as will be seen they were different in a few crucial respects.

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that appears most frequently in the last decade of the fourteenth century, and certainly in the fifteenth century, was “valettus.”43 In the early fourteenth century the term valletus referred to sub-knightly men-at-arms (along with words like scutifer and serviens), but “by the end of the fourteenth century, the social status attached to the term had declined, losing any connotation of gentility.”44 Whilst the term does not predominate until the fifteenth century its utilization certainly provides a clue to the group within medieval society from which a large number of mounted archers may have originated. The term is the Latin equivalent of the English word “yeomen.” The “yeomanry” in later fourteenth-century England were not a readily definable group and can probably be best described as “the elite of village society.”45 What evidence is there to back up, or indeed disprove, this assumption of the majority of mounted archers coming from amongst the ranks of the yeomanry? J.E. Morris and J.F. Lydon argued in the first half of the twentieth century that mounted archers were the tactical descendants of hobelars.46 These troops emerged on the scene of English warfare in the late thirteenth century, mounted on smaller horses than the traditional “heavy” cavalry of the time. Lightly armored – according to one order of 27 March 1335, required to possess a bascinet or palet, gorget, iron gauntlets, sword, knife, lance, and aketon (or gambeson), in addition to an un-armored horse – they were ideally suited for scouting, reconnaissance, and the rigors of campaigning in unfavourable terrain, particularly in Scotland.47 In turn they were replaced, so the argument ran, by mounted archers who combined the hobelar’s mobility with the archer’s firepower after the tactical advantages of the latter became self-evident on the

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Or “valet” in Anglo-Norman French. Terms such as sagitarii armati and archers armez perhaps denote archers performing specialist functions or wearing a better caliber of armor than was customary. For discussion of the martial terminology used to describe mounted archers see: Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, pp. 146–52. See also: Stephen Morillo, “Milites, Knights and Samurai: Military Terminology, Comparative History, and the Problem of Translation,” in The Normans and their Adversaries at War, ed. Richard Abels and Bernard Bachrach (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 167–84, for the more general problems of the use of terminology in medieval martial documents and the fact that many of our ideas about martial function are entwined within nineteenth-century military culture where troops all had defined and specified roles; in the Middle Ages martial utility of different “types” of soldiers was far more fluid. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 150. Prestwich, The English Experience, p. 143. J.E. Morris, “Mounted Infantry in Medieval Warfare,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 3:8 (1914), 77–102; J.F. Lydon, “The Hobelars: An Irish Contribution to Medieval Warfare,” The Irish Sword, 2:5 (1954), 12–16. Rotuli Scotiae in Turri Londonensi et domo capitulari Westmonasteriensi asservati, vol. 1, ed. D. Macpherson, J. Caley, W. Illingworth, and T.H. Horne (1814), pp. 328–29. Another order on the Patent Rolls a decade later in January 1345 lists similar equipment: “cum aketona, pisario, paletto burnito, cirotecis ferries et lancea.” C.P.R. 1343–1345, p. 427. See also: Morris, “Mounted Infantry,” p. 78; Lydon, “Irish Contribution,” p. 13; Colm McNamee The Wars of the Bruces: Scotland, England and Ireland, 1306–1328 (East Linton, 1997), pp. 23–25, 148–57.



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battlefields of the early fourteenth century.48 Does this assumption stand up to the light of more recent scrutiny; were mounted archers merely former hobelars armed with bows and, if so, what does this say about the socio-economic position of mounted archers within English medieval society? It is clear that the number of hobelars within English forces declined rapidly during the 1330s and ’40s and that they had almost disappeared by the 1350s, at the very time when mounted archers were coming to prominence.49 The fact that on occasion, such as on the Crécy campaign, hobelars were included amongst the archer totals in the vadia guerre accounts is suggestive that hobelars later became subsumed within the mounted archers.50 Furthermore, the military assessment of the mid 1340s – which stipulated that a landowner with 100s. (£5) worth of land was to be, or provide, a mounted archer, £10 a hobelar, and £25 a man-at-arms and so on up to £1,000 – shows that the equipment difference from a hobelar to manat-arms was significant, not least the need to serve with real war horses, and this is reflected in the considerable difference between £10 and £25 p.a. wealth, far greater than that from £5 to £10.51 In other words this would suggest that whilst in the early-to-mid fourteenth century hobelars are likely to have aspired to be men-at-arms, rather than mounted archers, the increasing wealth required to be a man-at-arms as the fourteenth century progressed – not least the cost of military equipment – makes it more likely that a number of former hobelars became mounted archers. On the other hand the fact that hobelars continued to be employed in a handful of garrisons much later in the fourteenth and into the early fifteenth century, and that on at least one occasion – in the garrisons of Southampton and Portsmouth in 1369 – hobelars were paid 8d. rather than the 6d. of a mounted archer, might indicate that at least some hobelars were of higher social standing than mounted archers.52 Some of those men who

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Robert Jones, “Re-Thinking the Origins of the ‘Irish’ Hobelar,” Cardiff Historical Papers (2008/1), pp. 1–21 has questioned some of these assumptions, particularly the hobelars’ supposed Irish origins. On the continued importance of hobelars in Ireland: Robin Frame, “Military Service in the Lordship of Ireland, 1290–1360: Institutions and Society on the AngloGaelic Frontier,” in Medieval Frontier Societies, ed. Robert Bartlett and A. McKay (Oxford, 1989), pp. 114–15, table 1. Cornell, “Castle Garrisons,” pp. 19–21, demonstrated how they virtually disappeared from English garrisons at the same time as field armies; but for a not– insignificant number on the Crécy campaign, see Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 177. Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 177. For the argument that this was likely an accounting convenience: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 152–55. C.P.R. 1343–45, pp. 414–16, 427–28 for the military assessment. The original records and returns: TNA, C47/2/31, 34, 36–41, 52, 58. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 179, suggest that by this stage they had become restricted to the defense of the realm rather than being employed within field armies. Ibid., p. 180, for the rates of pay in the two garrisons, (TNA, E101/29/34). For their employment in garrisons in the second half of the fourteenth century: E199/1/35 m. 7 (48 men, Portsmouth garrison, 1369); for an unstated purpose in a muster roll for 1383–86, see E101/40/16 mm. 1–3; and those in Sir John Stanley’s force in Ireland from 1389–92, see E101/41/18 mm. 27ii–28.

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served as hobelars in the later fourteenth century whose names can be identified serving in subsequent martial capacities do little to make the picture any clearer. Anne Curry and her research team at Southampton argued recently that “the majority of hobelars with subsequent service are found on later occasions as archers.”53 Yet of the nineteen (out of forty-eight) hobelars in the garrison at Portsmouth in 1369 who can be shown to have had subsequent martial careers, no fewer than thirteen served later as men-at-arms; two seemingly served as archers, and a further four served in both capacities.54 It is important, of course, to be careful of reading too much into these findings: they are, after all, a small sample, from relatively late in the century when most troops of this type had disappeared. Moreover, garrisons are notoriously problematic places: would the “hobelars” at Portsmouth, for example, actually need horses – were they really heavily equipped foot soldiers, which is perhaps one way we might interpret the term armati used in documents to describe men of this type?55 Were these later fourteenth century “hobelars” actually hobelars at all, and if so were they the socio-economic equivalents of men described as hobelars from the first decades of the century? The use of martial terminology as a reflection of social status in medieval documents is always problematic. Andrew Ayton, for example, has demonstrated that in 1317 the chamberlain of Berwick was faced with a dilemma when, having being ordered to pay the wages of a company of fifty hobelars, he found that twenty-eight of them were better equipped than existing men-at-arms in the garrison. He was only able to pay them as hobelars as stipulated, much to the dismay of their captain.56 Can we, therefore, make any confident assertions about hobelars: did they, and any of their descendants who performed military service, become assimilated within the equites classis secundae of non-knightly men-at-arms, or were they on a socio-economic par with mounted archers, going on to serve in this 53 54

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Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 181. TNA, E199/1/35 m. 7. Men-at-arms: John Olyver, John Bury, Henry Abbot, John Welde, John Rolnes, Roger Wendovere, Walter West, Nicholas Thurkill, John Marchaunt, Richard Barton, John Passelewe, Peter/Piers de Salford, Nicholas Broghton: E101/29/29 no. 5 m. 5; E101/40/33 m. 1d; E101/41/5 m. 1; E101/51/2 m. 14; C76/52 m. 18; 53 m. 21; 54 m. 14; 55 mm. 23, 34; 56 m. 30; 64 m. 8; 65 mm. 9, 16; 67 m. 17; 74 m. 25. Mounted archers: Richard de Caldecote and John Reynham. E101/39/9 m. 1d; E101/40/39 m. 2. In both capacities: Walter West, Richard Barton, John Passelewe, John Marchaunt: E199/1/35 m. 7; E101/31/38 m. 1; E101/41/45 m. 11; E101/34/3 m. 2; E101/40/33 m. 7; E101/41/5 m. 4; E101/29/29 no. 6, m. 6; E101/36/25 m. 1d; E101/34/24 m. 2ii; E101/41/5 m. 13d.; E101/31/28 m. 3; E101/40/34 m. 19. Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 178 n, 94, notes that hobelars may have been the same men termed “armati” and “lancerios” at Boroughbridge in 1322 who fought on foot. T.F. Tout, “The Tactics of the Battles of Boroughbridge and Morlaix,” English Historical Review 19 (1904), 711–15. Cf. Michael Prestwich, The English Experience, p. 135, who argued that there is “no evidence that hobelars dismounted to fight.” One must question this assertion. No one is saying that hobelars always dismounted, but we know that Andrew de Harcla served with hobelars at Boroughbridge in 1322; are we to assume that they sat on their horses and watched during the fight? Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 89–92.



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capacity? The question is extremely difficult. It is probably best to make a distinction between former or current hobelars at the time when mounted archers first appeared in large numbers in the mid fourteenth century, and those hobelars active later in the fourteenth century such as the garrison troops at Portsmouth. The former probably aspired to achieve the status of men-at-arms, seeing themselves as a social cut above the mounted archers; indeed the example from 1317 illustrates that some of their number were certainly in possession of equipment of a level suggestive of the status of men-at-arms. The latter group, hobelars still active in the later fourteenth century, were more likely to be closer, in terms of social standing, to mounted archers, even if the evidence of the subsequent careers of the majority of those at Portsmouth in 1369 testifies otherwise. If hobelars active when mounted archers came to prominence in the 1330s–50s, were able to accrue wealth and keep up with the increasing standards of equipment required of a man-at-arms, then they will doubtlessly have served in this capacity; if not they are likely to have found themselves amongst the mounted archers. Those still serving as hobelars in the 1360s, 1370s, and beyond probably were more socially akin to the mounted archers than to men-at-arms, given that the financial muscle required to serve as the latter was beyond men who could seemingly only command, at the most, 8d. per day in wages, much closer to the archer’s 6d. than the man-at-arm’s 12d. from the Crown. Much, of course, would ultimately have come down to individual circumstances. It is certainly difficult to ascertain the relationship between hobelars and mounted archers, and virtually impossible to say whether or not hobelars and mounted archers came from within the same socio-economic circles. What other evidence is there to ascertain the social station of the “typical” mounted archer? Two key indications of socio-economic standing within medieval society are land ownership and wealth. If the mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century were of yeoman stock and of higher social standing than the peasant infantry levies of the past then we would expect to find evidence of mounted archers possessing both lands and chattels reflecting this status. No study has yet seriously attempted to make a link between mounted archers and minor landholders in medieval England, though some initial work has been done within studies focussed on other topics.57 Adrian Bell, for example, whilst investigating connections between retinue captains and their men in his study of Arundel’s naval expeditions of 1387 and 1388, has shown that a number of the archers on these expeditions held lands of their own and that they had also 57

In a recent article published online in conjunction with the Soldier in Medieval England Project, David M. Large attempts to tackle this question. David M. Large, “Using the Poll Tax to Identify Medieval Archers?” online May 2010 accessed 20/09/2011. The premise of the work is that the Poll Tax records can be used to identify archers. Unfortunately this is not really explored, although the work does provide useful information on magnate landed connections, hinting at greater regional ties in a number of retinues. See also: Mark Bailey, “Rural Society,” in Fifteenth-Century Attitudes: Perceptions of Society in Late Medieval England, ed. Rosemary Horrox (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 150–51, for yeoman landholding in the fifteenth century.

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served on subsequent land-based expeditions.58 Similarly Anne Curry has shown that at least two archers from Richard II’s bodyguard of Cheshire archers were landowners who perhaps represent, in microcosm, the general range of property holdings of men of yeoman status.59 There are also a handful of archers who received letters of protection for their military service which suggests that “they were indeed comparatively wealthy, holding land or business interests enough to be worth the trouble of taking out” these legal safeguards.60 How representative were such minor landholders of the “typical” mounted archer? A potentially invaluable line of enquiry has recently been made possible by Carolyn Fenwick’s transcription and publication – county by county – of the medieval poll tax returns.61 These three taxes, collected in 1377, 1379 and, famously, in 1380–81, were designed “to include all those who did not contribute to the fifteenths and tenths (the usual source of taxation on moveable goods) but who could afford to pay some tax, most notably those with rents and wages which the customary subsidy had not taken into account.”62 As a consequence the poll tax returns are one of our most precious resources for the study of the wider medieval population in the later fourteenth century, providing the names of thousands of people of whom we might otherwise be ignorant, as well as including vital information about occupations, marital status, and households. In 1377 a flat rate was set that every lay man and woman, married or single, was to pay one groat (4d.), except for true and genuine mendicants. In 1379 all married and single men, and single women, of sixteen years and over were to pay from one groat to ten marks (4d. to £6 13s. 4d.) in a set schedule based on social standing, again excluding genuine paupers.63 Finally, in 1380, all lay men and women, married and single, aged fifteen years and over were to pay three groats each (1 shilling) so that the number of shillings was to equal the number of taxpayers in each vill. Everyone was to pay according to their means, the rich were to help the poor, and no single person or married couple was to pay more than sixty groats (20 shillings, or £1), or less than one groat (4d.). Genuine paupers were exempted once more, and no one was to be charged in more than one place.64 If, as we suspect, mounted archers of this period were 58

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John Kyng, serving under Sir William Brienne in 1388, for example, had holdings in Pallingham in the hundred of Bury; John Leche, serving under Sir William Elmham in 1387 had holdings in Bourne, Sussex, as did fellow archers John atte Hall, Richard Mareschall and John Fuller, all serving the Earl Marshal. Two other archers, Robert Kyng and Wauter Smyth, also held lands in the county. Bell, War and the Soldier, pp. 123–24, making extensive use of: Two Estate Surveys of the Fitzalan Earls of Arundel, ed. M. Clough (Sussex Record Society, 1969). Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 155. See also: Anne Curry, “Archers at the Battle of Shrewsbury,” accessed 27 September 2013. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 154. Carolyn C. Fenwick, ed. The Poll Taxes of 1377, 1379 and 1381, 3 volumes (Oxford, 1998– 2005). Poll Taxes, 1:xxiv. Ibid., p. xv. Ibid., pp. xiv–xvi.



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indeed men of moderate wealth and social standing then it stands to reason that they would appear in these tax records, their ownership of land – and thus payment of taxes – indicative of this status. In other words the poll tax records may make it possible, for the first time, to place some flesh on the bones of the theory that mounted archers were men of more elevated social status than the infantry levies of the past. There are, however, a number of problems with the content of these records and thus our interpretation of the evidence they present. Aside from difficulties of nominal record linkage, the tax returns present a whole series of interpretative problems. The primary issue is how we should utilize their content. Those from the 1377 collection are less useful for identifying potential mounted archers because the tax was paid at a flat rate of 4d., and as a consequence we are unable to identify any differences in socio-economic standing between individuals. Furthermore “many of the returns [for 1377] record only the householders’ names and the number of people for whom they are, apparently, paying tax.”65 Therefore if a mounted archer were not the head of a household, it is unlikely he would appear by name in the records, even if he were paying the tax. To detect those of higher standing, therefore, it is primarily to the records from 1379, and to a lesser extent 1380–81, that we must turn because these were graduated taxes, especially 1379 with its set schedule of payment based upon social station. This raises the issue of how mounted archers are to be socially classified. Whilst we may suspect that they should be considered to have been of the yeomanry this does not mean that they formed anything like a single unitary social group, neatly assigned to a particular wealth band. Interestingly provision was made in 1379 that “each squire not owning lands, rents or castles, who is in service or arms” should pay 40d., with this presumably encompassing a number of the men-at-arms.66 Unfortunately no such stipulations exist for mounted archers. If these men do indeed appear within the poll tax records in 1379 it is likely to have been within either the lower echelons of: “all lesser merchants and artificers who have profit from the land, according to the extent of their estate” (from 6s. 8d. down to 6d.); or single and married men over the age of sixteen, paying 4d.67 Neither definition is particularly helpful. Similarly the qualification in 1381 that all those of fifteen years and over should pay 1s., and ambiguously that the rich should help the poor, does little to aid the task of reconstructing the social standing of mounted archers. There are also a number of other problems with the poll tax records that affect our interpretation of them for identifying mounted archers. The first is their state of preservation and survival. There are far more records of some counties, like the West Riding of Yorkshire, for which a voluminous amount of material exists, than for others, like Dorset, where no records survive for 1377 65 66 67

Ibid., pp. xix–xx. Ibid., p. xv. Ibid., pp. xv–xvi.

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at all, whilst “the 1379 returns are in poor condition and are so fragmented that it was impossible to reconstruct any of the documents.”68 The collection in many counties in 1380–81, of course, was severely disrupted by the Peasants’ Revolt and unfortunately for a county like Worcestershire a patchy record of the city of Worcester in 1377 and 1381 is all there is to go on. More worrying was the scope and opportunity for evasion by potential taxpayers. This was certainly recognized at the time, particularly in 1381, and has long been acknowledged by scholars.69 Fenwick has recently made a case on a number of grounds that the scale of this evasion has been greatly exaggerated, particularly for the 1381 tax, but it is certainly clear that evasion did take place, as Fenwick herself concedes.70 It is clearly possible that even if mounted archers were not deliberately avoiding the collectors then some of their number might have evaded the collectors’ nets by virtue of the fact that they came from large families who were already paying a substantial amount. Some archers doubtlessly also avoided payment legitimately. The inhabitants of the Palatinates of Chester and Durham, and of the Cinque Ports, and the men of that liberty, were traditionally exempt from taxation and this seems to have remained the case for the poll taxes, though in the case of Durham there is evidence that at least some inhabitants were assessed if they held lands elsewhere.71 There is also the issue of the position that some, perhaps many, mounted archers held in their family. If these men were indeed the elites of village society of popular imagination, from nouveau riche yeomen families that had benefited economically from the upheavals of the mid-century plague epidemics, then they are likely not to have appeared in the tax returns in great number. This is because they are likely to have been younger sons or male relatives who were not expected to inherit the family holdings. Military service provided the opportunity for these men to make their fortune, an alternative career path and a chance to avoid sibling rivalries and family strife over inheritance.72 Indeed recent research has shown that a number of families supplied both men-at-arms and archers for the king’s wars, the latter likely being younger sons who hoped to become men-at-arms in the fullness of time.73 Consequently mounted archers in this position will not have appeared on the tax records because they were not the heads of their households. Much, of course, depends on which poll tax is 68 69 70 71 72

73

Ibid., p. 145. For an early example: Charles Oman, The Great Revolt of 1381 (Oxford, 1906), pp. 27–29. Poll Taxes, 1:xxvi. Ibid., pp. xxi–xxii. Nigel Saul, For Honour and Fame: Chivalry in England, 1066–1500 (London, 2011), pp. 121–34, for a synthesis of the motivations of military service. See also the chapter on inheritance in: Barbara A. Hanawalt, The Ties that Bound. Peasant Families in Medieval England (Oxford, 1986), pp. 67–78. Pay of 6d. a day was not an inconsiderable amount for a man looking to make his way in the world, roughly the same as a skilled craftsman, or when it is considered that a knight’s chamberlain “if he did not ‘eat in hall’, was paid a mere 2d. a day,” Hardy, Longbow, p. 79. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, pp. 162–67.



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being considered (the records for 1377 in particular generally only mention the head of the household), and how studiously the collectors made their returns; some were very diligent and recorded a large amount of information about individuals and their families, others did not. Mounted archers may also not appear in the records because of their location at the time the assessment was made. Whilst some archers will have returned to their home county – the one in which we can identify them from the martial records – after a campaign, or retired there in old age, others are likely to have settled elsewhere, if they returned to England at all. It is thus probable that some men will have been assessed for tax in a different county from that of their birth and, as a result, are missed when checking the records of their previous “home” county. Unless we check each and every tax record for every single mounted archer over the whole of England, a daunting and difficult task, then this possibility always exists.74 What of men who held lands in more than one county? A small number of more affluent mounted archers with the good fortune to hold lands in multiple counties, perhaps as inheritances from friends or kinsmen, will have paid the tax only in their primary residence. Yet if a man changed his principal residence, or we believe it to be in a different county from what it was in reality, then the individual will likely be missed. It is also important to remember that the poll tax records provide an incomplete snap-shot of a portion of medieval society during three instances within a four-year period. If an individual had not yet risen to prominence in his local community by this date, or had fallen on hard times to the extent that he no longer had the means to pay the tax, his former affluence will be lost to us. There is also the very real possibility that archers do not appear in the Poll Tax records because, quite simply, they were not present in England at the time of the collections. Though there was no stipulation in any of the taxes that those engaged in military service were exempt from payment, one has to wonder how exactly those who were abroad, at sea, or even in a garrison far from home, were expected to pay. True enough, if they were minor village landholders their families may have paid in their stead, but the potential for errors and general evasion would have been a logistical nightmare for the collectors and in all likelihood meant that some men did not appear in the records. A final potential reason for non-appearance of archers within the poll tax records may relate to the City of London. It is often said that the capital acts as a magnet for people from all walks of life. The city, after all, is the heart of English government and trade, and home to some of the wealthiest and most important individuals in the kingdom. This was true also in the Middle Ages, with the city’s population in c.1370 being between 30,000 and 40,000, about three times the size of the next largest English cities like York and Bristol.75 For such a substantial population to be maintained, especially considering the preva74 75

A digitized, searchable database of these records is an absolute necessity. Still a massive population considering the decline suffered due to plague and famine in the first half of the fourteenth century. Thomson, The Transformation of Medieval England, p. 4.

