Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England, 871–978: Assemblies and the State in the Early Middle Ages 1107036534, 9781107036536

Table of contents :
List of maps vii
List of tables viii
Acknowledgements ix
List of abbreviations xi
1. Introduction: assembling consent in late ninth- and tenth-century England 1
Absent assemblies: the historiography of the Anglo-Saxon 'national assembly' 1
Assembly politics and the formation of the 'kingdom of the English', 871–978 6
Kingship, assemblies and the 'late Anglo-Saxon state' 11
Assemblies and rituals: continental contributions and anthropological approaches 14
Defining assemblies: outline and scope of the study 20
2. Assembly attendance 27
Assembly attendance in the 'kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons', 871–909×925 29
Assembly attendance in the 'kingdom of the English', c. 925–978 32
Conclusions 43
3. Meeting places and times of assemblies 45
Locating meaning: the meeting places of the 'witan', 871–978 45
'Diplomatic' meetings 48
'Legislative' meetings 53
'Dispositive' meetings 54
'Diplomatic', 'legislative' and 'dispositive' assemblies: the relationship revisited 64
Preliminary conclusions 67
Meeting times, duration and frequency of assemblies 71
4. Royal charters and assemblies 77
Diploma production and assemblies 78
Diplomas and assembly politics 89
Conclusions 101
5. Legislation and consent: law-making and assembly politics 104
The 'witan' and the law 107
Law-codes and royal administration 113
The 'witan' and the law: preliminary conclusions 121
6. The 'witan' and the settlement of disputes 122
Dispute settlement in Anglo-Saxon charters 124
Dispute settlement in house chronicles 137
Law-codes, dispute settlement and the 'witan': conclusions 143
7. The 'further business' of the 'witan' 147
Consensus, assemblies and the administration of the realm 148
Conclusions 159
8. Symbols in context: ritual and demonstration at assemblies 161
Rites and rituals at assemblies 162
Ritual and ceremony at and beyond assemblies 173
Emotional displays 174
Symbolizing community and hierarchy 176
Rituals of petition and intercession 184
'Rites de passage' and the distribution of gifts and offices 190
Ritual and demonstration at assemblies: preliminary conclusions 194
9. Ritual and reality: the problem of the sources 195
Ritual and symbolism beyond narrative sources 196
The sources of ritual 202
Conclusions 208
10. The role of the 'witan': celebration and persuasion 212
Kingship and consent: the 'witan' and the late Anglo-Saxon state 213
Rituals and assemblies in England and on the continent 227
Assemblies and kingship in England, 871–978: final observations 235
Appendix: Meetings of the 'witan', 871–978 239
Locatable meetings of the 'witan' 239
Dated meetings of the 'witan' 243
Bibliography 244
Index 292

Citation preview

K I N GSHI P AND CONS ENT IN A N G L O - S A X O N ENG LAND, 871 –97 8 This engaging new study focuses on the role of assemblies in later Anglo-Saxon politics, challenging and nuancing existing models of the late Anglo-Saxon state. Its ten chapters investigate both traditional constitutional aspects of assemblies – who attended these events, where and when they met, and what business they conducted – and the symbolic and representational nature of these gatherings. Levi Roach takes into account important recent work on continental rulership, and argues that assemblies were not a check on kingship in these years, but rather an essential feature of it. In particular, the author highlights the role of symbolic communication at assemblies, arguing that ritual and demonstration were as important in English politics as they were elsewhere in Europe. Far from being exceptional, the methods of rulership employed by English kings look very much like those witnessed elsewhere on the continent, where assemblies and ritual formed an essential part of the political order. L EVI ROAC H

Exeter.

is a lecturer in Medieval History at the University of

Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought Fourth Series General Editor: ro samond mc k it te rick Professor of Medieval History, University of Cambridge, and Fellow of Sidney Sussex College

Advisory Editors: c hri sti ne carpe nte r Professor of Medieval English History, University of Cambridge

jonathan she pard

The series Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought was inaugurated by G. G. Coulton in 1921; Professor Rosamond McKitterick now acts as General Editor of the Fourth Series, with Professor Christine Carpenter and Dr Jonathan Shepard as Advisory Editors. The series brings together outstanding work by medieval scholars over a wide range of human endeavour extending from political economy to the history of ideas. This is book 92 in the series, and a full list of titles in the series can be found at: www.cambridge.org/medievallifeandthought

K INGS H I P AND C ON S E N T IN ANG LO -S AX ON E NG LAN D, 8 7 1– 9 7 8 Assemblies and the State in the Early Middle Ages

L E VI ROAC H University of Exeter

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107036536 © Levi Roach 2013 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2013 Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Roach, Levi, 1985– Kingship and consent in Anglo-Saxon England, 871–978 : assemblies and the state in the early Middle Ages / Levi Roach, University of Exeter. pages cm. – (Cambridge studies in Medieval life and thought, Fourth series) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-1-107-03653-6 (hardback) 1. England. Witenagemot. 2. Anglo Saxons–Politics and government. I. Title. jn513.r63 2013 320.942′09021–dc23 2013018452 isbn 978-1-107-03653-6 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

C ONT E NT S

List of maps List of tables Acknowledgements List of abbreviations 1

page vii viii ix xi

I ntroduc ti on: as se mbl ing conse nt i n late ni nth- and te nth-ce ntury E ng land Absent assemblies: the historiography of the Anglo-Saxon ‘national assembly’ Assembly politics and the formation of the ‘kingdom of the English’, 871–978 Kingship, assemblies and the ‘late Anglo-Saxon state’ Assemblies and rituals: continental contributions and anthropological approaches Deining assemblies: outline and scope of the study

2

A ssembly atte ndance Assembly attendance in the ‘kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons’, 871–909 × 925 Assembly attendance in the ‘kingdom of the English’, c. 925–978 Conclusions

3

Me eti ng place s and time s of as sem bl i e s Locating meaning: the meeting places of the witan, 871–978 ‘Diplomatic’ meetings ‘Legislative’ meetings ‘Dispositive’ meetings ‘Diplomatic’, ‘legislative’ and ‘dispositive’ assemblies: the relationship revisited Preliminary conclusions Meeting times, duration and frequency of assemblies

v

1 1 6 11 14 20 27 29 32 43 45 45 48 53 54 64 67 71

Contents 4 Royal c harte r s and assembli e s Diploma production and assemblies Diplomas and assembly politics Conclusions

5 Leg i slati on and conse nt : law-mak i ng and asse mbly p ol itics The witan and the law Law-codes and royal administration The witan and the law: preliminary conclusions

6 Th e

WITAN

and the sett le me nt of di sp ute s

Dispute settlement in Anglo-Saxon charters Dispute settlement in house chronicles Law-codes, dispute settlement and the witan: conclusions

7 Th e ‘furthe r busi ne s s ’ of the

WITAN

Consensus, assemblies and the administration of the realm Conclusions

8 Symbols in conte xt: ritual and de mon st ration at assem bl ie s Rites and rituals at assemblies Ritual and ceremony at and beyond assemblies Emotional displays Symbolizing community and hierarchy Rituals of petition and intercession Rites de passage and the distribution of gifts and oices Ritual and demonstration at assemblies: preliminary conclusions

9 Ritual and real ity: the p roble m of th e s ourc e s Ritual and symbolism beyond narrative sources The sources of ritual Conclusions

10 Th e role of the pe r suasi on

WITAN:

77 78 89 101 104 107 113 121 122 124 137 143 147 148 159 161 162 173 174 176 184 190 194 195 196 202 208

ce le brati on and

Kingship and consent: the witan and the late Anglo-Saxon state Rituals and assemblies in England and on the continent Assemblies and kingship in England, 871–978: inal observations

Appendix: Meetings of the witan, 871–978 Locatable meetings of the witan Dated meetings of the witan Bibliography Index vi

212 213 227 235 239 239 243 244 292

M A PS

1 2 3 4 5

‘Diplomatic’ assemblies, 871–978 ‘Legislative’ assemblies, 871–978 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 871–924 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 924–39 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 939–78

page 50 55 58 61 65

vii

TA BL E S

1 Locatable meetings of the witan: meetings recorded in narrative sources, 871–978 2 Locatable meetings of the witan: assemblies recorded in law-codes, 871–978 3 Locatable meetings of the witan: assemblies recorded in charters, 871–978 4 Dated meetings of the witan, 891–978

viii

page 239 240 241 243

AC KNOWL E DG E M ENTS

Any project such as this cannot be completed without the assistance and encouragement of many friends and colleagues and I dare say that I have been luckier than most in this regard. I owe an immense debt of gratitude to Simon Keynes, who supervised the Ph.D. dissertation out of which this book grew. He nurtured my interest in Anglo-Saxon history ever since my arrival in Cambridge as a wide-eyed eighteen-year-old in Michaelmas term 2003 and has been a constant source of support and advice over the years. Thanks are similarly due to my Ph.D. advisor (and undergraduate Latin lecturer) Rosalind Love for help which often went above and beyond the call of duty. Sarah Foot and Jinty Nelson, my Ph.D. examiners, kindly encouraged me to revise what was a rather rough piece of work into the present volume and their comments have proven immensely helpful in the process. I am also grateful to the general editor of this series, Rosamond McKitterick, for her comments on successive drafts, as well as to those who have seen it through to publication: Liz Friend-Smith, Maartje Scheltens, Chloe Dawson and Gillian Dadd at Cambridge University Press; and Jamie Hood and Christopher Feeney at Out of House Publishing. A number of institutions have likewise aided my eforts. My greatest debt in this respect is to Trinity College, Cambridge, and the Department of Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic (also Cambridge), at which I completed my undergraduate and postgraduate study; the former generously funded my research, whilst the latter provided the ideal environment in which to undertake this.Additional thanks are due to Trinity College and the Studienstiftung des DeutschenVolkes, whose support enabled me to intermit my Ph.D. for a year to attend the Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg in 2008–9. This unique opportunity enabled me to immerse myself in German historiography to a degree which would have been impossible otherwise. At the closing stages of my Ph.D., I was elected to a Research Fellowship at St John’s College, ix

Acknowledgements Cambridge, and though I only spent one year there, I am most grateful to the Master and Fellows for this opportunity. Academically speaking this was one of the most enjoyable and productive years of my life and it was during this time that the transition from thesis to monograph took place. St John’s College also kindly funded the production of the maps which adorn this volume (for which additional thanks are owed to my mapmaker, Lacey Wallace). Finally, I should like to express my thanks to the Department of History at the University of Exeter for ofering me the prospect of more permanent employment when this book was nearing completion. In an academic world in which ixed-term contracts are becoming the norm for early-career researchers, I consider myself very fortunate to be able to work in such a friendly and intellectually stimulating environment. Many other individuals have provided me with their thoughts, encouragement and constructive criticism over the years. I should particularly like to thank Lars Kjaer, George Molyneaux, David Woodman, Dominik Waßenhoven, Charlie Insley, Thomas Faulkner, Katy Cubitt, David Pratt and Chris Wickham for sharing observations and/or unpublished work. Countless friends have also helped along the way; in the place of many, I should like to name Matthias Ammon, Erik Niblaeus, Eric Denton, Helen Foxhall Forbes and Rory Naismith. On a more personal note, Catherine Flavelle, my iancée and partner of the last ive years, has not only helped me clarify my thoughts at numerous points, but has been a constant companion. She has been extremely understanding of my obsessive interest in all things medieval, and without her love and support this book would probably never have been started, let alone inished – she never doubted my abilities, even when I began to despair of them. Last, but certainly not least, I owe an immeasurable debt to my parents. Not only have they provided help (both emotional and inancial) when needed, but I have learned far more from them over the years than they perhaps realize: from my mother, what scholarly endeavour involves (or at least should involve); and from my father, the importance of history and how one should go about writing it. I dedicate this book to them in the hope that the inal product lives up to the example which they have set for me.

x

A BBR E VIAT IONS

Ge ne ral abbreviati on s AfD AfU ANS ASC ASE Asser, VÆ B., VD BAR BEASE Byrhtferth, VE Byrhtferth, VO CCM CSASE CSMLT DA EEMF EETS EHR

Archiv für Diplomatik Archiv für Urkundenforschung Anglo-Norman Studies Anglo-Saxon Chronicle Anglo-Saxon England Asser, Vita Ælfredi regis, ed. W. H. Stevenson with an introduction by D. Whitelock, Asser’s Life of King Alfred (Oxford, 1959) B., Vita S. Dunstani, ed. M. Winterbottom and M. Lapidge, The Early Lives of St Dunstan, OMT (Oxford, 2012) British Archaeological Reports The Blackwell Encyclopaedia of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. M. Lapidge, J. Blair, S. Keynes and D. Skragg (Oxford, 1999) Byrhtferth of Ramsey, Vita S. Ecgwini, ed. M. Lapidge, Byrhtferth of Ramsey:The Lives of St Oswald and St Ecgwine, OMT (Oxford, 2009) Byrhtferth of Ramsey, Vita S. Oswaldi, ed. M. Lapidge, Byrhtferth of Ramsey:The Lives of St Oswald and St Ecgwine, OMT (Oxford, 2009) Cahiers de civilisation médiévale Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile Early English Text Society English Historical Review xi

List of abbreviations EME FMSt HBS HSJ HZ JEH LÆth Lantfred, Translatio LB LE MGH Dip. regum Epp. Fontes Leges nat. Germ. SRG SRG n.s. SS MIÖG NCMH II NCMH III ODNB OE Handbook OE Introduction

Early Medieval Europe Frühmittelalterliche Studien Henry Bradshaw Society Haskins Society Journal Historische Zeitschrift Journal of Ecclesiastical History Libellus Æthelwoldi episcopi (cited from edition within LE) Lantfred of Winchester, Translatio et miracula S. Swithuni, ed. M. Lapidge, The Cult of Saint Swithun, Winchester Studies 4.ii (Oxford, 2003) Liber benefactorum of Ramsey Abbey, ed. W. D. Macray, Chronicon abbatiæ Rameseiensis, Rolls Series 83 (London, 1886) Liber Eliensis, ed. E. O. Blake, Camden Society 3rd ser. 92 (London, 1962) Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Diplomata regum et imperatorum Germaniae Epistolae Fontes iuris Germanici antiqui in usum scholarum Leges nationum Germanicarum Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum Scriptores rerum Germanicarum: series nova Scriptores Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. II, c. 700–900, ed. R. McKitterick (Cambridge, 1995) The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. III, c. 900–c. 1024, ed. T. Reuter (Cambridge, 1999) Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, ed. H. C. G. Matthew and B. Harrison, 60 vols. (Oxford, 2004) OE Handbook, ed. A. Frantzen, The Anglo-Saxon Penitentials: A Cultural Database (www.anglosaxon.net/penance/, accessed 1 May 2010) OE Introduction, ed. A. Frantzen, The Anglo-Saxon Penitentials: A Cultural Database (www.anglosaxon.net/penance/, accessed 1 May 2010) xii

List of abbreviations OMT P&P Settimane TRHS TRW Whitelock, EHD WinchLV WM, GRA

Wulfstan, Narratio metrica

Wulfstan, VÆ

ZRG GA KA

Oxford Medieval Texts Past and Present Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo Transactions of the Royal Historical Society Transformation of the Roman World English Historical Documents c. 500–1042, ed. D. Whitelock, 2nd edn (London, 1979) Liber Vitae of the New Minster and Hyde Abbey,Winchester, ed. S. Keynes, EEMF 26 (Copenhagen, 1996) William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, ed. R. A. B. Mynors with R. M. Thomson and M. Winterbottom, 2 vols., OMT (Oxford, 1998–9) Wulfstan Cantor, Narratio metrica de S. Swithuno, ed. M. Lapidge, The Cult of Saint Swithun, Winchester Studies 4.ii (Oxford, 2003) Wulfstan Cantor, Vita S. Æthelwoldi, ed. M. Lapidge and M. Winterbottom, Wulfstan of Winchester:The Life of St Æthelwold, OMT (Oxford, 1991) Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Reschsgeschichte: Gemanistische Abteilung Kanonistische Abteilung

A bbreviati ons f or Anglo-S axon charte r s Anglo-Saxon charters are cited by their ‘S number’ from P. H. Sawyer (ed.), Anglo-Saxon Charters: An Annotated List and Bibliography, rev. S. Kelly and R. Rushforth (www.esawyer.org.uk/). An edition is cited in parentheses in cases in which text is quoted from the document or substantial detail regarding the transaction is given. For these purposes the following abbreviations are used: BCS KCD

W. de G. Birch (ed.), Cartularium Saxonicum: A Collection of Charters Relating to Anglo-Saxon History, 3 vols. (London, 1885–93) J. M. Kemble (ed.), Codex Diplomaticus Aevi Saxonici, 6 vols. (London, 1839–48) xiii

List of abbreviations Abing Bath Burt CantCC CantStA Glast LondStP Malm Pet Roch Sel Shaft Sherb StAlb Wells WinchNM

S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Abingdon Abbey, 2 parts, Anglo-Saxon Charters 7–8 (Oxford, 2000–1) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Bath and Wells, Anglo-Saxon Charters 13 (Oxford, 2007) P. H. Sawyer (ed.), Charters of Burton Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 2 (Oxford, 1979) N. Brooks and S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Christ Church, Canterbury, 3 parts, Anglo-Saxon Charters 17–18 (Oxford, forthcoming) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of St Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury, and Minster-in-Thanet, Anglo-Saxon Charters 4 (Oxford, 1995) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Glastonbury, Anglo-Saxon Charters 15 (Oxford, 2012) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of St Paul’s, London, Anglo-Saxon Charters 10 (Oxford, 2004) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Malmesbury Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 11 (Oxford, 2005) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Peterborough Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 14 (Oxford, 2009) A. Campbell (ed.), Charters of Rochester, Anglo-Saxon Charters 1 (Oxford, 1973) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Selsey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 6 (Oxford, 1996) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Shaftesbury Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 5 (Oxford, 1995) M. A. O’Donovan (ed.), Charters of Sherborne, Anglo-Saxon Charters 3 (Oxford, 1988) J. Crick (ed.), Charters of St Albans, Anglo-Saxon Charters 12 (Oxford, 2007) S. E. Kelly (ed.), Charters of Bath and Wells, Anglo-Saxon Charters 13 (Oxford, 2007) S. Miller (ed.), Charters of the New Minster,Winchester, Anglo-Saxon Charters 9 (Oxford, 2001)

xiv

Chapter 1

I N TRODU C T ION: A S S EMBLI NG CONS E NT IN L AT E NINTH- AND T ENT H -C E NT U RY E NGLAN D

A bse nt as se mbl ie s : the histori og raphy of th e A nglo-S axon ‘national as se m bly ’ Felix Liebermann at the start of his seminal study of the ‘national assembly’ in pre-Conquest England characterized it as an ‘institution [that] can never cease to deserve the attention of the historian of European or American civilisation, because it is one of the lineal ancestors of the British Parliament, to which the legislative assemblies of all the neighbours reverently look up as to their model and their teacher’.1 Writing these words in 1913, Liebermann’s perspective was understandable: his work stood at the end of a long line of distinguished studies dedicated to various aspects of political assemblies and their constitutional role.2 It would, therefore, presumably have surprised him to know that his work would be almost the last serious foray into the ield until the present day. The reasons why the subject has received so little attention since Liebermann’s time are complex and cannot be fully examined here, but it is probably no accident that his work was published just before the outbreak of World War I, during the swan song of whig historiography. The so-called ‘whig interpretation of history’ (as it came to be known) was characterized by a keen interest in the development of the English constitution.The attempt, best exempliied by Bishop Stubbs’ epoch-making Constitutional History, was to seek the origins of modern institutions in England’s distant past. This encouraged the study of assemblies, which 1 2

F. Liebermann, The National Assembly in the Anglo-Saxon Period (Halle, 1913), p. 1. Amongst many others, see J. M. Kemble, The Saxons in England, 2 vols. (London, 1849), II, 182–240; E. A. Freeman, The History of the Norman Conquest of England: Its Causes and its Results, vol. I, The Preliminary History to the Election of Eadward the Confessor, 3rd edn (Oxford, 1877), pp. 100–17 and 604–9; F. Purlitz, König und Witenagemot bei den Angelsachsen (Bremen, 1892); W. Stubbs, The Constitutional History of England in its Origin and Development, vol. I, 6th edn (Oxford, 1897), pp. 133–57; and H. M. Chadwick, Studies on Anglo-Saxon Institutions (Cambridge, 1905), pp. 362–6.

1

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England were felt to represent the ‘lineal ancestors’ (to borrow Liebermann’s own phrase) of later English parliamentarian traditions.3 The dangers and pitfalls of such an approach will be clear to modern readers and the quotation from Liebermann with which we began neatly illustrates its essentially teleological bent: medieval assemblies, so Liebermann seems to suggest, are chiely important for what they can tell us about the modern parliament. Of course, Liebermann himself was not unaware of this danger and his own study was more cautious in its conclusions – at least where continuity of parliamentarian tradition is concerned – than had been many of those of his predecessors. Indeed, already by the late nineteenth century the tide had slowly begun to turn against the traditional whig paradigm, with more sceptical historians, led by the likes of Frederic William Maitland, starting to challenge elements of Stubbsian orthodoxy. The experiences of the Great War acted as a catalyst, contributing to existing doubts regarding constitutional history, at least as traditionally pursued. This move away from the assumptions of a previous era found its most enduring expression some thirteen years after the end of the war with the publication of Herbert Butterield’s hugely inluential Whig Interpretation of History, in which Butterield famously criticized what he saw as the cardinal dangers of whigishness: teleology and circularity (historical developments being valued only in terms of their contribution to the present); the tendency to abbreviate, eliding the unique and telling features of past societies; and the predisposition towards moral value judgements (history being a matter of ‘Good Things’ and ‘Bad Things’, in the immortal words of Seller and Yeatman).4 Butterield and his increasingly professionalized counterparts sought to replace the whig interpretation with what is termed modernism by Michael Bentley. In the place of the meta-narratives of the nineteenth century, historians began to focus more exclusively on individual periods, treating them as distinct entities, consciously eschewing the search for origins which had previously prevailed. Part and parcel of this process was a renewed focus on source criticism: the attempt was to build scientiic and irrefutable interpretations on the basis of hard ‘facts’

3

4

Historiographical orientation is ofered by E. G. Stanley, Die angelsächsische Rechtsplege und wie man sie später aufgefaßt hat (Munich, 1999), pp. 52–66. On the obsession of nineteenth-century historians with origins, see P. J. Geary, The Myth of Nations: The Medieval Origins of Europe (Princeton, NJ, 2002), pp. 15–40; and C. Brühl, Deutschland – Frankreich. Die Geburt zweier Völker, 2nd edn (Cologne, 1995), pp. 7–31. H. Butterield, The Whig Interpretation of History (London, 1931). See further M. Bentley, The Life and Thought of Herbert Butterield: History, Science and God (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 95–118; and cf. W. C. Seller and R. J.Yeatman, 1066 and All That (London, 1930).

2

Introduction and ‘evidence’. Gone were the days of the gentleman-scholar; henceforth history would be a professional endeavour.5 It was in this atmosphere of increasing professionalization that new generations of Anglo-Saxon scholars came to the fore, led by Sir Frank Stenton and Dorothy Whitelock amongst others. In keeping with contemporary trends, they sought to approach Anglo-Saxon history as an independent ield: the aim was not so much to trace the archaic roots of modern institutions, as to judge early medieval England by its own standards. Whilst the political importance of assemblies in the ruling of the realm was never really in doubt, they no longer stood at the heart of research interests: more pressing was the need to provide a basic framework for Anglo-Saxon history; to study the place names, to catalogue the coins and to edit the wills and charters.6 It was in this new atmosphere that Stenton made a particularly fateful decision: in his Anglo-Saxon England (irst published 1943), which was to set the tone for future generations of Anglo-Saxon historians, Stenton abandoned the Old English terms witan and witenagemot – meaning ‘counsellors’ (lit. ‘wise men’) and ‘meeting/assembly of counsellors’ respectively – in speaking of pre-Conquest political assemblies, choosing instead to write simply of the ‘King’s Council’.7 Though this might seem but a minor semantic diference, it reveals a sea change in the way in which assemblies were conceived: whereas the witan had once been felt to constitute an at least nominally representative body (indeed at times a veritable proto-parliament), now it had become little more than a royal institution, shorn of representative functions. When the origins of parliament were sought at all by historians in this period – and it should be noted that scholarly interest in the parliament per se remained lively – it was in the later Middle Ages and the early modern period.Thus it is telling that the History of Parliament project, energetically supported by Lewis Namier (a modernist of similar stature to Butterield), was set to begin with the reign of Edward I.8 No less a scholar than Stenton himself introduced this project in a special issue of the Times Literary Supplement in 1956,

5

6

7

8

For insightful discussion, see M. Bentley, Modernizing England’s Past: English Historiography in the Age of Modernism, 1870–1970 (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 119–218, esp. 119–43. See further J. C. Holt, ‘Stenton, Sir Frank Merry (1880–1967)’, in ODNB LII, 405–7; and S. Keynes, ‘Whitelock, Dorothy (1901–1982)’, in ODNB LVIII, 692–4. See H. R. Loyn, ‘From witenagemot to concilium: The Antecedents of the House of Lords, 1042– 1215’, in The House of Lords: A Thousand Years of British Tradition (London, 1994), pp. 21–7, at 21; and cf. D. N. Dumville, ‘The Medieval Foundations of England?’ (2006), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon Essays, 2001–7 (Aberdeen, 2007), pp. 266–310, at 272, n. 27. On the project, see Bentley, Modernizing England’s Past, pp. 44, 143 and 159–60.