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lence of disease in the cramped conditions of the city, it required there to be a constant stream of immigrants from the shires.76 Given this large migration to the city it is not unreasonable to assume that a number, perhaps a large number, of unaffiliated soldiers made their way to the capital in search of employment for their martial talents. It therefore stands to reason that some, perhaps many, mounted archers were resident in the city rather than in their county of origin. It is unfortunate, therefore, that “no returns survive for any of the poll tax collections in London” with only the Remembrancer rolls providing any information, and very few names, relating to the collection within the city.77 It is probable that numerous mounted archers would be found there were these records to have survived, even if the problems of determining their original geographic origins would make them much harder to identify. With all these limitations of the records in mind, our first task is to identify the geographic origin of some of the mounted archers whose names we possess in order to see if the tax returns can provide information about their socioeconomic status based upon the amount they paid. Establishing the geographic origins, even approximately, of the archers named in the military records so that they can be compared with the appropriate set of poll tax materials – the most crucial task of the whole exercise – is no easy undertaking. This is because when attempting to link individuals in different sets of medieval records, particularly from the lower echelons of society who possessed no formal titles upon which we may rely, it is more often than not a leap of faith to state with certainty that two or more records are referring to a single individual. In other words we can never be absolutely sure that any links made are entirely accurate, no matter the painstaking level of prosopography undertaken. What makes the task more challenging still is that most of the “major” military records after the resumption of the French war in 1369 – muster/retinue rolls, pay rolls and Exchequer Issue rolls – whilst providing in many instances a large amount of nominal data, give no explicit indication of the geographic origin of combatants. This is because of the changing nature of recruitment in the later decades of the fourteenth century, with soldiers recruited into retinues raised by private captains as opposed to Crown levies of arrayed troops.78 As a result of this change the nominal lists of arrayed soldiers under the county in which they were recruited, and with which we can thus be as sure as is possible of their geographic origins, disappear from the records, to be replaced by captains’ retinue lists in which no such geographic information is provided. Though it may be possible, on occasion, to suggest highly tentative geographic origins of soldiers within a

76 77 78

See also: Caroline M. Barron, London in the Later Middle Ages, Government and People, 1200–1500 (Oxford, 2004), pp. 237–42. Shannon McSheffrey, Marriage, Sex, and Civic Culture in Late Medieval London (Pennsylvania, 2006), p. 9. Poll Taxes, 2:61. A process that had long been in development through the fourteenth century. See, for example: Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 30–36.



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retinue based on surname toponyms, as has been done for Sir John Stanley’s retinue in Ireland during 1389–92, this is undertaken at one’s peril.79 The ancillary martial sources like letters of protection and attorney, which on occasion do provide geographic information about combatants, are almost exclusively concerned with, or taken out by, men-at-arms: the more propertied members of the military community, barring a few exceptions as we have seen above. From 1369 to 1400 not one recipient of letters of attorney, and just thirty-three individuals in receipt of letters of protection, are specifically listed as being archers and of these men for only eleven individuals do we possess geographic information.80 Whilst it is certainly possible that other recipients of protections may have been mounted archers (martial rank is not usually specified in these documents) the fact that only a handful of men from 1369 until the end of the fourteenth century are specifically mentioned in this capacity would suggest that they were exceptional.81 Whilst pardons for military service were generally provided to the lower echelons of the military community – men more likely to be mounted archers – the dramatic decline in the issue of these documents from c.1370 for the rest of the fourteenth century lessens their utility.82 From 1358 to 1399 only three men pardoned were specifically listed as being archers, and for only one of these men do we possess any geographic information.83 This does not mean, however, that we cannot glean the necessary geographic information about mounted archers from the martial documents, merely that we must be more inventive in our investigation of their content. One of the best ways to identify the origins of at least some men in a later fourteenth century retinue is to establish the geographic origin of their captain. By selecting captains of whose geographic origins we are aware, we can compare the poll taxpayers of their “home” counties with the mounted archers in their retinues and thereby make connections. Such a search will of course only identify men local to a captain, perhaps those from his own estate, and thus the men to whom he likely turned first in forming his retinue, rather than the unaffiliated professionals from outside traditional, regional, recruitment networks.84 Nevertheless such a search will doubtless provide the origins of at least some mounted archers, even unaf-

79 80

81 82 83

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Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 155. Ten of these men are designated as being “yeoman of the royal household” which denotes the status of archer. James L. Gillespie, “Richard II’s Archers of the Crown,” Journal of British Studies 18:2 (1979), p. 19. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 157–63. For discussion of pardons and their disappearance, Baker, “The English Way of War,” pp. 30–35. Roger Aspeden was from Lancashire and had served as an archer of the Crown under the Black Prince. He was convicted and pardoned for murder in late January 1378, C.P.R. 1377–81, p. 101. Henry Morice was pardoned for murder: C.P.R. 1358–61, p. 366. Symond: C.P.R. 1361–64, p. 12. It was the freelancers to whom captains were increasingly turning to meet the increasing demands for larger retinues from the Crown, and who constituted the majority of a retinue’s manpower by this period. Ayton, “Armies and Military Communities,” pp. 217–21.

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filiated men local to a captain, whose names can be compared with the relevant county poll tax returns. To this end three captains from the 1370s and ’80s – thus active near to the poll tax assessments – with modestly sized retinues and of known geographic origin have been selected so that we can compare the mounted archers in their retinue with the captain’s home county. The first is David Holgrave of Northumberland, who accompanied the earl of Buckingham in 1380 with a retinue of 77 men (40 archers); the second is Sir Matthew Redmane of Westmorland who held the garrisons of Roxburgh and Carlisle in 1381–82, and was active on the Scottish Marches between 1383 and 1385 under the earl of Northumberland with c.256 men85 cumulatively from the three expeditions (c.152 archers).86 The third is Laurence de Seybrook of Gloucestershire who served as a captain under Sir William Neville in his naval expedition of 1374 with a retinue of 80 men, 41 of whom were archers.87 It will also be prudent to include the handful of archers in receipt of protections, pardons, and attorneys for whom we possess geographic information, and the seven archers from the two naval expeditions led by the earl of Arundel in 1387 and 1388, mentioned above, whom Adrian Bell has already identified as having landholdings within the domains of the earl.88 The archers from these three retinues form the first part of our sample of men to be investigated in the relevant county records of the poll tax, a sample necessary for the fact that comparing the name of every known mounted archer in the entirety of poll tax returns (in published form stretching to three volumes amounting to around 2000 pages), would be highly time consuming and impractical. A second, and potentially more fruitful, source of mounted archers of known geographic origin are the personal bodyguards of mounted archers of Edward III and Richard II, be they “king’s archers,” the separate body of “archers of the livery of the Crown,” or the “yeoman of the livery of the Crown,” all receiving the standard 6d. a day for a mounted archer.89 These archers, close to the person 85 86 87 88 89

Based on the fact that some men appear twice on the same roll and on more than one of the three stints of service. (Holgrave) Sherborne, “Indentured Retinues,” p. 22 n. 124, TNA, E101/31/9 m.1; (Redmane) TNA, E101/531/29 m. 2, 6; E101/39/11 m. 3; BL, Cotton Roll XIII m. 1. C.P.R. 1389–92, p. 704; TNA, E101/33/15 m. 2. Bell, War and the Soldier, pp. 123–24. The archers are: John Kyng, John Leche, John atte Hall, Richard Mareschall, John Fuller, Robert Kyng, and Walter Smyth. James Gillespie, “Archers of the Crown,” p. 15. The distinction between the first two groups is blurred to the extent that historians have often viewed them as one body of men, when in fact they were distinct, and neither were the same as Richard’s famous Cheshire archers who gained notoriety in the 1390s. Nigel Saul, “The Kingship of Richard II,” in Richard II: The Art of Kingship, ed. Anthony Goodman and James L. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), p. 55 n.70; James L. Gillespie, “Richard II’s Cheshire Archers,” Transactions of the Historical Society of Lancashire and Cheshire 125 (1974), pp. 5–6. Though sympathetic to Richard, an account by two Cistercians of the “perjury” of Henry Bolingbroke noted of Richard’s Cheshire archers that: “On their shoulders they wore the badge of the white hart resplendent, but among the common people there was much talk of the extortions practiced by them.” Chronicles of the Revolution,



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of the king, in positions that were no doubt highly sought after, likely represent the crème de la crème of mounted bowmen; the fact their wages were often in arrears, making it necessary for them to live from their own resources, certainly suggests this was the case.90 How representative these men were of the “typical” mounted archer is unclear. Whilst some had “extensive martial interests and were career soldiers,” others spent the majority of their time performing nonmilitary roles in various other capacities.91 Indeed as royal archers, many of whom will have been expected to be near-constant companions of the king, we have to wonder how often they performed active martial service, even if there is evidence that some of them served other lords concurrently and fought abroad when royal duties allowed.92 With these considerations in mind, and discounting Richard II’s infamous Cheshire archers because the county seems to have been exempt from the poll tax, in all we can identify no fewer than 69 royal archers from both reigns for whom we possess geographical information, their county of origin based upon the fact they were paid their wages out of the issues of a particular county.93 A third part of our sample involves reversing the order of analysis of the source materials by taking a list of records of tax payers of a particular town from the more useful 1379 graduated poll tax and then checking these names within the martial records. For this purpose three locations have been chosen at random: Muston in Framland hundred, Leicestershire; Horsforth in Skyrack wapentake in what is now West Yorkshire; and Dipford in the Hull hundred of Somerset, cumulatively providing the names of 102 men.94 In effect this method provides the geographic origin of a large number of men; our task is to find any mounted archers amongst them. More than any other method of identifying potential mounted archers this is the most suspect. Nevertheless it may lead to a few linkages that would not otherwise come to light. We are thus left with a fairly large and varied sample of mounted archers for our second task: correlating names from the martial sources with the relevant county poll tax records. How many of our mounted archers can be shown to appear among the taxpayers? A number of the archers that Adrian Bell identified as landholders in Sussex certainly appear. John Kynge paid 6d. in 1379 and

90 91 92 93 94

1397–1400, trans. and ed. Christopher Given-Wilson (Manchester, 1993), p. 154. Gillespie believes that the “yeomen of the livery of the Crown” should be regarded as mounted archers not only because they were paid the standard mounted archer’s wage but also because they begin to appear in the records in 1390, after the Appellant-led government had attempted to curb the number of Richard’s personal archers. Richard seems to have adopted the terminology of yeoman of the livery as opposed to archer of the livery “as a means of circumventing the parliamentary ordinance on numbers.” Gillespie, “Archers of the Crown,” p. 19. Gillespie, “Archers of the Crown,” pp. 22–23. Ibid., p. 24. Ibid., pp. 25–26. Cheshire’s exemption: Poll Taxes, 1:xxi. The names of these men can be found in: Baker, “The English Way of War,” appendix iv, pp. 332–35. Poll Taxes, 1:515; 2:440, 402.

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there were several men in the county named John atte Halle paying between 4d. and 6d. in the same year. The same was true of Richard Mareschall (or men with similar surname derivation) all paying 4d., which could suggesting that at least two of these men were the archers who had served with Arundel in 1387 and 1388. A John Fuller (or “Fullere”) also appears in 1379, also paying 4d.95 Despite these findings, however, it is not promising for strengthening the argument that mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century came from a more elevated social position than their infantry forebears. Let us take these materials in turn. Of the eleven archers of known origin in receipt of letters of protection only two appear in the poll tax returns for their relevant county – John Mariot from Yorkshire, and John Salesbury from Gloucestershire96 – whilst a third, John Darnall from Yorkshire, can only be added very tentatively, if at all, based on uncertain surname evidence.97 The appearance of Roger Aspeden, one of the Black Prince’s “Archers of the Crown,” in the poll tax record of 1379 paying 4d. in Oswaldwhistle, Lancashire, is certainly helpful but hardly adds much weight to the argument for more socially elevated mounted archers, whilst the problems of multiple surnames and the fact that about a quarter of men in the poll tax returns were called “John” serves to highlight the nominal record linkage problem inherent in the whole exercise.98 More damaging still for the argument of socially affluent mounted archers is the evidence presented when attempting to correlate the names of men who were archers/yeomen of the Crown with the poll tax records.99 It is unfortunately not possible to check all of the sixty-nine names of men whose geographic origin we can ascertain. The returns for London and Huntingdonshire are no longer extant, Wales was not included in the assessment, the survivals for other counties are varied, and it seems that Chester was exempted due to its position as a palatinate; if it made a contribution the returns do not survive.100 Even despite these limitations, which leave us with fifty-seven individuals, given the undoubted prestige of these positions, one might assume that the men filling them would appear in large numbers in the tax returns. This is not the case. Only six men – 95 96

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98 99 100

Poll Taxes, 2:582, 583, 586, 589, 597, 598, 601, 606, 613. Of those identified by Bell, only Wauter Smyth (Smith) and John Leche do not appear. John Mariot is listed with his wife Johanna paying 4d. in Bradfield (in Hallamshire including modern Sheffield): Poll Taxes, 3:318. John Salesbury of St. Edwardstowe, Gloucestershire, appears in the rolls for 1381 with his wife Isabella, both of whom paid 12d. He is also listed with the abbreviated word vebbugg which could refer to an occupation of some kind, the payment of 12d. perhaps suggesting a now retired archer. Poll Taxes, 2:264. There was a Robert “Danyell” and his wife Juliana paying 4d. in Barnby Dun, W.R. of Yorkshire (1379) and a different man with the same name with his wife Alicia, also paying 4d. in 1379; a Robert “Daniell” paying 4d. in Aston, W.R. Yorkshire in the same year; and a Robert “Donell” paying 4d. in the Villat’ de Wales in the same year. There is also evidence of a potential family member, Thomas Darnal with “Betrix” his wife, paying 4d. in Handsworth, W. R. of Yorkshire, in 1379. Poll Taxes, 3:309, 323, 335. Poll Taxes, 1:447. Listed in appendix iv of Baker, “The English Way of War, 1360–99,” pp. 332–35. Poll Taxes, 1:xxi; 2:61.



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John Alayn (Wiltshire), John Archer (Essex), William Hunt and Richard Kyng (both Sussex), John Kenne (Hampshire), and Adam de Peynkhurst (Surrey) – out of the fifty-seven appear by name in the returns for their relevant county, and highly tentative links based on surname evidence only can be made for two other men.101 The six who appear by name are certainly an interesting group. John Alayn, from Fovant in Cadworth hundred in Wiltshire, was certainly an affluent man of some standing in his community, being described as one of the probi homines (good men) of the region and it is certainly possible that he may have been an affluent archer in the king’s service. William Hunte of Sullington, Sussex, paying 4d. in 1379 may also have been a royal archer and the same can be said of the aptly named John Archer in the 1377 assessment in Colchester, Essex.102 Richard Kyng the archer of the Crown is explicitly described as being from Boxgrove in West Sussex, which does not appear in the tax return.103 He may, however, have been one of the Richard Kyngs who appear in Oving and Iping in the county, both paying 4d. in 1379, or even the Richard Kyng who paid 12d. in Chichester in the same year, with a servant paying 4d.104 It is always possible, of course, that none of these taxpayers were royal archers, and of the other two men legitimate doubts can be raised as to whether the individual in the tax return is the man of the same name who was a royal archer. John Kenne, paying 6d. in the Isle of Wight in 1379, seems like a probable candidate to have been a royal mounted archer, but the poll tax record also states that he was a weaver (textor). Whilst we know that royal archers were not exclusively in attendance on the king at all times this seems an unlikely alternative occupation for a royal archer. Adam de Pynkhurst who appears in the poll tax records in the 1381 reassessment in Southwark, Surrey, is an even more interesting case. He paid no less than 6s. 8d. and had two servants paying 4d. and 6d. respectively. The large payment made by Pynkhurst may be offset somewhat by the fact that he also seems to have been paying for his wife and that in 1381 all men and women should pay at least one shilling, much higher than in previous poll taxes.105 Nevertheless, even if he were paying only half of the 6s. 8d. for himself, and potentially less if paying for other un-listed family members, this was still three times the amount the average person was expected to contribute. Whether or not a mounted archer, even a royal one, could be expected to pay

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Aleyn: Poll Taxes, 1:34, 48; Archer: ibid., pp. 201, 220; Kenne: ibid., p. 338; Hunte: Poll Taxes, 2:86; Kyng: ibid., pp. 597, 600, 629; Pynkhurst: ibid., pp. 237–38. Tentative surname evidence: John Knightingley, Poll Taxes, 1:89; Nicholas Radenham, ibid., 91, 93, 111, 114. Surname links in Yorkshire for “Monketon” and “Vauser:” Poll Taxes, 3:139, 140. See these references for the discussion of the individual archers below. It is unlikely, though not impossible, to have been the John Archer from Belchamp St. Paul’s in Hinckford hundred in 1381 paying 2s., described as labor (laborer), Poll Taxes, 1:220. C.P.R. 1389–92, p. 5. The high payment of 12d. may be explained by the fact this Richard Kyng was also paying for the tax for his wife Agnes. Poll Taxes, 1:xvi.

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such a large amount, or whether this was common practice for men of such a prestigious station, is open to conjecture. Even if, despite difficulties with the sources and nominal record linkage, it has been possible to identify six royal archers in the poll tax returns this is still a paltry number. That so few of those who we assume represent the elite of the mounted archers appear certainly dents the argument for socially affluent mounted archers. Why these royal archers do not appear is unknown but a possible and likely explanation is that the men occupying these positions were resident in and around the City of London, of which records are no longer extant. The appearance of archers in the retinues of the three war captains is mixed. Only one of the forty archers listed in the retinue of the esquire David Holgrave in 1380 – John Archer (Archier) of Shilbottle – can be found among the poll tax payers in Holgrave’s home county of Northumberland, likely resulting from the fact that the survival of the poll tax records for the county are scant.106 A few more archers from Laurence Seybrook’s retinue, four out of forty-one, about 10 percent, appear in the returns for his home county of Gloucestershire, all paying the minimum 12d. in the 1381 assessment.107 This number of men may appear small but it may be mitigated somewhat by the fact that virtually all the returns for Gloucestershire are for 1381, when mass evasion of the tax has been noted. Checking the men of the three retinues of Sir Matthew Redmane (the garrisons of Roxburgh and Carlisle in 1381–82, and the force in the Scottish Marches from 1383 to 1385) in the Poll Tax records provides similar results. Of the 150 or so individual archers that served under Redmane on these three occasions fifteen men – or 10 percent – can be identified in the Poll Tax records in his home county of Westmorland.108 There are also some archers’ family names that appear, even if the archer himself does not, suggestive perhaps of service from within local families. If we extend the survey of the archers in Redmane’s retinue further to the counties of Cumberland and Northumberland – thus men not quite of his locality, but certainly within his recruitment reach as an important figure amongst the northern gentry – we can add the names of another six men who appear in the tax returns.109 If the men from these three counties in the tax records are the mounted archers from the martial records then it is likely that they represent the core of Redmane’s missile troops to which he could add unaffiliated soldiery from further afield. Indeed more men might appear if more 106 107 108

109

Poll Taxes, 2:269. No returns survive for either 1379 or 1381 and the only records for 1377 are for the Coquetdale ward, though unusually amongst 1377 returns they are nominal lists. Nicholas Aleyn, John Chandeler, Richard Baker, and John Chamberlain: Poll Taxes, 1:263, 268, 274, 279. John Robynson, John Dobynson (Dobson), John Taylour, John Willeson, John Adekynson, William Fissher, John be Bek, Thomas Cook, John Thommeson, Thomas Dobson, John de Hoton, William Hudson, John del Syle, John Stevenson, Robert Walker: Poll Taxes, 2:693, 695–702. Cumberland: John Sadeler, John de Calton, John Daweson, John Roson (Poll Taxes, 1:91–94); Northumberland: Robert Barker, Thomas de Rok (ibid., pp. 266–71).