3

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England in an article which is notable for avoiding any mention of the witan or other precursors to the later medieval parliamentarian tradition.9 This modernist backlash against constitutional readings of assemblies has cast a long shadow and continues in many ways to inluence the way in which the subject is treated. Whereas meetings of the witan had once been a subject of lively debate amongst England’s greatest historical minds, they now tend to be relegated to brief textbook overviews or even briefer encyclopaedia entries.10 It is striking, moreover, that what attention the subject has received since Liebermann’s day has come almost exclusively from historians outside the English historiographical tradition.Thus Fritz Kern, both in the original text and in the later revision of his Gottesgnadentum und Widerstandsrecht (published 1914 and 1954), gave a prominent place to Anglo-Saxon assemblies alongside their continental counterparts, arguing that these institutions provided an essential check on royal power in the early Middle Ages.11 Following Kern’s lead, Tryggvi Oleson, a Canadian of Scandinavian descent, addressed the subject in his monograph of 1955 – based on his University of Toronto Ph.D. thesis of ive years earlier – on The Witenagemot in the Reign of Edward the Confessor.12 Yet this latter work was ill-received within the English historical establishment, one suspects not only because of Oleson’s problematic handling of the sources (particularly charters), but also because it so clearly cut against the grain of contemporary historiography – had he written some forty years later (or, for that matter, earlier), the reception might well have been much warmer.13 Indeed, even as late as 1989 Pauline Staford seems to have felt no need to include a dedicated discussion of political assemblies in her introductory textbook on later Anglo-Saxon history, Uniication and Conquest, and it is notable that no entries are included in the index under the

9 10

11

12

13

F. M. Stenton, ‘History of Parliament’, Times Literary Supplement 2810 (6 January 1956), p. xii. See e.g. F. M. Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, 3rd edn (Oxford, 1971), pp. 349–53 and 550–4; D. J.V. Fisher, The Anglo-Saxon Age, c. 400–1042 (London, 1973), pp. 252–5; H. R. Loyn, The Governance of Anglo-Saxon England, 500–1087 (London, 1984), pp. 100–6; A. Williams, Kingship and Government in Pre-Conquest England, c. 500–1066 (Basingstoke, 1999), pp. 92–3; J. Pope,‘Witenagemot’, in Dictionary of the Middle Ages, ed. J. R. Strayer, 13 vols. (New York, 1989), XII, 665–6; B.Yorke,‘Council, King’s’, in BEASE, pp. 124–5; M. Lapidge, ‘Witenagemot’, in Encyclopedia of the Middle Ages, ed. A.Vauchez, R. Barrie and M. Lapidge, 2 vols. (Chicago, 2000), I, 1556; and M. Frassetto, ‘Witenagemot’, in his Encyclopedia of Barbarian Europe: Society in Transformation (Santa Barbara, CA, 2003), p. 369. F. Kern, Gottesgnadentum und Widerstandsrecht im früheren Mittelalter. Zur Entwicklungsgechichte der Monarchie, 2nd edn, ed. R. Buchner (Münster, 1954). T. Oleson, TheWitenagemot in the Reign of Edward the Confessor:A Study in the Constitutional History of Eleventh-Century England (Toronto, 1955). See the reviews by Dorothy Whitelock in EHR 71 (1956), 640–2; and Frank Barlow in JEH 7 (1956), 86–7; and cf. the more positive review by Norma Adams in Speculum 32 (1957), 848–9.

4

Introduction headings ‘assembly(-ies)’, ‘council’, ‘counsellor(s)’, ‘councillor(s)’, ‘witan’ or ‘witenagemot’.14 It is, in fact, only relatively recently that English historians have begun to return to the subject of assembly politics in any detail. Here, as in many other respects, the path has been blazed in part by Simon Keynes and Patrick Wormald, whose work on charters and law-codes since the 1970s has served to bring assemblies slowly back into the picture. Though neither of these historians has produced a comprehensive study of the witan itself and the signiicance of assemblies thus often remains more implicit than explicit in their work, they have both helped lay the groundwork for a return of interest in the subject by throwing substantial light on some of the most important sources for these events.15 The 1990s and early 2000s saw important further steps in this direction, often building on the work of Wormald and Keynes. Catherine Cubitt’s work on church councils in the early Anglo-Saxon period is particularly noteworthy in this regard. Though her focus was on the ecclesiastical side of assembly politics, the Mercian kings of the eighth and ninth centuries regularly held court alongside councils, and Cubitt’s monograph therefore illuminates not only the role of church councils in ecclesiastical afairs, but also the centrality of such assemblies for the operation of Mercian kingship.16 More explicit treatment of such gatherings was to be found in two articles by Janet L. Nelson published in the early 2000s, which highlighted the key role of assemblies and public ritual in ninth-century Wessex.17 Finally, in 2003 Charles Insley broke the informal silence on the subject of the witan in an article on assemblies and charters in later Anglo-Saxon England, which represents the irst dedicated discussion since Oleson’s book almost half a century before. Although relatively brief, this article is an important indication of recent trends, illustrating how scholars have begun to return to the subject of assembly politics.18 This development is 14

15

16

17

18

P. Staford, Uniication and Conquest:A Political and Social History of England in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries (New York, 1989). Their most fundamental contributions are S. Keynes, The Diplomas of King Æthelred ‘the Unready’, 978–1016: A Study in Their Use as Historical Evidence, CSMLT 3rd ser. 13 (Cambridge, 1980); and P. Wormald, The Making of English Law: King Alfred to the Twelfth Century, vol. I, Legislation and its Limits (Oxford, 1999), and Legal Culture in the Early Medieval West: Law as Text, Image and Experience (London, 1999). C. Cubitt, Anglo-Saxon Church Councils c. 650–c. 850 (London, 1995). See also S. Keynes, The Councils of Clofesho, Brixworth Lecture 1993 (= Vaughan Paper 38) (Leicester, 1994). J. L. Nelson, ‘Power and Authority at the Court of Alfred’, in Essays in Anglo-Saxon and Related Themes in Memory of Lynne Grundy, ed. J. Roberts and J. L. Nelson (London, 2000), pp. 311–37, esp. 326–7, and ‘England and the Continent in the Ninth Century: III, Rights and Rituals’, TRHS 6th ser. 14 (2004), 1–24. C. Insley, ‘Assemblies and Charters in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in Political Assemblies in the Earlier Middle Ages, ed. P. S. Barnwell and M. Mostert (Turnhout, 2003), pp. 47–59.

5

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England further exempliied by J. R. Maddicott’s Ford Lectures of 2004 (published 2010), in which Maddicott provocatively began his discussion of the origins of English parliament in Æthelstan’s reign, making him the irst serious historian to do so since Liebermann.19 Thus, while it would be wrong to suggest that scholarship has simply come full circle, there clearly is an increasing willingness to engage with the types of question about assemblies and their socio-political signiicance once asked by constitutional historians. In fact, the attempt of scholars such as Insley and Maddicott, though rarely couched in such terms, seems to be to combine aspects of the old whig interpretation with elements of modernism: to use modernist source-critical rigour to engage with the more traditional questions of constitutional history. With ongoing projects to produce new editions of the surviving AngloSaxon charters and law-codes promising further contributions to our understanding of these sources in the near future, it seems a particularly fruitful moment to do so. A ssembly p ol itics and the f ormati on of th e ‘kingdom of the E ngl i sh ’, 8 71 – 97 8 The present study, therefore, seeks to examine assembly politics in the years 871–978, building on the work of Insley, Maddicott and others. The choice of start and inish dates has been dictated by both historical and pragmatic considerations. A full study of royal assemblies or meetings of the witan (as they will be termed here) from the earliest period up to 1066, as undertaken by Liebermann, would not only demand far more time and space than is available, but would also risk overly facile generalization (the abbreviation warned against so vehemently by Butterield). The years of the late ninth and tenth centuries have been chosen for two reasons. Firstly, they ofer particularly fertile ground for the study of assemblies, since the sources for these events are unusually detailed in these years (at least by the standards of Anglo-Saxon history): law-codes and diplomas survive in large numbers, while at the beginning and end of the period the Latin and vernacular works associated with the ‘Alfredian Renaissance’ and the Benedictine reform movement shed much further light on politics and society.And secondly, this period saw extremely important developments within the social and political make-up of England itself: it was in these years that a uniied kingdom

19

J. R. Maddicott, The Origins of the English Parliament, 924–1327 (Oxford, 2010).

6

Introduction was irst formed and much interest therefore attaches to the role of assemblies in this process.20 The decision to start with Alfred the Great seems only natural in this context, since the main impetus behind many of these processes of expansion and uniication can be traced back to his court. Indeed, though Alfred was building on foundations laid by his forebears, his reign in a number of respects marks a point of transition. Hence, for all their successes, Alfred’s predecessors remained irst and foremost ‘West Saxon’ rulers. His grandfather, Ecgberht (802–39), and his father, Æthelwulf (839–58), extended West Saxon dominance from its original base around Wiltshire and Hampshire to encompass much of England south of the Thames, but their kingdom remained in essence an enlarged Wessex. This is relected in their titulature: both are styled ‘king of the West Saxons’ (occidentalium Saxonum rex) in charters.21 The brief reigns of Alfred’s elder brothers, Æthelbald (858–60), Æthelberht (860–5) and Æthelred I (865–71), did little to change this and it was only under Alfred himself (871–99), when the activities of the viking ‘Great Army’ (micel here) created opportunities for expansion, that new developments could be seen. The decisive moment seems to have come relatively soon after Alfred’s stunning victory over the Scandinavian force led by Guthrum at Edington in 878 and at some point between 879 and 883 he incorporated the previously independent kingdom of Mercia into his realm, installing a certain Æthelred as ealdorman to rule the region on his behalf. Alfred’s predecessors had already forged important ties with Mercia, but it was now in the face of the sustained Scandinavian threat that these began to bear fruit.22 This sudden growth changed the complexion of the kingdom fundamentally, a fact which inds expression in Alfred’s titulature: whereas his predecessors had been termed kings of the West Saxons, Alfred is henceforth styled ‘king of the Anglo-Saxons’ or ‘king of the Angles and Saxons’ (rex Angulsaxonum or rex Anglorum et Saxonum), titles which bear witness to the union of the Saxon kingdom of Wessex with its Anglian neighbour to the north in Mercia.23 That contemporaries appreciated this change 20

21

22

23

For discussion, see most recently G. Molyneaux,‘The Formation of the English Kingdom, c. 871–c. 1016’ (unpublished D.Phil. dissertation, University of Oxford, 2010). For example, S 277, 300, 302. However, in Kentish documents Æthelwulf is sometimes styled ruler of the men of Kent; see e.g. S 296–7. See esp. S. Keynes, ‘King Alfred and the Mercians’, in Kings, Currency and Alliances: History and Coinage of Southern England in the Ninth Century, ed. M. A. S. Blackburn and D. N. Dumville (Woodbridge, 1998), pp. 1–45. The signiicance of this change was irst noted by D. Whitelock, ‘Some Charters in the Name of King Alfred’, in Saints, Scholars and Heroes: Studies in Medieval Culture in Honour of Charles W. Jones, ed. M. H. King and W. H. Stevens (Collegeville, MN, 1979), 1, 77–98, at 89. See further now Keynes, ‘Alfred and the Mercians’, pp. 34–9.

7

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England is suggested by Asser’s careful use of titles in his Vita Ælfredi regis: whilst he invariably terms Alfred’s predecessors kings of the West Saxons, Asser refers to Alfred throughout as rex Angulsaxonum.24 This new ‘AngloSaxon’ identity seems to have been consciously fostered at court, and works such as the ‘Common Stock’ of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle – which certainly circulated (if it was not also produced) at court – give expression to this, illustrating the common heritage of the English-speaking peoples in their common language.25 All of this makes Alfred’s reign a natural starting point for our investigation, since it is from this point onwards that a more consciously pan-English sense of identity seems to have been fostered and that the kingdom began to expand into something approximating what we would now term ‘England’. Indeed, Alfred’s son, Edward the Elder (899–924), inherited the ‘kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons’ from his father and expanded it substantially east of Watling Street, integrating both East Anglia and the so-called ‘Five Boroughs’ of the East Midlands into it. Moreover, he took over direct control of Mercia itself in 920, following the death of Æthellæd, Ealdorman Æthelred’s widow, who had ruled the region on Edward’s behalf after her husband’s death. Nevertheless, for all his successes Edward and his contemporaries seem to have conceived of his realm efectively as an expanded version of his father’s and thus he continued to be styled ‘king of the Anglo-Saxons’.26 More fundamental change was irst to come under Edward’s son, Æthelstan (924–39). Though he too initially inherited the ‘kingdom of the AngloSaxons’, and is accordingly styled rex Angulsaxonum in two of his earliest royal charters, after the conquest of Northumbria and submission of the neighbouring British rulers in 927 Æthelstan consistently bears more ambitious titles on his charters and coins, generally variations on either ‘king of the English’ (rex Anglorum) or ‘king of all Britain’ (rex totius Britanniae). Thus, while Alfred’s and Edward’s kingdoms were conceived of in terms of a West Saxon–Mercian alliance, this now began to give way to a more uniied vision of the realm.27 Still, success was not to be taken 24

25

26

27

Asser, VÆ, cc. 1, 7, 17 and 21 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 1–2, 7, 17 and 18–19); S. Keynes and M. Lapidge, Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of Alfred and other Contemporary Sources (Harmondsworth, 1983), pp. 38 and 50. Keynes, ‘Alfred and the Mercians’, pp. 34–9; A. Scharer, ‘The Writing of History at King Alfred’s Court’, EME 5 (1996), 177–206, at pp. 178–85; S. Foot, ‘The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity before the Norman Conquest’, TRHS 6th ser. 6 (1996), 25–49, esp. pp. 35–6. S. Keynes, ‘Edward, King of the Anglo-Saxons’, in Edward the Elder, 899–924, ed. N. J. Higham and D. H. Hill (London, 2001), pp. 40–66; S. Miller, ‘Edward [Edward the Elder] (870s?–924)’, in ODNB XVII, 779–83. On Æthelstan’s reign, see now S. Foot, Æthelstan: The First King of England (New Haven, CT, 2011).

8

Introduction for granted, and Æthelstan had to face a substantial threat late in his reign when an allied force of Scandinavians, Scots and Strathclyde Britons threatened the north of the nascent ‘kingdom of the English’, leading to the famous battle of Brunanburh (937). Although Æthelstan won the day, following his death two years later a similar alliance was formed, this time to much greater efect. Indeed, Olaf Guthfrithson, who seems to have been the driving force behind developments, not only managed to establish himself in York at this point, but also proceeded to overrun the Five Boroughs, leaving Æthelstan’s half-brother and successor, Edmund (939–46), with no choice but to sue for peace.28 These events serve to emphasize just how fragile Æthelstan’s gains were. Nevertheless, Edmund continued to style himself ‘king of the English’ (rex Anglorum), and there can be no doubt that his ambition always was to regain these lost lands, a matter which he was able to accomplish following Olaf ’s death in 942. With hindsight this represents something of a turning point: the Five Boroughs were thereby successfully integrated into the English realm and henceforth it was only the control of York which was contested. However, here too success was anything but inevitable, and Edmund’s brother and successor, Eadred (946–55), whose latter years were plagued by illness, had to ight hard to maintain his claims to the region, which was only brought under English control deinitively in 954.29 Thereafter what had been primarily a story of conquest became one of consolidation. Administrative developments can be discerned as early as Alfred’s and Æthelstan’s reigns, and these seem to have become progressively more important as we move into the reigns of Eadwig (955–9), Edgar (957/9–75) and Edward the Martyr (975–8).Though Eadwig’s brief reign, in which the kingdom was famously divided between the king and his younger brother Edgar, has often been seen as a pause or even retreat in an otherwise seamless march towards uniication, modern scholarship has done much to revise this picture.30 Indeed, much of the negative view of Eadwig’s reign is a product of sources which were written long after his death, within the circles of reformed monasticism. A less negative picture emerges, however, if we restrict ourselves to strictly contemporary evidence. In fact, the two most extraordinary events of Eadwig’s 28

29

30

See D. N. Dumville, ‘Brittany and “Armes Prydein Vawr”’ (1983), repr. in and cited from his Britons and Anglo-Saxons in the Early Middle Ages (Aldershot, 1993), no. XVI, pp. 147–51; and C. Downham, Viking Kings of Britain and Ireland:The Dynasty of Ívarr to A.D. 1014 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 107–36. A. Williams, ‘Eadred (d. 955)’, in ODNB XVII, 531–4; M. Costambeys, ‘Erik Bloodaxe (d. 954)’, in ODNB XVIII, 497–9; C. Downham, ‘Eric Bloodaxe – Axed? The Mystery of the Last Scandinavian King of York’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 14 (2003), 51–77. See esp. N. Banton, ‘Ealdormen and Earls in England from the Reign of Alfred to the Reign of Æthelred II’ (unpublished D.Phil. dissertation, University of Oxford, 1981), pp. 132–8; and S. Keynes ‘Eadwig (c. 940–959)’, in ODNB XVII, 539–42.

9

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England reign – the extremely large number of diplomas issued in 956 and the division of the kingdom in 957 – need not be interpreted as signs of weakness or incompetence: the former speaks of a great intensity of rule and does not seem to have had any long-term impact on the holdings of the isc; meanwhile the latter may have represented a mutually beneicial arrangement, designed to ensure that Edgar, who was clearly next in line to the throne, received suicient experience of rule before his own succession.31 In any case, Edgar’s reign thereafter is noteworthy for its stability, as both monastic reform and administrative developments served to provide a more secure basis for a uniied kingdom.32 After Edward the Martyr’s brief reign, about which all too little is known, the accession of Æthelred II (‘the Unready’) is a testament to what had been achieved over the last century: whereas in 871 Alfred’s rule extended only over the regions south of the Thames (and he was hard-pressed there), by 978 a kingdom encompassing most of modern-day England had emerged and was stable enough to support the accession of a boy-king and a period of ‘regency’ rule on his behalf.33 It therefore makes sense to end our study at this point. Indeed, not only have the assemblies of Æthelred’s reign been treated elsewhere,34 but one has the impression that the English polity began to change in important manners after 978. As will be argued later, the return of the viking threat in these years seems to have forced the kingdom into overdrive, and, although we should not dismiss the tribute-raising and purges of Æthelred’s reign as straightforward indications of royal incompetence, there is reason to doubt that they represent ‘business as usual’ for later Anglo-Saxon politics. The aim of the present study, therefore, is to trace the role of assemblies in English politics over the years between 871 and 978. It does not attempt to examine every known assembly, but rather to analyse in general terms how these gatherings functioned. It has long been suggested that assemblies may have contributed in important ways to a growing sense of unity in the ninth and tenth centuries, 31

32

33

34

It should be noted that fraternal succession was favoured whenever possible in this period: P. Staford, ‘The King’s Wife in Wessex 800–1066’ (1981), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power: England from the Ninth to the Early Twelfth Century (Aldershot, 2006), no. IX. Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’; N. Banton, ‘Monastic Reform and the Uniication of Tenth-Century England’, Studies in Church History 18 (1982), 71–86; S. Keynes, ‘Edgar, rex admirabilis’, in Edgar, King of the English 959–975: New Interpretations, ed. D. Scragg (Woodbridge, 2008), pp. 1–58. That a kingdom’s ability to survive a royal minority is a sign of stability is argued by T. Ofergeld, Reges pueri. Das Königtum Minderjähriger im frühen Mittelalter, MGH: Schriften 50 (Hanover, 2001). Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 126–34.

10

Introduction and in Æthelstan’s reign, in particular, their signiicance has often been underlined.35 Nevertheless, a detailed examination of how they operated or what they contributed has yet to be attempted. K i ngship, as se mbl ie s and th e ‘late Anglo-S axon state’ As meetings of the witan played a central role in kingship, one cannot approach the topic without some reference to what has been termed the ‘late Anglo-Saxon state’. Scholars of recent generations, led by James Campbell, have given much attention to the subject, creating what has consciously been labelled a maximum view of state power and authority.36 They make a strong case for a degree of English exceptionalism in these years, emphasizing that in contrast with France, Italy and to a somewhat lesser extent Germany, where the Carolingian public order was steadily eroded, royal power and authority were not only maintained but further developed in England.37 However, although these arguments have achieved a wide degree of currency, some scholars have expressed doubts: not only has it been pointed out that the state may not have always lived up to the ideals expressed in law-codes and other normative sources, but searching historiographical questions have been asked about the modern English predilection for studying central authority and its operation.38 Put bluntly, critics have pointed out that English scholars have actively gone looking for the state and it is therefore perhaps not so surprising that they have often found evidence for it.

35

36

37

38

See e.g. Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 351–2; and D. N. Dumville, ‘Between Alfred the Great and Edgar the Peacemaker: Æthelstan, First King of England’, in his Wessex and England from Alfred to Edgar: Six Essays on Political, Cultural, and Ecclesiastical Revival (Woodbridge, 1992), pp. 141–71, at 148. J. Campbell,‘Observations on English Government from the Tenth to the Twelfth Century’ (1975), repr. in and cited from his Essays in Anglo-Saxon History (London, 1986), pp. 155–70, and ‘The Late Anglo-Saxon State: A Maximum View’ (1994), repr. in and cited from his The Anglo-Saxon State (London, 2000), pp. 1–30. J. Campbell,‘Was it Infancy in England? Some Questions of Comparison’ (1989), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 179–99; Wormald, English Law, p. 483. T. Reuter, ‘The Making of England and Germany, 850–1050: Points of Comparison and Diference’ (1998), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities and Modern Mentalities, ed. J. L. Nelson (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 284–99, at 293–5; D. Pratt, The Political Thought of King Alfred the Great, CSMLT 4th ser. 67 (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 5–7; S. Keynes, ‘Apocalypse Then: England A.D. 1000’, in Europe around the Year 1000, ed. P. Urban´czyk (Warsaw, 2000), pp. 247–70, at 253–4, and ‘Re-reading King Æthelred the Unready’, in Writing Medieval Biography, 750–1250: Essays in Honour of Professor Frank Barlow, ed. D. Bates, J. Crick and S. Hamilton (Woodbridge, 2006), pp. 77–97, at 82–6; R. R. Davies, ‘The Medieval State, the Tyranny of a Concept?’, Journal of Historical Sociology 16 (2003), 280–300.

11

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England However, a striking feature of these discussions of the late AngloSaxon state, both positive and critical, is that assemblies scarcely igure at all. This doubtless owes much to the legacy of modernism traced above: an essential part of the move away from constitutional history from the 1920s onwards was the abandonment of assembly politics as a serious subject of historical enquiry. Nevertheless, this also represents something of an English anomaly, as political assemblies have continued to be studied much more actively by scholars of continental history in the earlier Middle Ages. It would thus seem that the modernist movement developed subtly diferently in England than it did elsewhere, and it is particularly informative to compare English and German historiography in this regard. Though in Germany traditional constitutional history also went out of fashion in the 1920s and 30s, it was replaced by something quite diferent from what we see in England, at least in terms of how the Middle Ages were treated. Though there was also something of a shift away from the earlier search for origins, in the hands of scholars such as Theodor Mayer and Otto Brunner the emphasis was placed on personal bonds and their role in society. Where previously historians had spoken proudly of ‘the state’ (der Staat) in the Middle Ages, these scholars avoided the term, speaking instead of the Personenverbandstaat; that is, of a state constituted on the basis of inter-personal bonds.39 While this new focus on personal bonds substantially changed the manner in which assemblies were approached, it did not lead to them being treated as purely royal instruments (Stenton’s ‘King’s Council’), as was the tendency in England, but rather to them being seen as events of crucial importance for the constitution of the so-called Personenverband. It was partly in this vein that Kern had spoken of assemblies in his hugely inluential Gottesgnadentum und Widerstandsrecht, and subsequent German scholarship followed him in this respect, giving assemblies an important place in discussions of kingship and the state. Therefore, though in Germany the study of assemblies did retreat somewhat in the face of modernism, a more lively interest was maintained in the subject.40 Of course, a degree of caution is called for in handling this work, as the ideas of Mayer, Brunner and others were heavily inluenced 39

40

See esp. T. Mayer, ‘Geschichtliche Grundlagen der deutschen Verfassung’ (1933), repr. in and cited from his Mittelalterliche Studien. Gesammelte Aufsätze (Konstanz, 1959), pp. 77–97, who irst coined the term; and O. Brunner, Land und Herrschaft. Grundfragen der territorialen Verfassungsgeschichte Österreichs im Mittelalter, 4th edn (Vienna, 1959), pp. 111–20. See e.g. M. Lintzel, Die Beschlüsse der deutschen Hoftage von 911 bis 1056, Historische Studien 161 (Berlin, 1924); and H. Weber, ‘Die Reichsversammlungen im ostfränkischen Reich, 840–918: eine entwicklungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung vom karolingischen Großreich zum deutschen Reich’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Würzburg University, 1962).

12

Introduction by German nationalist politics of the 1930s and 40s, as is clear from their focus on the putatively ‘Germanic’ bonds of loyalty (Treue) forged between rulers (Führer) and their followers (Gefolgschaft).41 Nevertheless, it would be wrong to dismiss this work simply as a National Socialist phenomenon; the Personenverband and associated concepts remained current long after 1945 and continue to inluence the way in which Germanophone historians conceive of the medieval state, not solely to their detriment.42 Indeed, it is at least in part out of this historiographical tradition that recent work on continental assemblies not only in German, but also in French and English, has emerged.This development has been inspired in part by an important change of emphasis: while Germanophone scholarship until the early 1980s tended to follow Kern (and Mayer) in treating inter-personal bonds from a top-down perspective, seeing assemblies essentially as checks on royal power, this has given way to a conception of these events as consent-driven afairs, which played a crucial role in the ‘consensual rulership’ (konsensuale Herrschaft) characteristic of the Middle Ages.43 This is a movement in which English scholars have been actively involved, and hence we have come to the somewhat paradoxical situation in which English-speaking historians of the Carolingian, Capetian and Ottonian periods write extensively about political assemblies, while their Anglo-Saxon counterparts have little to say about them.44 Within the context of recent work on the Anglo-Saxon state, this reticence may well owe something to the approach of the ‘maximalists’, who have looked for evidence of royal power at its most powerful and bureaucratic, focusing on administration, taxation and justice; assemblies, in so far 41

42

43

44

See K. Kroeschell, ‘Führer, Gefolgschaft und Treue’, in Die Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte in der NS-Zeit. Ihre Vorgeschichte und ihre Nachwirkungen, ed. J. Ruckert and D. Willoweit (Tubingen, 1995), pp. 55–76. For insightful discussion, see G. Althof, Family, Friends and Followers: Political and Social Bonds in Early Medieval Europe, trans. C. Carroll (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 4–8. J. Hannig, Consensus Fidelium. Frühfeudale Interpretationen des Verhältnisses von Königtum und Adel am Beispiel des Frankenreiches, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 27 (Stuttgart, 1982); J. L. Nelson, ‘Legislation and Consensus in the Reign of Charles the Bald’ (1983), repr. in and cited from her Politics and Ritual in Early Medieval Europe (London, 1986), pp. 91–116.The term ‘consensual rulership’ was coined by B. Schneidmüller, ‘Konsensuale Herrschaft. Ein Essay über Formen und Konzepte politischer Ordnung im Mittelalter’, in Reich, Regionen und Europa in Mittelalter und Neuzeit. Festschrift für Peter Moraw, Historische Forschungen 67, ed. J.-P. Heinig, S. Jahns, H.-J. Schmidt, R. C. Schwinges and S. Wefers (Berlin, 2000), pp. 53–87. For example T. Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics in Western Europe from the Eighth Century to the Twelfth’ (2001), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 193–216; S. Airlie, ‘Talking Heads: Assemblies in Early Medieval Germany’, in Political Assemblies, ed. Barnwell and Mostert, pp. 29–46; R. McKitterick, Charlemagne: The Formation of a European Identity (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 222–33; J. L. Nelson, ‘How Carolingians Created Consensus’, in Le monde carolingien: bilan, perspectives, champs des recherches, Culture et société médiévales 18, ed. W. Fałkowski and Y. Sassier (Turnhout, 2009), pp. 67–81.

13

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England as they it within this picture at all, are but one of the state’s many institutions, another weapon in the hands of central authority. Modern work on continental assemblies, which as we have noted has served to shift the focus away from top-down models of rulership and the state, has relatively little to ofer here. Indeed, it is notable that though Campbell’s picture of the late Anglo-Saxon state owes much to the inspiration of Stubbs, he does not seem to follow the venerable bishop in according the witan a central place within it.45 Timothy Reuter, the English scholar who has perhaps done most to highlight the signiicance of assembly politics in the earlier Middle Ages, noticed the reticence of Anglo-Saxon scholars towards assemblies, pointing out that English kings of the early and high Middle Ages may appear more powerful than their continental counterparts at least in part because of the angle from which they have been examined. He pointedly asked, ‘where are the studies of rebellion or of interaction at assemblies in England?’.46 This study is a conscious attempt to rise to Reuter’s challenge: to examine interaction at assemblies in England, to ask questions more akin to those asked by historians of ninth- and tenthcentury France and Germany and to see how the resulting picture difers from and adjusts previous work on the late Anglo-Saxon state. A ssembli e s and ritual s: conti ne ntal contributi on s and anthrop olog i cal ap p roac h e s As already noted, although the nineteenth-century vogue for assembly politics also cooled somewhat on the continent, assemblies never dropped of the radar as completely as they did in England. Moreover, recent years have seen an upsurge of interest in the topic, with important studies of Carolingian and Ottonian assemblies emerging in English, French and German.47 These have been inspired to a large extent by modern German scholarship on ritual and symbolic communication, which has emphasized that medieval assemblies were carefully staged events, designed to 45

46

47

Cf. J. Campbell, ‘Stubbs and the English State’ (1989), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 247–68. T. Reuter, ‘The Medieval German Sonderweg? The Empire and its Rulers in the High Middle Ages’ (1993), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 388–412, at 411. In addition to the works already cited, see P. Depreux, ‘Lieux de rencontre, temps de négociation: quelques observations sur les plaids généraux sous le règne de Louis le Pieux’, in La royauté et les élites dans l’Europe carolingienne (debut IXe siècle aux environs de 920), ed. R. Le Jan (Lille, 1998), pp. 213–31; C. Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication and the Negotiation of Power at Carolingian Regnal Assemblies, 814–40’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2004); D. Eichler, Fränkische Reichsversammlungen unter Ludwig dem Frommen, MGH: Studien und Texte 45 (Hanover, 2007); and L. Melve, ‘Assembly Politics and the “Rules-of-the-Game” (ca. 650–1150)’, Viator 41.2 (2010), 69–90.

14

Introduction present and conirm consensus. Ritualized behaviour at such events was therefore not ‘empty’ or ‘supericial’, as earlier constitutional historians had often presumed, but rather represented a central aspect of medieval kingship.48 Indeed, it has been suggested that ritualized display may have been more important than formal institutions and state structures in the earlier Middle Ages, taking the place that these otherwise would have illed.49 This scholarship has thus led to a renewed interest in the kinds of questions about kingship and assemblies which had once interested nineteenth-century historians and as such has appropriately been dubbed ‘new constitutional history’ (neue Verfassungsgeschichte).50 Such work has important implications for any modern study of the witan, as it ofers an engaging new approach not only to assemblies, but also to their place within the medieval socio-political order. Approaching the topic from this perspective allows us in important ways to go beyond earlier work: instead of treating political assemblies as proto-parliaments, it suggests that we should see them as theatrical displays, as events or acts of ‘performance’ rather than ixed institutions. This German scholarship on ritual and symbolic communication has focused primarily on the Ottonian Reich and as such ofers a particularly helpful point of comparison for the present study, since the Ottonian kings (and also, for that matter, their East Frankish predecessors) were contemporaries of and in close contact with the English rulers examined. As early as Alfred the Great’s reign a prominent royal adviser, John ‘the Old Saxon’, hailed from Saxony; meanwhile Æthelstan’s half-sister Eadgyth (Edith) married Otto I of Germany, the future emperor, forging a connection between the two kingdoms which continued to be remembered as late as Æthelred II’s reign, when Ealdorman Æthelweard dedicated his Chronicon to his relative Mathilda of Essen.51 Such bonds led to lively diplomatic and cultural exchanges between the regions. Moreover, 48

49 50

51

For an entrée into modern German scholarship on ritual, see G. Althof , Die Macht der Rituale. Symbolik und Herrschaft im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 2003) along with English-language discussions in J. Barrow, ‘Playing by the Rules: Conlict Management in Tenth- and Eleventh-Century Germany’, EME 11 (2002), 389–96; P. Depreux, ‘Gestures and Comportment at the Carolingian Court: Between Practice and Perception’, P & P 203 (supplement 4) (2009), 57–79; and D. A. Warner, ‘Rituals, Kingship and Rebellion in Medieval Germany’, History Compass 8 (2010), 1209–20. G. Althof, Die Ottonen. Königsherrschaft ohne Staat, 2nd edn (Stuttgart, 2005), pp. 243–7. J. Fried, Die Formierung Europas, 840–1046 (Munich, 1991), pp. 154–8; T. Reuter, ‘Pre-Gregorian Mentalities’ (1994), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 89–99, at 90. J. Ehlers, ‘Die Königin aus England. Ottos des Großen erste Gemahlin, Magdeburg und das Reich’, Sachsen und Anhalt 22 (1999/2000), 27–55; E. van Houts, ‘Women and the Writing of History in the Early Middle Ages: The Case of Abbess Matilda of Essen and Aethelweard’ (1992), repr. in and cited from her History and Family Traditions in England and the Continent, 1000–1200 (Aldershot, 1999), no. VI.

15

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England important structural similarities between the two are visible: both were multi-ethnic, ruled by kings of Saxon descent, and both expanded, claiming hegemony over their neighbours. Although these contacts and similarities have long been appreciated, little detailed work has been done to follow up the pioneering observations of Karl Leyser and Timothy Reuter on the subject.52 By approaching later Anglo-Saxon assemblies from the standpoint of recent work on the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich, this study hopes to pursue these parallels further, emphasizing that the Carolingian kingdoms of the late eighth and early ninth centuries are not the only helpful points of comparison for late ninth- and tenth-century English history.53 The aim is not to deny the pertinence of the comparisons drawn by earlier scholars between later Anglo-Saxon England and Carolingian Francia, but to add nuance and build on them by demonstrating that many broad similarities (as well as certain important diferences) can be discerned between England and its continental neighbours throughout the earlier Middle Ages. Much like assemblies, the ritualized and informal aspects of medieval kingship so often emphasized by Ottonian historians of recent years have been little examined within the context of the Anglo-Saxon state. The presumption, only rarely stated explicitly, seems to be that they were of at best marginal importance, that the ‘state’ by this period is to be sought in its agents and agencies, not in rites and rituals. This line of interpretation is part of a broader tradition, whereby the Middle Ages are represented as a period of transition from ritualized ‘tradition’ and ‘charisma’ to institutionalized ‘bureaucracy’ (to speak in Weberian terms).54 In particular, scholars have tended to trace a line of development across 52

53

54

K. J. Leyser, ‘The Ottonians and Wessex’ (1982), trans. in his Communications and Power in Medieval Europe, ed. T. Reuter, 2 vols. (London, 1994), I, 73–104; Reuter, ‘England and Germany’. See further V. Ortenberg, The English Church and the Continent in theTenth and Eleventh Centuries: Cultural, Spiritual, and Artistic Exchange (Oxford, 1992), pp. 41–93; J. Sarnowsky, ‘England und der Kontinent im 10. Jahrhundert’, Historisches Jahrbuch 114 (1994), 47–75; and also now A. Bihrer, Begegnungen zwischen dem ostfränkisch-deutschen Reich und England (850–1100). Kontakte – Konstellationen – Funktionalisierungen – Wirkungen, Mittelalter-Forschungen 39 (Ostildern, 2011), which is strong on contacts, but weaker on similarities. It should be noted here that though the move from Carolingian to Ottonian rule in East Francia involved some important changes, studies now emphasize the continuities: E. J. Goldberg, ‘“More Devoted to the Equipment of Battle than the Splendor of Banquets”: Frontier Kingship, Martial Ritual, and Early Knighthood at the Court of Louis the German’, Viator 30 (1999), 41–78; R. Deutinger, Königsherrschaft im Ostfränkischen Reich. Eine pragmatische Verfassungsgeschichte der späten Karolingerzeit, Beiträge und Quellenkunde des Mittelalters 20 (Ostildern, 2006), esp. pp. 397–9; T. Reuter, ‘The Ottonians and the Carolingian Tradition’, in his Medieval Polities, pp. 268–83, at 280–1; S. Patzold, Episcopus.Wissen über Bischöfe im Frankenreich des späten 8. bis frühen 10. Jahrhunderts, Mittelalter-Forschungen 25 (Ostildern, 2008), pp. 509–44, esp. 537–40. The classic study along these lines is M. Clanchy, From Memory to Written Record, England 1066– 1307, 3rd edn (Oxford, 2012).

16

Introduction the Anglo-Saxon period from kingship based on the warrior band, held together by ritualized plunder and gift-giving, much like that evoked in Beowulf, to one based on the exploitation of landed resources, as seen in Domesday Book.55 The later one goes, so the argument would seem to run, the less important rituals, familial bonds and ‘charisma’ become. However, while it may be substantially true that the period between c. 600 and 1066 saw such a development, one must remember that changes on the ground would have been substantially more complex than such a bald summary suggests. It has been an important lesson that grand narratives, though to an extent unavoidable, inevitably oversimplify change, eliding underlying continuities and creating potentially misleading teleologies. It is therefore salutary to recall that Beowulf itself, that classic characterization of a ‘charismatic’ warrior society (which probably never existed in its purest form), survives in a late tenth- or early eleventhcentury manuscript – regardless of when or for whom it was originally written (issues which continue to excite debate, but seem unlikely ever to be settled deinitively), the poem found an audience at this later date.56 Moreover, scholars have pointed out that concepts of gift-giving and honour, which have often been felt to characterize the warband, continued to underpin relations between lords and retainers long after the exploitation of landed resources had become the primary source of aristocratic wealth.57 Thus, although one might be forgiven for thinking that there was little room in later Anglo-Saxon England for ritualized display and other supposedly ‘archaic’ forms of rulership, there is in fact reason to believe that they continued to play an important role. Indeed, the very progression from ‘tradition’ and ‘charisma’ to ‘bureaucracy’, traced so beautifully by Max Weber, has been questioned by modern sociologists, who emphasize that even bureaucratic structures possess charisma.58 55

56

57

58

J. Campbell, ‘The Sale of Land and the Economics of Power in Early England: Problems and Possibilities’ (1989), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 227–45, at 236–45; C. Wickham, Framing the Early Middle Ages: Europe and the Mediterranean, 400–800 (Oxford, 2005), pp. 339–51 and 378–9. Cf. M. Sahlins, Stone Age Economics (Chicago, 1972), pp. 132–48, on the distinction between ‘chieftaincy’ and ‘kingship’. D. N. Dumville, ‘Beowulf Come Lately: Some Notes on the Palaeography of the Nowell Codex’ (1988), repr. in and cited from his Britons and Anglo-Saxons, no. VII, and ‘The Beowulf Manuscript and How Not to Date It’, Medieval English Studies Newsletter (Tokyo) 39 (1998), 21–7. K. Görich, Die Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas. Kommunikation, Konlikt und politisches Handeln im 12. Jahrhundert (Darmstadt, 2001); S. D. White, ‘Service for Fiefs or Fiefs for Service: The Politics of Reciprocity’ (2003), repr. in and cited from his Re-thinking Kinship and Feudalism in the Early Middle Ages (Aldershot, 2005), no. XII; B. Weiler, ‘Power and Politics in Medieval History, c. 850–c. 1170’, EME 16 (2008), 477–93. E. Shils, ‘Charisma, Order and Status’ (1965), rev. in and cited from his Center and Periphery: Essays in Macrosociology (Chicago, 1975), pp. 156–75. Cf. M. Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Grundriß der verstehenden Soziologie, 5th edn, ed. J. Winckelmann (Tübingen, 1985), pp. 142–8.

17

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England As will by now have become apparent, much of the recent scholarship on medieval ritual has been inspired by anthropological and sociological work, from the classics of Émile Durkheim, Marcel Mauss and Arnold van Gennep, down to the more recent contributions of Pierre Bourdieu, Edward Muir and Catherine Bell. This has been part of a more general trend in history since the 1970s, which has seen increasing cross-fertilization from anthropology and sociology.59 At its best, this has led to more nuanced readings of medieval society, helping researchers break free from the modern assumptions and cultural solipsism that at times plagued traditional constitutional history. Nevertheless, such anthropological models are not a deus ex machina and must be treated with care. Not only is there a danger of adopting problematic or outdated models when the medievalist steps outside his or her own ield, but it is also essential to keep in mind that the aims and methods of anthropology, sociology and medieval history diverge in potentially signiicant fashions.60 Moreover, whilst anthropologically inspired approaches have helped warn against the assumption that medieval society was necessarily like its modern Western counterpart, there is a risk of turning the Middle Ages into an almost mythical ‘Other’, of assuming that models devised for acephalous societies in Africa and Polynesia can be mapped more or less directly on to hierarchical medieval polities.61 In this regard there is an extent to which scholars of kingship and the state in the early Middle Ages can be divided into ‘minimalists’, who tend to draw heavily on anthropological models, and ‘maximalists’, who generally do not, in some cases actively denying their relevance.62 Taken to the extreme, neither line of interpretation is terribly convincing: the former runs the risk of presuming ‘primitivism’, whilst the latter – much like nineteenth-century constitutional history – tends to draw a 59

60

61

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M. de Jong, ‘The Foreign Past: Medieval Historians and Cultural Anthropology’, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 109 (1996), 326–42; J. Fried, ‘Geschichte als historische Anthropologie’, in Geschichte des Mittelalters für unsere Zeit, ed. R. Ballof (Stuttgart, 2003), pp. 63–85; W. Pohl, ‘Staat und Herrschaft im Frühmittelalter: Überlegungen zum Forschungsstand’, in Staat im frühen Mittelalter, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 11, ed. S. Airlie, W. Pohl and H. Reimitz (Vienna, 2006), pp. 9–38, at 16–27; R. Le Jan,‘Histoire carolingienne et sciences sociales: quelques perspectives’, in Le monde carolingien, ed. Fałkowski and Sassier, pp. 301–21. See also K. Thomas, ‘History and Anthropology’, P & P 24 (1963), 3–24. See P. Buc, The Dangers of Ritual: Between Early Medieval Texts and Social Scientiic Theory (Princeton, NJ, 2001). Cf. B. H. Rosenwein, ‘Francia and Polynesia: Rethinking Anthropological Approaches’, in Negotiating the Gift: Pre-Modern Figurations of Exchange, Veröfentlichungen des Max-PlanckInstituts für Geschichtsforschung 188, ed. G. Algazi,V. Groebner and B. Jussen (Göttingen, 2003), pp. 361–79. The latter approach, which is not entirely satisfactory, is taken by B. S. Bachrach, ‘Anthropology and Early Medieval History: Some Problems’, Cithara 24 (1994), 3–10.

18

Introduction misleadingly direct line of continuity from medieval polities to modern nation states. Recent studies of late Anglo-Saxon and Ottonian kingship stand in some ways at either end of this spectrum: whilst Ottonianists tend to deny or downplay the importance of formal state structures, Anglo-Saxonists have been so busy studying these that other aspects of politics and society have often faded into the background.The attempt in what follows is to demonstrate that these diferent approaches have led to a somewhat misleading picture of both Ottonian and Anglo-Saxon kingship.The contention here is that many of the conclusions which German historians have reached about the role of ritual and symbolic communication in the ninth- and tenth-century Reich also hold for England, but that this should not necessarily lead us to follow them in denying the signiicance of the more formal aspects of kingship. Indeed, the best recent work on medieval rulership has struck a balance between maximalism and minimalism, pointing out that while it was clearly about more than just resources, institutions and agencies, these also had an important part to play.63 To take such a middle ground is not to sit on the fence, but is rather to point out that the exclusive categories with which maximalists and minimalists at times argue are at best unhelpful and at worst actively misleading. A central argument of this book, therefore, is that neither minimalism nor maximalism is entirely satisfactory. The answer to this apparent dichotomy lies less in compromise than in coming up with a new model of the state, one which can incorporate the observations of both schools. Political assemblies are in many ways an ideal topic for these purposes, since they allow us to examine the operation of royal authority, a subject dear to maximalists, from the angle of the consensus politics and rituals generally emphasized by minimalists. Approaching the topic from this perspective also allows us to combine aspects of traditional constitutional history – which laid the ultimate foundations for most maximal interpretations of the late Anglo-Saxon state64 – with the revisionist approaches to state and society now prevalent amongst historians of continental Europe.65 The attempt is thus neither to create a teleology of the modern

63

64 65

B. H. Rosenwein, Negotiating Space: Power, Restraint, and Privileges of Immunity in Early Medieval Europe (Manchester, 1999), esp. pp. 6–7 and 137–55; J. L. Nelson, ‘Rulers and Government’, in NCMH III, 95–129; M. Innes, State and Society in the Early Middle Ages: The Middle Rhine Valley, 400–1000, CSMLT 4th ser. 47 (Cambridge, 2000); R. Naismith, Money and Power in Anglo-Saxon England:The Southern English Kingdoms, 757–865, CSMLT 4th ser. 80 (Cambridge, 2012). As Campbell, ‘Stubbs’, freely admits. Innes, State and Society; Deutinger, Königsherrschaft; H. Keller, ‘Grundlagen ottonischer Königsherrschaft’ (1985), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft. Organisation und Legitimation königlicher Macht (Darmstadt, 2002), pp. 22–33 and 193–204 (notes), and

19

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England English nation state, nor to deny that the early medieval regnum Anglorum ultimately did lay the foundations for this. D e fining as se mbl ie s : outl i ne and scope of th e study Before we can begin in earnest, however, the parameters of this study must be outlined more precisely. The irst task is naturally one of deinition: what were meetings of the witan and how can we distinguish them from other types of assembly? Deining such events is no easy matter, as scholars of Carolingian and Ottonian history have discovered. The boundaries of political assemblies were always porous and it can be extremely diicult to distinguish what in this study will be termed royal or ‘regnal’ assemblies from regional gatherings, military musters or church councils.66 The ill-deined contours of these events are in part relected in the varied vocabulary of assembly.67 Meetings of the witan are most often referred to elliptically in our sources, such as when charters note that they were enacted with the consent or in the presence of many magnates. When designated more directly, conventus seems to be the favoured Latin term and its Old English equivalent, gemot, the most common vernacular designation, though these are often combined with adjectives or genitival constructions, creating formations such as magnum sapientium conventus and micel gemot.68 Interestingly, the terminus technicus often adopted in modern scholarship, witenagemot, does not appear before the eleventh century, though given the sparse nature of the vernacular sources available we should probably not read too much into this; indeed, that the formation was imaginable is suggested by the Latin sapientium conventus.69 In any case, witan was clearly the preferred vernacular designation for the king’s advisers, though the term continued to retain its core meaning of ‘wise men’ and might also be used for counsellors at more local gatherings.70 It is presumably for this reason that texts often speak of the ‘king’s witan’ or the ‘witan of all the English’, collocations evidently designed

66 67 68 69

70

‘Reichsorganisation, Herrschaftsformen und Gesellschaftsstrukturen im Regnum Teutonicum’, Settimane 38 (1991), 159–203. See Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 29–51; and Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, pp. 195–8. Cf. Weber, ‘Reichsversammlungen’, pp. 30–54; and Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 7–28. B., VD, c. 25 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 76); ASC 978 BC (ed. Taylor, p. 56). M. Lapidge, ‘B. and the Vita S. Dunstani’ (1992), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature 900–1066 (London, 1993), pp. 279–91, at 281. See e.g. S 1454 (KCD 693), where the king is said to have sent his seal to the witan of the shire court at Cuckhamsley, Berkshire.

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Introduction to avoid ambiguity.71 Moreover, other vernacular terms are also used at times for these igures, albeit more rarely, and hence we occasionally hear of kings’ rædesmen or rædgifan.72 The Latin terms for these individuals vary considerably more, with the favoured designations either being terms denoting social standing, such as optimates,73 heroici74 and (somewhat less often) nobiles,75 or implying an active counselling role, such as sapientes (the literal translation of witan)76 and senatores.77 A degree of terminological variation should not, however, lead us to presume that contemporaries did not appreciate anything distinctive about royal assemblies, and it is clear that when writers came to describe these events they had a relatively coherent category in mind. In the Carolingian realms this inds its most eloquent expression in Hincmar of Reims’ discussion of the two annual assemblies in his De ordine palatii and, though no equivalent accounts survive from England, there is every reason to believe that the English similarly distinguished between formal kingdom-wide assemblies and other, smaller-scale gatherings.78 Such a distinction is implicit in the royal charter record: uniquely in ninth- and tenth-century Europe, English kings seem to have issued diplomas only at grand assemblies, the reason apparently being that the consent of the witan was a requirement for the formation of bookland.79 This suggests a relatively clear distinction in practice between assemblies of the entire realm, which could issue such documents, and smaller gatherings, which were not empowered to do so. The evidence of diploma witness-lists bears this out: although these vary somewhat in length and detail, all unabbreviated lists record a substantial cross-section of the kingdom’s nobility, demonstrating the importance which the draftsmen of these 71

For example Af prol. 49.9, ed. F. Liebermann, Die Gesetze der Angelsachsen, 3 vols. (Halle, 1903–16), minra witena geðeahte; AfG prol. (ibid., pp. 126–7): 7 ealles Angelcynnes witan; S 385 (BCS 622): on þara witena gewitnesse; ASC 971 BC (ed. Taylor, p. 54): 7 ealra his witena; ASC 978 DE (= 977) (ed. Cubbin, p. 47): ealle þa yldestan Angelcynnes witan. S 1465 (KCD 745): ealle ðæs cynges rædesmen; S 981 (KCD 1327): ealle þæs kynges rædgyfan. The common charter formula is cum consensu optimatum meorum: S 437, 448, 460, 598, 626, 646, 680, 765. The standard charter formula is cum consensu heroicorum [virorum]: S 465, 487–8, 512, 517a, 534, 587–8, 604, 643, 660, 674. S 470 (WinchNM 12) and S 503 (BCS 796) both claim to be issued consentientibus nobelium meorum. S 344 (CantCC 93): cum consensu et licentia atque consilio sapientum meorum; S 362 (BCS 959), cum omnium uiditio sapientium; S 617 (Abing 67): cum consensu meorum sapientium; III As prol. (ed. Liebermann I, 170): Decretum episcoporum et aliorum sapientium; IV As 1 (ed. Liebermann I, 171): Hæc sunt iudicia quæ sapientes Exoniæ consilio Æþelstani regis instituerunt. S 346 (BCS 561): cum testimonio et licentia seu consensu senatorum episcoporum seu ducum utriusque gentis; S 556 (BCS 893): cum consensu senatorum; S 557 (Burt 11): cum consensu senatorum. Hincmar of Reims, De ordine palatii, cc. 6–7, ed. T. Gross and R. Schiefer, MGH: Fontes 3, (Hanover, 1980), pp. 82–96. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 35–7. I, 46–7): wid

72 73

74

75

76

77

78

79

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England documents attached to their origins at assemblies.80 Contemporary lawcodes tell a somewhat similar tale: it would seem that the consent of the witan was expected for the issuing of any wide-ranging additions to the law, implying that there was a perceptible diference in practice between assemblies which did and did not legislate for the entire kingdom.81 Further issues of deinition are raised by the relationship between secular assemblies and their ecclesiastical counterparts, synods and church councils. Hanna Vollrath, in the only comprehensive treatment of the subject, concluded that the tradition of church councils, so strong in the early Anglo-Saxon period, largely died out under the later West Saxon kings.82 Although she found hints of continued synodal activity at a few points in these years, her impression was that the holding of councils was largely abandoned, with the interests of the church council being taken over by secular assemblies. Whilst there is doubtless something to these arguments, we must be cautious. Catherine Cubitt, in particular, reminds us that very few councils from the earlier Anglo-Saxon period produced surviving canons.83 We are, therefore, largely dependent on the Mercian tradition of holding court alongside council for our records of these events; if in the later period either kings abandoned this tradition or draftsmen simply ceased noting that church councils were held alongside other assemblies, then we might be left almost entirely in the dark. This is a salutary warning, especially as, for example, a council at Winchester from Æthelred II’s reign is known only thanks to a chance mention in a charter – how many other councils might have gone unmentioned is therefore a valid (if unanswerable) question.84 Perhaps the most problematic aspect of Vollrath’s argument, however, is the strict distinction she seeks to draw between ‘synods’ (Synoden) or ‘councils’ (Konzilien) and ‘assemblies’ (Versammlungen or Hoftage), which leads her, for example, to dismiss the Council of Winchester, which produced the Regularis Concordia, as a ‘legal assembly’ (Gerichtsversammlung) rather than a council and to insist that an Easter meeting of the witan described by Byrhtferth of Ramsey similarly constituted an ‘assembly’ (Hoftag), not a church council.85 The diiculty is that in creating this distinction Vollrath 80 82 83

84

85

See below, pp. 27–44. 81 See below, pp. 104–21, esp. 107–8. H.Vollrath, Die Synoden Englands bis 1066 (Paderborn, 1986), pp. 193–290. C. Cubitt, ‘Bishops and Councils in Late Saxon England: The Intersection of Secular and Ecclesiastical Law’, in Recht und Gericht in Kirche und Welt um 900, Schriften des Historischen Kollegs: Kolloquien 69, ed. W. Hartmann (Munich, 2007), pp. 151–67, at 151–2. S 876 (Abing 124). Vollrath, Synoden, pp. 308–10, dismisses this reference as not being to a ‘true’ council, but I see no reason to do so, since the draftsman evidently felt it was. Vollrath, Synoden, pp. 253–6 and 259–60, and ‘König Edgar und die Klosterreform in England. Die “Ostersynode” der “Vita S. Oswaldi auctore anonymo”’, Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum 10 (1978), 67–81.