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records for the three counties were extant. The Northumberland and Westmorland records survive only for limited regions and for single years (1377 and 1379 respectively), and the same is true of those for Cumberland, with only a nominal list from Carlisle in 1377 now extant. It might seem surprising that only four archers from Redmane’s garrison at Carlisle – John Sadeler, John de Calton, John Daweson, and John Roson – appear in the poll tax record for the town.110 However, this becomes more understandable when it is remembered that it was often stipulated in indentures during the 1380s and ’90s that a significant proportion of a garrison’s troops, at least on the northern border, should not be recruited from the locality of the fortress and should be from further south, probably in the main to prevent desertion.111 The three settlements selected from the poll tax records also provide a limited number of candidates who may have served as mounted archers. In Muston, Leicestershire, eleven of the forty names surveyed also appear in the martial records, all paying 4d.112 In Dipford, Somerset, only one man of the thirtythree surveyed appears, again paying 4d.113 Finally in Horsforth, Yorkshire, ten men out of twenty-nine appear, all paying 4d. barring one man, Robert Horsford, a franklin (a free-holder of non-noble birth) paying 3s. 4d.114 It is impos110 111

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Though other names do appear and they have been included amongst the men from Westmorland. Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland, vol. 4, ed. J.D. Galbraith and G.G. Simpson (Edinburgh, 1986), no. 360. All but twenty men-at-arms and twenty archers within a garrison of around one hundred in Roxburgh in 1386 were to be “strangers” from the southern side of the county of Richmond and Craven. Cornell, “English Castle Garrisons,” pp. 204–13. William Brown: with the earl of Northumberland on the Scottish Marches in 1383 and 1385 (BL, Cotton Roll XIII. 8 m.4). William, two Johns, and a Robert Baldwyn: William under Sir Aubrey de Vere on John of Gaunt’s naval raid in 1378 (TNA, E101/36/39 m. 6), on the 1387 naval expedition under Sir John Darundell (E101/40/34 m. 14), and again the following year, this time in the retinue of Sir Hugh Despenser, both expeditions commanded by the earl of Arundel (E101/41/51 m. 12d.). John: various men of this name but a John is named as an esquire on the 1387 naval sortie (E101/40/34 m. 2ii). Robert only a man-at-arms at sea in 1374 (E101/33/17 m. 2). John Funteyns (Fountains) in Edward III’s abortive naval campaign in 1372 (E101/32/20 m. 3d.) and again in 1375 in Edward Lord Despenser’s retinue on the earl of Cambridge and the duke of Brittany’s French campaign (E101/34/3 m. 1d. and 2d.). William Stretton: 1370 under Guy Lord Brian at sea (E101/30/21 m. 2) and in 1380–81 with Sir Hugh Calvelay under the earl of Buckingham (E101/39/9 m. 3). William Grene: in the Berwick garrison in 1384 (E101/39/39 and 39/40 m. 3). Thomas de Clyfton: Ralph Lord Basset of Drayton under Edward III in 1372 and with Gaunt in 1373–74 (E101/31/39 m. 2, E101/32/38 m. 3). Hugh Grene: under Sir William Elmham with Arundel in 1387 (E101/40/33 m. 11d, 40/34 m. 20ii). John Bitham: an esquire with Arundel in 1387 (E101/40/33 m. 3). Dipford: John Coteler/Cutler. Two men, senior and junior, suggests a familial connection, under Lord Walter FitzWalter, in a Scottish standing force (E101/39/38 m. 3d.). Horsforth (all archers unless otherwise stated): Robert Horsforth/Horsford, serving as an archer under Sir Thomas Percy junior in the army of Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland in 1383 and 1385 (BL, Cotton Roll XIII. 8 m.3). John Wryght under the earl of Cambridge in 1375 (TNA, E101/35/6 m. 1d.). John Roberd: listed as “keeping the sea” with Geoffrey Sterling in 1374 (E101/32/39 m. 2) and a man of the same name was in the retinue of Edmund of Langley, duke of York, in 1399 whilst Richard II was away in Ireland (E101/42/12 m. 5).

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sible to say how many of these twenty-two names that appear in both sets of records refer to the same individuals although some tentative suggestions may be made for those from Horsforth. Several men from this village appear to have served with captains whose lands and thus recruiting reach will certainly have included Yorkshire, particularly the Percy earls of Northumberland and Edmund of Langley, earl of Cambridge, who in 1347 inherited several Yorkshire estates on the death of his godfather John de Warenne, earl of Surrey.115 More tellingly three men served on the same expedition, two of whom were with the same captain, the archers John Hunter and William Sharp in the retinue of Edward Lord Despenser on the earl of Cambridge and the duke of Brittany’s French expedition in 1375, whilst a John Wryght served in Cambridge’s own retinue. Clearly this is not proof that these men were the same ones listed in the Horsforth poll tax return but it is an intriguing possibility. One interesting caveat of our investigation into potential archers is that in Redmane’s retinue personnel, for example, only one man, Robert Walker of Ravenstonedale in Westmorland in 1379, paid more than the most basic amount of 4d.116 If we are right in assuming that our nominal record linkages between the tax and martial records are correct then does this lack of higher-rate taxpayers amongst Redmane’s archers, and indeed in our other examples, denote that these bowmen were not particularly socio-economically affluent? The problem is that

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John Hawk in the retinue of Sir John Sandes with the earl of Arundel at sea, 1388 (E101/41/5 m.  15) and a man-at-arms (probably not the same individual at sea in 1370 [E101/30/37 m. 2]), Hugh del Halle, two men-at-arms, probably the same individual first under Sir William Hilton in the earl of Northumberland’s force on the Scottish border in 1383 and 1385, the second, also under Northumberland in Gaunt’s Scottish expedition of 1384 (BL, Cotton Roll XIII. 8 m.1, E101/40/5 m.1). John Hunter, various men with this name. One is a man-at-arms with William Swinburne in the retinue of the duke of Northumberland in 1383 and 1385. The rest are all archers as follows: in Ireland under Sir Robert Ashton in 1372–73 (E101/32/35 m. 2 and 3d.) and under Sir William de Windsor (E101/33/34 m.4; 33/35 m.3; 33/38 m. 1iii), and Sir John Stanley from 1389–92 (E101/41/18 m. 16 and E101/41/18 m. 23). In the retinue of Edward Lord Despenser in 1375 on the earl of Cambridge and the duke of Brittany’s French expedition. Hugh del Grene: under Sir William Elmham on the earl of Arundel’s 1387 naval expedition (E101/40/33 m. 11d.; E101/40/34 m. 20ii). Henry Coke: in the retinue of Sir William Beauchamp in Lancaster’s 1378 naval expedition (E101/36/39 m. 2) and again with Sir John Stanley in Ireland, 1389–92. William Sharp/Scharpe/Sharpe: French expedition with Edward Lord Despenser under Cambridge and Brittany; under Sir John Braine and then Sir William Frein in the retinue of Sir Stephen le Scrope in Ireland from 1395 to 1397 (E101/41/39 mm. 1ii, 2, 3ii, 4ii, 5, 6i, 7, 8i.). Thomas del Wode: A Thomas atte Wode with Sir John Darundell with Gaunt at sea in 1378 (E101/36/39 m. 8d.). A Thomas Wode, man-at-arms under Sir Thomas Percy in 1377–78, also with Gaunt the same year (E101/37/28 m. 1). With Lord Walter Fitz Walter on the Scottish March in 1384 (E101/39/38 m. 3). Another Thomas Wode, man-at-arms, with Sir Thomas Percy in 1385 at sea (E101/40/39 m. 1). Finally another archer in Scotland in the retinue of Stephen de Tanet under Henry IV in Scotland in 1400 (E101/42/16 m. 31 and 43). George Edward Cokayne et al., The Complete Peerage of England, Scotland, Ireland, Great Britain and the United Kingdom, Extant, Extinct or Dormant, new ed., 12:2 (London, 1910– 1959), p. 895. He paid 6d. Poll Taxes, 2:702.



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there is no real way of comparison; we cannot be sure if the arrayed infantrymen who fought in the late thirteenth, and first decades of the fourteenth, century would have been affluent enough to qualify to pay the 4d. in 1379, for example. It does seem likely, however, that those infantry levies of the early fourteenth century would have been able to pay a poll tax, had one ever been raised. After all, “four pence was not an enormous sum, about a day’s wages for a carpenter or two-thirds of a day’s wages for an archer.”117 Yet this does not mean that mounted archers, largely paying 4d. in the poll tax returns, were not more affluent than the men of the arrayed levies of the past. Those at the very top of the “yeomanry,” men like Robert Walker of Ravenstonedale, fit into the lowest end of the bracket in 1379 of: “all lesser merchants and artificers who have profit from the land, according to the extent of their estate (from 6s. 8d. down to 6d.).”118 For the vast majority of the archers, however, who fell into the “everyman” bracket of the 4d. minimum in 1379, there was a great difference in wealth between individuals paying this basic rate. This flat rate, after all, in theory covered everyone from those whose wealth meant they were just below the 6d. bracket down to those just above paupers who could afford nothing at all. Within this group thus fell a huge swath of the medieval population; it is hardly surprising that most of the mounted archers of whom we have geographic information are included within this number, even if they represented the “elite” of the peasant population. Nevertheless it appears that on the face of it, few of our samples of mounted archers appear in the poll tax records, and vice-versa, and those that do largely did not pay more than the basic rate. Any hope of strengthening the argument for more socio-economically affluent mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century thus appears impossible. Indeed that so few men appear might even suggest that the very notion of the upwardly mobile yeoman archer in this period needs revising. It is very important to remember, however, that there are a number of problems with these records and our interpretation of them. Ascertaining mounted archers’ geographic origins in the first place, problems with the tax records themselves, as well as our interpretation of their content, makes nominal record linkage and detailed prosopography a near impossible task, and we can only speculate as to how many archers we “miss” either within the sources themselves, or who were not recorded for various reasons, because of these problems. On occasion the odd glimmer of light does shine through the murk to provide hope, even if we can only be confident of a familial link. Henry Haveringe of Flintham in Nottinghamshire, one of the handful of known archers in receipt of a letter of protection in the second half of the fourteenth century – on 8 June 1380 for French service under Sir William de Windsor – is also listed as a collector of the poll tax in Flintham in 1377 and may well have appeared

117 118

Sumption, Divided Houses, p. 276. Poll Taxes, 1:xv–xvi.

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in the 1379 and 1380 documentation had it survived to the present.119 All that can be said with certainty is that, despite the difficulties, and as far as can be ascertained within reasonable doubt, at least some mounted archers appear in the poll tax records. This in itself is significant, especially those paying more than the standard 4d. in the graduated tax of 1379. It shows, at least on some level, that some of their number were becoming moderately affluent to the extent that they qualified for paying the higher echelons of a tax on wealth and property. A second indicator of wealth amongst both men-at-arms and mounted archers – and thus of social status – is the possession and acquisition by individuals of their own mounts and equipment for war. This is a highly important issue. If men were having their arms, armor, and mount provided for them by their military captains, their locality, or from a central store, and if this was a regular practice, “it would make more likely a continuing military role for the less prosperous sections of the rural population.”120 Conversely, if men were providing their own military equipage then this would suggest that war was increasingly, if not exclusively, the preserve of the more affluent sections of medieval society: men who could afford to meet martial costs themselves. For those from the upper stratum of the gentry, the nobility, and the aristocracy – men who served as retinue captains and/or as the wealthiest men-at-arms – war was as much about displaying one’s own wealth and status as it was about protection and the offensive capability of weaponry. It is important to remember that, unlike in later centuries where uniform was provided by the state, there was no standardized equipment with which men were required to serve. Though the flowing heraldic surcoat had disappeared by the second half of the fourteenth century, to be replaced by the more practical jupon, men of wealth continued to display their worldly status through the quality of their armor, weapons, and barding for their horses.121 This was a considerable expense by the second half of the fourteenth century. Whilst full suits of plate armor did not appear until well into the fifteenth century, there was a gradual emergence from the second quarter of the fourteenth century onwards of pieces of plate that protected the most vulnerable parts of the body worn in conjunction with traditional mail.122 The cost of acquisition of such equipment has been estimated, for a full kit, at around £10–15 for a man-at-arms, “perhaps a fifth of a middling knight’s annual income.”123 Though we should not of course underestimate the fact that the 119 120 121 122 123

Listed as Henricus Avereng: TNA, E179/159/31/8; Poll Taxes, 2:277. Protection: TNA, C 76/64 m. 6. Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” p. 40. Rachel A. Dressler, Of Armour and Men in Medieval England: The Chivalric Rhetoric of Three English Knight’s Effigies (Aldershot, 2004), pp. 20–21. Thom Richardson, “Armour in England, 1325–99,” Journal of Medieval History 37:3 (2011), pp. 304–20. L. James, “The Cost and Distribution of Armour in the Fourteenth Century,” Transactions of the Monumental Brass Society, 10:4 (1967 for 1966), pp. 226–31; Saul, For Honour and Fame, p. 121. Cf. Michael Prestwich, “Miles in Armis Strenuus: The Knight at War,” Trans-



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purchase of a full suit of armor was only an occasional expense, that recycling of armor was rife, and that men served with whatever they could get their hands on, this was a substantial expense for any individual, and we know from their wills that knights acquired pieces as and when needed.124 In his will of 9 April 1391, for example, Sir William de Thorp, possibly of Lincolnshire, bequeathed “his bows and arrows … to his servants (valettos) and others as Henry his chaplain may think fit,” whilst a close friend or kinsman by marriage, John Tendale, was given “one of his best horses and a sword or baselard.”125 Clearly, therefore, nobility and wealthier members of the gentry were providing their own military equipment – indeed the need for musters prior to a campaign would suggest this – the acquisition and maintenance of which was a constant expense not even taking into consideration the costs associated with owning a horse.126 Recently however Thom Richardson has indicated that a number of men-at-arms were having their armor provided for them from the large central store held in the Tower of London.127 This would initially suggest that there was a greater scope for the less affluent members of the gentry to serve due to the fact that they did not have to provide their own equipment. This may have been the case in some instances but the fact that the biggest fluctuations in the Tower’s store occurred during times of royally led expeditions would suggest that it was intended, in the main, for men from the king’s own military affinity, and perhaps for the affinities of his relatives.128 For example, the number of mail shirts (habergeons) in

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actions of the Royal Historical Society 6:5 (1995), pp. 207–12, who argued these were not excessive, at least for the knightly classes. I would like to thank Karen Watts from the Royal Armouries in Leeds who drew my attention to the caliber, types, and practice of armor recycling. This may have been the same William de Thorp who fought with the Black Prince in Gascony in 1368–69 (TNA, E101/29/24 m. 1). He also left a copy of “a book called ‘Pollicronikon’” to Sir John Pechell. Calendar of Wills Proved and Enrolled in the Court of Husting, London: Part 2: 1358–1688, ed. R. R. Sharpe (1890), accessed 17 January 2013, online: . It is sometimes argued that the regard payment introduced in the 1340s and paid to retinue captains at the quarterly rate of 100 marks per thirty men-at-arms recruited was to help their men meet these expenses, although this seems unlikely as this would have eaten into the captains’ profit margins and it is much more likely that it was used by captains to meet their own overheads. Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, p. 86; Prince, “The Indenture System under Edward III,” pp. 292–93. Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 193. Regard was not always paid at this standard rate: Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 110–13. Thom Richardson, “The Supply of Arms and Armour through the Privy Wardrobe in the Tower in the Fourteenth Century,” at The Hundred Years War: A Century of Conflict Re-Evaluated. Conference held at the Tower of London, 29 September 2012. Richardson, “Armour in England, 1325–99,” pp. 304–20. Particularly when it is considered that a number of pieces, particularly shields, were emblazoned with the arms of the king such as: “the majority of the 540 pavises in the armoury in 1353… painted white, with a garter in the centre of each containing an escutcheon … with the arms of the king within a garter.” Richardson, “Armour in England,” p. 319. Thom Richardson’s Ph.D. thesis at the University of York, provisionally titled: “Medieval Inventories of the Tower Armouries, 1320–1410,” http://www.york.ac.uk/history/postgraduate/mphil–phd/

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the armory, which had numbered as many as 1,956 in 1369, had fallen to 628 in 1399, “partly to be explained by the issue of 500 mail shirts for Richard II’s expedition to Ireland that year.”129 It would certainly make sense for all the men of the king’s retinue, and those of his wider affinity, to wear a standardized form of equipment when riding to war if only to indicate that the royal retinue was the most numerous and prestigious contingent of an army. Perhaps other leading captains had their own armories from which some at least of their men were equipped – the familia who formed the core of their retinues – although this almost certainly did not extend to the unaffiliated “freelancers” whom captains in this period were increasingly having to turn to as their retinues grew in size; the costs would have been excessive for any one private individual.130 What of the mounted archers? By the fifteenth century they certainly had to be men of means. John Fortescue wrote that whilst they need not be “ryche men” they needed to “haue wherewith to bie hem bowes, arroes, jakkes or any oþer armour off defence.”131 Was this also the case in the later fourteenth century? Edward III repeatedly promulgated an amended version of the Statute of Winchester as early as the 1330s, specifying that a mounted archer was to possess bow, arrows, a sword and a knife, provided by the individual.132 This however was concerned with preparations for local defense as opposed to offensive field operations. Even when attempts were made by the crown to introduce a new landed-income based military assessment in the mid-1340s in which mounted archers were to be “equipped and sent to muster by £5 per annum landowners seeking to discharge their military assessment,” provision for equip-

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research–students/ (as of 7 January 2012) may go a long way towards providing further clarity on this matter. Richardson, “Armour in England,” p. 309. David Simpkin calculated the average retinue size of English forces from 1282 to 1314 to be 5.2 men but argues that this figure is unnaturally inflated by the large retinues of 1311– 14; discounting these years the figure is 4.7: Simpkin, The English Aristocracy at War, pp. 159–62, and table 2.2. By 1322 the average size of a banneret’s retinue had risen to twentyone, in Scotland in 1341–42 it was thirty: Prestwich, The English Experience, p. 42. By the Reims campaign the duke of Lancaster had well over a thousand combatants within his retinue and though this army was exceptionally large, and Lancaster exceptionally wealthy, this was hardly an isolated example. For the expedition of 1380 the earl of Buckingham’s retinue consisted of something in the region of 2,500 men (TNA, E364/15 m. 41d; E101/393/11 fo. 79v.) and even captains lower down the social scale had retinues numbering hundreds of combatants like Sir John Minsterworth with around 500 men in 1370 (E101/30/25 m. 1). For discussion of retinue formation: Anne Curry, “Personal Links and the Nature of the English War Retinue: A Case Study of John Mowbray, Earl Marshal, and the Campaign of 1415,” Liens personnels, réseaux, solidarités en France et dans les iles Britanniques (XIe– XXe siècle), ed. V. Gazeau et al. (Paris, 2006), pp. 153–67; David Green, “The Later Retinue of Edward the Black Prince,” Nottingham Medieval Studies 44 (2000), 141–151. John Fortescue, Governance of England, pp. 137–38. Foedera, Conventiones, Litterae etc., ed. Thomas Rymer, revised ed. A.F. Clarke et al., vol. 2:2 (1816–69) pp. 900–1. For a colorful yet probably largely accurate description of a muster outside La Rochelle in 1372 by Froissart: Philippe Contamine, Guerre, état et société, p. 89.



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ping these men was clearly stipulated.133 Archers recruited via commissions of array (and men-at-arms for that matter), either for local defence or service in English armies, certainly seem to have had their equipment, and perhaps horses too, provided for them, the expense met by their home county.134 An interesting case in Rutland in 1359 suggests, however, that this was not always the case. The commissioners complained that all the best men of the county had been taken by the earl of Warwick, Lord de la Warre, Lord Zouche, and other captains for their own retinues, effectively stripping the county of its manpower, leaving only two men of decent caliber who could be found, both of whom were unable to equip themselves adequately.135 It might tentatively be suggested that equipment was supplied by localities above and beyond that which individuals had to provide themselves by the Statute of Winchester.136 In any case arrayed troops within English armies virtually ceased after c. 1360, barring, it seems, for Irish expeditions in the 1360s, and were not really a factor after this date.137 The contracted retainers of prominent captains are also likely to have had their equipment provided for them. The service of these men was not a temporary expedient for the duration of a campaign but a long-term contract between lord and retainer for service in peace and war. They were either resident household attendants or those who came from the locality of their lord’s estate, the latter differing from the former only in that they did not reside in their lord’s residence.138 Though very little is known regarding the provision of equipment to these household men (resident in their lord’s house or otherwise) evidence that the men of Cheshire were provided with half green, half white coats when they were recruited may reflect common fourteenth-entury practice, whilst favoured retainers were sometimes provided with horses.139 This was certainly the case 133 134

135 136 137

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Ayton, “The English Army at Crécy,” p. 221. H.J. Hewitt, The Organisation of War under Edward III (Manchester, 1966), pp. 36–39; idem, “The Organisation of War,” in The Wars of Edward III, Sources and Interpretations, ed. Clifford J. Rogers (Woodbridge, 1999), pp. 288–89. For the development of this obligation and the political wrangling between king and parliament: Gerald L. Harriss, “War and the Emergence of the English Parliament,” ibid., pp. 332–5. TNA, C47/2/44. The statute was in force from 1258 to 1558. David L. Smith, Constitutional Royalism and the Search for Settlement, c. 1640–49 (Cambridge, 1994), p. 156. Michael Powicke, Military Obligation in Medieval England: A Study in Liberty and Duty (Oxford, 1962), p. 185. Hardy, Longbow, has argued that in time of threat of invasion as in the early years of the Hundred Years War: “archers were not to be taken for service abroad from the maritime counties, which were methodically being put in a posture of defence while the royal army was preparing to attack the enemy across the Channel,” p. 78. Archers were arrayed in the western English counties and Wales for expeditions to Ireland in 1361–62: C.P.R. 1361–64, pp. 21, 36, 163, 168. Calendar of Close Rolls Preserved in the Public Record Office: 1360–64, pp. 339–40. Also in 1368: C.P.R. 1367–70, p. 185; 1373: C.P.R. 1370–74, pp. 338, 353. N.B. Lewis, “The Organisation of Indentured Retinues in Fourteenth–century England,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 4:27 (1945), 29–39. See some early examples in: John M.W. Bean, From Lord to Patron: Lordship in Late Medieval England (Manchester, 1989), pp. 46–47.