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Introduction has attempted to apply modern bureaucratic clarity to evidence which simply cannot sustain it. Although a formal distinction may have existed between more secular gatherings and church councils, in practice the two might be little diferent and recent work on Carolingian assemblies reveals just how porous the boundaries between these events might be: the two were often synonymous and contemporaries apparently found no contradiction in this fact.86 There are, moreover, indications that contemporary observers continued to believe that synods and councils met in these years. Particularly important here is the evidence of liturgical manuscripts, which preserve a number of blessings for such events: both the Egbert Pontiical and the Benedictional of Archbishop Robert contain a benedictio super regem dicenda tempore synodi;87 the Benedictional of Archbishop Robert and the Canterbury Benedictional include a benedictio in dissolutione synode;88 and inally the Benedictional of Archbishop Robert also includes a series of orationes in tempori synodi.89 Although such evidence must be treated with caution – on the one hand, earlier benedictions might become ossiied in later liturgical manuscripts, whilst on the other, motivations beyond the practical might lead to the inclusion of rites in such collections90 – the fact that these are found in liturgical compilations from a number of diferent scriptoria suggests a widespread belief that synods continued to take place and that the king might at least occasionally be present at such events.Vollrath may be right at a basic level to connect the decline in recorded synodal activity in these years with increasing royal control over assemblies, but the result might not have been felt to be a complete end of the conciliar tradition; rather, it might have been believed that the national synod was taken under the aegis of the witan, which might be both assembly and church council.91 Possible support for this is provided by the fact that the Old English synoð is used in these years not only to designate synods, but also for more secular assemblies.92 Parallels can also 86 87

88

89 90

91

92

Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 29–38; Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, pp. 201–2. Two Anglo-Saxon Pontiicals, ed. H. M. J. Banting, HBS 104 (London, 1989), pp. 102–3; The Benedictional of Archbishop Robert, ed. H. A. Wilson, HBS 24 (London, 1903), p. 52. The Canterbury Benedictional, ed. R. M. Woolley, HBS 51 (London, 1917), p. 124; Benedictional of Archbishop Robert, ed. Wilson, p. 54. Benedictional of Archbishop Robert, ed. Wilson, pp. 152–3. Cf. J. L. Nelson, ‘Ritual and Reality in Early Medieval Ordines’ (1975), repr. in and cited from her Politics and Ritual, pp. 329–39; and S. Bobrycki, ‘The Royal Consecration Ordines of the Pontiical of Sens from a New Perspective’, Bulletin du Centre d’études médiévales d’Auxerre 13 (2009), 131–42. See further Cubitt, Councils, pp. 235–40; Keynes, Clofesho, pp. 11–13 and 50; and J. L. Nelson, ‘National Synods, Kingship as Oice, and Royal Anointing: An Early Medieval Phenomenon’ (1971), repr. in and cited from her Politics and Ritual, pp. 239–57, at 246–7. II As epil. (ed. Liebermann I, 166–7). Cf. Af prol. 49.7–8 (ibid., 44–7).

23

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England be seen here with the Carolingian realms of the eighth and ninth centuries, where synods formed but one part of a broader culture of assembly politics.93 The distinction between assemblies, military musters and the royal court itself can be similarly diicult to draw. In the Frankish realms the major annual assembly, at the March- or later Mayield, was in its origins a military afair, and it has been observed that Carolingian and Ottonian assemblies often had a distinctly martial air to them.94 In England the military nature of these gatherings is less immediately clear, though it is likely that from earliest times the witan was associated with martial matters. Indeed, a number of assemblies in the years under consideration reveal a close connection between witan and army. Thus, for example, many meetings were held during Edward the Elder’s conquest of the Danelaw in order to arrange the submission of individual regions, and in these cases it would seem that the English army was felt to be representative of the kingdom at large. Even clearer is the evidence from Æthelstan’s reign. Æthelstan began a major campaign against the rulers of Strathclyde and Alba in 934 at an assembly at Winchester at Pentecost (25 May), then held a second meeting at Nottingham during his march north (7 June), before inally holding a third gathering at Buckingham on his successful return three months later (13 September).95 The role of assemblies in raising and directing the English military forces could scarcely be clearer, and it would seem that in situations such as these the army (fyrd) and the witan were efectively one and the same. Hence, as with church councils, though in principle the witan and the army were distinct, in practice there might be a great deal of overlap between the two. Rather diferent, though no less fraught, is the distinction between the royal court and witan.96 In principle the dividing line here should be clear enough: a gathering can irst truly be considered an assembly when a substantial number of non-courtiers are in attendance.97 Nevertheless, since many of those with positions at court would not have been permanently stationed there, the size and composition of the court itself changed over the course of the year. As a result, the diference between the court at its largest extent and a relatively small-scale assembly might be very slight 93 94

95 96

97

McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 227–8; Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, pp. 201–2. J. Fried, Der Weg in die Geschichte. Die Ursprünge Deutschlands bis 1024 (Berlin, 1994), pp. 700–2; Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, p. 197–8; Airlie, ‘Talking Heads’, pp. 34–5; Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 45–51. See further below, pp. 49–50 and 158–9. See most recently D. Eichler,‘Karolingische Höfe undVersammlungen – Grundvoraussetzungen’, in Streit am Hof im frühen Mittelalter, Super alta perennis. Studien zur Wirkung der Klassischen Antike 11, ed. M. Becher and A. Plassmann (Göttingen, 2011), pp. 121–48, esp. 137–46. Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, p. 198.

24

Introduction indeed.98 Still, here is where the evidence of diplomas and law-codes comes at least partially to the rescue.The fact that these documents seem to have been produced more or less exclusively at assemblies of a ‘regnal’ nature suggests that the court alone was not generally empowered to create bookland or to make wide-ranging changes to the law. What distinguished royal assemblies from the court, therefore, was that the latter was expanded or, as one might alternatively put it, subsumed into the witan on these occasions. Courtiers would have had an important part to play at such events, but they were, by deinition, not alone. All of this suggests an appreciation that assemblies of the entire kingdom were in certain respects distinctive, but falls considerably short of institutionalization in the modern sense. Indeed, meetings of the witan, though always large scale, seem to have possessed neither a quorum nor strictly speciied areas of competence and as such are best understood processually as events, rather than institutions.99 This is not to say that they possessed none of the features of modern institutions, but rather that it would be unhelpful to apply our understanding of bureaucratic precision to what were much more roughly deined afairs. It is for this reason that reference to ‘the meeting of the witan’ or ‘the royal assembly’ with the deinite article is avoided so far as possible in what follows. (It has not proved possible to avoid referring to ‘the witan’, as to do so would be overly tortuous; suice to say that what is meant by ‘the witan’ is not so much an institutionally deined group, as those who on any given occasion took on a leading role in deliberations.) The working deinition of a royal assembly is therefore largely a pragmatic one: it is deined as any large-scale gathering in the king’s name (and generally in his presence) which might in principle book land or make law (though by no means should it be presumed that all meetings of the witan performed these tasks). The study is structured as follows. Chapters 2 and 3 focus on practical aspects of assemblies: the former on attendance and the latter on the locations, duration and timing of these events. Chapter 4 discusses the role of the witan in the production of diplomas, arguing that these documents were produced at meetings of the witan, providing important 98

99

Medieval kings tended to lead a more sedentary life with a smaller retinue during the winter months: P. Classen, ‘Bemerkungen zur Pfalzenforschung am Mittelrhein’ (1963), repr. in and cited from his Augewählte Aufsätze,Vorträge und Forschungen 28, ed. J. Fleckenstein (Sigmaringen, 1983), pp. 475–501, at 475–80; J. Fleckenstein, ‘Karl der Große und sein Hof ’ (1965), repr. in and cited from his Ordnungen und formende Kräfte des Mittelalters. Augewählte Beiträge (Sigmaringen, 1989), pp. 28–66, at 35–8. Later medievalists have similarly been inclined to treat early meetings of parliament as ‘an occasion rather than an institution’: E. Miller, ‘Introduction’, in Historical Studies of the English Parliament, vol. I, Origins to 1399, ed. E. B. Fyrde and E. Miller (Cambridge, 1970), pp. 1–30, at 2.

25

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England windows into the business conducted there. Chapters 5, 6 and 7 discuss further aspects of the business conducted at assemblies, the irst two dealing respectively with legislation and the settlement of disputes and the third with the ‘further business’ of the witan (matters of foreign policy, military arrangements, the appointment of royal oicers, etc.), as reconstructed primarily on the basis of narrative sources. Next, delving deeper into these narrative accounts, Chapters 8 and 9 discuss the role of ritual and symbolism at assemblies. In many ways these chapters serve to bring together the themes touched on in earlier sections, since there is an extent to which symbolic communication is visible in all aspects of assembly politics: who attended and where they met were matters of symbolic as well as practical signiicance, providing the stage and audience for these events; meanwhile, the decisions made, laws decreed and diplomas issued were not kept behind closed doors, but publicly enacted, played out on this stage and before this audience. Finally, the conclusion (Chapter 10) returns to broader issues concerning the Anglo-Saxon state, situating the study’s indings within recent historiographical trends.

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Chapter 2

A S S E M BLY AT T E NDANCE

The natural starting point for our study is to ascertain who attended meetings of the witan. This raises some interesting issues since, unlike their continental counterparts, English diplomas of this period present the historian with a series of well-ordered witness-lists, which allow various insights into assembly attendance.1 This evidence is all the more valuable since contemporary narrative sources dedicate relatively little space to issues of attendance – at best they report that ‘many’ were present at a gathering – and we lack a detailed discussion of assembly politics along the lines of Hincmar’s De ordine palatii. What is attempted here, therefore, is an analytical discussion of attendance based on the surviving diploma witness-lists. These lists make no claims to comprehensiveness and are capable of concealing just as much as revealing; nevertheless, if we proceed carefully, valuable information can be gleaned from them. Firstly, however, a few observations about the nature of the AngloSaxon witness-list are warranted. The witness-list ultimately developed out of the requirement that continental private charters be witnessed, itself a regulation stemming from late Roman law, in which private transactions had to be witnessed.2 The adoption of this method of authentication for early English diplomas is understandable: in the absence of direct bureaucratic continuity with the late Roman Empire, which efectively precluded sealing or notarial subscription, as practised elsewhere, the use of witnesses, mirroring the methods of authentication used for private transactions on the continent, was an elegant solution.3 Although in 1 2 3

Cf. Depreux, ‘Lieux de rencontre’. H. Fichtenau, ‘Forschungen über Urkundenformeln’, MIÖG 94 (1986), 285–339, at p. 329. P. Chaplais, ‘The Origin and Authenticity of the Royal Anglo-Saxon Diploma’ (1965), repr. in and cited from Prisca Munimenta: Studies in Archival and Administrative History Presented to Dr A. E. J. Hollaender, ed. F. Ranger (London, 1973), pp. 28–42, at 32–3, and ‘Some Early Anglo-Saxon Diplomas on Single Sheets: Originals or Copies?’ (1968), repr. in and cited from Prisca Munimenta, ed. Ranger, pp. 63–87, at 76–7; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 28–31; cf. P. Classen, Kaiserreskript und

27

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Roman law the witness-list encompassed all those who might be called upon to give testimony regarding a transaction, in England it seems to have become primarily a method of authentication, intended to demonstrate that a document was issued with the consent of the king and witan. Indeed, one of the essential features of Anglo-Saxon diplomas is that they seem to have been issued exclusively from assemblies (a matter to which we will have occasion to return). The importance attached to this fact is relected in the surviving witness-lists: barring a few documents produced under more luid circumstances in Cnut’s reign, all original diplomas bear unimpeachable lists.4 Moreover, where we have independent information regarding attendance, particularly relating to the death or exile of individual igures, this tends to be relected in their attestations, suggesting that those witnessing were present in person at the transaction.5 Witnesses are listed in groups, normally in the following order: king(s), bishops, ealdormen, thegns. Other groups of igures also attest at times, but do so more rarely: queens and æthelings witness periodically, generally immediately following the king; abbots attest only rarely before Edgar’s reign, normally after the ealdormen, but from the 960s on they begin to do so more frequently, rising to a position immediately after the bishops but before the ealdormen; and priests witness royal charters only under Alfred the Great and Edward the Elder, doing so after the ealdormen and any abbots present, but before the thegns. It is clear that the order of these lists was meant to relect hierarchy, with ecclesiastics accorded precedence over laymen, as was typical in medieval documentary traditions.6 Moreover, within each of these individual groups a rough order of precedence was observed and as we move from the ninth into the tenth century this becomes more ixed, making it a particularly helpful guide to political developments. In what follows a systematic reign-by-reign discussion of attendance will not be attempted, as to do so would be to retrace ground which has already been thoroughly trodden. Indeed, although one may hope to reine the details of previous research, the eforts of scholars in recent generations have provided a relatively clear, if inevitably patchy, picture of developments over these years as relected in charter witness-lists.7 The

4 5 6

7

Königsurkunde. Diplomatische Studien zum Problem der Kontinuität zwischen Altertum und Mittelalter (Thessalonika, 1977), on the development of continental diplomatic traditions. See further below, pp. 79–82. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 154–62. H. Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen des 10. Jahrhunderts. Studien über Denkart und Existenz im einstigen Karolingerreich, 2 parts, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 30 (Stuttgart, 1984), pp. 14–15. Signiicant contributions include C. R. Hart, ‘Athelstan “Half King” and his Family’ (1973), rev. in and cited from his The Danelaw (London, 1992), pp. 569–604, and ‘The Ealdordom of Essex’ (1987),

28

Assembly attendance focus here, therefore, is speciically on what charter attestations reveal about assembly attendance. For these purposes the discussion is divided into two sections, dedicated to the ‘kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons’, ruled by Alfred and Edward the Elder, and the ‘kingdom of the English’ thereafter.8 It makes sense to draw such a distinction since the move between these periods witnesses not only changes in royal titulature and the size of the kingdom, but also in the diplomatic record itself. A ssembly atte ndance in the ‘ k i ng dom of th e Anglo-S axons ’, 8 71 –9 0 9 × 9 25 As noted, the diplomatic evidence from the ‘kingdom of the AngloSaxons’ difers in important ways from what comes later.At the most basic level, the charter record for this earlier period is much sparser, with few authentic diplomas surviving in the names of Alfred and Edward. More signiicantly, the diplomatic conventions observed are in a number of respects diferent from those seen later. Thus a greater degree of regional variation is visible in these years, in so far as local Kentish diplomatic traditions, adopted by the West Saxon rulers in the earlier ninth century, survive at least into the reign of Alfred the Great.9 Perhaps more importantly, even ‘mainstream’ West Saxon diplomatic of the ninth century, which is probably to be associated with the royal court, varies notably from the traditions that came to predominate thereafter.10 Later diplomas tend to be longer, more elaborate and more literary in style and, although developments in this direction can occasionally be detected in Alfred’s and Edward’s charters, they irst become a regular feature under Æthelstan.11 Along with this greater brevity comes the fact that the witness-lists of ninth-century West Saxon charters are much shorter and observe a less

8

9

10

11

rev. in and cited from his The Danelaw, pp. 115–40; A. Williams, ‘Princeps Merciorum gentis: The Family, Career and Connections of Ælfhere, Ealdorman of Mercia, 956–83’, ASE 10 (1982), 143–72; Banton, ‘Ealdormen’; B. Yorke, ‘Æthelwold and the Politics of the Tenth Century’, in Bishop Æthelwold: His Career and Inluence, ed. Yorke (Woodbridge, 1988), pp. 65–88; S. Keynes, An Atlas of Attestations in Anglo-Saxon Charters, c. 670–1066 (Cambridge, 2002); S. Jayakumar, ‘The Politics of the English Kingdom, c. 955–c. 978’ (unpublished D.Phil. dissertation, University of Oxford, 2001); and A. Wareham, Lords and Communities in Early Medieval East Anglia (Woodbridge, 2005). Further guidance is now ofered by the ‘Prosopography of Anglo-Saxon England’ (www.pase.ac.uk). On this distinction and the changes in titulature it rests on, see above, p. 7, with references at n. 23. S. Keynes,‘The Control of Kent in the Ninth Century’, EME 2 (1993), 111–31, at pp. 124–30; Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 35–6; Chadwick, Institutions, pp. 313–15. S. Keynes, ‘The West Saxon Charters of King Æthelwulf and his Sons’, EHR 109 (1994), 1009–49. On the development of this tradition into Edward’s reign, see S. Keynes, ‘A Charter of King Edward the Elder for Islington’, Historical Research 66 (1993), 303–16. See e.g. S 346, with discussion in M. Gretsch, The Intellectual Foundations of the English Benedictine Reform, CSASE 25 (Cambridge, 1999), p. 342; and M. Lapidge, ‘Schools, Learning and Literature

29

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England strict order amongst their attestations, making them a less clear guide to contemporary politics.12 Finally, later years also witness a change in the appearance of diplomas: tenth-century scribes consistently prefer ‘landscape’ layout, whereas ‘portrait’ orientation had previously been the norm.We are unlikely ever to discover the full grounds for these changes, but there is every reason to believe that they are related in some way to the apparent moratorium on diploma production between 909 and 925, during which it would seem that no royal charters were issued.13 One can well imagine that if diploma production was efectively broken of half-way through Edward’s reign, when it came to resurrecting it some ifteen years later few would have been available who were acquainted with the older ways. Under these circumstances, it would only be natural for changes to be introduced, either intentionally or inadvertently, and it is interesting to note that Æthelstan’s diplomas were to become the fundamental model for later tenth-century charter production. Given both the small corpus of charters from the years before Æthelstan’s accession and the tendency of these earlier documents to bear shorter witness-lists, we are somewhat limited in what we can conclude about assembly attendance on their basis. The shorter length of these lists alone does not necessarily indicate that assemblies were badly attended, since there is every reason to believe that draftsmen were selective and largely guided by tradition in the composition of attestation-lists. Nevertheless, under Alfred in particular there are reasons for thinking that meetings of the witan were somewhat smaller-scale afairs. What is especially striking is the fact that Alfred’s most senior ealdormen attest charters far less frequently than they had during his predecessors’ reigns (or would do during his successors’).14 That the absence of these individuals is more than a documentary phenomenon seems to be conirmed by the fact that similar trends are visible amongst the attestations of Alfred’s leading thegns, which are also very erratic. Scholars have plausibly linked the periodic absences of these groups to Asser’s comment that Alfred divided his followers (satellites) into three groups, keeping only one third with him at any given time.15 That there is indeed something peculiar about the attestations of these igures is shown by the fact that Alfred’s bishops

12

13 14 15

in Tenth-Century England’ (1991), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature, pp. 1–48, at 10, n. 25. In this respect they look somewhat like earlier diplomas; see A. Scharer, Die angelsächsische Königsurkunde im 7. und 8. Jahrhundert, Veröfentlichungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 26 (Vienna, 1982), pp. 54–5. See Keynes, ‘Edward’, pp. 55–6; and Dumville, ‘Æthelstan’, pp. 151–3. Keynes, Atlas, table XXII. Asser, VÆ, c. 100 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 86–7); Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, p. 51; Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 35–6.

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Assembly attendance attest more frequently, implying that they were more often present at assemblies. The impression, therefore, is that although Alfred did hold assemblies, the Scandinavian threat precluded secular magnates attending on a large scale, presumably because they were needed to guard the kingdom’s borders. Furthermore, even amongst the ranks of the bishops attendance was more haphazard than would later be the norm, and we would probably not go far wrong in saying that meetings of the witan were not particularly well attended in these years. As Edward the Elder is only known to have issued diplomas over the years 899–909, the contours of assembly attendance in his reign can be traced only over this irst decade. The general impression is of both continuity and change. Ealdormen and thegns attest Edward’s diplomas more regularly than they had Alfred’s, suggesting that, as the viking threat began to abate, the king was able to bring his magnates together more frequently.16 However, this is part of a more general phenomenon of increasing attestation rates, and Edward’s bishops also appear more frequently and in larger numbers than Alfred’s did.17 Since there is no reason to suppose that draftsmen had suddenly adopted a new approach to composing witness-lists at this juncture, this increase presumably relects the kingdom’s expansion and consolidation over these years. Indeed, although we have no diplomas issued in Edward’s name for Kent, it may well be no accident that the evidence for a distinctive ‘Kentish’ diplomatic tradition disappears at this point. Moreover, the witness-lists of Edward’s charters also begin to display a more set rank-order, perhaps further suggesting a slow move towards what would later become the norm. Nevertheless, this latter development is clearest within groups of related charters, which were probably drawn up on the same occasions, by the same agencies, and there is little agreement between these groups, so it is unclear whether we can or should generalize on this basis.18 As noted, irm conclusions about how representative these witness-lists are of actual assembly attendance remain severely hampered by the small number of surviving diplomas. None the less, by comparing the evidence from Alfred’s and Edward’s reigns with that from their predecessors’ and successors’, some basic points emerge. It would seem that Alfred, probably in response to the Scandinavian threat, moved away from holding regular, large-scale assemblies of his secular magnates, preferring to bring these igures to court in rotas. In a small realm such as Alfredian Wessex, one can well imagine that this might keep the king in suiciently regular 16 18

Keynes, Atlas, table XXXV. 17 Keynes, Atlas, table XXXIV. Keynes, Atlas, tables XXXIV–XXXV, divides the charters into these groups. See further Keynes, ‘Charter of King Edward’, and ‘Edward’, pp. 50–5.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England contact with his noblemen while still ensuring that the kingdom’s burhs and borders were guarded.19 As we move into Edward’s reign, however, we observe an apparent break with this policy. This change presumably resulted both from viking pressure easing of , as the West Saxon dynasty now began to go on the ofensive, and from the need to ind new ways of controlling an expanding kingdom. Indeed, the larger the realm became, the tougher it would have become to communicate with individual magnates and the greater the need would consequently have become to bring the kingdom’s great and good together in person. The changing nature of assembly politics is relected in the fact that not only do thegns and ealdormen attest diplomas in greater numbers in these years, but also bishops. A sse mbly atte ndance in th e ‘k i ng dom of the E ngl ish’, c . 925 – 97 8 As mentioned, Æthelstan’s reign saw important changes which afected the composition of witness-lists. Put in the most basic terms, from his accession onwards attestation-lists are on average considerably longer than they had been, evidencing much more regular attendance and observing a much clearer hierarchy amongst those attesting. It is tempting to associate these changes at least in part with political developments: as noted, the kingdom’s expansion under Edward and thereafter under Æthelstan would have made it progressively more diicult to communicate with royal oicers in distant regions, making the importance of regular, large-scale assemblies ever greater.20 However, whilst it is inherently likely that the lengthier witness-lists of this era bear witness to such a process of expansion, we must be careful not to be too impressed by the evidence. A previous generation of scholars often argued that Æthelstan held a distinct kind of ‘Grand Assembly’, which was otherwise unprecedented.21 The diiculty, however, is that the evidence for these ‘Grand Assemblies’ comes exclusively from diplomas produced by the extraordinary draftsman-scribe known to modern scholars as ‘Æthelstan A’, who efectively monopolized 19

20 21

On the compact nature of the Alfredian polity, see J. L. Nelson, ‘Alfred’s Carolingian Contemporaries’, in Alfred the Great: Papers from the Eleventh-Centenary Conferences, ed. T. Reuter (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 293–310, at 307–10. More generally, see Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 17–111. Cf. Maddicott, Origins, p. 6. For example L. M. Larson, The King’s Household in England before the Norman Conquest (Madison, WI, 1904), pp. 144–5; J. E. A. Jolife, The Constitutional History of Medieval England from the English Settlement to 1485 (London, 1937), pp. 103–4; D. P. Kirby, The Making of Early England (London, 1967), pp. 88 and 171.

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Assembly attendance diploma production over the period 928–34/5.22 His work displays a number of idiosyncrasies, the most important from our present standpoint being a tendency to include considerably more igures in witnesslists. Since the average length of diploma witness-lists spikes as soon as ‘Æthelstan A’ begins work in 928 and drops suddenly upon his retirement in 935, never to recover fully, there is good reason to believe that this was largely a matter of personal choice and not a direct relection of how well attended assemblies were.23 Indeed, were our only evidence for an increase in assembly attendance to come from the witness-lists of ‘Æthelstan A’ charters, then we might well conclude that this was a purely documentary chimera. Nevertheless, there are further reasons for thinking that elements of this change represent real changes in attendance. Not only have we already seen indications of developments in this direction under Edward the Elder, but it is notable that the witness-lists produced by draftsmen after ‘Æthelstan A’ are also considerably longer than those of the earlier period (even if they never quite reach the dizzying heights attained by ‘Æthelstan A’). Hence, these later documents, most of which conform to a diplomatic mainstream, go some way towards conirming the impression that attendance was more regular in these years than it previously had been. This is particularly clear in the case of the leading ealdormen and bishops, who are now an almost constant presence in witness-lists, suggesting that their attendance was efectively a conditio sine qua non for an assembly. It is important to spare a few moments here for the diplomatic mainstream referred to, which takes over most diploma production from ‘Æthelstan A’ in 934/5 and provides the bulk of our evidence thereafter. Roughly speaking from Æthelstan’s reign until the Conquest (and, in fact, beyond) a continuous diplomatic tradition can be traced, within which a mainstream is discernible.24 This mainstream displays many of the trends visible in the work of ‘Æthelstan A’, though to a less extreme degree, and it would not be unfair to say that ‘Æthelstan A’ stands at the beginning of this tradition as one of the irst (and most eccentric) mainstream draftsmen. The witness-lists of later diplomas are, as noted, considerably longer than those seen under Alfred and Edward, though not 22

23 24

R. Drögereit, ‘Gab es eine angelsächsische Königskanzlei?’, AfU 13 (1935), 335–436, at pp. 345–8 and 361–72; P. Chaplais, ‘The Royal Anglo-Saxon “Chancery” of the Tenth Century Revisited’, in Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. H. C. Davis, ed. H. Mayr-Harting and R. I. Moore (London, 1985), pp. 41–51 at 47–9; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 42–4; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 70–3. Keynes, Atlas, tables XXXVII–XXIX. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 1–153, and ‘Regenbald the Chancellor (sic)’, ANS 10 (1988), 185–222. Cf. Regesta regum Anglo-Normannorum: The Acta of William I (1066–1087), ed. D. Bates (Oxford, 1998), pp. 96–109.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England quite as impressive as those of ‘Æthelstan A’, and a similar brand of ‘hermeneutic’ or ‘poetic’ Latin is used in them, though again not to quite the same extent.25 Some of the strongest evidence for the existence of this mainstream comes from charter witness-lists, which show remarkable consistency in the ordering of attestations across draftsmen and archives. This diplomatic mainstream is in many ways both a bane and a boon. It is a bane in so far as we are heavily dependent on evidence from it, with relatively few external controls. On the other hand, it is a boon inasmuch as it allows for meaningful diachronic comparison: since we have reason to presume that essentially the same principles guided the composition of witness-lists throughout much of this period, we can seek to identify signiicant changes and developments. The evidence provided by the witness-lists of mainstream diplomas is particularly good for the upper aristocracy (the senior bishops, ealdormen and thegns), whom draftsmen seem to go out of their way to include: the sustained absence of any of these individuals can reasonably be taken as actual evidence of non-attendance, perhaps brought on by illness, death or loss of favour. A good example of this is ofered by the absence of Bishop Frithestan of Winchester from Æthelstan’s diplomas of 925–7. Given the importance of Winchester, which was the urban and ecclesiastical centre of Wessex, this omission can hardly be put down to a notarial oversight, and we can be fairly certain that Frithestan really was absent from assemblies during these years. In the context of the apparent succession struggle between Æthelstan and his half-brother, Ælfweard, in 924, this absence takes on a particular signiicance.26 Ælfweard’s support base was in central Wessex and, following his sudden death on 2 August 924 (only some sixteen days after his father’s), the ætheling was laid to rest at the New Minster, Winchester.27 However, despite this fortuitous turn of events, it took over a year before Æthelstan himself was crowned at Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey, on 4 September 925. It is impossible to know what transpired in the interim, but it is tempting to associate 25

26

27

On the Latinity of ‘Æthelstan A’, see D. A. Woodman, ‘“Athelstan A” and the Rhetoric of Rule’, ASE (forthcoming). More generally, see M. Lapidge, ‘The Hermeneutic Style in Tenth-Century Anglo-Latin Literature’ (1975), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature, pp. 105–49, and ‘Poeticism in Pre-Conquest Anglo-Latin Prose’, in Aspects of the Language of Latin Prose, Proceedings of the British Academy 129, ed. T. Reinhardt, M. Lapidge and J. N. Adams (Oxford, 2005), pp. 321–37. See S. Keynes, ‘England, 900–1016’, in NCMH III, 456–84, at pp. 467–8; and Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 37–41. ASC 924 BCD (= 924–5) (ed. Taylor, p. 50–1). However, the regnal list in Textus Rofensis gives Ælfweard a four-week reign, which would place his death on 14 August: D. N. Dumville, ‘The West Saxon Genealogical Regnal List and the Chronology of Early Wessex’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Britons and Anglo-Saxons, no. IV, p. 29.

34

Assembly attendance the apparent delay in Æthelstan’s coronation with political diiculties, particularly with his strained relations with the West Saxon aristocracy.28 Indeed, given Ælfweard’s burial at Winchester, Frithestan had probably been one of his supporters and the bishop’s prominent absence from the attestation-lists of Æthelstan’s earliest diplomas would seem to conirm this: whether barred from court or simply choosing to keep his distance, Frithestan’s opposition to and distance from the prevailing regime could hardly have been clearer. Other signiicant absences in the attestation record can also be discerned over these years, bearing witness to similar tensions amongst the kingdom’s ruling élite. An especially interesting case is ofered by the years 935–9, which saw a number of potentially signiicant changes amongst the attestations of ealdormen. Firstly, upon the retirement of ‘Æthelstan A’ in 935, the number of ealdormen regularly attesting rapidly drops, and during the years 936–8 only two continue to witness, Osferth and Uhtred.29 Given the tendency of ‘Æthelstan A’ to include more witnesses than other draftsmen, we must hesitate before associating this reduction in the number of ealdormen attesting with an actual change in the make-up of the witan. Nevertheless, a second change in attestation patterns in 938 × 939 may well indicate that these initial developments are signiicant. Thus a major reshule amongst the ealdormen seems to have taken place in late 938 or 939: at this point Ælfhere and Wulfgar irst begin to attest as ealdormen, immediately occupying the two most senior spots; Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ reappears after an absence since 935, taking third spot and relegating Uhtred to last place; and Osferth disappears under unknown circumstances. It would seem that after a number of years of uncontested dominance, Uhtred and Osferth had been decisively challenged and it may be that something akin to the famous ‘palace revolution’ of Æthelred II’s reign lies behind these developments.30 Indeed, Æthelstan ‘Half-King’, who regularly attests diplomas up until 935, might have avoided or been barred from meetings of the witan in the intervening years and it certainly is suggestive that after a lengthy absence in 936–7 he received a grant in 938. Unfortunately, this document’s witness-list is heavily abbreviated, as is the case with most diplomas from the Glastonbury archive, so we cannot tell whether Ælfhere and Wulfgar attested it as ealdormen (they otherwise irst appear as such in documents 28

29 30

WinchLV, ed. Keynes, pp. 20–1; A. Thacker, ‘Dynastic Monasteries and Family Cults: Edward the Elder’s Sainted Kindred’, in Edward the Elder, ed. Higham and Hill, pp. 248–63, at 254–7; Charters of the New Minster,Winchester, Anglo-Saxon Charters 9, ed. S. Miller (Oxford, 2001), pp. xxviii–xxx. Keynes, Atlas, table XXVIII. Cf. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 209–14; and E. Boyle, ‘A Welsh Record of an Anglo-Saxon Political Mutilation’, ASE 35 (2006), 245–9.

35

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England of 939), but it is tempting to see this charter as representing the very moment of change, perhaps in late 938, with the grant designed to signal the return of the ‘Half-King’ and his faction to favour.31 A inal set of absences which warrant note here are those of Archbishop Wulfstan I of York in the 930s and 40s. As the most important igure on the political scene in the North, there is every reason to believe that Wulfstan would have been included in diploma witness-lists whenever present.32 What is telling, therefore, is that his appearances throughout his career are episodic.After attesting regularly for the irst few years following his appointment in 931,Wulfstan irst disappears in 935. Although this might at irst glance be associated with the retirement of ‘Æthelstan A’ at this point, there is reason to believe that there was more at stake here: as the second most senior ecclesiastic in the kingdom, it is unthinkable that Wulfstan would not have been included in witness-lists produced after 935 had he been regularly present. Moreover, since we know that an anti-English alliance was brewing in these years, which would culminate in the famous battle of Brunanburh,33 this absence is probably more than accidental. Indeed, despite Æthelstan’s victory at this battle,Wulfstan does not reappear in English diplomas until much later, in 942, after Edmund reconquered York, suggesting that the prelate did not immediately return unto the fold. Even thereafter Wulfstan’s presence is only periodic, relecting the unstable political scene at York over the following decade, which saw control over the region change with dizzying speed.34 It is, therefore, clear that we can at times read something into what have been termed the ‘sounds of medieval silence’,35 deducing evidence for assembly attendance (and non-attendance) from charter attestations. This method is most successful for the kingdom’s most senior magnates, whose presence we can be conident would warrant inclusion in witnesslists. The fact that the absences detected often match up with known historical events lends further credence to the reliability of witness-lists: 31 32

33

34

35

S 442, with further discussion below, p. 93. On his career and signiicance, see D. Whitelock, ‘The Dealings of the Kings of England with Northumbria in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries’ (1959), repr. in and cited from her History, Law and Literature in 10th–11th Century England (London, 1980), no. III, pp. 71–4. See Foot Æthelstan, pp. 169–83; A. Woolf , From Pictland to Alba, 789–1070 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 158–76; A. P. Smyth, Scandinavian York and Dublin: The History and Archaeology of Two Related Viking Kingdoms, 2 vols. (Dublin, 1975–9), II, 31–88; M. Wood, ‘Brunanburh Revisited’, Saga-Book 20 (1980), 200–17; S. Walker, ‘A Context for Brunanburh’, in Warriors and Churchmen in the High Middle Ages: Essays Presented to Karl Leyser, ed.T. Reuter (London, 1992), pp. 21–39; and K. Halloran, ‘The Brunanburh Campaign: A Reappraisal’, Scottish Historical Review 84 (2005), 133–48. For further discussion, see S. Keynes,‘The Vikings in England, c. 790–1016’, in The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings, ed. P. Sawyer (Oxford, 1997), pp. 48–82, at 70–1. P. J. Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First Millennium (Princeton, NJ, 1994), pp. xiii–xiv.

36

Assembly attendance were absent igures routinely listed, we would not expect to see individuals such as Frithestan or Wulfstan excluded from lists. Far greater problems attach to the attestations of less prominent igures, however. Thus, for example, more junior bishops and ealdormen tend to attest diplomas erratically, and it is often diicult to discern whether their periodic absence is due to an occasional inability to make it to assemblies, or to their relative insigniicance at these events. Both factors presumably played a role some of the time, and the diplomas of ‘Æthelstan A’ ofer a helpful antidote to the more selective records of other charters in this regard. As noted, ‘Æthelstan A’ included far more attestations than other draftsman of the era and the impression is that his lists are as close as we are likely to get to comprehensive (at least when it comes to bishops, ealdormen and senior thegns). It is, therefore, striking to note that far more bishops and ealdormen attest his documents than they do other charters, suggesting that the more junior of these were often present at assemblies but overlooked by other draftsmen. Further evidence for this is provided by the ‘alliterative’ and ‘Dunstan B’ charters, two sets of diplomas which were produced outside the mainstream (but under royal iat) in the 940s and 50s.36 Each of these types of charter is somewhat idiosyncratic, and they have little in common save that they both deviate so clearly from mainstream diplomatic. Particularly important here is the fact that these agencies each took an individualistic approach to the composition of witness-lists, in both cases providing rather fuller lists of the ecclesiastics in attendance. This is an important further indication that junior bishops were indeed a more regular presence at assemblies than mainstream diplomas might suggest. What is also notable, however, is that even in such exceptional documents the attestations of less senior bishops and ealdormen are somewhat hit or miss, implying that these igures also were really somewhat less frequently present. This is, of course, exactly what we should anticipate: whilst in principle it was important that as many magnates as possible attend assemblies, the more senior an individual was, the more indispensable his presence would be. Hence it 36

On the ‘alliterative’ charters, which were probably produced within the circles of Bishop Coenwald of Worcester, see Charters of Burton Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 2, ed. P. H. Sawyer (Oxford, 1979), pp. xlvii–xlix; S. Keynes, ‘Koenwald’, in BEASE, pp. 273–5; Hart, Danelaw, pp. 431–53 (arguing, unconvincingly, for an association with Dunstan and Glastonbury); Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 115–20; and D. N. Dumville,‘A Twelfth-Century English Translation of a Tenth-Century Latin Oicial Document?’ (2002), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon Essays, pp. 229–50. On the ‘Dunstan B’ charters, which were probably produced under Dunstan’s oversight at Glastonbury, see S. Keynes, ‘The “Dunstan B” Charters’, ASE 23 (1994), 165–93; C. R. Hart, The Early Charters of Northern England and the North Midlands, Studies in Early English History 6 (Leicester, 1975), pp. 21–2; and N. Brooks,‘The Career of St Dunstan’ (1992), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon Myths: State and Church 400–1066 (London, 2000), pp. 154–80, at 173–4.

37

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England would seem that junior ealdormen and bishops attended most assemblies most of the time – and certainly more frequently than their appearances in witness-lists alone might suggest – but that this was in some cases simply not possible. The attestations of a distinctive group of northern ealdormen raise further problems in this regard. This group, bearing Scandinavian nameforms and presumably hailing from York, attests ‘Æthelstan A’ diplomas fairly frequently, but thereafter makes few appearances until Edgar’s reign, when Oslac begins to witness regularly alone as dux of York.37 It is dificult to know what to make of this. For a start, it is not clear whether the initial disappearance of these igures in 935 results from mainstream draftsmen ignoring them after the retirement of ‘Æthelstan A’, or from the anti-English alliance which may have led to Archbishop Wulfstan’s disappearance at this juncture.38 That documentary ilters have at least something to do with their absences through the 940s is suggested by the fact that they quite frequently attest ‘alliterative’ charters, which show greater interest in the Danelaw (due no doubt to their Mercian associations).39 Similarly, during Edgar’s brief reign in Mercia, these northern ealdormen attest three diplomas, two of which can be ascribed to another distinctive agency (probably a single draftsman-scribe); again it would seem largely a matter of personal choice whether to include these igures in charter witness-lists.40 However, although the inconsistent attestations of these ealdormen thus cannot be taken as a priori evidence of absence, when upon occasion they are included in witness-lists there are often grounds for thinking that they had a greater than usual interest in the transaction. Two factors are probably at work here: irstly, northern magnates may have been more often selected to attest transactions in which they had an active interest;41 and secondly, northern afairs were presumably more likely to be discussed when these igures were present. It is certainly likely that they would have been able to attend meetings somewhat less often than their more southerly counterparts, since they would generally have had the furthest to travel, and it is notable that even in the witness-lists of ‘Æthelstan A’ or ‘alliterative’ charters they appear only intermittently.

37 38 39 40

41

See Keynes, Atlas, tables XXVIII, XLII, XLV, L and LVI. Keynes, ‘Vikings’, pp. 69–70. Keynes, Atlas, tables XLII, XLV and L. On the ‘alliterative’ charters, see above, p. 37, n. 36. Keynes, Atlas, table LVI, and ‘Edgar’, p. 13; L. Abrams, ‘King Edgar and the Men of the Danelaw’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 171–91, at 183–7. D. A. Woodman, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Charters of York and Durham’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2007), pp. 98–9; Abrams, ‘Men of the Danelaw’, p. 185; Jayakumar, ‘Politics’, pp. 72–3. See also now Charters of the Northern Houses, Anglo-Saxon Charters 16, ed. D. A. Woodman (Oxford, 2012), p. 102.

38

Assembly attendance The safest conclusion, therefore, is that these igures were more often present than diplomas might suggest, but that they were also more often unable to attend than their counterparts from Mercia, Wessex and the more southerly reaches of the Danelaw.The increasingly frequent attestations of Oslac in the later years of Edgar’s reign would seem to indicate both that he was more regularly present than his predecessors and that when present he was starting to take on greater prominence in the eyes of draftsmen (the two processes might, of course, go hand in hand). Similar problems attach to the even more periodic attestations of neighbouring Welsh rulers, of English abbots and of auxiliary bishops, all of whom tend only to attest documents produced outside the mainstream.42 Thus, for example, Welsh rulers attest only ‘Æthelstan A’ and ‘alliterative’ charters, and, since there is no reason to believe that the interests of English kings in Wales were conined to the periods during which these agencies were in operation, we should do well to presume that they were an occasional presence at assemblies throughout this era.43 It is important to emphasize this, since the reverse has recently been suggested by Kevin Halloran, who asserts that ‘it is possible that their absence from witness lists [after 935] was due to some clerical omission but such an explanation is highly improbable’.44 The problem, of course, is that Halloran does not make suicient allowance for the documentary ilters at work. Indeed if, as noted, we take into account the fact that these igures are only found in charters produced by two highly idiosyncratic agencies (probably two draftsman-scribes), both of which may have been based in the west Midlands, where an interest in Welsh afairs would presumably be greater, then the picture changes fundamentally: clerical omission in other documents over these years becomes not ‘improbable’ but quite likely.45 The attestations of abbots tell a somewhat similar tale: between the reigns of Edward the Elder and Edgar they are only to be found in the witness-lists of ‘Æthelstan A’, ‘alliterative’ and ‘Dunstan B’ charters and, therefore, though there is reason to believe that the emergence of regular abbatial attestations in the 960s represents

42

43 44

45

Cf. K. J. Leyser, ‘Frederick Barbarossa and the Hohenstaufen Polity’ (1988), repr. in and cited from his Communications and Power II, 115–42, at pp. 121–2, noting how recipient-produced diplomas of Frederick Barbarossa similarly provide a diferent perspective on court attendance. Keynes, Atlas, table XXXVI. See Woolf, Pictland, p. 174. K. Halloran, ‘Welsh Kings at the English Court, 928–56’, Welsh History Review 25 (2010–11), 297–313, at p. 304. See also D. P. Kirby, ‘Hywel Dda – Anglophil?’, Welsh History Review (1976–7), 1–13, at pp. 5–6. The case for ‘Æthelstan A’ hailing from the west Midlands, perhaps from Lichield, is made in unpublished work by Simon Keynes.The key evidence is the fact that the bishop of Lichield attests at an unusually high position in ‘Æthelstan A’ witness-lists: Keynes, Atlas, table XXXVII.

39

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England a rise in standing,46 there are no grounds for assuming that abbots were absent from assemblies in the meantime. Finally, auxiliary bishops witness ‘Æthelstan A’ diplomas frequently and ‘alliterative’ charters periodically, but are otherwise unattested. While it is possible that these igures were appointed only as a short-term measure to help re-establish church structures within the Danelaw,47 the existence of chorepiscopi as late as the eleventh century in Canterbury suggests that at least a few continued to exist (and presumably also to attend assemblies) throughout much of the tenth century.48 Queens and æthelings were doubtless also often present at assemblies, but attest diplomas relatively rarely.49 When they do attest, moreover, there often seem to have been speciic reasons for this. For example, the only joint attestation of æthelings Edmund and Eadred during Æthelstan’s reign is to be found in a diploma of 939, the year of his death, which would have been a particularly apropos moment to have the king’s half-brothers displayed as throne-worthy candidates before the witan. Furthermore, the grant they witness is in favour of their sister, Eadburh, strengthening the impression that what was involved was a familial afair, perhaps aimed at settling the succession and future relations within the royal family.50 Indeed, while it would probably be too simple to see this transaction simply as a move to secure the succession – the presence of the æthelings might equally be explained by the fact that their sister is the recipient – it is notable that they later acceded to the throne in the order in which they witnessed this charter. A potential parallel in this regard is ofered by the famous Hausordnung of Henry I, whereby the German monarch established his eldest legitimate son, Otto, as his sole heir and took measures to protect the future position of his wife in 928–9.51 Viewed in this 46

47

48

49 50

51

P. Staford, ‘Queens, Nunneries and Reforming Churchmen: Gender, Religious Status and Reform in Tenth- and Eleventh-Century England’ (1999), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. XI, pp. 12–13. L. Abrams, ‘Conversion and Assimilation’, in Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian Settlement in England in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries, ed. D. M. Hadley and J. D. Richards (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 135–53, at 142; Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, p. 101; Hart, Northern England, pp. 312–3 and 368. N. Brooks, The Early History of the Church of Canterbury: Christ Church from 597 to 1066 (Leicester, 1984), pp. 295–6 and 300. See more generally J. Müller, ‘Gedanken zum Institut der Chorbischöfe’, in Medieval Church Law and the Origins of the Western Legal Tradition:A Tribute to Kenneth Pennington, ed. W. P. Müller and M. Sommar (Washington, DC, 2006), pp. 77–94. Cf. A. Gautier, Le festin dans l’Angleterre anglo-saxonne (Ve–XIe siècle) (Rennes, 2006), pp. 112–14. S 446. Edmund also attests S 455, datable 934 × 939. Although D. N. Dumville, ‘The Ætheling: A Study in Anglo-Saxon Constitutional History’, ASE 8 (1979), 1–33, at pp. 24–6, argues that no institution of ‘heir apparent’ was known in the Anglo-Saxon period, he admits that attempts were made to designate successors. See also Staford, ‘King’s Wife’, pp. 19–20; and Yorke, ‘Æthelwold’, pp. 72–3. K. Schmid, ‘Die Thronfolge Ottos des Großen’, ZRG: GA 81 (1964), 80–163; T. Zotz, ‘Wie der Typ des Allein-Herrschers (monarchus) durchgesetzt wurde’, in Die Macht des Königs. Herrschaft in

40

Assembly attendance light, the relatively frequent attestations of Eadred in Edmund’s reign may represent something of a continuation of the agreement forged late in Æthelstan’s, relecting what Pauline Staford notes seems to have been an informal policy of fraternal succession in this period.52 The occasional attestations of Eadgifu in these years may have also served to underline Edmund’s and Eadred’s legitimacy. In Eadred’s inal years, when the king seems to have sufered from illness, both Eadwig and Edgar begin attesting frequently, and, although this might be attributed to the idiosyncrasies of the agencies behind the ‘alliterative’ and ‘Dunstan B’ charters, which all but completely take over diploma production at this juncture, their appearances in witness-lists of both types of document suggest that there is something more to this. This impression is strengthened by the fact that Edgar continues to attest prominently during Eadwig’s early years on the throne, perhaps indicating that a division of power between the two was planned from the start.53 Thereafter in Edgar’s reign both Queen Ælfthryth and Edgar’s mother, Eadgifu, make occasional appearances, relecting the increasing signiicance of the ‘king’s wife’.54 However, Edgar’s sons, the æthelings Edward, Edmund and Æthelred, attest relatively rarely and, given the dispute which ensued upon his death, one is tempted to suggest that the succession had not yet been settled. Thus the attestations of æthelings and queens are anything but haphazard: they often irst appear towards the end of a king’s reign, presumably as part of a move to secure the succession. As we have noted, this would hardly be unprecedented: early medieval rulers often sought to designate their successors and it was not uncommon for charters to be issued as part of this process.55 As such, inclusion of queens and æthelings was not only – nor even perhaps primarily – a relection of their role in the witan’s deliberations, but also a symbolic gesture of presenting them as legitimate and throne-worthy. Whether in other cases these igures were excluded from deliberations is impossible to say with certainty: it seems unlikely that they had no inluence at all, but especially in the case of the æthelings

52 53

54

55

Europa vom Frühmittelalter bis in die Neuzeit, ed. B. Jussen (Munich, 2005), pp. 90–105 and 375–6 (notes). Staford, ‘King’s Wife’. Keynes, Atlas, table XLVIIa. For further arguments that the division was planned, see Keynes, ‘Edgar’, pp. 7–8; Brooks, ‘Dunstan’, pp. 175–6; Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 132–8; Ofergeld, Reges pueri, pp. 170–1; Staford, Uniication, pp. 48–9; and F. M. Biggs, ‘Edgar’s Path to the Throne’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 124–39. Staford,‘King’s Wife’, pp. 16–27. See also Encomium Emmae reginae, ed.A. Campbell with an introduction by S. Keynes, Camden Classic Reprints 4 (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 62–5. G. Koziol, The Politics of Memory and Identity in Carolingian Royal Diplomas: The West Frankish Kingdom (840–987), Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 19 (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 63–118. Cf. Schmid, ‘Thronfolge’, pp. 101–25.

41

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England it might at times have been in the king’s interests to keep such potential rivals at a safe distance.56 It should by now be clear how dangerous it is to argue from silences in the documentary record. With the exception of the kingdom’s most powerful magnates, absences in diploma witness-lists are as likely to relect the selection policies of individual draftsmen as they are the realities of assembly attendance. That said, the positive evidence provided by these lists can be most revealing. There is every reason to believe that those who attested really were present and played a role in proceedings; thus the regular attestation of senior ealdormen and bishops clearly indicates their prominence at these events. Witness-lists also relect the relative hierarchy of those present, and rises in standing can be detected by more frequent and more prominent attestation: abbots irst become a regular presence in witness-lists during the monastic reform, demonstrating their new-found inluence; and likewise Ealdorman Oslac of York gains prominence during Edgar’s reign, which not only witnessed greater royal interest in the Danelaw, but is also increasingly seen as a formative moment in the development of a truly uniied polity.57 The witness-lists of mainstream draftsmen thus relect what might be described as a ‘court’ perspective on assembly attendance, with all the advantages and disadvantages this brings with it. When considering the numbers of igures in attendance we should think in relatively maximal terms, and the following rather impressionistic igures are extrapolated from the fullest witness-lists of ‘Æthelstan A’ diplomas. The forty or more thegns he records upon occasion is probably the smallest number we should entertain for most assemblies. The number of priests present can only be guessed at, since clerical attestations are never very consistent and disappear after Edward the Elder’s reign, but a number must always have been in attendance, perhaps about as many as the thegns, if not slightly more. Some of these would have been the followers of bishops and abbots in attendance, but others probably had direct, if not necessarily exclusive, ties to court. The need to maintain religious observance as well as to draft letters and other documents at the peripatetic court would have necessitated a royal chapel and it is, as Simon Keynes points out, only a small but reasonable step from admitting this to acknowledging the existence of a royal ‘writing oice’ of some description, however informal.58 Nevertheless, what is 56

57 58

One thinks of the problems at times created by the Frankish tradition of granting sub-kingdoms to sons; see B. Kasten, Königssöhne und Königsherrschaft. Untersuchungen zur Teilhabe am Reich in der Merowinger- und Karolingerzeit, MGH: Schriften 44 (Hanover, 1997). Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’; Keynes, ‘Edgar’; Banton, ‘Monastic Reform’. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 134–53, and ‘Regenbald’, esp. pp. 187–92.

42

Assembly attendance important to add here is that this was neither a bureaucratic monolith, nor was it exclusive – chaplains clearly worked symbiotically with other draftsmen more periodically present at court (or at assemblies). Indeed, acknowledging a degree of centralization in charter production does not necessarily involve the assumption that the agencies involved were always at court, or exclusively bound to the king. Far more likely is a series of draftsman-scribes, more or less aware of one another’s work, dividing time between the court and other duties, sometimes sharing drafting with igures whose presence was more intermittent.59 In terms of further personnel, there would generally have been a scattering of abbots present – probably with a more prominent contingent from Edgar’s reign onwards – some of whom may also have been members of the royal chapel, as well as something in the order of ifteen bishops along with assorted chorepiscopi.The number of ealdormen probably lagged slightly behind that of the bishops, but not far, with an average of six to ifteen, depending on how many ealdordoms were in existence and how many of the northern duces appeared.60 In addition, most senior magnates will have brought their own followers (some of whom might make it into the lower tiers of the lists of thegns) and servants (who almost certainly did not), while people from the surrounding countryside might have witnessed parts of proceedings.61 Some meetings would have been larger than others – summer assemblies and special events such as coronations would doubtless have been better attended than winter gatherings – but one would probably not go far wrong in positing a minimal attendance of about 200, rising to perhaps 600 or more for grander events.62 This sits well with other evidence from early and high medieval England: the amphitheatre-like structure at Yeavering could apparently seat c. 320, meanwhile up to 1,800 people are believed have attended Angevin assemblies.63 Conclusions Although we certainly might like to know more, diploma witness-lists have much to tell us about assembly attendance. Firstly, the fact that 59 60

61 62

63

See below, pp.78–89. The number of ealdordoms could vary substantially; see Banton, ‘Ealdormen’; and Hart, ‘Ealdordom’. Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 38–9. R. Lavelle, ‘Why Grateley? Relections on Anglo-Saxon Kingship in a Hampshire Landscape’, Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 60 (2005), 154–69; and Loyn, ‘Witenagemot’, p. 24, come to comparable igures by diferent means. See B. Hope-Taylor, Yeavering: An Anglo-British Centre of Early Northumbria (London, 1977), p. 161; and R. Bartlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings, 1075–1225 (Oxford, 2000), p. 144, respectively.

43

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the most important ealdormen and bishops attest the vast majority of diplomas from the time of Æthelstan onwards suggests that this was an essential feature of meetings of the witan, and the regularity with which such a cross-section of the kingdom comes together over these years is impressive. While such regular attendance might be seen simply as a relection of royal power, it is important to remember that the presence of so many magnates would also have limited kings in important respects. Had they wished simply to issue orders, they could have done this from afar, by letter or possibly by writ.64 That they chose not to do so suggests that consultation and inding common ground were essential features of kingship, and the trend seems to be towards assemblies of ever-increasing scale. That agreement was often found is a testament to both the rulers and aristocrats of the period, and we shall have opportunity to return to the dynamics of this in later chapters. What remains to be emphasized here, however, is that although it has been suggested that the witan was a royal instrument, which the king might exploit by inluencing its membership,65 the evidence of witness-lists does not point in this direction. Had kings regularly exploited such a selective ‘right of invitation’ to assemblies, we should anticipate much more haphazard attendance, particularly amongst the higher members of the aristocracy. Instead, the very regularity of attestation amongst the kingdom’s ruling élite suggests that the king and his leading magnates worked together and needed each other. Indeed, the very idea that rulers might seek to stack the deck by inviting only selected igures seems to stem from a rather outdated constitutional model of medieval politics, according to which the decisions of the witan are treated as legally binding in a modern parliamentarian sense. If, however, we treat the witan’s ordinances as measures whose fulilment relied on the active and willing support of the kingdom’s senior magnates, then any attempt to limit participation would have run contrary to the assembly’s very raison d’être: achieving and presenting consensus.66

64

65

66

It is unclear whether writs were in use in this period, but it is by no means impossible: AngloSaxon Writs, ed. F. E. Harmer (Manchester, 1952), pp. 1–45; G. Barraclough, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Writ’, History 39 (1954), 193–215; P. Chaplais, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Chancery: From the Diploma to the Writ’ (1966), repr. in and cited from Prisca Munimenta, ed. Ranger, pp. 43–63; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 144–5; R. Sharpe, ‘The Use of Writs in the Eleventh Century’, ASE 32 (2003), 247–91, at p. 247. Purlitz, Witenagemot, pp. 7–8 and 56; Liebermann, National Assembly, p. 20; Kern, Gottesgnadentum, pp. 278–88; Fisher, Anglo-Saxon Age, p. 253. Cf. J. R. Rosenthal, ‘The Public Assembly in the Time of Louis the Pious’, Traditio 20 (1964), 25–40, at p. 39; and Depreux, ‘Lieux de rencontre’, pp. 225–30, along similar lines. Cf. the similar observations of Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 267–8.