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by the fifteenth century. The household account book of Sir John Howard lists various equipment that was issued to archers in his employ for the proposed Scottish campaign of 1480 including “a pier brigandies, a pier splentes [arm defenders of plate], a salate, a standart, his jacket, a gusset.”140 It does seem likely, therefore, given the nobility’s desire to project their status to their peers, that most captains would have provided the archers, and indeed men-at-arms, who formed their most intimate circle, with equipment and livery. The more vexing question is whether or not the same was true for the mounted archers with whom captains had no formal ties; the unaffiliated “freelance” professionals. It is more than likely that captains provided these men with their own livery – even something as simple as a colored tunic or ribbon – for the duration of their service to the captain, if only to help identify them to their employer in the thick of combat. Did this provision extend to the freelancer’s equipment, even mount? From a purely logistical standpoint if a captain did provide men with their arms and armor, and even if it were of the most basic, munition grade quality, there was no guarantee he would get it back if they were killed or deserted. If the captain had himself rented the equipment from a central store like the Tower of London, and he was unable to retrieve the equipment, he would again be out of pocket. It therefore seems highly unlikely that the captains were providing the equipment to the vast majority of the men in their retinue. After all, as well as being motivated by a sense of obligation and duty to their king, the majority of captains will doubtless have been motivated by a desire to gain plunder and material wealth from campaigning, an unlikely eventuality if they were significantly out of pocket by renting a large amount of armor and weaponry from a store before a campaign had even started. The costs, furthermore, of military equipment were rising steadily as the fourteenth century progressed. A steel cap, perhaps a sallet, boiled leather armor or quilted jack, even the more expensive brigandines which were widely worn by archers in the fifteenth century, would have been a considerable expense for a captain to meet for all his men, even if he were providing the most basic martial garb – the cap and boiled leather – costing all told about £2.141 It is true that wealthy magnates like John of Gaunt and the earl of Buckingham might have been able to afford to equip the huge retinues which they took to war.142 How, though, would a captain like Sir John Minsterworth, who participated in the ill-fated French expedition of 1370 with 300 archers (not to mention 200 men-at-arms), a man of only local, at best regional standing, and men in his position, be able to afford to equip soldiers from their own pocket in such numbers?143 In any case even 140 141 142

143

Taken from: Clive Bartlett, English Longbowmen, 1330–1515 (Oxford, 1995), p. 20. Thom Richardson, “Armour, Development of, Medieval to Modern,” The Encyclopedia of War, ed. Gordon Martel (London, 2012), pp. 3–4. Gaunt, for example, took 800 archers with him on his famous raid of 1373 (TNA, E364/10 m.  70) whilst Buckingham took 1,340 archers with him on the expedition of 1380 (E364 m. 15d.). TNA, E101/30/25/ mm. 1–3.



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the wealthiest captains like Gaunt would have balked at the thought of having to provide such massive expense on a near-annual basis. Whilst the possibility exists that captains may have been allowed to borrow equipment from a store like the Tower for free, as an incentive to go to war on the Crown’s behalf, this seems doubly unlikely; firstly because it would be the central administration which risked being out of pocket for the non-return of equipment, and secondly because the government’s financial struggles in the second half of the fourteenth century suggest it unlikely that it would run the risk of constantly having to replenish its stockpile of military equipment at great expense.144 It therefore seems highly probable that the unaffiliated mounted archers who were being recruited to form the bulk of manpower in English retinues in the second half of the fourteenth century were indeed providing their own equipment, indicating a greater level of social affluence than the arrayed soldiers whom they were fighting alongside until around 1360. Even if equipped in the most basic war gear – the cap and boiled leather – costing about £2, and a bow ranging from about 1s. 6d. for a white, untreated bow, to a 2s. “painted” bow – this would have meant that a skilled building worker in the south of England earning the average 3–5d. a day (1340s–1390s), even at the top rate, would have to work for around one hundred days just to provide the cost of his own equipment, not to mention the supplying of his mount; an unskilled building worker earning the maximum 3d. average in the same period would need to work for 160 days, or over five months.145 These archers must have been men of wealthier “yeoman” status to afford such expense and there were plenty of places where they could purchase equipment, particularly in London where a larger number of armorers resided.146 Some men built up quite a collection of arms and armor. Though we cannot be certain that he was a professional archer, being described simply as a “haberdasher” of London and perhaps doubling as a small arms dealer, one Richard Marshal, who had seemingly perished, perhaps on campaign, or fled from a debt he owed of £80 in late 1374, was certainly one such individual. 144

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For the Crown’s financial problems and the reasons behind them: Eleanora Mary CarusWilson and Olive Coleman, eds. England’s Export Trade, 1275–1547 (Stroud, 1963), pp. 51–52; Gerald L. Harriss, “War and the Emergence of the English Parliament, 1297–1360,” Journal of Medieval History 2 (1976), 35–56; idem, King, Parliament and Public Finance in England to 1369 (Oxford, 1975). Sir Goronwy Edwards, The Second Century of English Parliament (Oxford, 1979), pp. 19–23; Mark Ormrod, “The Western European Monarchies in the Later Middle Ages,” in Economic Systems and State Finance, ed. Richard Bonney (Oxford, 1995), 123–62; idem, “England in the Middle Ages,” in The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, c.1200–1815, ed. Richard Bonney (Oxford, 1999), 19–52; Sumption, Divided Houses, pp. 56–60. Christopher Dyer and Simon A.C. Peen, “Wages and Earnings in Late Medieval England: Evidence from the Enforcement of the Labour Laws,” in Everyday Life in Medieval England, 2nd ed. (London, 2000), p. 167. For the cost of longbows: Hardy, Longbow, p. 83. For example: C.P.R. 1340–43, p. 125; 1367–70, p. 412; 1370–74, p. 361; 1374–77, pp. 120, 448; 1377–81, p. 387; 1381–85, pp. 13, 208, 527, 563; 1389–92, p. 66, 109; 1391–96, pp. 139, 680; 1396–99, pp. 299, 303, 390. There were also mentions of armorers in other parts of the country: 1396–99, p. 407.

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Whatever the circumstances of his disappearance his creditor, Roger Fourbour of Cambridge, had to make do with Richard’s goods: 20 swords of Cologne; 20 sheaves of arrows with their heads; 4 bows, 9 helmets, various pieces of armour and mail, 21 daggers, 13 heads of lances, 8 dozen arrowheads, 15 dozen pairs of knives, 4½ dozen daggers called blakscaloppes, 20 sheaves of arrow-heads, 5 dozen daggers called scaloppes, painted cloths, domestic vessels and utensils, worth in all £16 9d.147

This was not an isolated case, as other debtors’ accounts between 1350 and 1400 make plain, with many individuals in possession of archery equipment that may hint at past martial service, like the missing Henry Lodewell, trunk maker of London, who had amongst his possessions when he went missing facing a debt of £40 in 1389: “a bow and arrows, a shield, two poleaxes … two cases of arrow-heads,” and an unspecified amount of armor.148 The very fact that all these men possessed this equipment would indicate that it had not come from some central store. An incident

during a particularly lengthy wait to embark for a campaign overseas with the earl of Buckingham in 1380 in which many of the waiting soldiers were forced to pawn their equipment including “jerkins, breastplates, helmets of metal and leather, bows, lances and other kinds of weapons,” in order to pay for food also indicates that the equipment was indeed theirs and not the property of the government.149 There was also the possibility that archers, just like the gentry and nobility, could inherit equipment from friends or family members, although such instances are harder to identify given that there is no way of knowing whether equipment bequeathed was intended for a man-at-arms, an archer, or even simply for an individual who might expect at some stage to be arrayed for local defense. In a rare example which might denote such a donation John de Sulby, Keeper of the Wardrobe of the Countess of Pembroke, left a William Denton, “his best bow and all his arrows,” and “to Robert de Louth and William the clerk [each] a bow respectively.”150 What then of Thom Richardson’s findings regarding the Tower armories? Richardson rightly pointed out that “the main work of the Tower armoury developed during the period [the second half of the fourteenth century] into the

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TNA, C 131/193/14. Lodewell: TNA, C 131/206/38. Other examples: C 131/205/64; C 131/45/21; C 131/49/6; C 131/12/10; C 131/47/25. Incidentally none of these individuals seem to appear in the martial records but this is unsurprising as they were likely going by false names if they had fled abroad on military service to ensure they were not chased further by their creditors. It is obviously possible of course that none of these men were archers and that they were men-at-arms or even civilians. Thomas Walsingham, Chronica Maiora, p. 107. It is not known, of course whether John was an active archer or indeed whether the men to whom he bequeathed his goods took them to war or used them for hunting. Calendar of Wills Proved: Part 2: 1358–1688, online: . Date accessed: 17 January 2013.



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provision of massive quantities of bows and quivers of arrows.”151 The stock of longbows rose from 682 in 1353 to 15,553 in 1360, fell to 5,303 in 1369, fell to 1,260 in 1379, rose again to 7,636 in 1388, fell once more to 2,328 in 1396 and dwindled back to 842 by 1405. These figures do not take into account the quantities that were brought into the Tower and issued again too quickly to appear on a receipt or remain, such as the 20,417 that were issued for the Crécy, Calais and other campaigns between 1344 and 1351.152 Does such a vast and varying quantity of weaponry (and presumably quivers of arrows too) not denote that this equipment was being provided for all mounted archers on campaign?153 It is possible to reach two diametrically opposed conclusions about these figures. The first is that the fall in the number of bows suggests that, whilst there were fluctuations, in general more were being issued from the Tower’s stores as the fourteenth century progressed, particularly in the 1390s. In other words, men were not providing their own bows, with the increase in issue denoting that to raise the types of army necessary to meet English military commitments in this period the Crown was forced to meet the rising costs of providing weaponry from its own pocket. This would make it possible for there still to be a role for those of lower peasant stock within the military community, even at this stage in the fourteenth century. Whilst this is certainly a possibility the argument fails to hold water when the alternative interpretation of the figures is considered: that the decline in number within the Tower stores denotes that mounted archers were increasingly, if not exclusively, providing their own weapons. This is certainly the more logical argument. Though bows did not carry the same social power in the medieval consciousness as swords, soldiers nevertheless would surely have preferred their own, personal, bows, that met their specifications for weight and balance, rather than ones arbitrarily supplied from a central store.154 The argument for the decline in the number of bows in the Tower denoting personal provision of them by archers is further strengthened when it is considered that the alternative viewpoint depends largely on the idea that the number of Tower bows in circulation remained constant. Without detailed knowledge of the issue and receipts of the weapons from the stores it is difficult to say for certain, but it is highly unlikely that there was anything like a constant number on the Tower’s books. To be sure, those that were lost or broken (even considering that some doubtlessly lasted a number of years, perhaps decades if they were well looked after) could be replaced, and clearly some of those issued were 151 152 153 154

Richardson, “Armour in England,” p. 320. I would like to offer my most sincere thanks to Thom Richardson for providing me with these figures during our personal correspondence (communication of 19 November 2010). There were often orders issued for the manufacture of bows and arrows to various keepers of the Privy wardrobe, for example to Henry de Snayth in August 1360: C.P.R. 1358–61, p. 422. This is discussed in Mike Loades’s monograph on swords: “Swords are icons. They are symbols of rank, status, and authority; the weapons upon which oaths were sworn, with which alliances were pledged and by which honors were conferred. Swords represent cultural ideas and personal attributes. They stand for justice, courage and honour.” Mike Loades, Swords and Swordsmen (Barnsley, 2010), p. xiii.

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returned (the figure of over 20,000 that were issued from 1344 to 1351 would surely have been impossible without a constant stream of weapons to and from Tower’s stores), but why would the government go to the expense of paying to replace old bows, given that men likely preferred using their own weapon? The fact that the numbers within the Tower’s store decreased is significant. As it largely coincides with the disappearance of arrayed troops from English armies after c. 1360 this would suggest that numbers fell because they were no longer needed to supply peasant infantrymen, the huge number issued between 1344 and 1351 coinciding with the last occasions when arrayed archers were raised en masse. Those that remained in the Tower may thus have been for issue to archers of the Crown, members of the royal retinue on campaign or, simply, as spares that could be called upon in an emergency. An order issued on 14 November 1359 to William de Rothwell, the keeper of the king’s privy wardrobe in the Tower, to employ as many armorers, fletchers, smiths and other men as required in the Tower is typical: [Order] to buy 1,000 bows, painted and white, 10,000 sheaves of good arrows and 1,000 sheaves of the best arrows, with heads hard and well steeled, for the archers appointed for the king’s body … and feathers of the wings of geese and other necessaries.155

It is no coincidence that such orders coincided with the launch or planned launch of major military campaigns in which large numbers of arrayed archers – whom we have already seen were provided with equipment – were mustered. Richardson points out, for example, that the number of mail shirts in the Tower’s armory fell from 1,492 in 1396 to 628 in 1399, “partly to be explained by the issue of the 500 mail shirts for Richard II’s expedition to Ireland that year.”156 That both the number of bows and mail shirts fell so dramatically in the 1390s is hardly surprising if the equipment were intended primarily for the royal retinue, considering that both Richard II’s two Irish expeditions of 1394 and 1399 consisted primarily of the household in arms.157 Though we are on less firm footing with regards to men’s mounts it seems more than likely that the same provisions made for equipment applied to their horses. In other words the arrayed mounted archer and the household retinue archer (the number of the latter varying based on their captain’s own resources) had their horses provided whilst the professional mounted archer provided his own. An important agreement between Sir Robert Plumpton and eight men listed as archers on 8 October 1420 illustrates the point. In return for serving “the foresaid Robert for a twelve moneth … to keepe watch and warde as langes to souldiers for to do and that they … pay unto him halfe the gude that they win by war,” Sir Robert promised to provide the archers a “fee ilkane [each] 155 156 157

C.P.R. 1358–61, p. 323. Richardson, “Armour in England,” p. 309. John F. Lydon, “Richard II’s Expeditions to Ireland,” Transactions of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 93 (1963), 135–49.



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of them xls (40s.), and bouch of Court, clething and horsing; that is for to say, the foresaid Rob’t shall deliver unto ilkane of them a horse.”158 This was evidently not a temporary agreement but a contract to bind these eight archers to Plumpton as household retainers. In other words after the resumption of the Anglo-French war in 1369, when arrayed soldiers had all but disappeared from English continental armies, the cost of providing equipment and mounts for all but a captain’s formally retained household archers must largely have fallen on the individual, professional archer, rather than his local community. J. R. Maddicott has calculated that in the 1330s and ’40s – an important transitional phase where arrayed troops, both mounted and un-mounted, fought alongside the growing number of “true” professionals – the cost of a mounted archer’s horse alone was twice as much as the entirety of the gear for an arrayed foot soldier.159 This was a burden which local communities were unable to bear and may explain why arrayed troops virtually disappeared from continental armies after 1369.160 Another interesting example from this transitional phase prior to 1369 comes from an unusual order issued in preparation for Lionel of Clarence’s Irish campaign of 1361–62. An entry in the Patent Rolls from 10 May 1361 stipulates that 380 mounted archers were to be recruited via commissions of array in Lancashire and that these men were to be furnished with “bows, arrows and other suitable arms.” The crucial point, however, is that this provision was not to extend to mounts as these men had “horses of their own.”161 If we accept the idea that it was the norm for arrayed soldiers to have their mounts provided by the government then the very fact that this order stipulates that these men already had their own would suggest that this was unusual for soldiers raised by this method. It could, however, indicate that it had become more usual for arrayed mounted archers to be self-sufficient by the 1360s. Either way, it seems undeniable that the vast majority of mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century were providing their own equipment and mounts, indicative of greater wealth and a more socially affluent class of combatant. Professional archers would have had little difficulty finding somewhere to purchase a mount. Horses were an everyday commodity in medieval England and there was ample opportunity for men to acquire them. There was certainly a well established practice of royal horse breeding and trading in the late thir158

159

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Plumpton Correspondence. A Series of Letters, Chiefly Domestick, Written in the Reigns of Edward IV, Richard III, Henry VII and Henry VIII, ed. Thomas Stapleton, (London, 1839), pp. xlviii–xlix. J.R. Maddicott, “The English Peasantry and the Demands of the Crown, 1294–1341,” in Landlords, Peasants and Politics in Medieval England, ed. T. H. Aston (Cambridge, digital version, 2006), p. 320. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 14; Sherborne, “Indentured Retinues,” pp. 741–42. For the increasing percentage growth of mixed retinues (and thus large contingents of “professionals” within them) as opposed to arrayed forces in the early fourteenth century: Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” p. 31. C.P.R. 1361–64, p. 36 (related to the order pp. 21, 329; Calendar of Close Rolls 1360–64, p. 339).

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teenth and early fourteenth centuries, even if this was for great destriers rather than nimbler mounts required in the conflicts of the mid-to-late fourteenth century.162 It is more than likely that both English and foreign horse traders, noting the increasing prevalence of mounted soldiers in English armies by the middle of the fourteenth century, saw the opportunity to profit from this and began providing horses on the market in increasing numbers.163 Perhaps “hackneymen” like Reginald Shrewsbury and Thomas Athekoc, who were running a fairly extensive horseback transport service in the south-east, whereby horses could be rented for specific journeys, were the kinds of entrepreneurs who turned their hand to selling mounts to men-at-arms and archers?164 There was certainly a thriving horse and cattle market in Smithfields in London where local men like “horse-dealer” William de Harrowden will have plied their trade and even business-minded aristocrats like the earls of Arundel may have been savvy enough to scent the chance of a profit and sell horses from their own stud to their men.165 Indeed this must have occurred, for unless the government was willing to foot the huge bill for providing all soldiers with multiple mounts these animals must have been owned and purchased privately. Such was the importance of horses for war that the government tried to ensure that they were readily available and at reasonable prices. In 1386 for example a commission in Lincolnshire ordered that, No armourers, or vendors of arms armour or horses, sell the same at a dearer rate than their reasonable value heretofore under pain of forfeiture; on information that because men-at-arms, archers and others are coming to London on the king’s summons to join his army to resist the French invasion, the dealers are raising prices.166

“Information concerning the king’s purchases and sales [of warhorses] is relatively plentiful, but there are comparatively few data relating to the secular aristocracy’s buying and selling of mounts.”167 This is doubly true for professional mounted archers; the information is difficult if not impossible to come by. This does not of course mean that archers were not purchasing horses, merely

162

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164 165

166 167

Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 24–25, ft. 82–84. See also orders for Peter de Pimbo to go across the sea to purchase great horses for Edward III at the start of his reign. C.P.R. 1327–30, p. 418. Men like Henry de Halle, merchant of Almain (perhaps denoting German origin) was given license to bring to England from Flanders eight horses “of diverse colours” and sell them for profit. C.P.R. 1364–67, p. 406. The small number would suggest they were destriers of the best quality. See also the troubles of foreign horse sellers leaving England in 1345: TNA, SC 8/228/11365. C.P.R. 1391–96, pp. 712–13. Barbara Hanawalt, Growing up in Medieval London. The Experience of Childhood in History (Oxford, 1993), pp. 32–33; TNA, C 241/165/102. Chris Given-Wilson, “Wealth and Credit, Public and Private: The Earls of Arundel, 1306–97,” English Historical Review 106 (1991), p. 18 and n. 7. C.P.R. 1385–89, p. 261. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, p. 41.



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that any records are now no longer extant. Many of these transactions, after all, will have been between private individuals and thus agreements between seller and buyer may have been verbal or any written receipts of purchases, if they ever existed, have long been destroyed. Whilst there is no concrete certainty, we are on more solid ground when it comes to working out the price the archers would have been paying for their mounts. Andrew Ayton has suggested in his monograph Knights and Warhorses, from a little hard evidence, that an archer’s hackney might cost about 20s. or forty days’ wages for an archer at the standard rate of 6d. per day for the period.168 This was a not-inconsiderable expense. Even though mounted archers were only allotted space for one mount in the maritime transports provided by the government, they will have needed several during their careers as horses died, became lame, or were possibly even captured by the enemy.169 Some men may have been fortunate enough to inherit horses from deceased relatives or capture them from the enemy, like the four hundred that were captured by Lord Bourchier and his men as they raided out of their base in Ghent in 1385.170 For the majority, however, the purchase of a mount was essential if they wanted to receive their wages and go on campaign. Horse appraisals for men-at-arms for restauro equorum payments had ceased by 1369 and though this had never applied to mounted archers, it is perfectly reasonable to assume that the standards that were expected for mounts at muster continued to be applied throughout the rest of the fourteenth century.171 If the horse was “broken-winded, obstinate, affected by rheum or otherwise sick,” or the man had no horse, it is likely that he would be rejected from service, or not be paid until he could purchase a mount or provide one of adequate quality.172 It is true that army wages were distributed by an army’s paymaster to the retinue captains quarterly (a quarter of the proposed expedition length, not a quarter year) and that if this money were promptly distributed amongst the men then archers may have been able to purchase a horse with this money.173 In reality of 168 169

170 171 172 173

Ibid., pp. 15, 57. Some indentures for armies in Lancastrian Normandy in the fifteenth century stipulated the number of horses each rank was permitted to bring on campaign: fifty for a duke, twentyfour for an earl, sixteen for a baron, six for a knight, four for a man-at-arms, and one for a mounted-archer. Though the amounts for others may have fluctuated, those for archers will have remained constant. Anne Curry, The Battle of Agincourt: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge, 2000), p. 423 n. 60; Richard Ager Newhall, The English Conquest of Normandy 1416–1424: A Study in Fifteenth–Century Warfare (New York, 1971), p. 191 n. 7, pp. 194–95 n. 27. Thomas Walsingham, Chronica maiora, p. 221. One wonders, however, how many horses Bourchier’s archers would have been able to claim from their lord. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 120–38. Terry Jones, Chaucer’s Knight. The Portrait of a Medieval Mercenary (London, 1982), p. 122. Ayton, Knights and Warhorses, pp. 91–92. In one example from many, Sir Warin de Lisle was granted £100 “for the expenses of himself, 29 men at arms and 40 archers in the war, going with him in the retinue of the Lord the King beyond the sea.” Interestingly both the Black Prince and John of Gaunt were provided with monies to pay their men at double the usual rates in 1370; thus archers were receiving 12d.

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course payment was often late and one imagines that in cases when it was not forthcoming in full it inevitably went to men-at-arms before archers, the former being ahead of the latter in the social pecking order.174 These late payments, therefore, meant that those professional archers serving within retinues had, by and large, to be both sufficiently wealthy to survive without wages for a number of months and already be in possession of their own equipment and mount prior to a campaign, rather than using monies received at muster, which might not be immediately forthcoming and would not in any case be provided if a man’s gear were considered sub-standard. This points to the conclusion that these professional archers were of at least yeoman status within medieval society. There are two further pieces of circumstantial evidence which suggest that the professional mounted archer was a man of moderate wealth. The first is the increasing prevalence of mercenaries in medieval Europe. Particularly in times of official peace between England and France, these unemployed soldiers of the various nationalities who had fought in the Anglo-French wars and in its satellite conflicts – English, Welsh, Scots, Gascons, Bretons, Frenchmen, Germans, Basques, Hungarians and others – coalesced into companies of soldiers, operating throughout France but also finding themselves in Italy and Iberia. Referred to indiscriminately by commentators of the time as “English” because of the fighting style they adopted of dismounting to fight, they continued as if peace had never been declared, extorting ransoms and protection money from terrified local populations before moving on.175 It would be interesting to know more about these Englishmen who chose to remain on the continent to ply their trade, but because they operated outside sovereign jurisdiction what information we have of them comes largely from the accounts of the chroniclers, particularly in Italy where they revolutionized the conduct of war.176 Famous captains like Sir John Hawkwood are well known but how many professional archers joined him and the mass of other unemployed soldiery in the peninsula and elsewhere? It is difficult to say because most of the names that we possess are for the captains and men-at-arms noted by the chroniclers.177 However, the fact that archery had such an impact on warfare in areas in which English mercenaries

174

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176 177

Issue Roll of Thomas de Brantingham, Treasurer of England, 44 Edward III, A.D. 1370, trans. Frederick Devon (London, 1835), pp. 99, 141, 478. Hewitt, Organisation of War, pp. 40–43, for the payment of wages. This might go a long way to explaining why retinues were not always the size that an indenture stipulated, with men who required the first instalment of their wages to buy equipment deciding not to participate. Sumption, Trial by Fire, pp. 455–503. Kenneth Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries: The Great Companies (Oxford, 2001). Although Froissart believed Edward III deliberately encouraged them to stay on the other side of the Channel so that they would not create a large domestic problem in England: Sumption, Trial by Fire, p. 459; Mark W. Ormrod, Edward III (London, 2010), pp. 416–17. William Caferro, John Hawkwood: An English Mercenary in Fourteenth-Century Italy (Baltimore, 2006), pp. 48–50. Ibid., p. 45, appendix ii, pp. 349–50.



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fought, particularly in Italy, clearly indicates that English archers were present. Filippo Villani, for example, marvelled at English archers with their huge bows of yew, “which they hold from their head to the ground and from which they shoot long arrows.”178 Even if the impact of English archery in Italy was brief, with numbers declining due to a dwindling of recruits presumably as the AngloFrench war flared up once more in 1369, their impact was undeniable.179 If these were indeed men from richer yeoman families who did not expect to inherit lands and chattels and who fought to make a decent fortune for themselves by continuing to fight, then they can hardly have done so without the means to provide their own wargear. The second piece of circumstantial evidence denoting the status of wealthier mounted archers concerns armorial bearings. Though they are rare, a few seals and armorial badges can be found depicting archers or their arms.180 We must of course be careful when assigning the heritage of archery to the bearers of such seals. A document from the Duchy of Lancaster records from 1328 includes a red wax seal depicting a shield of arms with three arrows palewise hanging by a cord with a bow on each side.181 The owner of this seal, however, was a Richard Archer with the symbolism of the seal obvious, the same being the case for seals of John Archer, one of the king’s archers (1386, a capital I between two arrow-heads), and Roger Archer (1350, a double triangle interlaced with tracery, a shield of arms: a chevron between three arrow-heads, points down).182 Another case in point is the seal of a Thomas Bollesden with the depiction of an archer which is probably a pun on his name (Bowsden), whilst others with similar seals may have been involved in archery crafts like fletching or as bowyers.183 Other seals, like that of Ralph de Kyrkby, a yeoman of William de Latimer, dated 1303, depicting a tree with a squirrel in its branches shooting a bow and arrow at a stag; and John de London, dated 1311 and showing a cross-bow between a crescent and a star, are likely too early to represent mounted archers.184 Nevertheless some badges may genuinely represent a family’s past lineage in archery. A seal which may have belonged to John Berners of Debden shows a hare holding what appears to be a bow mounted on a hound.185 The seal of John Rokesacre, mason, from 1367 displaying a chevron between two roundels and a crossbow, might also depict a previous career in mili178 179 180

181 182 183 184 185

Quoted in Sumption, Trial by Fire, p. 469. Michael Mallet, Mercenaries and their Masters: Warfare in Renaissance Italy (Barnsley, 2009), p. 38; Caferro, Hawkwood, p. 90. A.E. Prince, “The Army and Navy,” in The English Government at Work, 1327–1336: Central and Prerogative Administration, ed. Josiah Flint Willard and W.A. Morris (Cambridge, MA, 1940), p. 339; W.H. Hudson, “The Norwich Militia in the Fourteenth Century,” Norfolk and Norwich Archaeological Society 14 (1901), p. 285. TNA, Duchy of Lancaster 25/1958/1626. Catalogue of the Seals in the Public Record Office: Personal Seals, Volume II, compiled by Roger H. Ellis (London, 1981), p. 3. Bradbury, The Medieval Archer, p. 173. Catalogue of the Seals, pp. 62, 66. TNA, Duchy of Lancaster 25/1132.

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tary service.186 Another bearing the name of Thomas de Canvile from a document dated December 1411 depicts a man walking to the left holding what may be a bird on the right hand and a bow in his left though this of course may denote hunting and hawking rather than military archery.187 Finally a seal of Thomas Pilkington of Salford, Lancashire, from a document dated November 1660, depicts a heart with an arrow pointing downwards behind, perhaps suggesting the family’s heritage.188

What has this study of English mounted archers in the second half of the fourteenth century shown about the social origins of these men; were they the upwardly mobile yeoman of contemporary implication and more recent scholarship? There was, of course, no such thing as a “typical” mounted archer, but, as arrayed soldiers began to disappear by c. 1360 the weight of evidence does suggest that their place was taken by men who we might consider to be professional by the standards of their time: yeomen of standing at the pinnacle of the peasantry with a reasonable amount of wealth, or at least from families of this station. It is probably best to think of them as a heterogeneous body of men that bridged the social gap between the peasant foot-soldier and the genteel man-atarms, an inclusive category of combatant from which individuals might launch a bid for military and social advancement. “Thus while there were younger sons from the lesser gentry who served as mounted bowmen because their families were unable to furnish the arms, armour and horses required for a man-at-arms, so there were yeomen, artisans, and [perhaps] husbandmen who, while starting out as archers, aspired to be men-at-arms.”189 Exactly how many of these men there were – a “global” figure of English archers – is impossible to say and remains open to conjecture. However, the fact that armies were raised in the later fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries containing between 8,000 and 12,000 archers is suggestive that “the minimum size of the overall archer recruitment pool was as high as 13,000 men.”190 This figure may even be an underestimate considering that such numbers do not include, for example, garrison troops both at home and abroad. Though archers do not seem to appear in large numbers in the poll tax records this is likely to be because of their position within their families as well as deficiencies with the sources themselves. As landless younger sons who could not expect to inherit the family holdings, moderately wealthy criminals seeking to flee justice, or those in debt hoping to turn their fortunes around, they had to forge their own destinies and the number of those serving in English armies is indicative of the fact that they were drawn to war by the prospects of enrichment, despite the risks. Sir Thomas Gray described them as men who,

186 187 188 189 190

Catalogue of Seals, p. 90. TNA, Duchy of Lancaster 25/3513/3066. TNA, Duchy of Lancaster 26/15. Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 40–41. Curry et al., The Soldier in Later Medieval England, p. 178.



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Lived off the war … in astonishing numbers, all of them on their own account without any leader.… And yet they were nothing but a gathering of commoners, young men, who until this time had been of little account, who came to have great standing and expertise from this war. … These were men who were gathered, as unknown youths, from different regions of England, many beginning as archers, and then becoming knights, and some of them captains, and it [is not] possible to detail all of their battles at the time they took place, because of their variety.191

They almost certainly were providing their own equipment and mounts and continued to fight even in periods when the English and French governments were officially at peace. The image of the yeoman archer in the general prologue to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, as the elite of village society, therefore, remains a difficult one to shake.192 A Yeman hadde he and servantz namo At that tyme, for him liste ride so, And he was clad in cote and hood of grene. A sheef of pecok arwes, bright and kene, Under his belt he bar ful thriftily (Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly; His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe), And in his hand he baar a mighty bowe. A not heed hadde he, with a broun visage. Of wodecraft wel koude he al the usage. Upon his arm he baar a gay bracer, And by his side a swerd and a bokeler, And on that oother side a gay daggere Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere; A Christopher on his brest of silver sheen. An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene; A forster was he, smoothly, as I gesse.193

He seems to have been representative of many of the men whom Chaucer recognized from the changing society of the later fourteenth century, both an “inclusive category of combatant, and one from which individuals might launch a bid for military and social advancement” into the ranks of the gentry.194 Whilst Sir Robert Knolles and Sir John Hawkwood are the most famous examples of men rising from relative obscurity (perhaps beginning their careers as mounted archers) to the upper echelons of the military hierarchy, they can hardly have been alone in experiencing a degree of social elevation though military service, 191 192 193 194

“Commoners,” that is, to men of the knightly classes like Gray. Sir Thomas Gray, Scalacronica, pp. 153–57. K.J. Thompson, “Chaucer’s Warrior Bowman: The Roles and Equipment of the Knight’s Yeoman,” The Chaucer Review 40 (2006), 386–415. Geoffrey Chaucer, The Riverside Chaucer, ed. Larry Dean Benson, 3rd ed., (London, 1988), p. 25, lines 101–17. Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 40–41.

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even if for others it was not so pronounced.195 At the same time there will also have been men coming the other way; impoverished former gentry families who could no longer afford to furnish the arms and mount of a man-at-arms.196 Their importance to the changing social face of the military community is no better expressed than in the appearance of the insignia of archers in armorial badges. To have come from yeoman stock, then, was not considered an embarrassment and was regarded with pride. Whilst the French chronicle of St. Denis may have referred to the English archers at Agincourt as being “men without worth and without birth” this was more to do with his perception of what constituted nobility, and thus worth, rather than an actual description of these archers’ social station.197

195 196 197

Michael Jones, “Knolles, Sir Robert (d. 1407),” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (online edn. May 2009). Ayton, “Dynamics of Recruitment,” pp. 40–41. Quoted in Bradbury, Medieval Archer, p. 174.

10 War and the Great Schism: Military Factors Determining Allegiances in Iberia L. J. Andrew Villalon

Not only is the Enemy of your Enemy your Friend; it is often equally true that the Friend of your Enemy becomes your Enemy!

Introduction In the fall of 1378 a pair of envoys from Italy arrived at the royal court of Enrique II of Castile (r. 1366–1367 and 1369–1379) then located in the city of Cordoba near Spain’s southern coast.1 They brought greetings to the king2 from a new pope, the sixty-year-old archbishop of Bari, Bartolomeo Prignano, who had taken the papal name Urban VI (r. 1378–1389). Never himself a cardinal,3 the archbishop had been a compromise candidate in a severely divided elec1

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The principal source for this reign is the second of four royal chronicles written by the leading Castilian chronicler of the fourteenth century, Pedro Lopez de Ayala (d. c. 1407). See: Crónica del Rey Don Enrique Segundo de Castilla [hereafter Ayala, Enrique II] in Crónicas de los Reyes de Castilla 2, Biblioteca de Autores Españoles 68 (Madrid, 1953), pp. 1–64. For the arrival of Urban’s messengers, see p. 34. Despite busy decades of public service, in later life, Ayala found time to write a chronicle for each of the kings he had served, the last of which, the Crónica de Enrique III, remained unfinished at his death. The first biographical treatment of the chronicler appears in Fernán Pérez de Guzmán’s Generaciones y Semblanzas, an early fourteenth-century work in which the author provided sketches of his contemporaries. See: Pérez de Guzmán, Generaciones y Semblanzas, ed. J. Dominguez Bodona (Madrid, 1965), pp. 37–39. The best modern, full-length account of his life and work is Michel Garcia, Obra y personalidad del Canciller Ayala (Madrid, 1983). This work reproduces several of the contemporary sources that supply our information concerning the author. Despite providing useful material on the chronicler’s political career, an earlier biography by a leading Spanish historian of the later Middle Ages exhibits serious flaws, including an incomprehensible lack of pagination. See Luis Suárez Fernández, El Chanciller Ayala y su Tiempo (Vitoria, 1962). English readers should consult Helen Nader’s The Mendoza Family in the Spanish Renaissance (New Brunswick, N.J., 1979). Nader’s third chapter, entitled “Pedro López de Ayala and the Formation of Mendoza Attitudes,” provides a fine capsule biography of the great chronicler, penetrating analysis of his chronicle of Pedro I, and valuable bibliography. See also Clara Estow’s article, “Royal Madness in the Crónica del Rey Don Pedro,” Mediterranean Studies 6 (1996), 13–28. Enrique II would have dated his reign from his coronation in Burgos in 1366, despite the fact that his predecessor, Pedro I, reclaimed the throne the following year. Scholars tend to place the beginning of the reign at Pedro’s death three years later. Modern editions of Ayala’s chronicle begin at that point. In 1059, a critical year in the rise of the reform papacy, Nicholas II created the College of

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tion and was the first pope to be selected by a conclave held in Rome since the papacy had removed to Avignon some seven decades earlier. Urban’s election and its “cancellation” several months later by the same cardinals who had elected him together set the stage for an era in Church history known as the Great Schism (1378–1417),4 one of the most divisive periods experienced by the Roman Catholic Church of the Middle Ages.5 During the forty years it endured, the schism forced most western and central European states to choose which of two and eventually three squabbling popes they would acknowledge as the true successor to Peter: the one ensconced in Rome or his rivals in Avignon and Pisa. Since the fourteenth century, it has been recognized that these national decisions were at least as much and in all likelihood more political than religious. After all, neither of these papal courts represented a substantial change from the corrupt Avignon Papacy out of which they both emerged, and if either of the original popes showed any inclination for reforming the Church, in the struggle for power that inclination soon went by the board. The reality is summed up quite nicely by one late nineteenth-century author writing about the crisis: “It would be amusing if it were not so sad to note how political affinities and race animosities dictated which Pope a country should acknowledge without any regard to the justice of his claims or the holiness of his character.”6 But while the general connection between politics and the schism has long been recognized, the literature often fails to explore in adequate detail the political situations that led European nations to form their allegiances and, in at least a few cases, change those allegiances over time. While the old saw “friends of France went with Avignon; enemies of France with Rome” is helpful, it is

4

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6

Cardinals, charged with electing future popes. Urban VI would become the last pontiff chosen from outside of that body. The term “Great Schism” is actually applied to two major events in the history of Christianity which occurred several centuries apart: (1) the split in 1054 between the Roman Catholic Church of the West and the Greek Orthodox Church of the East; and (2) the division of the western church over whether to recognize a pope in Rome or a rival pope (now reckoned by the church as an anti-pope) in Avignon. Throughout this article, the term will be used in the second sense. There are good general histories in English including Clinton Locke, The Age of the Great Western Schism (Edinburgh, 1897); Walter Ullman, The Origins of the Great Schism, A Study in Fourteenth Century Ecclesiastical History (1967); John Holland Smith, The Great Schism 1378: the Disintegration of the Papacy (London, 1970). Several more recent works focus on specific aspects of the conflict: Alison Williams Lewin, Negotiating Survival: Florence and the Great Schism 1378–1417 (Cranbury, N.J., 2003); Renata Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Poets, Saints, and Visionaries of the Great Schism 1378–1417 (University Park, PA, 2006). An excellent short account of the troubles faced by the western church in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, including the Great Schism, can be found in Edward P. Cheyney, The Dawn of a New Era (1250–1453) (New York, 1936); see especially chapter 6: “The Decline of the Church: The Weakening of the Papacy.” Another excellent and considerably more recent summary of the schism, especially the events surrounding its onset, appears in what is almost certainly the all-time best-seller on medieval history, Barbara W. Tuchman, A Distant Mirror, The Calamitous Fourteenth Century (New York, 1978), chapter 16, pp. 320–39. Locke, Age of the Great Western Schism, p. 97.



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not sufficient for understanding the complex political realities that often drove the choices made by individual states. Nor has the historical literature given adequate weight to just how important a role the contemporary military picture could play in determining those choices. This article will examine how two neighboring Iberian kingdoms – Castile and Portugal – established their papal allegiances during the early years of the schism as well as the way in which the military situation on the ground largely determined how each kingdom arrived at its choice: Castile casting its lot with Avignon and Portugal with Rome. Castile’s endorsement of Avignon was almost certainly as predictable to contemporaries as it is to modern scholars. If there was any surprise, it lay in how long that kingdom took to reach its decision. On the other hand, the situation in Portugal was far more fluid. The Portuguese changed their allegiance several times before ending up permanently in the Roman camp. But predictable or fluid, the choices of both Iberian kingdoms ultimately reflected the military realities of the day. Onset of the Great Schism (1378–1417) In 1305, after a bitter struggle between Pope Boniface VIII (r. 1294–1303) and King Philip IV “the Fair” of France (r. 1285–1314) followed by a year-long papal interregnum, the cardinals elected a French pope, Clement V (r. 1305– 1314). The new pontiff never made it to Rome; instead, following a coronation in Lyon, he took up residence in the pleasant southern French town of Avignon, an ecclesiastical enclave situated on the river Rhone.7 Here the papacy would remain for over seven decades as the majority of cardinals and the popes whom they elected were Frenchmen. While Urban V (r. 1362–1370) did journey to the Holy See in 1367, his brief visit did not lead to any permanent return. Only in the 1370s did circumstances arise that strongly favored such a move. In winter 1376, Gregory XI (r. 1370–1378), the last pope of what historians usually call the Avignon Papacy, set out for Rome. He and the cardinals accompanying him arrived there around mid-January 1377. Gregory survived the return by only fourteen months; he died on 27 March 1378. When a conclave met to select his successor, the people of Rome, fearing that the papacy still dominated by French cardinals might once again remove to Avignon, were strident in their demands for a Roman pope, one who might be expected to remain in his home city and appoint enough Italian cardinals to avoid any further desertion of the Holy See. 8 The meeting became a scene of 7

8

Although surrounded by French territory, Avignon was a property of the Catholic Church. A classic history of the Avignon Papacy is G. Mollat, The Popes at Avignon (1305–1378), transl. by Janet Love (London, 1949). A critical contemporary source of information on the schism is the leading chronicle of the fourteenth century written by Jean Froissart, a native of Hainault in the Low Countries. There are two major critical editions in French of this monumental work, one of which, the Chroniques de J. Froissart, ed. Siméon Luce (Paris, 1878) is available on Gallica, the website of the

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chaos when a large mob surrounded the conclave, shouting their demands and hurling threats and curses at the cardinals. At one point, members of the college displayed an aged and infirm Roman cardinal dressed in papal paraphernalia as a means of distracting the mob, giving them time to safely escape the Vatican.9 They would later swear that they had felt so threatened by this popular interference in the process that they had been compelled to choose, if not a Roman, at least an Italian. To what extent this was true remains a matter of debate among scholars even today. On 8 April 1378, the cardinals selected Bartolomeo Prignano, who had been trained in Avignon and come up through the papal bureaucracy. At the time of his election, the new pope was trusted by most of the cardinals, French as well as Italian. In making their selection, the thinking seems to have been that not only could he be managed, but given his advanced age and poor health, he would not be around for long, leaving them free to elect his replacement in a less charged atmosphere. Things did not work out the way the cardinals had planned. Following his election, Urban’s health miraculously improved (he would live for another eleven years). At the same time, far from being manageable, he developed an abrasive and domineering manner that quickly alienated virtually all of the cardinals who had elected him.10 During fits of temper, he bitterly condemned their lifestyle, called for drastic Church reform, including stripping many of their sources of income, and even threatened to create a flock of new Italian

9

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Bibliothèque National de France. There are also two existing English translations: the first undertaken in the sixteenth century by Lord Berners at the instance of Henry VIII; the second a two-volume translation by Thomas Johnes dating to the mid nineteenth century and printed several times over the next few decades. I have primarily used the Johnes edition of 1857. See: John Froissart, Chronicles of England, France, and Spain and the Adjoining Countries from the Latter Part of the Reign of Edward II to the Coronation of Henry IV [hereafter Froissart], trans. Thomas Johnes, 2 vols. (London, 1857). For a modern account of this highly popular medieval author by a leading medievalist, see: G. G. Coulton, The Chronicler of European Chivalry (London, 1930). A valuable collection of essays written by major twentieth-century historians who have made extensive use of the chronicle in their own work is Froissart: Historian, ed. J.J.N. Palmer (Woodbridge, 1981). The list of authors in Palmer’s collection includes Richard Barber, John Bell Henneman, Michael Jones, P.E. Russell, and Philippe Contamine. Peter F. Ainsworth has wrestled with the question of historical truth in chronicle writing in Jean Froissart and the Fabric of History: Truth, Myth, and Fiction in the Chroniques (Oxford, 1990). Fortunately, Froissart, never one to hide his light under a basket, tells us a good deal about himself and his own sources. Tuchman, Distant Mirror, p. 329. It is very likely this stratagem that accounts for a major error in Jean Froissart’s account of these events. Froissart asserts that after Gregory XI’s death, the cardinals actually selected a 100-year-old Roman cardinal to appease the mob. According to the chronicler, in their jubilation, the Roman people rode the unfortunate centenarian around the city on a white mule, occasioning his death from fatigue three days later. Only afterwards did they move on to the election of Urban. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:537–38. The changes in Prignano’s demeanor led not a few who knew him to argue that his election had not only altered his personality, but perhaps even driven him mad.