44

Chapter 3

ME E T ING PL AC E S A ND TI MES OF A S S E M BL IE S

Having investigated assembly attendance, it is now time to turn our attention to further practical aspects of these events; namely, to the environment in which and times when they took place. Comparatively little attention has been given to these matters, with previous studies ofering only broad overviews.1 Indeed, even assembly sites, which have enjoyed considerable scholarly interest in recent years, have been approached largely from the angle of shire, hundredal and other regional gatherings.2 It is, therefore, worthwhile reviewing the places and times chosen for assemblies with a more ‘national’ or ‘regnal’ character, such as those at Kingston-upon-Thames, where the monarchs of this era were crowned. Locati ng meaning: the me eti ng p lac e s of the W I T A N , 871 –97 8 The locations chosen for meetings of the witan must be understood within the broader context of royal itinerancy in the earlier Middle Ages.3 Anglo-Saxon courts from earliest times were peripatetic, and the origins of itinerancy are generally felt to lie in the twofold need to ensure suicient victuals for the court and to arrange the af airs of 1 2

3

See most recently Maddicott, Origins, pp. 12–18. See e.g. Assembly Places and Practices in Medieval Europe, ed. A. Pantos and S. Semple (Dublin, 2004). See H. C. Peyer, ‘Das Reisekönigtum des Mittelalters’, Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschafsgeschichte 51 (1964), 1–21; J. W. Bernhardt, Itinerant Kingship and Royal Monasteries in Early Medieval Germany, c. 936–1075, CSMLT 4th ser. 21 (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 45–70; R. Schiefer, ‘Von Ort zu Ort. Aufgaben und Ergebnisse der Erforschung ambulanter Herrschaftspraxis’, in Orte der Herrschaft. Mittelalterliche Königspfalzen, ed. C. Ehlers (Göttingen, 2002), pp. 11–23; C. Ehlers, ‘Wie sich ambulante zu residenter Herrschaft entwickelt hat’, in Die Macht des Königs, ed. Jussen, pp. 106–24 and 376–7 (notes); and F. Opll, ‘Herrschaft durch Präsenz. Gedanken und Bemerkungen zur Itinerarforschung’, MIÖG 117 (2004), 12–22; along with the important criticisms of McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 171–212.

45

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the realm in person.4 Although the move towards more settled modes of residence has often been treated as part of the grand narrative of modernization, recent studies emphasize that itinerant courts could be highly efective.5 It has been observed that in a society such as Ottonian Saxony, in which personal relationships and face-to-face politics were of central importance and long-distance travel and communication were costly and dangerous, itinerancy could be a powerful royal prerogative and as such the king’s travels represented not just an administrative burden but also an act of assertion.6 None the less, the royal progress was rarely intended to cover the entire realm and it would be misleading to suggest that royal authority was only felt where the king was physically present; rather the iter regis per regnum was part of the broader communication network which helped hold the kingdom together, designed to facilitate meetings between rulers and their followers at strategically chosen locations (meetings of the witan being a case in point here). Moreover, the king’s progress to (or through) such sites often took on a highly ritualized form, designed to manifest the ruler’s regality in the landscape.7 As some of the most major annual events, royal assemblies tended to be amongst the highlights of the itinerary: they ofered the opportunity to display the king and his court in a uniquely regalian fashion, at locations with royal associations. Since routes of travel were generally planned to maximize the efect of the ever-shifting praesentia regis, much thought would have gone into locating such assemblies – not only did the sites chosen have to ofer suicient space and provisions, but they also had to be appropriate for the symbolic acts which formed an essential part of proceedings. Indeed, work on continental assembly sites reveals that these often possessed a special ‘power’ or ‘aura’: some were traditional 4

5

6

7

T. Charles-Edwards, ‘Early Medieval Kingships in the British Isles’, in The Origins of Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms, ed. S. Bassett (London, 1989), pp. 28–39 and 245–8 (notes); R. Faith, The English Peasantry and the Growth of Lordship (London, 1997), pp. 38–41 and 102–5. T. Zotz,‘Präsenz und Repräsentation. Beobachtungen zur königlichen Herrschaftspraxis im hohen und späten Mittelalter’, in Herrschaft als soziale Praxis. Historische und sozial-anthropologische Studien, Veröfentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 91, ed. A. Lüdtke (Göttingen, 1991), pp. 168–94; A. Kränzle, ‘Der abwesende König. Überlegungen zur ottonischen Königsherrschaft’, FMSt 31 (1997), 120–57; C. Ehlers, ‘Having the King – Losing the King’, Viator 33 (2002), 1–42; A. Stieldorf, ‘Reiseherrschaft und Residenz im frühen und hohen Mittelalter’, Historisches Jahrbuch 129 (2009), 147–77. K. J. Leyser, ‘Ottonian Government’ (1981), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Germany and its Neighbours 900–1250 (London, 1982), pp. 69–101, at 94–5; Bernhardt, Itinerant Kingship, pp. 56–7. H. Keller, ‘Otto der Große urkundet im Bodenseegebiet. Inszenierung der “Gegenwart des Herrschers” in einer vom König selten besuchten Landschaft’, in Mediaevalia Augiensia. Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters, Vorträge und Forschungen 54, ed. J. Petersohn (Stuttgart, 2001), pp. 205–45.

46

Meeting places and times of assemblies assembly places, such as Werla in Saxony;8 others were associated with speciic events, such as the late Carolingian and Capetian tradition of royal burial at St-Denis, or the Ottonian tradition of celebrating Easter at Quedlinburg;9 a special set of locations, often at rivers or near borders, was preferred for meetings between sovereign rulers;10 meanwhile some sites were visited rarely, but might be activated to send timely political messages, such as the Saalfeld in the Ottonian Reich, where rebels were accustomed to gather.11 There is every reason to believe that assembly places in England were chosen in a similar fashion, and though we cannot hope to recover the full reasons for picking each individual site, more detailed investigation seems justiied. Indeed, recent work has revealed the importance of ‘topographies of power’ on the continent in the earlier Middle Ages, and Anglo-Saxon scholarship certainly might beneit from taking a similar approach.12 The irst task is naturally to go through the attested meeting places systematically. Although the sources are thin, enough evidence survives to allow general observations about the types of location favoured. Accessibility would naturally have been a major consideration here, and we may presume that the rough structure of the old Roman road network was maintained, as implied by the interest of rulers in bridgework (which suggests not only a desire to maintain the bridges themselves, but also the routes running up to them).13 Also important would have been 8

9

10

11

12

13

H. J. Rieckenberg, ‘Zur Geschichte der Pfalz Werla nach der schriftlichen Überlieferung’, in Deutsche Kögispfalzen: Beiträge zu ihrer historischen und archäologischen Erforschung, vol. II (Göttingen, 1965), pp. 174–209, at 197–8. On St-Denis, see C. R. Brühl, Fodrum, gistum, servitium regis. Studien zu den wirtschaftlichen Grundlagen des Königtums im Frankenreich und in den fränkischen Nachfolgestaaten Deutschland, Frankreich und Italien vom 6. bis zur Mitte des 14. Jahrhunderts, 2 vols., Kölner historische Abhandlungen 14 (Cologne, 1968), I, 55 and 256–7; and on Quedlinburg, see G. Beyreuther,‘Die Osterfeier als Akt königlicher Repräsentanz und Herrschaftsausübung unter Heinrich II. (1002–1024)’, in Fest und Feiern im Mittelalter, ed. D. J. Altenburg, J. Jarnut and H. H. Steinhof (Sigmaringen, 1991), pp. 245–53; and T. Zotz, ‘Königspfalz und Herrschaftspraxis im 10. und frühen 11. Jahrhundert’, Blätter für deutsche Landesgeschichte 120 (1984), 19–46, at pp. 39–41. I. Voss, Herrschertrefen im frühen und hohen Mittelalter. Untersuchungen zu den Begegnungen der ostfränkischen und westfränkischen Herrscher im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert sowie der deutschen und französischen Könige vom 11. bis 13. Jahrhundert, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 26 (Cologne, 1987), pp. 10–87. G. Althof , ‘Zur Frage nach der Organisation sächsischer coniurationes in der Ottonenzeit’, FMSt 16 (1982), 129–42, at pp. 136–9. Topographies of Power in the Early Middle Ages, TRW 6, ed. M. de Jong and F. Theuws (Leiden, 2001). A. Cooper, Bridges, Law and Power in Medieval England, 700–1400 (Woodbridge, 2006), pp. 39–65; N. Brooks, ‘The Development of Military Obligations in Eighth- and Ninth-Century England’ (1971), repr. in and cited from his Communities and Warfare 700–1400 (London, 2000), pp. 32–47; B. S. Bachrach, ‘Animals and Warfare in Early Medieval Europe’, Settimane 35 (1985), 707–64, at p. 713. For what follows I have consulted I. D. Margary, Roman Roads in Britain, 3rd edn (London, 1973) and Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World, ed. R. J. A. Talbert (Princeton, NJ, 2000); and

47

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England rivers and waterways, which were often quicker and easier to travel on than roads.14 We must also allow for the possibility that there were diferent kinds of assembly, for which diferent sites may have been preferred. Thus it has already been noted that meetings between independent rulers often took place at or near frontiers and such ‘diplomatic’ assemblies represent somewhat of a special case: although they were apparently felt to be representative of the kingdom at large, they were clearly not typical meetings of the witan. Even amongst meetings with a more ‘national’ or ‘regnal’ character it has been suggested that a distinction prevailed between ‘legislative’ assemblies, at which law-codes were issued, and ‘dispositive’ assemblies, at which charters were produced.15 Of course, we should not presume that any such distinctions were absolute, if they pertained at all, but since these diferent types of gatherings are attested by diferent types of source (the irst largely by narrative accounts, the second by law-codes and the third by royal charters), it seems reasonable irst to discuss them separately, before returning to the issue of their relationship. As we shall see, though the witan might meet primarily with one of these purposes in mind, any rigid distinction, especially between ‘legislative’ and ‘dispositive’ gatherings, would not do justice to the lexible nature of these events. ‘Diplomatic’ meetings Assemblies involving acts of peace-making or submission are most often reported in narrative sources, particularly the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Although perhaps not in all respects typical assemblies, these events deserve consideration here as they brought together a substantial number of magnates and were clearly felt capable of dealing with important ‘afairs of state’. The locations chosen for such events are particularly revealing: they tend to be held near borders and when not they generally symbolize a hierarchical relationship between the parties involved.16 The irst recorded ‘diplomatic’ assembly saw the baptism of Guthrum/Æthelstan at Aller, Somerset, at which King Alfred stood sponsor. Guthrum’s subservient position here is suggested both by Alfred’s

14

15

16

only make speciic reference to these for lesser known routes, assuming an acquaintance with the Fosse Way, Watling Street, Port Way, Akeman Street and Ermine Street. E. T. Jones, ‘River Navigation in Medieval England’, Journal of Historical Geography 26 (2000), 60–82; Waterways and Canal-Building in Medieval England, ed. J. Blair (Oxford, 2007). Wormald, English Law, pp. 435–8; R. Lavelle, Royal Estates in Anglo-Saxon Wessex: Land, Politics and Family Strategies, BAR: British Series 439 (Oxford, 2007), pp. 50–9. Voss, Herrschertrefen, pp. 10–87; J. Barrow, ‘Chester’s Earliest Regatta? Edgar’s Dee-Rowing Revisited’, EME 10 (2001), 81–93; P. Dalton, ‘Sites and Occasions of Peacemaking in England and Normandy c. 900–c. 1150’, HSJ 16 (2005), 12–26.

48

Meeting places and times of assemblies sponsorship and by the choice of location, as Guthrum had to travel deep into West Saxon territory to reach Aller.17 While we hear of no further acts of peace-making or submission during Alfred’s reign, that of Edward witnesses a series during the dramatic conquest of the Danelaw. The irst, a peace agreement between Edward and the Danes of East Anglia and York, was made in 906 at Tiddingford, Bedfordshire. This implies relative equality, since Tiddingford lay near the boundary of ‘AngloSaxon’ and ‘Danish’ spheres of inluence.18 However, in later years we hear of a number of unambiguous acts of submission to the English king: at Witham, Essex, in 912; at Buckingham in 914; at Passenham, Northamptonshire, and then at Colchester, Essex, in 917; and inally at Stamford, Lincolnshire, and then at Nottingham in 918.19 These submissions were probably not standard assemblies, as noted, and our sources do not explicitly mention the witan being present; none the less, as we have also observed, there was a grey area between the assembly and the army in the earlier Middle Ages and at such moments the English fyrd was presumably felt to be representative of the kingdom at large.20 That so many of these acts of submission took place at burhs underlines not only the military importance of the burghal system, but also the symbolic signiicance of these fortiications as sites of royal authority.21 Somewhat diferent, at least in its implications, was the submission of the Mercians to direct West Saxon rule at Tamworth, Stafordshire, in 918. Here Edward clearly took the opportunity to advertise his control of the region by appropriating a traditional local centre, as the region around Tamworth and Lichield had formed the core of the Mercian polity.22 It was not only the Mercians, however, who submitted on this occasion, but also the Welsh – Edward was clearly taking the opportunity to assert his newly inherited control over the march. That the Welsh rulers came 17

18

19

20 21

22

ASC 878, ed. C. Plummer, Two of the Saxon Chronicles Parallel, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1892–9), I, 75–6. Nelson, ‘Power and Authority’, p. 324, suggests that Somerset was Alfred’s support-base in Wessex. ASC 905 A, 906 CD (= ?906) (ed. Bately, p. 63). See D. Hill, An Atlas of Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 1981), p. 55. ASC 912 AB, 913 CD (= 912) (ed. Bately, p. 61); ASC 914 B, 915 CD, 917A (= 914) (ed. Bately, pp. 65–6); ASC 920 A (= 917) (ed. Bately, pp. 66–8); ASC 921A (= 918) (ed. Bately, pp. 68–9). See above, p. 24, with the works cited at n. 94. Cf. S. Airlie, ‘The Palace of Memory: The Carolingian Court as Political Centre’, in Courts and Regions in Medieval Europe, ed. S. R. Jones, R. Marks and A. J. Minnis (York, 2000), pp. 1–20. P. Sawyer, ‘The Royal Tun in Pre-Conquest England’, in Ideal and Reality in Frankish and AngloSaxon Society: Studies Presented to J. M. Wallace-Hadrill, ed. P. Wormald with D. Bullough and R. Collins (Oxford, 1983), pp. 273–99, at 286 and 296–7; J. Blair, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society (Oxford, 2005), pp. 277–8. Interestingly the town was split during the shiring of Mercia, which D. Hill, ‘The Shiring of Mercia – Again’, in Edward the Elder, ed. Higham and Hill, pp. 144–59, at 144–5, argues represents an ‘anti-Mercian policy’.

49

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England

Eamont (12 July 927)

Tanshelf (947)

North Sea

D a n e la

W at

lin

g

w

Chester (973)

Nottingham (918)

St

re

et

Stamford (918)

Tamworth (918, 30 Jan. 926)

Str

c

ine

er

Erm

M

Tiddingford (?906)

eet

ia

Passenham (917) Colchester Buckingham (914) (917)

Fo s

se

Wa y

Witham (912)

Wessex Aller (May/June 878) N

English Channel

0

50

150 km

1 ‘Diplomatic’ assemblies, 871–978

into the heart of Mercia to submit is a clear sign of their subservience. Finally, some years later we hear of a further possible act of submission: following the completion of a fortress at Bakewell, Derbyshire, the king of Alba, the inhabitants of Northumbria (both English and Danish) 50

Meeting places and times of assemblies and the Strathclyde Britons are all said to have chosen Edward ‘as father and lord’ (to fæder 7 to hlaforde).23 Whether this constituted a formal submission, or whether an actual meeting even occurred, however, remains uncertain.24 Under Æthelstan we hear of two further ‘diplomatic’ meetings. The irst involved the betrothal of Æthelstan’s sister to Sihtric (Sigtryggr) of York at Tamworth. Marriage alliances were multivalent afairs, which might either symbolize equality or conirm a subservient relationship, though in this case it is telling that Sihtric came to Mercia to collect his bride, suggesting that his position was weaker than Æthelstan’s.25 It is also interesting to note that Æthelstan chose a traditional Mercian royal centre for this event: this might relect his Mercian upbringing and initial election in the region;26 on the other hand, the decision might have been more pragmatically motivated, since Mercia is more easily accessible than Wessex from York. Following Sihtric’s death a year and a half later, Æthelstan took York, and on 12 July 927 all the kings of Britain are reported to have submitted to him at Eamont Bridge, Cumbria.27 The signiicance of this site lies in its strategic position on the Roman road running north from Lancaster to Carlisle, occupying the main land route through the region.28 Diploma witness-lists help illustrate some of the consequences of this submission, as thereafter Welsh rulers begin to attest Æthelstan’s charters.29 However, the absence of the rulers of Alba and Strathclyde in the same documents is intriguing: this might suggest that they were granted a greater degree of independence, or indicate non-compliance. If the latter were the case, then this might have constituted one of the grounds for Æthelstan’s later expedition to the north in 934, after which Constantin and Owain are known to have attested his charters. 23 24

25

26

27

28 29

ASC 923 A (= 920) (ed. Bately, p. 69). M. R. Davidson, ‘The (Non)submission of the Northern Kings in 920’, in Edward the Elder, ed. Higham and Hill, pp. 200–11; Woolf, Pictland, pp. 145–7; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 15–16. ASC 925 D (= 926) (ed. Cubbin, p. 41); with A. Angenendt, Kaiserherrschaft und Königstaufe. Kaiser, Könige und Päpste als geistliche Patrone in der abendländischen Missionsgeschichte (Berlin, 1984), pp. 269–70; and D. Rollason, Northumbria 500–1100: Creation and Destruction (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 262–3. These events stand in contrast to the account of Æthelstan sending his half-sisters Eadgifu and Ælfgifu to the Ottonian court: Hrotsvit, Gesta Ottonis, lines 112–20, ed. W. Berschin, Hrotsvit: Opera Omnia (Munich, 2001), pp. 279–80. Sihtric’s subservient position might give substance to the earlier account of a submission to Edward. ASC BC 924 (=924–5) (ed. Taylor, p. 50); WM, GRA II.133 (ed. Mynors, p. 210); Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 250–8. ASC 926 D (= 927) (ed. Cubbin, p. 41). The rulers mentioned are Hywel Dda of Deheubarth, Constantin of Alba, Owain of Gwent and Aldred of Bamburgh, though Owain of Strathclyde might also have been present; see Woolf, Pictland, pp. 151–2. Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 377–82, 385–7 and 392–3. Keynes, Atlas, table XXXVI; Kirby, ‘Hywel’; Loyn, ‘Wales and England’; Halloran, ‘Welsh Kings’.

51

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England At the beginning of Eadred’s reign, in 947, the men of York are reported to have submitted to the English king at Tanshelf, Yorkshire, near the Northumbrian–Mercian border. Although the superior position of Eadred here is clear enough, it seems signiicant that he had to come north to the Humber to receive this submission, rather than having the men of York come south or travelling further north to York himself. Indeed, submitting near the Humber might well have acted as a safeguard on the men of York’s independence: rather than coming into Southumbrian England or allowing Eadred to march north – which would have enabled him to assert control of the region directly – Archbishop Wulfstan I and the other nobles kept the English king at arm’s length by meeting him near the border. The impression thus is that the men ofYork agreed to come under Eadred’s rule independently, an agreement they would feel free to break shortly thereafter. The last ‘diplomatic’ meeting in this period is the so-called ‘Dee-rowing’ of King Edgar. This has traditionally been seen as the apogee of Edgar’s quasi-imperial rule: after a second coronation at Bath at Pentecost 973, Edgar headed north to Chester, where he accepted the submission of the rulers of Wales and North Britain in the form of having them row him upon the Dee.30 Recent studies, however, have sought to reinterpret this event, suggesting that it actually constituted a more neutral ‘peace summit’ of some description.31 Julia Barrow, in particular, argues that Chester, as a border town located on a river, was ideal for these purposes, since meetings at rivers, especially rivers at or near frontiers, were often used to symbolize equality.32 The Dee might even have aforded the parties the opportunity to meet on neutral territory in the midst of the river itself. However, it is important to emphasize that Chester was under English control in this period, as Barrow herself admits,33 and although she is correct to emphasize the importance of the River Dee, its signiicance might 30

31

32

33

W. H. Stevenson, ‘The Great Commendation to King Edgar in 973’, EHR 13 (1898), 505–7; P. E. Schramm, A History of the English Coronation, trans. L. G. Wickham Legg (Oxford, 1937), pp. 20–3; Stenton, Anglo-Saxon England, p. 370. That this was a second coronation is argued by J. L. Nelson, ‘Inauguration Rituals’ (1977), repr. in and cited from her Politics and Ritual, pp. 283–307, at 296– 303; and H. Kleinschmidt, Untersuchungen über das englische Königtum im 10. Jahrhundert, Göttinger Bausteine zur Geschichtswissenschaft 49 (Göttingen, 1979), pp. 180–2. Barrow, ‘Dee-Rowing’; D. E. Thornton, ‘Edgar and the Eight Kings, AD 973: textus et dramatis personae’, EME 10 (2001), 49–79; S. Jayakumar, ‘The “Foreign Policies” of Edgar “the Peaceable”’, HSJ 10 (2001), 17–37, at pp. 31–5; A.Williams, ‘An Outing on the Dee: King Edgar at Chester, A.D. 973’, Mediaeval Scandinavia 14 (2004), 229–43; A. Breeze, ‘Edgar at Chester in 973: A Breton Link?’, Northern History 44 (2007), 153–7. Barrow, ‘Dee-Rowing’. Cf. Dalton,‘Peacemaking’, pp. 15–16, pointing out that not all river meetings imply equality. Barrow, ‘Dee-Rowing’, pp. 88–9. See S. Matthews, ‘King Edgar, Wales and Chester: The Welsh Dimension of the Ceremony of 973’, Northern History 44.2 (2007), 9–26, at p. 13; and G. Molyneaux, ‘Why were Some Tenth-Century English Kings Presented as Rulers of Britain?’, TRHS 6th ser. 21 (2011), 59–91, at p. 67.

52

Meeting places and times of assemblies have been more practical than symbolic: Chester was a natural place to meet the Welsh and northern rulers because it was readily accessible by sea. It seems most unlikely that a meeting with the English ruler at an English centre would be felt to be truly ‘equal’, and it should not be forgotten that for the rulers of Alba and Strathclyde Chester lay far from the safety of their own borders. Other objections to the traditional interpretation of this event tend to emphasize the uncertainty of our sources as to which foreign rulers attended; yet, problematic though this may be, surely uncertainty as to who submitted does not necessarily reduce the likelihood that a number of igures did. It seems, therefore, that the old orthodoxy continues to make better sense of these events. The year 973 was clearly the high point of Edgar’s reign: the monastic reform movement was in full swing; the royal styles in his diplomas relect a conidence and ambition not seen since Æthelstan’s day; and the second coronation at Bath, a city rich in ‘imperial’ heritage, followed by a trip to Chester, another Roman centre, all betray a hegemonic conception of rule which is hard to reconcile with a neutral act of ‘peace-making’.34 The foreign rulers involved certainly retained a degree of independence, but they came to Edgar and not vice versa. As Chester lay not only on major Insular sea routes, but also at the end of Watling Street, easily accessible to the great and good of the English realm, it was an ideal location for a unique demonstration of authority.35 Edgar’s hegemonic position in these years seems, moreover, to be alluded to by Lantfred of Winchester, who around this time describes him as ‘ruling many peoples distinct in appearance’ (gentibus imperante compluribus habitu distantibus).36 These ‘diplomatic’ meetings thus form a relatively homogeneous group. They are almost exclusively reported in the Chronicle and as far as can be ascertained generated neither law-codes nor diplomas, though there is every reason to believe that a considerable contingent of followers was present. Their focus was what might somewhat anachronistically be described as ‘foreign afairs’, and it is perhaps not surprising that matters of a more ‘domestic’ nature were generally left to one side. ‘Legislative’ meetings The next group under discussion are the assemblies which are known to have issued law-codes. It has been noted above that ‘legislative’ assemblies 34

35

36

Nelson, ‘Inauguration Rituals’, pp. 301–3;Wormald, English Law, p. 442; Keynes, ‘Edgar’, pp. 48–51; Molyneaux, ‘Rulers of Britain’, pp. 67–74. See C. P. Lewis, ‘Edgar, Chester, and the Kingdom of the Mercians, 957–9’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 104–23, at 122. Lantfred, Translatio, prol. (ed. Lapidge, p. 258). This work was written 971 × 973/4.

53

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England may have been distinguished from their ‘dispositive’ counterparts, and, since the sources raise somewhat diferent issues, they will be discussed separately before returning to the issue of their relationship. Of eleven law-codes and two treaties preserved for this period, eight codes either locate their place of issue or refer to locatable earlier assemblies.37 The only location to appear twice is Exeter, where Edward and Æthelstan both issued codes. Although lying in a somewhat peripheral region of Wessex, Exeter was accessible by sea as well as road, as it lay at the end of the Fosse Way and was linked by road to Dorchester.38 It is possible that Exeter was speciically associated with law-making, and a few of the concerns of these codes overlap (the means by which a man can enter the service of a new lord and traicking in stolen cattle), perhaps suggesting that Æthelstan consciously chose Exeter in order to conjure up the memory of Edward’s decrees.39 Nevertheless, these are common themes in tenth-century law, and, since charters were also issued from assemblies at Exeter, it may simply have been an important assembly site. The majority of other legislative assemblies are to be found south of the Thames, often in central Wessex. Æthelstan issued his irst code at Grately, Hampshire, near the Port Way,40 and further meetings to discuss his legislation took place at Faversham, Kent, just of Watling Street; at Thunderield, Surrey, nearby the Roman road running from London to Brighton;41 and at Whittlebury, Northamptonshire, not far from Watling Street. Under Edmund we know of two further locatable meetings: one at London, a city of growing importance, conveniently located between Wessex, Mercia and the Danelaw, at the centre of the Roman road network; and one at Colyton, Devon, a royal vill accessible by sea or by the road running from Dorchester to Exeter.42 Finally, Edgar is known to have issued legislation at Andover, Hampshire, a royal vill just of the Port Way. Overall, our picture of law-making assemblies is patchy, but the clear preference is for meetings at accessible locations, often though not exclusively within central Wessex.43 ‘Dispositive’ meetings It is now time to turn to the so-called ‘dispositive’ meetings, which produced royal charters. The evidence here is much fuller than for lawmaking assemblies, but far from even: in the ninth-century West Saxon 37 39 40 42 43

Appendix, Table 2. 38 Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 113–16. II Ew 5, 7 (ed. Liebermann I, 143–5); V As 1–2 (ibid., pp. 166–9). See also Lavelle, ‘Why Grateley?’ 41 Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 62–4. Ibid., pp. 113–16. A discussion and list of royal vills is provided by Sawyer, ‘Royal Tun’. Wormald, English Law, pp. 437–8.

54

Meeting places and times of assemblies

D

North Sea

a n e la w

W at

lin

g

St

re

ine

ci

eet

er

Str

M

Erm

et

a Whittlebury (924 × 939)

Fo s

se

Wa y

London (Easter, 939 × 946)

Wessex

Grately (924 × 939)

Andover

(959 × 975)

Thunderfield N

Exeter (899 × 924; Christmas, 924 × 939)

Faversham (924 × 939)

(924 × 939)

Colyton (939 × 946)

English Channel

0

50

150 km

2 ‘Legislative’ assemblies, 871–978

charter tradition draftsmen quite frequently note a diploma’s place of transaction and this carries on into Edward the Elder’s reign; after 909 we possess no further documents until Æthelstan’s reign, when, thanks to ‘Æthelstan A’, who dates and locates all the transactions he records, we 55

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England enjoy relatively detailed information for the years 928–35; later draftsmen, however, were less forthcoming in this regard, and our information thereafter becomes thinner, often drawn from ‘alliterative’ charters, which have a tendency to record these details. Under Alfred and Edward, charters record a total of thirteen meetings at ten diferent locations. The two sites attested more than once are Southampton, Hampshire, visited three times (although one visit is only attested by suspect documents), and Winchester, Hampshire, visited twice.44 All of these multiple visits took place under Edward, relecting the somewhat fuller charter record for the years 899–909. We know that Edward was very committed to Winchester: not only did his mother, Ealhswith, found the Nunnaminster, but Edward himself established the New Minster, where he was later interred. The concentration of assemblies around here and the nearby port of Southampton therefore further relects Edward’s interest in the centre, and it has been suggested that the court settled down at Winchester during these years.45 Winchester was certainly well located for this purpose, as it was connected to the rest of the kingdom by the road running north from Southampton to Silchester, where it joined the Port Way to London.46 It was also accessible by sea via Southampton. Of the other sites at which Alfred and Edward are known to have held meetings, the majority can be characterized as royal vills: Chelsea, Middlesex; Woolmer, Hampshire; Axminster, Devon; Milton, ?Dorset; Bicanleag (possibly Bickleigh, Devon); and Epsom, Surrey.47 All of these would have been accessible by a combination of sea, river and/ or land routes.48 The inal meeting place, Malmesbury, Wiltshire, located on the Fosse Way, may also have boasted a vill, though as an ecclesiastical centre it might have been deemed a suitable assembly site in any case. In general, a tendency for meetings to cluster around central Wessex is visible, though the assemblies at Epsom and Chelsea show that kings could hold meetings elsewhere. Most gatherings seem to have been held at royal residences, though towns (Southampton and Winchester) and perhaps also churches (Malmesbury) make occasional appearances. We 44 45

46 47

48

Appendix, Table 3. WinchLV, ed. Keynes, p. 16. See also B. Yorke, ‘The Bishops of Winchester, the Kings of Wessex and the Development of Winchester in the Ninth and Early Tenth Centuries’, Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 40 (1984), 61–70, at pp. 65–9. Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 84–91. Of these, all but Epsom appear in Sawyer’s list of royal vills (‘Royal Tun’, pp. 289–99). The main argument against its inclusion, its later ownership by Chertsey Abbey, does not seem fatal, as other vills are known to have been alienated from the isc in the intervening years (cf. ibid., p. 280). See Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 64–8 and 78–80. The Milton recorded could be Milton Abbas, Dorset, or Milton Regis, Kent, but both were accessible: the irst from the Port Way, and the second from Watling Street.

56

Meeting places and times of assemblies should not, of course, presume that these categories were exclusive: kings often held vills in the vicinity of churches and towns, while urban centres might grow up around churches or royal residences. Still, charter draftsmen made a conscious decision when they chose to refer to such sites as villae or civitates, and it is worth registering such usages as an indication of what contemporaries might have considered distinctive about a site. As mentioned, under Æthelstan we have our clearest picture of assembly practice and in particular between Easter 928 and December 935 we encounter almost half of the locatable ‘dispositive’ meetings during the entire period, all of which are also dated. However, before we delve into this material, we must irst examine Æthelstan’s earliest recorded assembly: his coronation at Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey, on 4 September 925.49 The signiicance of this event lies in the fact that it is the irst demonstrable use of Kingston as a coronation site and may well mark the start of the tradition of royal inauguration there.50 Following the direct incorporation of Mercia into the ‘kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons’ in Edward’s reign it may have been felt that a new coronation centre was needed, and for these purposes Kingston was ideally situated: located on the border between Wessex and Mercia (and also between these and the Danelaw), Kingston symbolized the equality of the kingdom’s constituent regions, acknowledging the new axis of the realm, running along the Thames.51 However, symbolic of the expanding kingdom as the site doubtless was, there might also have been pragmatic grounds for Æthelstan’s choice. Æthelstan had only acceded to Wessex upon his half-brother Ælfweard’s death and initially struggled for support in the region, particularly at Winchester, as we have seen. The earliest years of his reign are largely free of diplomas – itself perhaps a sign of political instability – and the irst charter Æthelstan is known to have issued for land in Wessex, which perhaps not coincidentally is also the irst to be attested by Bishop Frithestan of Winchester, is dated Easter 928, some nine months after Æthelstan’s conquest of York and over two and a half years after his consecration.52 Before this we know little of the king’s movements, and the only moments at which we can locate him with any certainty are at his coronation, at the betrothal of his sister to Sihtric at Tamworth (30 January 926) and possibly at the betrothal of 49 50

51

ASC 924 BCD (=924–5) (ed. Taylor, p. 50–1); S 394. Foot, Æthelstan, p. 74; G. R. Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies and Regional Loyalties:Wessex, Mercia and Kent, c. 802–939’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Sheield, 2007), pp. 300–1; J. L. Nelson, ‘The First Use of the Second Anglo-Saxon Ordo’, in Myth, Rulership, Church and Charters: Essays in Honour of Nicholas Brooks, ed. J. Barrow and A. Wareham (Aldershot, 2008), pp. 117–26, at 122, n. 27. Cf. Keynes, ‘Edward’, p. 48. Cf. Keynes, ‘Alfred and the Mercians’, p. 34. 52 S 400.

57

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England

D a

North Sea

n e la w

W at

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St

re

ine

Erm

et

er

eet

Str

M

ci

a

Fo s

se

Wa y

Malmesbury (871 × 899 [?890s]) Chelsea (898 × 899)

Wessex

Winchester (900, c. 909) N

Epsom (882) Woolmer (898)

Southampton (c. 901, 901, 903)

Axminster (901) ?Milton (903) ?Bickleigh (903)

English Channel

0

50

150 km

3 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 871–924

58

Meeting places and times of assemblies his half-sister Eadhild to Duke Hugh of Francia at Abingdon (c. 926), all of which took place outside the traditional West Saxon heartlands.53 It is, therefore, entirely possible that Æthelstan’s weak position in these years prevented him from entering the region regularly, or at least made a coronation there seem unwise.54 However, whether a choice born of necessity or not, the selection of Kingston was an important gesture, one which would have conjured up memories of the earlier agreement forged by Æthelstan’s ancestors Ecgberht and Æthelwulf with Archbishop Ceolnoth of Canterbury.55 Hence, whatever the reasons, Æthelstan’s coronation was to set the tone for his successors. The remaining evidence for Æthelstan’s reign comes largely from ‘Æthelstan A’ diplomas, which provide our best evidence from this era. Nevertheless, even here we know of the king’s location only ive times over the course of the year at best, preventing the reconstruction of an itinerary except in exceptional cases.56 For example, two assemblies held less than a month apart in Hampshire in June 931 suggest that Æthelstan did not travel far from central Wessex in the interim; a series of charters issued over the winter of 932–3 place the king in Wiltshire on three separate occasions between 24 December and 26 January, again implying that he did not stray far in the meantime; and in the summer of 934, when Æthelstan set out against the kings of Alba and Strathclyde, we know that in the space of ten days he travelled from Winchester to Nottingham, a pace of about 25 kilometres a day.57 When we turn to the assembly sites themselves, a few locations already encountered reappear: Exeter (Easter 928 and 9 November 932), Milton (30 August 932) and Winchester (28 May 934).58 However, most of the locations recorded are new. Of these, the majority are designated vills (villae), including Lyminster, Sussex (Easter 930); Chippenham,Wiltshire (29 April 930 and 26 January 933); Colchester, Essex (23 March 931); King’s Worthy, Hampshire (20 June 931); East Wellow, Hampshire (15 July 931); Lifton, Devon (12 November 931); Amesbury, Wiltshire (24 December 932); Wilton, Wiltshire (11 January 933); Dorchester, Dorset (7 April

53 54

55 56 57

58

Appendix, Table 1; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 260–1. See Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies’, pp. 309–11, along somewhat similar lines; and cf. Foot, Æthelstan, p. 74. S 1438; Brooks, Early History, pp. 323–5; Keynes, ‘West Saxon Charters’, pp. 112–14, esp. 113, n. 1. For what follows, see Appendix, Table 3. This speed tallies well with the movements of continental rulers of the earlier Middle Ages: R. Hennebicque (= Le Jan), ‘Espaces sauvages et chasses royale dans le Nord de la France, VIIème– IXème siècles’, Revue du Nord 62 (1980), 35–57; Brühl, Fodrum I, 66 and 162–3; McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 178–86; Bachrach, ‘Animals and Warfare’, pp. 716–20 and 724–5. For what follows, see Appendix, Table 3.

59

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England 934 and 21 December 935); Buckingham (13 September 934); Frome, Somerset (16 December 934); and Hamsey, Sussex (924 × 939).59 All of these sites were located on or near transportation arteries, be they local tracks, Roman roads or water routes.60 The remaining meetings were held at what are characterized as urban centres (civitates): Exeter (as above), Cirencester (935), Nottingham (7 June 934) and Winchester (as above), all of which also lie on major routes.61 In general, it would seem that royal estates and residences were preferred for assemblies in Wessex, whereas elsewhere urban centres, often located more irmly on the Roman road network, were favoured.62 This suggests that the West Saxon heartlands formed the centre of the kingdom (what German scholars would term a Kern- or Königslandschaft), within which Æthelstan was somewhat less troubled by issues of accessibility and provisions. Thus the tendency was to hold assemblies at vills in Wessex, with urban centres playing a more minor role (mostly outside these West Saxon heartlands) and religious foundations barely making an appearance (the exception, Winchester, was an important town and royal residence in its own right). These meetings clearly illustrate how focused Æthelstan’s kingship was on central Wessex: of twenty-one meetings known to have issued diplomas in his reign, only six or seven were held outside the boundaries of the traditional kingdom of Wessex and only four north of the Thames. When Æthelstan held meetings elsewhere, moreover, we can often adduce extenuating circumstances. The meeting at Nottingham took place during Æthelstan’s march north against Constantin II of Alba and Owain of Strathclyde and that at Buckingham upon his return.63 The two meetings at Exeter might be explained by its strategic location and importance as an urban centre alone; however, they may also relect Æthelstan’s interest in Cornwall and the south-west, which we know of thanks to William of Malmesbury’s account of how, following the 59

60

61

62 63

Only the last is not in Sawyer’s list (‘Royal Tun’, pp. 289–99), but the reference in S 427 (BCS 705) to it as a cynelicun hamæ clearly indicates a royal vill. Though Wilton is referred to as a ciuitas in S 379 (WinchNM 8), this document is corrupt and all other indications point towards Wilton being a royal vill in these years. See Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 120–2, 246–50 and map 17. Note that the map in Wormald, English Law, p. 436, leaves the impression that Lifton was more inaccessible than might have been the case. Colchester has been excluded from the list of ‘towns’ as it is referred to as a villa omnibus notissima in S 412 (BCS 674), as has Dorchester, since its status is unclear: S 391 (BCS 739) terms it a villa omnibus notissima, whilst S 434 (BCS 716) names it a ciuitas celeberrima, although neither of these documents is above suspicion. See Maddicott, Origins, pp. 16–17. S 407, 426. This campaign is recorded in ASC 934 BCDEF, 933 A (= 934) (ed. Bately, p. 70); and Historia de Sancto Cuthberto, cc. 26–7, ed. T. Johnson South, Anglo-Saxon Texts 3 (Woodbridge, 2002), pp. 64–6.

60

Meeting places and times of assemblies

D a

North Sea

n e la w Nottingham

W at

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(7 June 934) St

eet

ci

Str

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ine

M

Fos s

et

Erm

eW ay

re

a

Buckingham (13 Sept. 934)

Colchester (23 Mar. 931)

Cirencester (935) Chippenham (29 Apr. 930, 26 Jan. 933)

We

Kingston-upon-Thames

ssex

(4 Sept. 925)

Amesbury Frome (16 Dec. 934) (24 Dec. 932) King’s Worthy (20 June 931) Wilton (11 Jan. 933) Winchester (28 May 934) Exeter N East Wellow (Easter [16 Apr.] 928, 9 Nov. 932) Hamsey (924 × 939) ?Milton(15 July 931) Lyminster Dorchester (3 Apr. 930) (30 Aug. 932) Lifton (12 Nov. 931) (7 Apr. 934, 21 Dec. [935])

English Channel 0

50

150 km

4 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 924–39

61

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England submission at Eamont Bridge in 927, Æthelstan drove the Cornish from Exeter and set the border at the Tamar.64 Although the potential importance of Æthelstan’s Exeter assemblies (particularly the irst, at Easter 928, soon after the Eamont submission and at roughly the time that William’s account seems to place him in the city) in this process has long been appreciated, less attention has been given to a further meeting held at Lifton, right by the River Tamar itself, on 12 November 931.65 One cannot help but associate this meeting with Æthelstan’s manoeuvring in the region, and it is tempting to see this assembly, held right by the new border, as representing a conirmation of the arrangements established a few years earlier. Signiicantly the Welsh rulers, including Hywel Dda, the ruler of Deheubarth (which lay directly across the Bristol Channel from Cornwall), attended all three of these assemblies and their presence was presumably designed to ensure (or enforce) their agreement regarding Æthelstan’s increasingly direct control of the region, at the same time as securing the Welsh frontier while the king concentrated his attentions elsewhere.66 Lifton’s potential signiicance goes beyond its border location, however: it also boasted earthworks, which may have been associated with the nearby burh at Lydford, which lay just upstream.67 As such, Lifton was a centre of royal authority at its most militant, a most appropriate place for Æthelstan to assert the new political order in the region. The overwhelming impression, therefore, is that Æthelstan did not hold assemblies outside the core regions of his kingdom without grounds; Mercian and Danelaw magnates were expected to come south, rather than the court travel north. When assemblies were held elsewhere they tended to be at urban centres, as we have seen, perhaps suggesting that the network of royal vills was thinner outside Wessex.68 Although we know little about provisions for the court in this period, when the evidence becomes clearer in the form of the ‘farm of one night’ recorded 64

65 66

67

68

WM, GRA II.134 (ed. Mynors, p. 216). See H. P. R. Finberg, Lucerna: Studies of Some Problems in the Early History of England (London, 1964), pp. 110–13; O. Padel, ‘The Charter of Lanlawren (Cornwall)’, in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, ed. K. O’Brien O’Keefe and A. Orchard, 2 vols. (Toronto, 2005), II, 75–85; L. Olson, ‘The Absorption of Cornwall into Anglo-Saxon England’, in Between Intrusions: Britain and Ireland between the Romans and the Normans, ed. P. O’Neill (Sydney, 2004), pp. 94–102; and C. Insley, ‘Athelstan, Charters and the English in Cornwall’, in Charters and Charter Scholarship in Britain and Ireland, ed. M. T. Flanagan and J. A. Green (Basingstoke, 2005), pp. 15–31. S 416. Cf. H. P. R. Finberg, The Formation of England, 550–1042 (St Albans, 1974), pp. 151–2. It is interesting to note that the Welsh rulers may also have accompanied Æthelstan on his northern campaign of 934, since they attest S 425 and 407, issued at Winchester and Nottingham during the march north. D. Hill, ‘Gazetteer of Burghal Hidages Sites’, in The Defence of Wessex: The Burghal Hidage and Anglo-Saxon Fortiications, ed. D. Hill and A. R. Rumble (Manchester, 1996), pp. 189–231, at 209. Maddicott, Origins, pp. 16–17.

62

Meeting places and times of assemblies in Domesday Book, the preponderance of these obligations lie in the south, particularly in central Wessex.Whilst Pauline Staford suggests that this distribution is a product of the southerly itinerary, one might read the evidence the other way around: royal visits north of the Thames may have been rare precisely because there were fewer iscal lands and administrative arrangements there to sustain them.69 For the years between 939 and 978 we have only nineteen further locatable meetings evidenced by charters. The diplomas recording these (a number of which are suspect) are clearly the exceptions and ‘alliterative’ charters in particular seem more inclined to record their place of issue than other documents, though even here the practice is inconsistent. Still, a rough overview is possible. As earlier, meetings are most often held at royal vills, including Colchester, Essex (940); Chippenham, Wiltshire (940); Winchcombe, Gloucestershire (942); Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey (Eadred’s coronation in 946); Godeshylle, possibly Gadshill, Kent (948); Somerton, Somerset (949); Abingdon, Berkshire (950); Cheddar, Somerset (29 November 956 and Easter ?968); Edington, Wiltshire (9 May 957); Penkridge, Stafordshire (958); Woolmer, Hampshire (Easter 970); and Pydelan, possibly Puddletown, Dorset (976).70 Some of these were clearly preferred assembly sites, as they have already been encountered: Colchester, Chippenham and Kingston had hosted meetings under Æthelstan, while Alfred had held an assembly at Woolmer. The vills making their irst appearance it the pattern observed earlier, tending to be located in central Wessex, on or near major routes.71 Four further meetings are attested at what draftsmen describe as urban centres: one at Cirencester (956), one at Bath (misdated Pentecost 974 [for 973]) and two at London (973 and 965 × 975), whose appearance is a harbinger of things to come.72 A few important religious centres also hosted meetings, but of these Bath is clearly referred to in the relevant (forged) charter as an urbs, whilst the meeting at Abingdon is said to have been held at a regalis uilula, suggesting that the function of these places as religious centres was of at best secondary importance.73 In fact, only one slightly suspicious ‘Dunstan B’ charter mentions being enacted at a church, and the impression is that, despite the importance of 69

70

71 72 73

P. Staford, ‘The “Farm of One Night” and the Organization of King Edward’s Estates in Domesday’ (1980), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. XIII, at pp. 500–2. See also Lavelle, Estates, pp. 13–47. Appendix, Table 3. Of these meeting places, only Godeshylle is not in Sawyer’s list (‘Royal Tun’, pp. 289–99).The charter recording this meeting, S 537, is spurious, but evidently the draftsman had a royal vill in mind. See Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 84–9, 92–4, 101–3, 108–10, 124–5, 135–7 and 145–6. Cf. Wormald, English Law, p. 437. S 799 (BCS 1266), S 552a (not published). One might consider parallels with late Carolingian and Ottonian Klosterpfalzen here: Brühl, Fodrum I, 29–30 and 122–4.

63

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the monastic reform, assemblies were not generally held at ecclesiastical centres.74 In this respect an interesting contrast is ofered by the reign of Henry II of Germany (1002–24), whose reforming eforts went hand in hand with a much more extensive exploitation of episcopal and monastic centres both as assembly sites and as stopping points during his travels.75 That said, only ive locatable meetings post-date Edgar’s accession and for three of these our information rests on suspect documents, so we cannot rule out the possibility that monasteries may have hosted more assemblies in the reform era.76 In any case the centre of royal power was irmly south of the Thames: only four of these nineteen meetings were held north of the Thames, one of which comes from Edgar’s reign in Mercia. Moreover, as under Æthelstan, meetings outside the West Saxon Kernlandschaft tend to be held at centres on major Roman roads, often with an urban character. ‘D i plomatic’, ‘le g islative ’ and ‘di sp o sitive ’ asse mbl ie s : the re lati onshi p revi site d It is time now to return to the question of the relationship between the diferent types of assembly discussed hitherto. As noted, there are grounds for treating meetings between English rulers and their neighbours as something of a special case: often arranged while on campaign, these events did not generally issue law-codes or charters and their focus was apparently on matters of ‘foreign policy’. The distinction between these and more standard gatherings is encapsulated by Edgar’s closely related assemblies of 973: irst Edgar was crowned at a more typical meeting of the witan at Pentecost (11 May) at Bath (an event which is also attested by charter, albeit a spurious one), before he proceeded north to meet the rulers of Wales and North Britain at Chester. Nevertheless, one should not presume too strong a distinction between ‘diplomatic’ and other gatherings: meetings with foreign rulers could produce treaties, which were clearly regarded as having a legal character, while foreign rulers or embassies might be received at assemblies with a more ‘regnal’ character, such as when the Welsh rulers came to court in Wessex. More fraught and far less clear, however, is the distinction between ‘legislative’ and ‘dispositive’ meetings of the witan. This distinction was irst suggested, largely implicitly, by the table of assemblies in Patrick 74 75

76

S 802. B. Heusinger, ‘Servitium regis in der deutschen Kaiserzeit. Untersuchungen über die wirtschaftlichen Verhältnisse des deutschen Königtums 900–1250’, AfU 8 (1923), 26–159, at pp. 92–6; J. Fleckenstein, Die Hofkapelle der deutschen Könige, 2 vols., MGH: Schriften 16 (Stuttgart, 1959–66), II, 126–45. These are the meetings at Cheddar (S 806), Woolmer (S 779, 776) and Bath (S 799).

64

Meeting places and times of assemblies

North Sea D a n e la w

W at

lin

g

St

Penkridge (958)

re

se Fo s

ci

eet

er

Str

M

ine

Wa y

Erm

et

a

Winchcombe (942) Colchester (940) Cirencester (956)

Abingdon (950) London (973, 963 × 975)

Bath (′974′ [973])

Chippenham (940)

Wessex Cheddar (29 Nov. 956, Easter, ?968) Somerton (Easter [22 Apr.] 949) N

Edington (9 May 957)

?Gadshill (948) Kingston-upon-Thames (946)

Woolmer (Easter [27 Mar.] 970)

?Puddletown (976)

English Channel

0

50

150 km

5 ‘Dispositive’ assemblies, 939–78

65

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Wormald’s Making of English Law, which drew attention to the fact that no law-making assembly in these years is also attested by a royal charter.77 It is important, however, to note how patchy our records are (as Wormald himself did): except for the period of operation of ‘Æthelstan A’, for which we have nineteen meetings attested by diplomas over a period of seven years, on the evidence of royal charters alone we know of only thirteen locatable assemblies during the ifty-seven years from 871 to 927 and only nineteen or twenty meetings for the forty-three years from 936 until 978. If we work on the assumption that the witan met three to ive times a year,78 then charters at best record the locations of only about one sixth of meetings. Moreover, law-codes are also often reticent about their place of issue and are never precisely dated, generally making it impossible to know whether individual codes and charters might have been issued on the same occasion. Certainly in Exeter we have a location at which both ‘legislative’ and ‘dispositive’ assemblies were regularly held, so it would seem that no strict distinction was made in terms of the sites favoured. Indeed, since both assemblies attested by law-codes and charters show the same tendency to be held at vills in central Wessex, we should probably presume that the lack of clear overlap results from the imperfect nature of the surviving evidence, rather than a formal functional division into diferent types of assembly. Shortly after our period there is, in fact, evidence for charters and law-codes being issued on the same occasion: Æthelred II seems to have issued his Wantage code and S 891 from the same gathering at Easter 997.79 Given that it was possible to issue charters and law-codes on the same occasion at this point, we should surely assume that this was also the case earlier. This is not to say that assemblies may not at have met with speciic business in mind, such as the making of laws or issuing of diplomas – this is inherently likely – but simply to point out that it is unlikely that a strict distinction prevailed; as always with efective rulership, lexibility was presumably the order of the day. Instructive in this respect is the evidence from the Carolingian realms of the eighth and ninth centuries, where secular and ecclesiastical legislation was routinely issued alongside royal charters: although an assembly might meet with one type of business in mind, it clearly was not limited to this alone.80 77

78 79

80

Wormald, English Law, p. 438. Cf. Lavelle, Estates, pp. 50–9, taking Wormald’s largely implicit suggestion to be far irmer than he may ever have intended. See below, p. 75. Liebermann, Gesetze III, 156; Keynes, Diplomas, p. 102, n. 56; B. O’Brien, ‘Authority and Community’, in A Social History of England, 900–1200, ed. J. Crick and E. van Houts (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 76–97, at 77–9. Cf. Wormald, English Law, pp. 443–4. Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 77–106; J. L. Nelson, Charles the Bald (London, 1992), pp. 43–50; McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 222–33.