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cardinals.11 By late summer, most of the existing cardinals had had enough. Having fled Rome, they gathered in Anagni and on 20 August they announced that the earlier election was null and void due to the interference of the Roman mob. On 20 September they held a second conclave which began the schism by electing a second pope. This time their choice fell on the leader of the French cardinals, Robert of Geneva, widely known as the “butcher of Cesena,”12 who assumed the name Clement VII (1378–1394). In April 1379 Clement laid siege to Rome with the support of his principal backer, the French monarch, Charles V “the Wise” (r. 1364–1380), but was forced to withdraw when forces loyal to Urban defeated his French mercenaries who were trying to seize Castel Sant Angelo. In the wake of this military setback, Clement and the cardinals who had elected him (the same ones who had originally chosen Urban) returned to Avignon where they established a rival papacy.13 Meanwhile, Urban excommunicated his rival and the cardinals who had elected him, then named twenty-six new cardinals, including four of his relatives, to take their place.14 A bitter decades-long struggle now ensued as both sides beat the bushes for supporters among the rulers of Europe. Ultimately, most European states chose one side or the other with roughly half the continent supporting Rome and the other half supporting Avignon. The original division became self-perpetuating when, upon the death of each rival pope, his supporters elected a successor. In the midst of the ongoing quarrel and recruitment of allies, feuding popes hurled 11 12

13 14

Cheyney, Dawn, p. 191. Tuchman, Distant Mirror, pp. 330–31. In 1377, while serving as papal legate in northern Italy, the cardinal had undertaken to put down a revolt against papal rule in the town of Cesena. Despite promising clemency to get the inhabitants to lay down their arms, when his mercenary troops had secured the place, he ordered them to massacre the population, hence his nickname. For Clement’s failed attempts to take the city by force and subsequent return to Avignon, see Froissart, Chronicles, 1:571–75. Among the major sources for the history of this period are the Portuguese chronicles of Fernando I and João I written some decades later by Fernão Lopes (c. 1385–1460) who was appointed by King João I as head of the royal archives in 1418 and by João’s successor, King Duarte I, as Portugal’s first royal chronicler in 1434. Although not himself a witness to the beginning of the schism which occurred before his birth and during his infancy, Lopes later had contact with many of the principal players on the Portuguese side of events, including King João and the king’s leading general, Nuno Álvares Pereira. (Pereira is the subject of an anonymous chronicle many scholars believe was written by Lopes.) Despite a well-earned reputation for accuracy and his call for historical writing based in so far as possible on documentary evidence, it is difficult if not impossible to assess fully the role of Fernão Lopes in medieval historiography due to the confused manuscript tradition surrounding early Portuguese historical writing. There are, for example, a number of works which he may well have written totally or in part, but for which his authorship cannot be definitively established. In the preparation of this article, I have made extensive use of selections in English published as: Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal 1367–1387, Extracts from the Chronicles of Dom Fernando and Dom João, ed. and trans. Derek W. Lomax and R.J. Oakley (Warminster, England, 1988). The introduction to the book supplies considerable information concerning the chronicler’s life and work. For Urban’s actions against Clement and the cardinals, see p. 73.

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anathemas and preached crusades against not only one another but anyone who supported their rival. Under the circumstances, a not inconsiderable amount of military action during the period can be traced to the schism. Castile’s Choice: Delayed But Predictable In autumn 1378, Urban’s envoys assured Enrique II that the election had been both peaceful and canonical. They conveyed the aged pontiff’s promises that he would “work to bring about peace between Christian kings and princes”; to regulate the wealth and conduct of the clergy; and (perhaps most important to monarchs like Enrique) “bestow [ecclesiastical] dignities and benefices in each realm only upon the inhabitants of that land and not upon strangers.”15 In turn, the envoys asked that the king and his kingdom recognize Urban’s legitimacy. Having lavishly feted the messengers, Enrique informed them that Urban’s words were both “holy and good,”16 but before acting he would first have to consult his council. Here, a rather different story of the Roman election began to emerge – one that portrayed it as having been dictated by a threatening mob and therefore raised questions about its legitimacy. In the face of conflicting accounts of what had transpired, Enrique temporized. He told Urban’s messengers he would soon head north to Toledo, where he would consult with his son, Juan, who had just concluded a successful war against neighboring Navarre. Afterwards, he would deliver his answer.17 In Toledo, Enrique encountered a second delegation, this one hurriedly dispatched by his benefactor and longtime ally, the king of France, Charles V “the Wise.” The French messengers conjured up visions of a violent Roman mob forcing a college of cowering cardinals to elect Urban, cardinals who as soon as possible had removed to a safe location where, no longer threatened by the mob, they had held a second and truly canonical election.18 Charles informed his fellow monarch that three cardinals had come to Paris and taken an oath on “el cuerpo de dios” that all this was true. He therefore asked Enrique to recognize “his pope.”19 While the question of who was the rightful pope to some extent touched every soul in Catholic Europe, it had special resonance for monarchs; they, after all, had the responsibility of choosing correctly not only for themselves, but for their subjects. For his part, Enrique II faced an added complication: the man now asking him to support Avignon was the one to whom, more than any other, he owed his crown.20 15 16 17 18 19 20

Ayala, Enrique II, p. 34. Ibid. Ibid., pp. 34–35. Actually, it had taken them approximately five months to replace Urban. Ayala, Enrique II, p. 35. In the 1950s, Luis Suárez Fernández, one of Spain’s foremost historians of the late medieval period, produced a work on the crisis as it affected Castile in particular and Iberia in general.



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In 1366, Charles V had been a major sponsor of the multi-national military effort that expelled from the throne of Castile Enrique’s legitimate halfbrother, King Pedro I “the Cruel” (1350–1366/1366–1369), and replaced him with Enrique. 21 The French king had helped see to it that his Castilian client had at his service an army of battle-hardened veterans of the Hundred Years War as well as a rising French military star, Bertrand du Guesclin (d. 1380), the future constable of France, to lead them. In 1367, the newly-installed monarch of Castile, acting against French advice, met an Anglo-Gascon army led by the Black Prince22 in a set-piece battle near the Spanish town of Nájera.23 Here, he suffered one of the century’s worst defeats, after which he scurried back into French territory. Rather than cut him loose as several other allies had done, Charles V and his younger brother, Louis of Anjou, gave Enrique sanctuary and helped him rebuild his shattered army. With that force, he reentered Castile and in 1369, near the castle of Montiel, he and du Guesclin, who along with many other Frenchmen was still on the payroll, defeated Pedro, whom they managed to assassinate several days later.24

21

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See: Luis Suárez Fernández, Castilla, el Cisma y la Crisis Conciliar (1378–1440) (Madrid, 1960). Although useful as a starting point, particularly as regards Castile’s response to the schism, the book suffers from several shortcomings, the most important from the point of view of this paper being its failure to set forth clearly and in detail the various shifts in Portuguese policy. And although Suárez Fernández supplies a lengthy documentary appendix, its value is undercut by the fact that almost all of the documents derive from the Avignonese side. For detailed descriptions of the role of France in Enrique II’s rise to power, see my articles: “Seeking Castles in Spain: Sir Hugh Calveley and the Free Companies’ Intervention in Iberian Warfare (1366–1369),” Crusaders, Condottierri, and Cannon: Medieval Warfare in Societies around the Mediterranean, ed. L.J. Andrew Villalon and Donald J. Kagay (Leiden, 2003), pp. 305–328; “The Battle of Nájera and the Hundred Years War in Spain,” in The Hundred Years War: A Wider Focus, ed. L.J. Andrew Villalon and Donald J. Kagay (Leiden, 2005), pp. 3–74; and “Battle-Seeking, Battle-Avoiding or Perhaps Just Battle-Willing? Applying the Gillingham Paradigm to Enrique II of Castile,” Journal of Medieval Military History 8 (2010), 131–54. Edward of Woodstock (d. 1376), eldest son of Edward III of England and Philippa of Hainault, was heir to the English throne and one of the great military figures of the age. Most historians attribute his famous sobriquet, not mentioned in historical sources until long after Edward’s death, to a penchant for wearing black armor. See, for example: Dwight Sedgwick, The Life of Edward the Black Prince, 1330–1376 (New York, 1993), p. 27. The best medieval account of the prince’s life is to be found in a lengthy poem by an anonymous author known only as the Chandos herald, of which two manuscripts survive, one in Worcester College, Oxford, the other in the Senate House Library of the University of London. A critical edition from the turn of the century used in the preparation of this article contains not only the original text in meter, but also a useful prose paraphrase. See: Life of the Black Prince by the Herald of Sir John Chandos [hereafter Chandos herald], ed. Mildred K. Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Oxford, 1910). In addition, a somewhat freer English translation of the work can be found in Richard Barber, The Life and Campaigns of the Black Prince (London, 1979), a reissue of which has recently come out with Boydell and Brewer. The best work in any language on English intervention in Spain during the second half of the fourteenth century is still P.E. Russell, The English Intervention in Spain in the Time of Edward III and Richard II (Oxford, 1955). For an account of Pedro’s dramatic assassination below the walls of Montiel, see my article: “Pedro the Cruel: Portrait of a Royal Failure,” in Medieval Iberia: Essays on the History and

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Throughout the subsequent decade, France and Castile drew ever closer, as French troops supported Enrique while he, in turn, supplied annual naval aid to the French war effort against England and very briefly led a Spanish army into English territory in southern France.25 Despite his enormous debt to Charles and their close connection, Enrique now hesitated.26 Almost apologetically, he informed his French counterpart that such a delicate matter involving the wellbeing of Christendom as well as his and his subjects’ salvation demanded most careful consideration and until he saw the right path, he would have to remain neutral. In fact, Enrique never found that path; he died at the end of May 1379, with Castile still in the neutral column. In Enrique’s actions, we encounter an instance (albeit temporary and fairly rare) when even the closest of political and military ties between states did not automatically dictate the same choice in respect to the schism. The old adage about friends and enemies of France would eventually prove true, but not during Enrique’s lifetime, when this ordinarily quite cynical monarch appears to have been more concerned about his conscience than his alliance. Despite the king’s soul-searching, Castile, for both political and military reasons, did ultimately adhere to the “friends-of-France” rule; the final decision, however, fell to his son, Juan I (r. 1379–1390). Shortly after succeeding, the new king cemented ties with France, reaffirming the all-important military alliance and dispatching the annual flotilla.27 On this occasion, French ambassadors sent to Castile by Charles V were charged not only with conveying their king’s pleasure at this, but also reminding Juan of the unresolved papal issue. Later, when the French king’s brother, Louis of Anjou, invaded Italy under a Clementist banner, the French fleet supporting his abortive campaign contained Spanish ships.28 And when Castile became embroiled in yet another war with Portugal – the third in a decade – it had French military support.29 Under the circumstances, Juan’s eventual choice of Avignon seems something of a foregone conclusion. Nevertheless, he made a good show of it. In fall 1380, the king summoned churchmen and legists to Medina del Campo where they met with representatives of both claimants and listened to all the arguments laying out the rival

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Literature of Medieval Spain, ed. Donald J. Kagay and Joseph T. Snow, Iberica Series, vol. 25 (New York, 1997), pp. 201–16. According to Luis Suárez Fernández, “la muerte de Pedro el Cruel, lejos de ser la solución definitiva de la guerra civil, la ampliaba.” While this may be something of an overstatement, it is not all that far off the mark. Enrique II would have to undertake nearly five more years of fairly constant military campaigning before managing to solidify his hold on the realm. During that time, French military support remained important. See: Luis Suárez Fernández, “Política Internacional de Enrique II,” Hispania 16 (1956), 16–129. Ayala, Enrique II, pp. 35–36. Ayala, Juan I, pp. 67–68. Suárez Fernández, Crisis Conciliar, p. 14. Ayala, Juan I, p. 68.



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positions.30 It did not hurt Avignon’s cause that at that moment the war with Portugal, supported by an Urbanist England, was about to erupt. In the midst of the conference, as war clouds gathered, Juan found it necessary to transfer the entire operation to Salamanca, nearer the border, from which venue the final decision was announced.31 On 19 May 1381 Castile declared for Clement and condemned Urban. Acting on the advice of his council, Juan followed the French lead and issued a lengthy declaration explaining his choice, the Latin text of which was directed primarily at a European-wide audience.32 The dominant figure at Medina del Campo had proven to be Clement VII’s most important supporter, Pedro de Luna, scion of an Aragonese noble family who would later become the second and last post-schism Avignon pope, Benedict XIII (r. 1394–1417/1423).33 One of Clement’s first actions as pope had been to select this Aragonese cardinal as his special legate to the kingdoms of Iberia, charged with securing their allegiance to Avignon. During eleven years in Iberia, de Luna enjoyed considerable success: at one time or another all of the peninsula’s Christian kingdoms took their lead from Castile and swore allegiance to Clement.34 Portugal: An Inconstant Monarch’s Shifting Allegiance By contrast to Castile, there is the case of Portugal, which was anything but a foregone conclusion. That kingdom’s vacillating policy in respect to the schism was primarily determined not by its relationship to France, but instead by its military interaction with France’s closest friend, Castile, and its bitterest enemy, England. More than any other European nation, Portugal demonstrates just how a choice of sides in the papal imbroglio could be dictated by immediate military concerns. This brings us to what is perhaps the most glaring omission in literature dealing with the Great Schism: the failure to provide a systematic rundown of just who lined up on each side, why they did so, and how if at all their loyalties altered over time. These issues, which should be of considerable interest to historians, garner nowhere near the attention they merit. While the old adage, “friends of France went with Avignon, enemies with Rome,” is, in a general sense, true, it is far from sufficient to explain the intricate circumstances that developed in many states and regions and that dictated their various choices. And while most works do treat the choices made by major players such France,

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Ibid., pp. 70–71. Ibid. Ayala reproduces the text “in the language of Castile.” Ibid., pp. 72–75. Although Benedict was deposed in 1417 by the Council of Constance, he refused to accept the council’s decision. Instead, he lived on until 1423 still claiming to be the only legitimate pope. On his deathbed, he charged his remaining cardinals with electing a successor, which they did. J.N.D. Kelly, Oxford Dictionary of Popes (New York, 1989), p. 237.

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England, and the Empire, lesser states are given short shrift or, in some cases, passed over in silence. Nowhere is this inadequate treatment more evident than in the case of Portugal. One of the better books dealing with the subject, Walter Ullmann’s The Origins of the Great Schism, contains only a single reference to the complex situation that evolved in that western Iberian kingdom, implying that the Portuguese after an initial period of neutrality acknowledged Avignon. How, why, and perhaps most importantly, for how long this occurred, the author does not deign to tell us.35 The best short summation I have uncovered appears in Renate Blumenfeld-Kosinski’s 2006 study, Poets, Saints, and Visionaries of the Great Schism: “Portugal flip-flopped several times, as a result of problems of succession and Castilian threats, but eventually became a strong supporter of Urban.”36 It is, however, an attempt to characterize in a single sentence what was in reality a highly complex situation, a sentence that by its very brevity cannot help but fail to capture the complexity.37 What one encounters on the internet reflects this weakness in the scholarly literature. Typing into a leading search engine the phrase “Portugal and the Great Schism” turns up a very mixed bag of results. While a number of the basic sources list the Portuguese among supporters of Avignon; others place them in the Romanist camp. For example, in his 1922 classic A Short History of the World, H.G. Wells stated: “The anti-Popes … continued in Avignon, and were supported by the King of France, his ally the King of Scotland, Spain, Portugal and various German princes.”38 In a similar vein, a much more recent source, the historical dictionary maintained by History Today, states with equal certainty “France, Scotland, Castile and Portugal backed Clement; England, Flanders, Hungary and the Holy Roman empire supported Urban.”39 Taking the opposite position, Donald Attwater’s Catholic Dictionary alleges that “England, Germany, Scandinavia, Wales, Ireland, Portugal, Flanders and Hungary stood by what they believe to be the true pope at Rome.”40 While for its part, Wiki-

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Walter Ullmann, The Origins of the Great Schism: A Study in Fourteenth Century Ecclesiastical History (Hamden, CT, 1967), p. 93. Ullmann does indicate that the Iberian kingdoms hesitated to sign on with Avignon at least in part due to their mistrust of Clement VII’s fiery representative, Pedro de Luna. Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Poets, Saints, and Visionaries of the Great Schism, p. 6. What is more, while more or less correctly characterizing the Portuguese situation, BlumenfeldKosinski’s earlier statement about the situation in Iberia as a whole is simply erroneous. The author indicates that an Iberian decision to support Avignon grew out of the meeting held at Medina del Campo between November 1380 and April 1381. Actually, that meeting, which handed down Castile’s decision, was in no way binding on the other three Christian kingdoms on the peninsula; Portugal, Aragon or Navarre. In Portugal, the fluctuating decisions on whom to support were reached in several meetings held some years later within that kingdom. H.G. Wells, A Short History of the World (New York, 1922). URL: http://www.historytoday.com/historical-dictionary/g/ great-schism-1378–1417. A Catholic Dictionary, ed. Donald Attwater, 2nd ed., revised (New York, 1949).



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pedia currently41 supplies an interesting contrast: its article on Urban makes Portugal Urbanist; its article on Clement makes it Clementist.42 Actually, these contradictory assertions are both correct, but they are correct for different moments in time – and that is critical! Tiny Portugal would ultimately become the major defector in the schism, moving from one side to the other and then back again not just once, but on several occasions; and, what is of greatest significance for this article, the kingdom’s frequent “coat-turning” directly reflected the prevailing military situation. In the aftermath of Enrique II’s violent succession to the Castilian throne, he had faced a number of enemies, sometimes acting singly, sometimes in concert, all of whom hoped to profit from Castile’s instability. Some, like King Fernando of Portugal, believed that they had a better claim to the throne than this bastard son of Alfonso XI.43 As a result, Fernando launched two wars against Enrique,44 both highly unsuccessful, in the wake of which he was forced to affiance his only daughter, Beatriz, to one of Enrique’s illegitimate sons, Fadrique,45 and contribute ships to the French war effort against England.46 Despite Portugal’s withdrawal of the naval contribution following Enrique’s death, for a time peace prevailed between the two Iberian kingdoms.47 As a result, Fernando and his Castilian counterpart, Enrique’s son, Juan I, reopened their discussions of a marriage alliance, and while the bride remained the same, the prospective groom was now Juan’s own son and heir, Crown Prince Enrique, later Enrique III (r. 1390–1407).48 It was during these halcyon days, in September 1380, that Portugal first embraced Avignon, a royal decision that the foremost Portuguese chronicler, Fernão Lopes, attributed to the new-found amity with Castile, though ironically, at the time Portugal made its decision to recognize Clement, Castile was still fence-straddling.49 This peaceful situation, however, did not long endure. Within a year, hostilities bteween Portugal and Castile once again erupted, for reasons hard to fathom 41 42

43 44 45 46

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Both of the articles in Wikipedia were accessed on 12 February 2013. In justice to Wikipedia, its article on the Western Schism (accessed at the same time as the articles on Urban and Clement) does at least indicate that during the Portuguese succession crisis of 1383–1385, the rival claimants to the throne supported different popes. Interestingly, the most detailed online article dealing with the Great Schism – the one found in The Catholic Encyclopedia – plays it safe, failing to list Portugal on either side. See: New Advent: The Online Catholic Encyclopedia at URL: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/13539a.htm Ayala, Enrique II, p. 3. Ibid., pp. 3–4, 6–7, 14–17. Ibid., p. 17. The prospective bridegroom was to be Fadrique, duke of Benavente. According to Luis Suárez Fernández, “the death of Pedro the Cruel, far from providing a definitive solution to the civil war, actually increased it (la ampliaba).” While this may be something of an overstatement, it is not wholly off the mark. Enrique II would have to undertake nearly five more years of military campaigning before managing to solidify his hold on the realm. Suárez Fernández, “Política Internacional,” 16–129. Ayala, Juan I, p. 66. Ibid., p. 68. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, pp. 57–58, 344. See also Ayala, Juan I, pp. 70–71.

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except perhaps the Portuguese monarch’s lingering resentment at having been defeated in the two earlier wars. For aid in this third struggle, Fernando turned to England, appealing to the regency council that governed for the young king, Richard II (r. 1377–1399). For their part, the English were more than ready to oblige, due not only to Castile’s continuing military cooperation with France, but also to the ambitions of the most powerful member of the regency council, Richard’s uncle, John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster (1340–1399).50 After the death of his first wife in 1369, the duke had married Constanza, daughter of Pedro I, who had been left in English custody in 1367, and later inherited her murdered father’s claim to the Castilian throne, a claim that became part of her dowry in the marriage to Gaunt. For over a decade, military and political events in both England and France had prevented his launching a major expedition to pursue his wife’s claim; Portugal’s war with Castile now seemed to provide a good opportunity. As a result of Castile’s involvement on the side of France and the duke’s ambitions, in spring 1381, his younger brother, Edmund Langley, earl of Cambridge and future duke of York (d. 1402), raised a substantial force of men-at-arms and archers as well as the ships to transport them to Portugal.51 Arriving at Lisbon

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The third son of Edward III of England (r. 1327–1377) and Philippa of Hainault, John of Gaunt had played a significant role in the campaign leading up to the English victory at Nájera. When a wasting disease felled the Black Prince in the wake of his Spanish expedition, Lancaster assumed command of English forces on the continent. Although he failed to achieve the military success of either his brother or one-time father-in-law, Henry Grosmont, first duke of Lancaster, a second marriage to Pedro the Cruel’s eldest daughter and principal heir afforded him a claim to the Castilian throne. One of the earliest examples of Lancaster signing himself “Dei gratia Rex Castellae et Legionis” appears in a document dated 25 June 1372 in Thomas Rymer’s monumental eighteenth-century collection of English state documents. See: Foedera, Conventiones, Litterae et cujuscunque generis Acta Publica inter Reges Angliae et alios quosvis Imperatores, Reges, Pontifices, Principes, vel Communitates ab Ineunte Saeculo Duodecimo, viz. ab Anno 1101 ad nostra usque tempora; Habitu aut Tractata, ed. Thomas Rymer, (London, 1709), a digital reprint of which has been produced by Tanner Ritchie Publishing, Burlington, Ontario, Canada [hereafter Rymer, Foedera]. Scholarly biographies of this fascinating figure who played an extensive role in the second half of the fourteenth century include Sydney Armitage-Smith, John of Gaunt, King of Castile and León, Duke of Aquitaine and Lancaster, Earl of Derby, Lincoln and Leicester, Seneschal of England (1904; reprint, New York, 1964); Anthony Goodman, John of Gaunt: The Exercise of Princely Power in Fourteenth-Century Europe (New York, 1992). A popular account of his life can be found in Norman Cantor’s The Last Knight: The Twilight of the Middle Ages and the Birth of the Modern Era (New York, 2004). Froissart, Chronicles, 1:651, 669–70. Peter Russell writes off Langley’s expedition as a complete fiasco from the start (see: Russell, English Intervention). By contrast, in a recent article, Douglas Biggs convincingly challenges Russell’s sweeping conclusion, at least in respect to Langley’s gathering of the forces and their transportation to Lisbon, agreeing instead with Froissart that it was “a successful voyage.” See: Douglas Biggs, “A Voyage, or Rather an Expedition, to Portugal: Edmund of Langley’s Journey to Iberia, June/July 1381,” Journal of Medieval Military History 8 (2009), 57–74.



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sometime in July,52 the earl launched hostilities along the Castilian border.53 In response to the altered situation, King Fernando cancelled plans for his daughter’s marriage to the Castilian crown prince and arranged instead for the already much-shopped-around-bride to marry the earl’s son, who had accompanied his father’s expedition.54 English intervention now occasioned Portugal’s first switch of allegiance in the schism. Since England was the principal Urbanist power in Europe, Langley enlisted religion as one rationale for his invasion, arguing that not only was he vindicating his family’s legitimate claim on the crown of Castile, but also that he was striking a holy blow against supporters of the evil anti-pope in Avignon, a category that included both the Castilians and the large number of Frenchmen serving in their army.55 According to the Portuguese chronicler Fernão Lopes, upon their arrival, the English troops refused to take mass at the hands of Portuguese clerics who adhered to Avignon. This afforded the earl an opportunity to remonstrate with his ally regarding the kingdom’s adherence to the wrong pontiff. The earl said … he had come to serve [Fernando] in his war against the king of Castile, who was a schismatic, supporting … a pope who was in Avignon; that if [Fernando] wanted God’s help in his war, he should give obedience to the Holy Father in Rome; and that this was what his lord and father, the king [of England] and his whole council … had sent him to say, for they were sure that Urban was the real pope whilst the other was not.56

The earl’s words carried the not-all-that-veiled threat that if the Portuguese king wanted further English aid, he would do well to change his allegiance. In response, Fernando did just that. He called the first of several meetings of Portuguese clerics and learned men, who on 19 August 1381, the same day Princess Beatriz was promised to the earl’s son, entered the cathedral of Lisbon and took a solemn oath to Urban VI as the legitimate successor of Peter.57 Several weeks later, a papal letter from Rome was read in the cathedral that called on all good Christians to capture and enslave the Avignon pope and his cardinals and promised those who did so the same spiritual benefits conferred upon crusaders to the holy land.58 As a result, when the two armies drew up in preparation for a battle near the Castilian border town of Badajoz, Langley raised not only the

52 53

54 55 56 57 58

Biggs, “A Voyage”, pp. 69–70. While Ayala tells us little about any fighting that actually took place, Froissart is far less reticent. He indicates that acting without orders from the king of Portugal, captains serving the earl began raiding Castilian territory. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:678–88. Ayala, Juan I, p. 77. Ayala, Juan I, p. 78. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, p. 71. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:680–81. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, p. 71. Ibid. Ibid., pp. 71–73.

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duke of Lancaster’s banner and hailed him as king of Castile, but also unfurled a papal banner and proclaimed the war to be a crusade against schismatics.59 This first Portuguese commitment to Rome proved to be neither firm nor lasting. Apparently, Gaunt had promised more military aid than his brother actually delivered. Unfortunately for the Anglo-Portuguese alliance and for the duke’s ambitions, England’s woes in the early 1380s, including war with Scotland and the Peasant’s Revolt, derailed his plan to bring a much larger army to the peninsula with which to make good his wife’s claim on the Castilian throne. The regency council of the young king, Richard II, decided that such a force could not then be spared for foreign service; hence, what amounted to a scaled-down military effort in the person of Langley and his considerably reduced contingent.60 Meanwhile, in Iberia, as the two sides went through a not-uncommon exchange of messages to determine a proper battlefield, both monarchs developed second thoughts about their latest war.61 While sources disagree as to why each side chose to back away from the conflict one chronicler suggests that Fernando began to fear that without the much larger English force promised by Gaunt, he might well find himself outnumbered by the Franco-Castilian army gathering around his adversary.62 A third losing war could spell disaster for his reign. Consequently, a battle near Badajoz never took place. As weeks passed and Lancaster did not arrive, negotiations over deciding on a place to fight metamorphosed into peace negotiations from which the English were intentionally excluded.63 Eventually, Fernando and Juan hammered out a new treaty with Castile, despite fervent pleas from the earl of Cambridge that the Portuguese stand and fight.64 In the end, the disgruntled earl and his army had no choice

59

60 61 62

63

64

Ibid., p. 139. The considerable significance of banners in medieval warfare, in both a symbolic and tactical sense, is carefully explored in Robert W. Jones, Bloodied Banners, Martial Display on the Medieval Battlefield (Woodbridge, 2010). See also my review posted on the De re militari website in April 2011, at URL: http://www.deremilitari.org/REVIEWS/Jones_ BloodiedBanners.htm. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:651, 692; 2:70–71. Ayala, Juan I, pp. 76–77. Fernão Lopes explains some of the reasons that contemporaries alleged for the failure of both sides to seek a decisive battle rather than a peace treaty. On the one hand, Fernando’s illness and the inconvenience of having the English in Portugal are put forward as reasons for Fernando’s reluctance to fight. On the other hand, Juan’s reluctance was traced to the greater enthusiasm for a fight he perceived in the enemy ranks or to his abiding fear that the presence of English troops on the other side might bring about another Nájera. The chronicler also tells us that there were peace advocates among the advisors of each king working hard to bring about a peace. See: Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, pp. 139–41. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:692. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, p. 141 According to the Portuguese chronicler, not only were the English excluded from these negotiations, they were kept entirely in the dark: “These two [Portuguese peace negotiators] always went by night, and in disguise to the camp of the Castilian king.… And they were each accompanied by only one squire so as to minimize the possibility of discovery by the English.” Froissart, Chronicles, 1:691–92.



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but to return to England, many in Castilian ships lent as part of the peace agreement.65 Bitter recriminations arose on both sides as the English ignominiously evacuated the peninsula. The English complained that the king of Portugal had behaved ill to them, from the beginning to the end, and that he had always dissembled with the Spaniards, for he had never had any inclination to fight with them. The [Portuguese] king excused himself, by throwing all the blame on the duke of Lancaster, and the English, for not coming according to their promises …66

Despite his vociferous complaints of Portuguese perfidy, in a subsequent meeting with his elder brother, the earl seems to have conceded that the responsibility for the debacle did indeed lay with Gaunt.67 Shortly after the earl’s departure, Cardinal Pedro de Luna arrived in Portugal and appealed to the Portuguese king, now at peace with all of his Clementist neighbors, to once again rethink his religious loyalties. In response, Fernando called another meeting of clerics and scholars and although they were deeply divided, he again declared for Clement, sending representatives to Avignon to render obedience.68 Fernando is not known as “the Inconstant” for nothing! A Castilian Marriage Alliance and the War for Portuguese Independence (1383–1385) The kingdom’s final change in allegiance grew out of its monarch’s continuing efforts to arrange a suitable marriage for his daughter, Beatriz, and the opposition that arose over his choice of husbands. Before his short-lived war against Castile, Fernando’s most recent plan had called for the lady to wed Juan’s eldest son, the infante Enrique, thereby setting up the possibility that if Fernando failed to produce a son, Portugal would undergo amalgamation with Castile under Castile’s Trastámaran Dynasty. While Castilians may have favored such an outcome (after all, Portugal was a break-away province), the Portuguese most certainly did not, a fact amply demonstrated by subsequent events. Although the issue had been temporarily rendered moot by Fernando’s conflict with Castile and the resulting brief betrothal of the princess to Langley’s son, opposition reemerged with a vengeance when the peace once again brought to the fore negotiations for a Castilian marriage. Written into the initial clause of the treaty, a clause not made known to the English, was a provision calling for her marriage, not to the Castilian crown prince, but instead to his younger brother, the infante Fernando.

65 66 67 68

Ayala, Juan I, p. 78. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, p. 143. Froissart, Chronicles,1:692. Froissart, Chronicles, 1:694. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, pp. 150–51.

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And this the king of Portugal desired because marrying his daughter, Beatriz, to the infante Don Ferrando would not lead to the merging of her realm (non se mezclaria aquel Regno) with the kingdom of Castile as would have been the case if she married the Infante Don Enrique, since he was the heir to Castile.69

Portugal had now fought three wars against the Trastámaran dynasty, claiming that it was illegitimate, despite which all of the Castilian marriages that had been floated would lead to a Trastámaran succession. The worst option from the perspective of Portuguese bent upon maintaining their kingdom’s independence – a match between Beatriz and Crown Prince Enrique that would unite the two kingdoms under their progeny – had been set aside for a more acceptable, if not wholly attractive alternative – an independent Trastámaran monarchy descended from the Castilian Infante Fernando, almost identical to what would come into existence in Aragon early in the following century.70 While this might have ultimately proven acceptable to the Portuguese – it would later prove acceptable to the equally independent-minded Aragonese – the possibility of such a marriage evaporated almost as soon as it was raised. In the midst of negotiations, the reigning queen of Castile, Leonor of Aragon, died in childbirth, leading her father King Fernando of Portugal to propose that King Juan step in and marry the young princess, thereby becoming heir apparent to the Portuguese throne.71 Juan agreed and a new marriage treaty was signed by both sides at Salvaterra de Magos. Just why Fernando would have favored this radical alteration of the plan, given his earlier worries about a marriage to the crown prince, is difficult if not impossible to understand. It brought the specter of a Castilian takeover far too close for comfort. It also moved up the time-table for a seemingly-inevitable succession crisis, since the Portuguese monarch was already seriously ill as the agreement was being hammered out. In May 1383, when the royal couple were married near Badajoz, Fernando failed to attend due to the illness “from which he could not long survive.”72 And in September, Juan learned that his new father-in-law had died. Admittedly, there were safeguards built into the scheme. The marriage treaty stipulated that while Juan would become titular king of Portugal, he would not actually exercise power. Instead, Leonor Telles de Meneses (d. 1386), Fernando’s widow and mother of the bride, would serve as regent, governing the kingdom 69

70

71 72

Ayala, Juan I, p.78. The presence in the chronicle of Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal (p. 143) of an almost identically worded summation of the treaty’s contents and Fernando’s preference is simply one of many examples of the way in which the Portuguese chronicler borrowed extensively from his Castilian predecessor. In 1412, after the ancient house of Barcelona went extinct, representatives of all three regions comprising the Crown of Aragon met at Caspe and hammered out an agreement, known as the Compromise of Caspe, according to which they offered the crown to this same infante, Fernando. As a result, it would be the eastern kingdom rather than Portugal that came to be ruled by a cadet branch of the Trastámaran dynasty. Ayala, Juan I, p.78. Ibid., p. 80.



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of Portugal. As soon as such a child was born, he or she would assume the title king or queen. Meanwhile, Doña Leonor’s regency would continue until that child reached the age of fourteen, at which time, the regency would end. This stipulation was clearly designed to prevent unification of the two crowns.73 Even such a precaution, however, proved inadequate in the eyes of a growing number of Portuguese fearful of the loss of their independence. In casting about for a possible alternative to Beatriz and her Castilian husband, those opposed to the match first looked to Fernando’s estranged younger brother, the infante João, who was currently living in exile in Castile. However, as soon as the Castilian monarch heard of his father-in-law’s death, he seized and imprisoned this potential rival “because he feared that some within Portugal wished to have him as king.”74 It was then that the opposition turned its attention to Fernando’s illegitimate half-brother, João, grandmaster of the religious order of Aviz. The illegitimate son of Pedro I (r. 1357–1367), possibly by a Castilian noblewoman, he would ultimately become the hero of Portuguese independence and founder of the Aviz dynasty that would continue to rule the kingdom until the end of the sixteenth century. In December 1383, with overwhelming support from the people of Lisbon, the grandmaster and his followers seized control of the city, murdered the queen mother’s lover and expelled her. João then assumed the title Protector of the Realm.75 Meanwhile, even before Fernando’s death, his new Castilian son-in-law had launched preparations to invade Portugal and assume power in his wife’s name, despite the advice of some in the royal council that he would do better to proceed cautiously and try to win over his Portuguese subjects. Soon after the king’s death, Juan crossed the border in force. It was not long, however, before his willingness to violate the terms of his agreement with Fernando as well as his aloof personality began to alienate many of the Portuguese, including not a few of those who were originally willing to swear allegiance to his wife and, by extension, to him.76 Ultimately, civil war became inevitable as negotiations between the king and the grandmaster broke down.77 For although João of Aviz offered to recognize Beatriz as queen of Portugal, he demanded in return that he be appointed regent in place of the queen mother and that the Castilian monarch leave the kingdom, terms unacceptable to Beatriz and her new husband. As a result, a Castilian army marched forward to Santarém, some 65 kilometers north of Lisbon where, with the queen-mother’s approval, Juan assumed the reins of government.78 The

73

74 75 76 77 78

Ibid., p. 79. Only if both Enrique and Fernando, Juan’s sons by the earlier marriage, were to die before he did, could the heir to his second marriage also succeed to the throne of Castile, thereby unifying the two kingdoms. Ibid., pp. 82, 84. Ibid., pp. 86–87. Ibid., p. 75. Ibid., pp. 87–88, 90. Ibid., pp. 87–88.

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result would be nearly four years of fighting, which involved not only Castile and Portugal, but also France and England. In April 1384 the war began in earnest when a Portuguese army commanded by twenty-three-year-old Nuno Álvares Pereira defeated a far superior Castilian force in the conflict’s first major engagement at Atoleiros near the frontier between the two kingdoms. This initial victory established Pereira as João’s leading military adviser, whom the would-be king would soon afterwards name constable of Portugal and count of Ourém and entrust with overall command of Portuguese forces. Despite its initial setback, Castile enjoyed temporary success, when in May 1384, its army laid siege to Lisbon by both land and sea. Lacking the numbers needed to break this siege, Pereira could do no more than harass the enemy while carrying the war to other places that were loyal to Beatriz. By late summer, the Portuguese capital was starving. At this point, however, one of the outbreaks of bubonic plague that periodically struck western Europe in the second half of the fourteenth century accomplished what the Portuguese army could not: early in September, Juan was forced to abandon his siege and retire with his plagueridden army into Castile. Throughout the fall and winter of 1384–1385, the war remained largely stalemated as Pereira’s efforts to reduce Portuguese cities loyal to Beatriz met with only limited success. Then, in the spring, João’s fervent appeals for English aid began to bear fruit. A few hundred English longbowmen dispatched by the regent, John of Gaunt, arrived to reinforce the Portuguese army. At about the same time, the grandmaster called a cortes to the northern city of Coimbra, which declared him to be João I in April, 1385. A month later, a new expeditionary force dispatched by the Castilian monarch met defeat in the the second major battle of the war at Transcoso, suffering heavy casualties and losing all of the booty and prisoners it had acquired during an otherwise successful chevauchée. Undeterred, in early summer, Juan gathered a far larger Castilian army reinforced by French contingents for a second major attempt to take the Portuguese capital. Although vastly outnumbered, in August, the Portuguese decided to fight the invaders before they could once again lay siege to Lisbon. As a result, the army, commanded by Pereira and this time bolstered by Gaunt’s longbowmen, moved to block the Castilian line of march at Aljubarrota, 110 kilometers north of Lisbon.79 On 14 August 1385, the two sides clashed. As in the earlier encounters, the overconfident Castilians launched a series of unsuccessful frontal assaults, this time against a fortified constructed by their adversaries. By the end of the day, the considerably larger Castilian army had suffered one of the most crushing defeats of the century, leaving large numbers of dead on the field, numerous prisoners in enemy hands, and their king in flight. For 79

An excellent recent treatment of the battle, based on both the historical literature and archaeological evidence is João Gonveia Monteiro, “The Battle of Aljubarrota (1385): A Reassessment,” Journal of Medieval Military History 8 (2009), 75–103.



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all intents and purposes, the battle of Aljubarrota spelled an end to Castile’s medieval attempts to re-absorb Portugal. Military Realities and Portugal’s Choice of Rome From the start, both Rome and Avignon became involved on opposite sides of the struggle. The Castilian king had not only embraced Clement VII, for his invasion of Portugal, he enjoyed extensive support from France, the Clementist stronghold. In turn, Avignon immediately recognized his claim on the Portuguese throne. This is symbolized by the letter of condolence Clement sent to Juan’s queen, Beatriz, addressing her as “his dearest daughter in Christ” (carissima in Christo filia) and expressing his great sadness at the death of her father, Fernando.80 By contrast, with both Avignon and France lined up against him and England supplying him with much-needed military aid as well as a promise of much more, the grandmaster of Aviz had no choice but to align himself with Rome. The first clear step in this direction came as early as the Lisbon riots of 1383 when the townspeople murdered their bishop, a Castilian appointed by Clement VII, and put in his place an Urbanist.81 Later, when the grandmaster named his talented young general constable of Portugal, he charged the young man not only with maintaining Portuguese independence, but also (in the words of the chronicle) “preaching the Portuguese Gospel” of support for Urban VI.82 In April 1385, shortly after having been declared king at the Cortes of Coimbra, João sent letters to Urban soliciting his support for what had taken place. Not surprisingly, his appeal for recognition was couched in highly Urbanist terms. On the death of King Fernando, the kingdoms of Portugal were left without a king or ruler to defend them from that schismatic rebel against the Pope who called himself King of Castile.... Therefore … [the Portuguese people] entreated the very noble lord, Dom João, Master of the Military Order of Aviz, and brother of the aforesaid King Fernando to assume authority and provide such remedies as would counter the attacks of their enemies.83

Following the battle of Aljubarrota that August, the military balance in Iberia shifted dramatically in favor of the Portuguese, a reality symbolized by Pereira’s brief invasion of Castile in October and his fourth major military victory at the battle of Valverde. In turn, the triumph of Portugal in its war with Castile convinced the duke of Lancaster that he must now strike while the iron was hot 80

81 82 83

Suárez Fernández, Crisis Conciliar, “Carta de Clemente VII a la reina Beatriz de Castilla para consolarla por la muerte de su padre Fernando de Portugal,” printed in the Apendice Documental, pp. 161–62. The document is one of several issued by Clement VII in favor of Juan I of Castile that mentions Portugal. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, pp. 150–51. Ibid., p. 177. Ibid., pp. 183–85.

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if he hoped to make good his wife’s claim on the Castilian crown. This time the English government proved willing to join the Portuguese in undertaking a major military effort against their mutual enemy. In spring 1386, with Lancaster still in the process of gathering his army and preparing the fleet to transport it, England and Portugal signed the Treaty of Windsor, as a result of which they established what is today the longest-running diplomatic alliance in European history.84 The wording of this Anglo-Portuguese agreement clearly reflected the Urbanist sentiments of both signatories. Amidst the verbiage of eternal friendship, it called upon the monarchs “to succour and assist one another against all other persons” with three noteworthy exceptions, one of whom was Pope Urban “for both men must forever live in obedience to him and his canonically elected successors.”85 The two countries cemented their treaty with a marriage alliance between the newly crowned Portuguese king, João, and the duke’s daughter, Philippa. In July 1386, when Lancaster and his army arrived on the Iberian peninsula, they encountered a religious situation in Portugal considerably more to their taste than that encountered by Langley five years earlier. During the year since Aljubarrota, most of that kingdom had become thoroughly “Urbanized.” There would be no longer any question of English soldiers having to take mass from schismatic priests! The duke’s major force made landfall at the port city of La Coruña in Castile’s northwestern province of Galicia and quickly marched inland to seize the neighboring city of Santiago de Campostela, a leading center of European pilgrimage as well as the site of one of Castile’s four archbishoprics.86 One of Lancaster’s first actions was to replace the city’s Clementist archbishop with an Urbanist.87 This became the pattern during an initial period of English military success that extended through fall 1386, as the duke overran other Galician towns and cities. However, by spring, 1387, the military situation had begun to deteriorate as the English army fell victim to disease while wandering around northern Castile in what amounted to a prolonged chevauchée. Eventually, stripped of his gains in Galicia, Lancaster decided to accept the deal offered by his enemy a year earlier: he transferred any and all claims to the kingship of Castile to Catherine, his daughter by Constanza, who then married the Trastámaran heir to the Castilian throne, Juan’s son, Enrique (soon to become Enrique III). In 1389, the duke withdrew from the peninsula for the third and final time. The attempts of this would-be king to change the religious allegiance of the realm he

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85 86 87

Fernão Lopes placed a synopsis of the major terms of the treaty, signed on 9 May 1386, into his chronicle (see The English in Portugal, p. 191). The full text as well as associated documentation is available in Latin in Rymer, Foedera, vol. 7: 1373–97 (London, 1709), pp. 515–23. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, p. 191. The other two exceptions were Richard II’s brother-in-law, Wenceslas, King of the Romans, and Richard’s uncle, the duke of Lancaster. The other three were located in the major cities of Burgos, Toledo, and Seville. Fernão Lopes, The English in Portugal, pp. 213–15.



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claimed would not outlast his unsuccessful campaign. By contrast, during these years, Portugal reached a permanent decision; hereafter, it remained solidly in the Urbanist camp. Conclusion In the end, given the extremely close diplomatic and military ties with France, Castile’s choice of Avignon was pretty much a foregone conclusion. The only surprising note is Enrique II’s hesitation to take the plunge when asked to do so by his friend and benefactor, Charles V, whose military support more than anything else had put him on the throne and helped keep him there. However, in the wake of Enrique’s death, that military connection between the two kingdoms inexorably led Enrique’s son, Juan I, and with him the kingdom of Castile, into the Clementist column. By contrast, Portugal’s adherence to one side or the other in the schism ultimately depended upon which contestant came out of the interregnum wearing the crown. It was to be a case of cuius regio eius religio – “he who reigns, let it be his religion” – long before the Reformation made that expression famous. And in this case, the “who reigns” was established on the battlefield of Aljubarrota. The victory of João of Aviz – or more accurately, of his highly talented general, Pereira (recently canonized by the Catholic Church88) – not only vindicated Portugal’s independence for two centuries to come, it also determined that kingdom’s obedience to Rome rather than Avignon in the Great Schism.

88

In 1423, following an illustrious career in which he held the offices of constable and mayordomo mayor as well as three Portuguese counties, the aging Pereira entered the Carmelite order as a monk and spent the final eight years of his life in the Lisbon convent he had established where he took the name Friar Nuno of Saint Mary. In January 1918 he was beatified by Pope Benedict XV. On 3 July 2008 Pope Benedict XVI canonized Friar Nuno de Santa Maria Álvares Pereira. A public celebration of his canonization took place in Rome in April 2009.

List of Contributors

Bernard S. Bachrach has been a professor at the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, for the past forty-six years. He earned his A.B. from Queens College, NYC, in History and Classical Languages. He earned his M.A. and Ph.D. in Medieval History and Archaeology from the University of California, Berkeley. He is a Fellow of the Medieval Academy of America, has been a Member of the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, and served as a Visiting Professor at the University of Heidelburg. He is the founding editor of The Journal of Medieval Military History and co-founding editor of Medieval Prosopography. Among his 400 or so scholarly publications are twenty books of which the most recent is Charlemagne’s Early Campaigns, 768–777: A Diplomatic and Military Analysis (2013). Gary Baker was awarded his Ph.D. at the University of Hull in January 2013 for a thesis entitled “The English Way of War, 1360–99”, having previously studied as both an undergraduate and postgraduate at the University of Leicester. His primary research interests lie in the field of medieval military history, in particular the English nobility and its contribution to war from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries. He is also interested in crime and punishment during this period. His current research is an investigation of the martial careers and military affinities of Lionel, duke of Clarence, and Andrew de Harcla, earl of Carlisle. Michael Ehrlich is senior lecturer in the Department of Middle Eastern Studies at Bar-Ilan University, Ramat-Gan, Israel. His research foci are medieval battlefields; Islamization and de-urbanization; medieval Jerusalem. Amongst his recent publications are: “Saint Catherine’s Day Miracle – the Battle of Montgisard”, Journal of Medieval Military History 11 (2013), 95–106; “Benjamin of Tudela in the Land of Benjamin”, In the Highland’s Depth 3 (2013), 213–222 (in Hebrew); “The Location of the Jewish Neighbourhoods of Jerusalem during the early Muslim Period”, New Studies in the History of Jerusalem 19 (2013), 359–368 (in Hebrew). Nicholas A. Gribit: B.A. (University of Liverpool, 2005), M.A. (University of Liverpool, 2006), Ph.D. (University of Leeds, 2013). His thesis title was “Henry de Lancaster’s Army in Aquitaine, 1345: Recruitment, Service and Reward during the Hundred Years’ War.” In June 2013 he completed a short-term (one month) fellowship at the Leeds Humanities Research Institute (LHRI); the research was based upon royal pardons issued to men who served in the English expedition to Reims in 1359. A complete survey of “military pardons” was undertaken and a database was created containing prosopographical data of the pardon recipients. He plans to

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incorporate this research into a longer-term project based on the English Crown’s use of military pardons during the first phase of the Hundred Years’ War that will explore the cultural, social and economic impact of military pardons. A book with Boydell is under contract, Henry of Lancaster in Aquitaine: Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War. It is based on a detailed study, “in the round”, of Henry of Grosmont’s military expedition to Aquitaine in 1345 – the first in-depth study of all aspects of the organization of war relating to a single military expedition. A recent article was: “Accounting for Service at War: The Case of Sir James Audley of Heighley,” Journal of Medieval Military History, 7 (2009), 147–67. Nikolaos S. Kanellopoulos holds a Ph.D. (with distinction) in the field of Byzantine military history, an M.Sc. in History and Philosophy of Sciences and Technology and an M.Sc. in Guided Weapon Systems. He is an Air Force officer and assistant professor of Military History with the Hellenic Army Academy. He has presented and published various papers on late Byzantine military history and medieval warfare. His research interests include issues of Western-Byzantine interaction on the military field, military tactics and armament, as well as issues of ethics of war and peace in the medieval context. His recent publications include: “On Military Training in Late Byzantium (1204–1453),” Byzantina Symmeikta 22 (2012), 157–171; “Justification of War in Thirteenth Century Byzantium: Tracing down the Latin Influence,” First International Sevgi Gönül Byzantine Studies Symposium Proceedings, 2010, pp. 39–44 (co-author with Ioanna Lekea); “Byzantine Battle Tactics during the Thirteenth Century and the Battle of Tagliacozzo,” Byzantina Symmeikta 19 (2009), 63–81. Ioanna K. Lekea holds a B.A. (Hons) in Classics from the University of Athens, an M.Sc. (with distinction) in History and Philosophy of Science and Technology and a Ph.D. (with distinction) in Military Ethics awarded jointly by the University of Athens and the National Technical University of Athens (NTUA), Greece. She has been a post-doctoral fellow and an associate professor at the University of Athens and received a fellowship for the 2012 West Point Summer Seminar in Military History. She is currently a lecturer with the Hellenic Air Force Academy where she teaches Military Ethics and Just War Theory. She has published books and papers on the topics of Just War Theory, Military Ethics, Military History, Game Theory and Terrorism. She is the co-author of Terrorism: The New World Disorder (Continuum Press, 2007) [with N. Fotion and B. Kashnikov], while her monograph 17N’s Philosophy of Terror: An Αnalysis of the 17 November Revolutionary Organisation (17N) (Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger) is forthcoming. Mollie M. Madden completed her M.A. at the University of Kent at Canterbury under the direction of Andrew Butcher. She is now a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Minnesota, where she works with Bernard S. Bachrach. Her main interests are military logistics during the Hundred Years’ War, military pardons, and authority. Her article, “Symbols and Soldiers: English Royal Authority in Gascony, 1355–1356,” appeared in Authorities in the Middle Ages: Influence, Legitimacy, and Power in Medieval Society, ed. Sini Kangas, Mia Korpiola and Tuija Ainonen (Berlin and Boston, MA: De Gruyter) in 2013.



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K. James McMullen is a graduate student at Háskóli Íslands in Reykjavík, Iceland. His primary area of research is currently related to the identification of ‘problem’ or ‘enigma’ weapons in the Íslendingasögur and their analogues in the archaeological record. He also has a keen interest in the representation of Byzantium and the Varangians in Íslendingasögur, as well as the social, legal, and political culture of medieval Scandinavian kingdoms as portrayed within the Íslendingasögur. Craig M. Nakashian is Assistant Professor of History at Texas A&M University, Texarkana. He holds undergraduate degrees in History and Government from Western New England University and a Master’s degree in Medieval History from the University of Durham, where he worked under Michael Prestwich. He received his Ph.D. in History from the University of Rochester in 2010, working primarily under Richard Kaeuper. His fields of interest are Anglo-Norman and Angevin England, primarily religious and military culture. He is currently completing a manuscript examining the cultural arguments surrounding warrior clerics in AngloNorman and Angevin England. Mamuka Tsurtsumia is a Georgian historian whose research focuses on medieval military history and military technology. He is the author of several academic and encyclopaedia articles. He is currently working on his Ph.D. thesis, entitled “The Medieval Georgian Army: Organization, Tactics, Equipment” at Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University. L. J. Andrew Villalon is currently a Senior Lecturer at the University of Texas at Austin as well as a Professor Emeritus at the University of Cincinnati. His interests lie in (among other things) late medieval and early modern Spanish history, the Hundred Years’ War, the War of the Two Pedros, and the First World War (in all of which he has published extensively).

Journal of Medieval Military History 1477–545X

Volume I 1 The Vegetian “Science of Warfare” in the Middle Ages – Clifford J. Rogers 2 Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy – Stephen F. Morillo 3 Italia – Bavaria – Avaria: The Grand Strategy behind Charlemagne’s Renovatio Imperii in the West – Charles R. Bowlus 4 The Composition and Raising of the Armies of Charlemagne – John France 5 Some Observations on the Role of the Byzantine Navy in the Success of the First Crusade – Bernard S. Bachrach 6 Besieging Bedford: Military Logistics in 1224 – Emilie M. Amt 7 “To Aid the Custodian and Council”: Edmund of Langley and the Defense of the Realm, June–July 1399 – Douglas Biggs 8 Flemish Urban Militias against the French Cavalry Armies in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries – J. F. Verbruggen (translated by Kelly DeVries)

Volume II 1 The Use of Chronicles in Recreating Medieval Military History – Kelly DeVries 2 Military Service in the County of Flanders – J. F. Verbruggen (translated by Kelly DeVries) 3 Prince into Mercenary: Count Armengol VI of Urgel, 1102–1154 – Bernard F. Reilly 4 Henry II’s Military Campaigns in Wales, 1157–1165 – John Hosler 5 Origins of the Crossbow Industry in England – David S. Bachrach 6 The Bergerac Campaign (1345) and the Generalship of Henry of Lancaster – Clifford J. Rogers 7 A Shattered Circle: Eastern Spanish Fortifications and their Repair during the “Calamitous Fourteenth Century” – Donald Kagay 8 The Militia of Malta – Theresa M. Vann 9 “Up with Orthodoxy!” In Defense of Vegetian Warfare – John B. Gillingham 10 100,000 Crossbow Bolts for the Crusading King of Aragon – Robert Burns

Volume III 1 A Lying Legacy? A Preliminary Discussion of Images of Antiquity and Altered Reality in Medieval Military History – Richard Abels and Stephen F. Morillo

2 War and Sanctity: Saints’ Lives as Sources for Early Medieval Warfare – John France 3 The 791 Equine Epidemic and its Impact on Charlemagne’s Army – Carroll Gillmor 4 The Role of the Cavalry in Medieval Warfare – J. F. Verbruggen 5 Sichelgaita of Salerno: Amazon or Trophy Wife? – Valerie Eads 6 Castilian Military Reform under the Reign of Alfonso XI (1312–50) – Nicolas Agrait 7 Sir Thomas Dagworth in Brittany, 1346–7: Restellou and La Roche Derrien – Clifford J. Rogers 8 Ferrante d’Este’s Letters as a Source for Military History – Sergio Mantovani 9 Provisions for the Ostend Militia on the Defense, August 1436 – Kelly DeVries

Volume IV 1 The Sword of Justice: War and State Formation in Comparative Perspective – Stephen F. Morillo 2 Archery versus Mail: Experimental Archaeology and the Value of Historical Context – Russ Mitchell 3 “Cowardice” and Duty in Anglo-Saxon England – Richard Abels 4 Cowardice and Fear Management: The 1173–74 Conflict as a Case Study – Steven Isaac 5 Expecting Cowardice: Medieval Battle Tactics Reconsidered – Stephen F. Morillo 6 Naval Tactics at the Battle of Zierikzee (1304) in the Light of Mediterranean Praxis – William Sayers 7 The Military Role of the Magistrates in Holland during the Guelders War – James P. Ward 8 Women in Medieval Armies – J. F. Verbruggen 9 Verbruggen’s “Cavalry” and the Lyon-Thesis – Bernard S. Bachrach 10 Dogs of War in Thirteenth-Century Valencian Garrisons – Robert I. Burns

Volume V 1 Literature as Essential Evidence for Understanding Chivalry – Richard W. Kaeuper 2 The Battle of Hattin: A Chronicle of a Defeat Foretold? – Michael Ehrlich 3 Hybrid or Counterpoise? A Study of Transitional Trebuchets – Michael Basista 4 The Struggle between the Nicaean Empire and the Bulgarian State (1254–1256): Towards a Revival of Byzantine Military Tactics under Theodore II Laskaris – Nicholas S. Kanellopoulos and Joanne K. Lekea 5 A “Clock-and-Bow” Story: Late Medieval Technology from Monastic Evidence – Mark Dupuy 6 The Strength of Lancastrian Loyalism during the Readeption: Gentry Participation at the Battle of Tewkesbury – Malcolm Mercer 7 Soldiers and Gentlemen: The Rise of the Duel in Renaissance Italy – Stephen Hughes

8 “A Lying Legacy” Revisited: The Abels-Morillo Defense of Discontinuity – Bernard S. Bachrach

Volume VI

1 Cultural Representation and the Practice of War in the Middle Ages – Richard Abels 2 The Brevium Exempla as a Source for Carolingian Warhorses – Carroll Gillmor 3 Infantry and Cavalry in Lombardy (11th–12th Centuries) – Aldo Settia 4 Unintended Consumption: The Interruption of the Fourth Crusade at Venice and its Consequences – Greg Bell 5 Light Cavalry, Heavy Cavalry, Horse Archers, Oh My! What Abstract Definitions Don’t Tell Us about 1205 Adrianople – Russ Mitchell 6 War Financing in the Late-Medieval Crown of Aragon – Donald Kagay 7 National Reconciliation in France at the end of the Hundred Years War – Christopher Allmand

Volume VII 1 The Military Role of the Order of the Garter – Richard W. Barber 2 The Itineraries of the Black Prince’s Chevauchées of 1355 and 1356: Observations and Interpretations – Peter Hoskins 3 The Chevauchée of John Chandos and Robert Knolles: Early March to Early June, 1369 – Nicolas Savy 4 “A Voyage, or Rather an Expedition, to Portugal”: Edmund of Langley’s Journey to Iberia, June/July 1381 – Douglas Biggs 5 The Battle of Aljubarrota (1385): A Reassessment – João Gouveia Monteiro 6 “Military” Knighthood in the Lancastrian Era: The Case of Sir John Montgomery – Gilbert Bogner 7 Medieval Romances and Military History: Marching Orders in Jean de Bueil’s Le Jouvencel introduit aux armes – Matthieu Chan Tsin 8 Arms and the Art of War: The Ghentenaar and Brugeois Militia in 1477–79 – J. F. Verbruggen 9 Accounting for Service at War: The Case of Sir James Audley of Heighley – Nicholas Gribit 10 The Black Prince in Gascony and France (1355–6), according to MS 78 of Corpus Christi College, Oxford – Clifford J. Rogers

Volume VIII 1 People against Mercenaries: The Capuchins in Southern Gaul – John France 2 The Last Italian Expedition of Henry IV: Re–reading the Vita Mathildis of Donizone of Canossa – Valerie Eads 3 Jaime I of Aragon: Child and Master of the Spanish Reconquest – Donald Kagay 4 Numbers in Mongol Warfare – Carl Sverdrup 5 Battlefield Medicine in Wolfram’s Parzival – Jolyon T. Hughes

6 Battle-Seeking, Battle-Avoiding or Perhaps Just Battle-Willing? Applying the Gillingham Paradigm to Enrique II of Castile – Andrew Villalon 7 Outrance and Plaisance – Will McLean 8 Guns and Goddams: Was there a Military Revolution in Lancastrian Normandy 1415–50? – Anne Curry 9 The Name of the Siege Engine Trebuchet: Etymology and History in Medieval France and Britain – William Sayers

Volume IX 1 The French Offensives of 1404–1407 Against Anglo-Gascon Aquitaine – Guilhem Pépin 2 The King’s Welshmen: Welsh Involvement in the Expeditionary Army of 1415 – Adam Chapman 3 Gunners, Aides and Archers: The Personnel of the English Ordnance Companies in Normandy in the Fifteenth Century – Andy King 4 Defense, Honor and Community: the Military and Social Bonds of the Dukes of Burgundy and the Flemish Shooting Guilds – Laura Crombie 5 The Battle of Edgecote or Banbury (1469) Through the Eyes of Contemporary Welsh Poets – Barry Lewis 6 Descriptions of Battles in Fifteenth-Century Urban Chronicles: A Comparison of the Siege of London in May 1471 and the Battle of Grandson, 2 March 1476 – Andreas Remy 7 Urban Espionage and Counterespionage during the Burgundian Wars (1468–77) – Bastian Walter 8 Urban Militias, Nobles and Mercenaries: The Organization of the Antwerp Army in the Flemish–Brabantine Revolt of the 1480s – Frederik Buylaert, Jan Van Camp and Bert Verwerft 9 Military Equipment in the Town of Southampton During the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries – Randall Moffett

Volume X 1 The Careers of Justinian’s Generals – David Parnell 2 Early Saxon Frontier Warfare: Henry I, Otto I, and Carolingian Military Institutions – David S. Bachrach and Bernard S. Bachrach 3 War in The Lay of the Cid – Francisco Garcia Fitz 4 The Battle of Salado (1340) Revisited – Nicolas Agrait 5 Chivalry and Military Biography in the Later Middle Ages: The Chronicle of the Good Duke Louis of Bourbon – Steven Muhlberger 6 The Ottoman-Hungarian Campaigns of 1442 – John Jefferson 7 Security and Insecurity, Spies and Informers in Holland during the Guelders War (1506–1515) –James P. Ward 8 Edward I’s Wars in the Chronicle of Hagnaby Priory – Michael Prestwich

Volume XI 1 Military Games and the Training of the Infantry – Aldo A. Settia 2 The Battle of Civitate: A Plausible Account – Charles D. Stanton 3 The Square “Fighting March” of the Crusaders at the Battle of Ascalon (1099) – Georgios Theotokis 4 How the Crusades Could Have Been Won: King Baldwin II of Jerusalem’s Campaigns against Aleppo (1124–5) and Damascus (1129) – T. S. Asbridge 5 Saint Catherine’s Day Miracle – the Battle of Montgisard – Michael Ehrlich 6 The Military Effectiveness of Alan Mercenaries in Byzantium, 1301–1306 – Scott Jesse and Anatoly Isaenko 7 Winning and Recalling Honor in Spain: Pro-English Poetry in Celebration of the Battle of Nájera (1367) – Donald J. Kagay and L. J. Andrew Villalon 8 The Wars and the Army of the Duke of Cephalonia Carlo I Tocco (c. 1375–1429) – Savvas Kyriakidis 9 Sir John Radcliffe, K. G. (d. 1441): Miles Famossissimus – A. Compton Reeves 10 Defense Schemes of Southampton in the Late Medieval Period, 1300–1500 – Randall Moffett 11 French and English Acceptance of Medieval Gunpowder Weaponry – Kelly DeVries

spine 20mm PROVISIONAL

The Journal’s hallmark is broad chronological, geographic and thematic coverage of the subject, bearing witness to ‘the range and richness of scholarship on medieval warfare, military institutions, and cultures of conflict that characterises the field’.  HISTORY CONTENTS BERNARD S. BACHRACH K. JAMES MCMULLEN CRAIG M. NAKASHIAN MAMUKA TSURTSUMIA MICHAEL EHRLICH NIKOLAOS S. KANELLOPOULOS AND IOANNA K. LEKEA

Some Observations Regarding Barbarian Military Demography: Geiseric’s Census of 429 and Its Implications War Words and Battle Spears: The kesja and kesjulag in Old Norse Literature The Political and Military Agency of Ecclesiastical Leaders in Anglo-Norman England: 1066–1154 Couched Lance and Mounted Shock Combat in the East: The Georgian Experience The Battle of Arsur: A Short-Lived Victory Prelude to Kephissos (1311): An Analysis of the Battle of Apros (1305)

NICHOLAS A. GRIBIT

Horse Restoration (Restaurum Equorum) in the Army of Henry of Grosmont, 1345: A Benefit of Military Service in the Hundred Years’ War

MOLLIE M. MADDEN

The Indenture between Edward III and the Black Prince for the Prince’s Expedition to Gascony, 10 July 1355 Investigating the Socio-Economic Origins of English Archers in the Second Half of the Fourteenth Century

L. J. ANDREW VILLALON

War and the Great Schism: Military Factors Determining Allegiances in Iberia

Cover: Coll. Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry, MS13, fo. 105r (circa 1170-1190). The Italian artist who illuminated this copy of Gratian’s Decretum beautifully captured the deadly seriousness of medieval warfare -for townsmen as well as knights. Image used by generous permission of the Bibliothèques municipales de Chambéry. An imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge IP12 3DF (GB) and 668 Mt Hope Ave, Rochester NY 14620-2731 (US) www.boydellandbrewer.com

ROGERS, DEVRIES, FRANCE (editors)

GARY BAKER

JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY VIII JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

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J ournal of

MEDIEVAL MILITARY HISTORY

·  X II · Edited by CLIFFORD J. ROGERS, KELLY DEVRIES and JOHN FRANCE