66

Meeting places and times of assemblies Although narrative sources are most likely to describe meetings involving the submission of neighbouring rulers, they also occasionally report more generic assemblies, presumably of the kind known to have produced both law-codes and charters. It is perhaps telling that these sources refer to such events simply as assemblies, not specifying form and function. These additional meetings attested in narrative sources took place at Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey (both Æthelstan’s coronation and an assembly in Edward the Martyr’s reign, possibly his coronation); Abingdon, Berkshire (c. 926); Bradford, possibly Bradford-upon-Avon (c. 959); Bath, Somerset (Edgar’s second coronation in 973); London (974 × 975); Kirtlington, Oxfordshire (977); and Calne, Wiltshire (977).81 Of these, the Kingston and Bath coronations are also relected in the charter record, though none can be securely associated with known legislation. These locations it the observed pattern closely: only one lies north of the Thames, in that case at Kirtlington, not far north of the important centre at Abingdon, just of Akeman Street and the road linking this to Dorchester-on-Thames and Silchester.82 Otherwise they are held at vills in Wessex (Calne and Abingdon), at the coronation vill of Kingston and at Bath. P re l iminary conclusi on s Although an analysis of the meeting places of the witan is inevitably frustrating, the evidence from narrative sources, charters and law-codes creates a remarkably coherent picture: by far the most common place for an assembly was a royal vill in central Wessex, and there is no visible trend towards sedentary rulership. Indeed, although arguments have been put forward for Winchester becoming a ‘capital’ or ‘proto-capital’ in these years,83 this holds only for the later years of Alfred’s reign and the earlier years of Edward’s, and even then Winchester never became the exclusive meeting place of the witan.84 Although some of the locations attested are known to have functioned as hundredal meeting places, this is true of less than a quarter, and in most of these cases what seems to be distinctive about the site is that it 81 83

84

Appendix, Table 1. 82 Margary, Roman Roads, pp. 163–5. M. Biddle, ‘Winchester: The Development of an Early Capital’, in Vor- und Frühformen der europäischen Stadt im Mittelalter, vol. I, Abhandlungen der Akamedie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen 83, ed. H. Jankuhn, W. Schlesinger and H. Steuer (Göttingen, 1973), pp. 229–61, at 261; T. Zotz, ‘Kingship and Palaces in the Ottonian Kingdom and in the Kingdom of England’, in England and the Continent in the Tenth Century: Studies in Honour of Wilhelm Levison (1876–1947), ed. D. Rollason, C. Leyser and H. Williams (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 311–30, at 324–7. WinchLV, ed. Keynes, p. 16;Yorke, ‘Bishops’, p. 67; Foot, Æthelstan, p. 78; Appendix, Tables 1–3.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England was the centre of a substantial royal estate.85 As such, there is little evidence for established local meeting places being consciously exploited for royal assemblies (though it may be in some cases that royal estates had grown up around earlier assembly sites) and in general the meeting places of the witan seem to constitute a somewhat distinct group.86 Nevertheless, the locations of meetings certainly were chosen to exploit local ‘topographies of power’, and it is notable that many of the vills which hosted assemblies are known (or believed) to have been fortiied centres mentioned in the ‘Burghal Hidage’.87 This probably relects both the importance of these forts within the West Saxon polity and the fact that burhs were often built on or near existing royal centres. It is clear, moreover, that assembly sites might be chosen in a timely and symbolic fashion, as in the case of Æthelstan’s Lifton assembly or Edgar’s Bath coronation and the subsequent meeting with his neighbouring rulers at Chester. Interestingly, Alex Woolf notes that a number of the assemblies attended by foreign rulers during Æthelstan’s reign were held at centres which possessed amphitheatres, and he speculates that these might have been consciously chosen for such events.88 Though this is by no means an implausible suggestion, a degree of caution is called for here: Roman centres were often better connected to the road network than other vills, a fact which may just as well explain these choices; moreover, meetings attended by Welsh rulers are also known to have been held at royal vills which did not boast such Roman structures, such as Milton, King’s Worthy and Frome, so it is by no means clear that the choice of sites with amphitheatres or Roman heritage was either conscious or a general rule.89 It may simply be that neighbouring rulers only appeared for particularly grand assemblies, for which old Roman centres were more likely to be chosen on logistical grounds. What royal vills were actually like it is diicult to know. Excavations at Cheddar have revealed a relatively modest residence and, if representative, then many of those attending assemblies would have had to sleep 85

86

87

88

O. S. Anderson, English Hundred-Names, 3 vols., Lunds Universitets Arsskrift 30.1, 35.5, 37.1 (Lund, 1934–9), lists the following as hundredal meeting places: Frome, Malmesbury, Axminster, Kingston-upon-Thames, Chippenham, Wellow, Lifton, Amesbury, Somerton and Bath. Though Anderson’s lists will be updated by the ‘Electronic Anderson’ (see www.ucl.ac.uk/archaeology/ research/projects/assembly/ElectronicAnderson, accessed 20 May 2011), the distribution seems unlikely to change substantially. This may be what Wulfstan had in mind when he observed that assemblies used to take place ‘at well-known places’ (on namcuðan stowan): VIII Atr 37 (ed. Liebermann I, 267); with Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 126–9; and Wormald, English Law, pp. 435–7. Of the sites in Hill, ‘Gazetteer’, ten appear as meeting places of the witan: Malmesbury, Oxford, Buckingham, Winchester, Southampton, Wilton, Bath, Wareham, Exeter and Lifton. Woolf, Pictland, pp. 167–8. 89 See Keynes, Atlas, table XXXVI.

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Meeting places and times of assemblies in tents or in the open.90 This perhaps inds conirmation in a colophon of the ‘Durham Ritual’, to the efect that the scribe was writing in his bishop’s tent, not to mention in the many wills recording bequests of tents.91 However, some centres may have had more provision for guests than Cheddar and tents might not only have been important while at meetings, but also for the journey to and from them. That there might be distinctions between vills in terms of form and function is suggested by the association of Kingston-upon-Thames with coronations. Other functional associations are less clear, but given the joy that the kings of this period took in hunting, it seems probable that some centres were associated with this, an activity that they doubtless shared with their nobles.92 At least one centre, Bicanleag, is described as a uilla uenatoria, and a further candidate for a ‘hunting-lodge’ is Cheddar itself, since B.’s Vita S. Dunstani describes how immediately after Dunstan had been expelled from Edmund’s court at Cheddar the king almost died while out hunting.93 That other vills or towns had speciic functions or associations seems probable, but further evidence in most cases is simply not forthcoming. Why kings so rarely strayed north of the Thames is a good question.A relative lack of royal resources may have played a role: although Æthelstan and Edgar spent time north of the Thames during their reigns in Mercia, and kings did venture north when the occasion called for it, the impression is that this was avoided.94 Moreover, we have seen that assemblies north of the Thames were normally held at well-connected centres with

90

91 92

93 94

P. Rahtz et al., The Saxon and Medieval Palaces at Cheddar: Excavations 1960–2, BAR: British Series 65 (Oxford, 1979); J. Blair, ‘Palaces or Minsters? Northampton and Cheddar Reconsidered’, ASE 25 (1996), 97–121, and Church, pp. 279–90; A. Reynolds, Later Anglo-Saxon England: Life and Landscape (Stroud, 1999), pp. 112–19. Cf. Zotz, ‘Kingship’, p. 321, on royal residences on a similar scale within the Ottonian Reich. The Durham Ritual, ed. T. J. Brown, EEMF 16 (Copenhagen, 1969), f. 84r; S 1488, 1490, 1539. Hunting is mentioned in a number of sources: Asser, VÆ, cc. 22 and 74–6 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 19–20 and 54–62); B., VD, cc. 13–14 (ed.Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 42–50); Vita Edwardi regis I.6, ed. F. Barlow, The Life of King Edward who Rests at Westminster, OMT, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1992), p. 62. Cf. J. Jarnut, ‘Die frühmittelalterliche Jagd unter rechts- und sozialgeschichtlichen Askpekten’ (1985), repr. in and cited from his Herrschaft und Ethnogenese im Frühmittelalter. Gesammelte Aufsätze (Münster, 2002), pp. 375–418; and J. L. Nelson, ‘The Lord’s Anointed and the People’s Choice: Carolingian Royal Ritual’ (1987), repr. in and cited from her The FrankishWorld 750–900 (London, 1996), pp. 99–131, at 120–4. B., VD, cc. 13–14 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 42–50). See also Lavelle, Estates, pp. 73–6. This parallels the position of Bavaria and Swabia within the Ottonian realm, which sustained visits when kings were en route to Italy, but were rarely sought out on their own: E. MüllerMertens, Die Reichsstruktur im Spiegel der Herrschaftspraxis Ottos des Großen, Forschungen zur mittelalterlichen Geschichte 25 ([E.] Berlin, 1980), pp. 138–9; H. Keller, ‘Reichsstruktur und Herrschaftsaufassung in ottonisch-frühsalischer Zeit’ (1982), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft, pp. 51–90 and 213–37 (notes), at 53–7.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England an urban character. Indeed, an assembly of the entire kingdom required much more support than the odd visit and it may be that the regular and sustained presence of the king, witan and their followers north of the Thames was not always practicable.95 However, by the eleventh century kings had fairly substantial holdings north of the Thames so a lack of resources alone seems insuicient to explain the extreme rarity of assemblies in the region. The main reason is probably to be sought in the nature of the English polity itself. A substantial change took place here between 871 and 927: while the West Saxon kingdom of the late ninth century is notable for the degree of control radiating from court, as the realm expanded, so too did the size of the ealdordom, and kings found themselves delegating more and more authority and ruling ever more extensively.96 For much of this period Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ and his successors enjoyed extensive holdings and authority in the eastern Danelaw, whilst Ælfhere and his kin attained a similar position in Mercia. Kings did not, of course, abrogate all authority within these regions, but they certainly made it felt more indirectly.97 To what degree a distinctive ‘Mercian’ or ‘Danelaw’ identity continued to exist alongside the ‘English’ identity fostered at court is one of the great unknowns of the period, but we should not ignore the possibility that regional identities might have survived (though they need not in all cases have worked against the development of a more pan-English sense of unity). It is interesting to note that the draftsman (or -men) of the ‘alliterative charters’, who apparently enjoyed close ties with court, seems to have conceived of the kingdom as encompassing a variety of peoples: Saxons, Angles, Northumbrians and ‘pagans’.98 In this context it might be that while the West Saxons were accustomed to a regular royal presence and a more direct form of rule, those elsewhere simply were not. The much prized praesentia regis was, it should be emphasized, a double-edged sword: it brought with it not only access to the ruler, but also the requirement of supporting the court and acceding to royal demands. We should think in terms of certain regions wanting, perhaps even demanding, but 95

96 97

98

Cf. Staford, ‘Farm’, pp. 500–2; J. Campbell, ‘The United Kingdom of England: The Anglo-Saxon Accomplishment’ (1995), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 31–53, at 47. Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 205–16; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 148–9. L. Marten, ‘The Shiring of East Anglia: An Alternative Hypothesis’, Historical Research 81 (2008), 1–27, esp. pp. 8–9. Cf. Opll, ‘Herrschaft durch Präsenz’, pp. 15–16. Keynes, Atlas, table XXVIII. For critical discussions of the development of ‘English’ identity in these years, see Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 106–7; G. Molyneaux, ‘The Old English Bede: English Ideology or Christian Instruction?’, EHR 124 (2009), 1289–323, at pp. 1316–18; and J. Breuilly, ‘Changes in the Political Uses of the Nation: Continuity or Discontinuity?’, in Power and the Nation in European History, ed. L. Scales and O. Zimmer (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 67–101, at 70–3.

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Meeting places and times of assemblies equally being willing and able to sustain longer royal sojourns and of other districts in which the local lords were happy to travel to the king, keeping him at arm’s length.99 The West Saxon heartlands formed the core region for our rulers, comparable to the Ottonian Kernlandschaft in eastern Saxony around the Harz Mountains.100 However, whilst the Ottonian rulers possessed another central region around the Rhine– Main conluence, at which they normally held assemblies,101 this was not the case in England: central Wessex acted not only as the ‘home base’ of our kings, but was also the region in which the peoples of the realm assembled. Only perhaps in the form of the coronation vill at Kingston and the growing importance of London do we begin to see the development of what a German scholar might term a second ‘central region’ (Zentralraum), based around the mouth of the Thames. This southerly itinerary was to become the English norm, and later AngloSaxon, Anglo-Norman and Angevin kings were to show a similar hesitancy to travel to more northerly climes.102 Me eti ng time s, durati on and f re que nc y of as se mbl ie s Having discussed the locations favoured for assemblies, it is now time briely to discuss the timing of these events: when they met, how long they met for and how frequently they met. Of these, it is the second topic which must draw our attention irst, since it is only after the average duration of meetings has been established that we can begin to analyse the dates recorded for them. Although we possess no precise information about the average length of assemblies from our period, Liebermann drew attention to an important notice from the reign of William I: the Chronicle records that William held a Christmas assembly at Gloucester in 1085 lasting ive days and that thereafter the bishops stayed on three days longer to hold a synod.103 As this meeting was held in winter, the shortness of the daylight hours may have meant that more days than usual were required, but there is every reason to presume that this roughly relects standard practice, and an average assembly length of two to ive 99

100 101 102

103

Kränzle,‘Der abwesende König’;A. Stieldorf,‘Adel an der Peripherie im Streit mit dem höischem Zentrum’, in Streit am Hof, ed. Becher and Plassmann, pp. 223–45, esp. 243–5. See also Zotz, ‘Präsenz’, pp. 190–4; Ehlers, ‘Having the King’, pp. 9–13, and ‘Herrschaft’, pp. 114–17. Müller-Mertens, Reichsstruktur, pp. 144–8; Leyser, ‘Ottonian Government’, pp. 93–6. Müller-Mertens, Reichsstruktur, pp. 144–8. Hill, Atlas, pp. 85–91; Bartlett, England, pp. 135–7; F. Barlow, William Rufus (London, 1983), pp. 449–52; J. Green, ‘King Henry I and Northern England’, TRHS 6th ser. 17 (2007), 35–55. ASC 1085 E (ed. Irvine, pp. 94–5); Liebermann, National Assembly, p. 50.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England days accords with the evidence from contemporary continental kingdoms.104 Charters and law-codes could have been produced at various points during the course of these events, though the presumption is that they were generally issued towards the end of proceedings, since clarifying the terms on such documents and drafting inal copies of them would have required quite some time.105 Nevertheless, we must allow for the possibility that some documents might have been dated retrospectively (especially if an assembly began on a particularly auspicious or signiicant date), or might have been issued part-way through proceedings, especially when those present stayed on to celebrate a church festival or to go hunting once the main business had been conducted.106 Accordingly, we must allow for the possibility that an assembly might have begun up to three or four days before the date preserved for it or continued for at least a few days thereafter. Although the tendency for medieval kings to hold assemblies and other major ‘acts of state’ on days of liturgical and political signiicance has long been noted, a detailed study of the meeting times of the witan has yet to be conducted.107 Over the period under study there are relatively few dated meetings of the witan, and it is only under ‘Æthelstan A’, when dating royal charters was normal practice, that a detailed record survives, making it important to investigate this period thoroughly. On the basis of these charters along with the Exeter code (V Æthelstan), we have some twenty dated meetings from Æthelstan’s reign. The favoured assembly times seem to have been spring and early summer, at the start of the campaign season; autumn, at the close of this season; and during the winter (particularly in December and January), though in principle any time of year might be chosen.108 Particularly popular dates were church

104

105

106

107

108

M. Sierck, Festtag und Politik. Studien zur Tagewahl karolingischer Herrscher, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 38 (Cologne, 1995), pp. 276–8; Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 84–6. See also H. E. J. Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 1073–1085 (Oxford, 1998), p. 591; and cf. Weber, ‘Reichsversammlungen’, p. 74, who seems to underestimate the length of such events. P. R. Hyams, ‘The Charter as a Source for Early Common Law’, Journal of Legal History 12 (1991), 173–89, at pp. 174–6; Chaplais, ‘Anglo-Saxon “Chancery”’, pp. 42–3. Cf. Sierck, Festtag und Politik, pp. 277–8. The tendency of magnates on the continent to stay on for liturgical celebrations is noted by W. Huschner, ‘Kirchenfest und Herrschaftspraxis. Die Regierungszeiten der ersten beiden Kaiser aus liudolingischem Hause’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 41 (1993), 24–55 and 117–34, at pp. 41–2. For preliminary discussion, see Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 48–50; Loyn, Governance, p. 104; and Maddicott, Origins, pp. 12–13. Cf. H. M. Schaller, ‘Der heilige Tag als Termin mittelalterlicher Staatsakte’, DA 30 (1974), 1–24; Huschner, ‘Kirchenfest und Herrschaftspraxis’; and Sierck, Festtag und Politik. See Appendix, Table 4, for what follows. I have consulted A Handbook of Dates for Students of British History, Royal Historical Society Guides and Handbooks 4, ed. C. R. Cheney, rev. M. Jones

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Meeting places and times of assemblies festivals, which kings and aristocrats throughout the earlier Middle Ages often used for special events. Four meetings can immediately be ascribed to days of liturgical signiicance: two are dated to times around Easter and two to Christmas. When we take into account documents produced slightly after or immediately before church festivals, four further meetings with potential liturgical associations emerge: on 3 April 930, the day before the ifth Sunday of Lent; on 29 April 930, the day before the seventh Sunday of Eastertide (i.e. the last Sunday before Pentecost); on 23 March 931, the day before the Ascension of Mary; and on 28 May 934, an ember day three days after Pentecost. Another six assemblies may have been held in association with saints’ feast-days: on 20 June 931, St Alban’s day; on 12 November 931, the day after the feast of St Martin; on 30 August 931, the day after the feast of the beheading of John the Baptist; on 9 November 932, two days before the feast of St Martin; on 26 January 933, the day after the feast of the conversion of St Paul; and on 21 December 935, the feast-day of Thomas the Apostle, four days before Christmas. Assuming the signiicance of all of these dates – and it is probable that some were coincidental – fourteen of twenty dated meetings during Æthelstan’s reign coincided with important church celebrations; a not insigniicant, but by no means overwhelming igure. This suggests that the king held assemblies on a more or less ad hoc basis, but took advantage of festivals when they itted within the correct time frame. Moreover, of the six remaining days chosen for assemblies, it is noteworthy that three were Sundays (15 July 931, 11 January 933 and 7 June 934). It should, therefore, be clear that dates were not chosen at random, and indeed the liturgical signiicance of some of the times selected was probably greater than others. Thus, for example, the assembly held for Christmas 932 was clearly designed as a pious gesture, since Æthelstan issued charters with unusually detailed religious stipulations on this occasion: one for Shaftesbury Abbey, requiring the monks to sing ifty psalms daily for his soul; and another for Alfred, minister, requiring that he provide alms for the poor daily until the Day of Judgement.109 Likewise it was from a Christmas assembly that the Exeter code (V Æthelstan) was issued, in which the kingdom’s churches were required to sing ifty psalms weekly for the king.110 A similar tendency to reserve certain business for signiicant liturgical events can be observed in the Carolingian and post-Carolingian kingdoms on the continent: Louis the Pious is reported to have been in the habit of distributing alms to the

109 110

(Cambridge, 2000), for the dates of major church festivals; and Saints in English Kalendars before A.D. 1100, ed. R. Rushforth, HBS 117 (Woodbridge, 2008), for the saints’ feast-days observed. S 418 (WinchNM 10), S 419 (Shaft 8). See further below, pp. 92–3. V As 3 (ed. Liebermann I, 168–9).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England poor on Easter Sunday, while the Ottonian rulers often exploited church festivals for coronations and crown-wearings.111 Hence, if assembly sites were often chosen with local topographies of power in mind, their dates were similarly selected so that they might tap the symbolic potential of the church calendar.112 From all of the other reigns covered in this study we have only eleven further dated meetings of the witan, evidenced primarily by charters. However, some of these dates are recorded only in dubious documents and there is a danger in such cases that forgers may have extrapolated back from the later tradition of holding court at Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, resulting in these dates being overrepresented.113 There may also be further grounds for caution: as noted, it was not standard practice to date royal acta in this period and draftsmen might have been more likely to choose to record the date of transactions which took place during church festivals. With these caveats in mind, only eight of these remaining dates inspire full conidence, ive of which suggest an association with church festivals: one on 18 October (?878), the day after the feast of Luke the Evangelist; two at Easter (939 × 946 and 22 April 949); one on 29 November 956, the feast-day of Andrew the Apostle, two days after the irst Advent Sunday; and one at Pentecost (11 May 973). When the three more dubious documents are taken into consideration we ind two further meetings at Easter and one on 13 February, a day with no obvious religious signiicance. Thus, as in Æthelstan’s reign, the impression is that many assemblies were held to coincide with church festivals, but by no means all. Whether profane celebrations, such as rulers’ birthdays or important anniversaries, were used to hold assemblies is diicult to ascertain, since so few assembly dates are known and so little biographical detail is available about our kings.The one probable example is the meeting held at Edington, Wiltshire, on 7 May 957, which almost certainly coincided with the anniversary of Alfred the Great’s famous victory at the battle of Edington (6 × 12 May 878).114 111

112 113

114

Notker the Stammerer, Gesta Karoli Magni imperatoris II.21, ed. H. F. Haefele, MGH: SRG n.s. 12 (Berlin, 1959), pp. 91–2; Nelson,‘Rights and Rituals’, pp. 21–2; H.-W. Klewitz,‘Die Festkrönungen der deutschen Könige’, ZRG: KA 28 (1939), 48–96; Beyreuther, ‘Osterfeier’. See McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 321–6. That said, this practice has its roots at least as far back as Edward the Confessor’s reign, and possibly earlier: M. Biddle, ‘Seasonal Festivals and Residence: Winchester, Westminster and Gloucester in the Tenth to Twelfth Centuries’, ANS 8 (1986), 51–72; M. Hare, ‘Kings, Crowns and Festivals: The Origins of Gloucester as a Ceremonial Centre’, Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society 115 (1997), 41–78; Wormald, English Law, pp. 445–9. Jayakumar, ‘Politics’, pp. 53–4;Wormald, English Law, p. 438, n. 68. On the dating of the battle, see D.Whitelock, ‘The Importance of the Battle of Edington’ (1978), repr. in and cited from her From Bede to Alfred: Studies in Early Anglo-Saxon Literature and History (London, 1980), no. XIII, p. 12.

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Meeting places and times of assemblies To the above evidence we may add the dates of two ‘diplomatic’ meetings: one celebrating the betrothal of Æthelstan’s sister with Sihtric in 926 and the other witnessing the submission of the Welsh and northern rulers to Æthelstan a year and a half later. The irst is said to have been held on 30 January, the day after Septuagesima, and it could be that the wedding itself coincided with Sunday 29 January, though it seems unlikely that a chronicler would have overlooked this fact. In the latter case a date of 12 July is given, which does not suggest any particular religious importance. It would therefore seem that for meetings between rulers, inding a time of mutual convenience was more important than liturgical considerations, though the evidence is far too slim to allow for generalization. Not surprisingly Easter emerges as the most common single meeting time and it is worth considering whether meetings were generally held then. A total of seven of thirty-one (slightly less than a quarter) of known meetings were held at or around Easter. We know relatively little about the frequency of meetings, but the surviving charters of ‘Æthelstan A’ suggest that between two and ive meetings would be held a year, a igure which sits well with the unusually detailed charter record for 956, which seems to be the product of at least four diferent assemblies.115 If, then, almost a quarter of dated meetings took place at Easter, this may point towards a more or less established tradition of Easter gatherings.116 Byrhtferth’s description of Edgar’s coronation at Pentecost 973 may suggest something along these lines, as he reports that this fell during the sacrum tempus during which magnates were accustomed to assemble.117 By sacrum tempus Byrhtferth probably means Pentecost, but it is possible that he is referring more generally to Eastertide, in which case there would be grounds for seeing this as ‘assembly season’. Moreover, even if Byrhtferth only had Pentecost in mind, we should do well to presume that meetings at Easter were at least as common.118 Nevertheless, we should not assume that Easter (or Christmas and Pentecost) meetings were any more of a set institution than the Frankish March- and Mayield musters. Indeed, the words of Timothy Reuter apropos this ‘institution’ may well be appropriate in our case: ‘[T]here was a general, other-things-being-equal assumption within the political community that there would be … [an assembly] at that time unless there was some reason either for not holding 115

116 117 118

Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 48–69. The frequency of assemblies in England thus seems slightly higher than in the Carolingian kingdoms: Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 52–3; Weber, ‘Reichsversammlungen’, pp. 107–9. See Maddicott, Origins, pp. 12–13. Byrhtferth, VO IV.6 (ed. Lapidge, p. 104). See further H. R. Richardson and G. O. Sayles, The Governance of Mediaeval England from the Conquest to Magna Carta (Edinburgh, 1963), pp. 405–12; and Hare, ‘Kings, Crowns and Festivals’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England it or for holding it at some other time.’119 Thus Easter meetings were common, as were Christmas and Pentecost assemblies, but not required, and in general kings used days of religious importance to hold meetings, but did not feel themselves in any way constrained by this. 119

Reuter, ‘Assembly Politics’, p. 197. See also T. 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. N. Jørgensen and B. L. Clausen (Copenhagen, 1997), pp. 32–7, at 34; and cf. B. S. Bachrach, ‘Was the Marchield Part of the Frankish Constitution?’, Mediaeval Studies 36 (1974), 178–85.

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Chapter 4

ROYA L C H A RT E R S A ND ASSEMBLI ES

It is now time to turn our attention to the actual business conducted at meetings of the witan, looking irst at diploma production. On the continent sovereign charters were produced under somewhat diferent circumstances from those which prevailed in England: since the consent of the kingdom’s senior magnates was not a formal requirement for their issuing, they were produced steadily over the course of the year rather than exclusively at grand assemblies (though it should be noted that assemblies often produced large numbers of them). These charters were frequently, but by no means always, issued in the presence of the ruler and in most if not all cases their promulgation was a formal public act. Normally the diploma would be drawn up by the royal chancery and presented to the recipient in a ritual of conveyance, though in a few cases the ritualized transaction preceded the production of a diploma. In the case of religious houses, particularly monasteries, the recipients might draft the diploma or parts thereof in advance, merely leaving the chancery to endorse it. Amongst the Carolingian successor states west of the Rhine such recipient production became more pronounced over the course of the tenth century, and for lengthy periods the ‘chancery’ seems to have all but ceased to exist. Nevertheless, even here the issuing of diplomas remained a public rite: those responsible might have changed, but the basic mechanisms remained similar.1 1

Amongst many others, see Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 17–62; M. Mersiowsky, ‘Towards a Reappraisal of Carolingian Sovereign Charters’, in Charters and the Use of the Written Word in Medieval Society, Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 5, ed. K. Heidecker (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 15–27, and ‘Saint-Martin de Tours et les chancelleries carolingiennes’, Annales de Bretagne 111.3 (2004), 73–90; H. Keller, ‘Zu den Siegeln der Karolinger und der Ottonen. Urkunden als “Hoheitszeichen” in der Kommunikation des Königs mit seinen Getreuen’, FMSt 32 (1998), 400–41, esp. 424–33; B.-M. Tock, ‘La mise en scène des actes en France au Haut Moyen Âge’, FMSt 38 (2004), 287–96; E. M. Screen, ‘The Reign of Lothar I (795–855), Emperor of the Franks, through the Charter Evidence’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 1999), pp. 36–44 and 187–8;

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England The working assumption of the preceding chapters has been that the issuing of later Anglo-Saxon diplomas was every bit as public, if not more so, since it was apparently restricted to royal assemblies. This is suggested not only by the wording of these documents, which routinely make reference to the presence of sapientes or nobiles at their issuing, but also by the witness-lists attached to them. However, if we are to mine diplomas further for what they reveal about assemblies, this connection must be more securely demonstrated. Although there are, as we have seen, reasons to believe that diploma witness-lists stem from assemblies, relecting aspects of attendance, we now need to establish that the actual issuing of the documents, and not just the transactions they record, took place at these events. For these purposes an excursus into the long-standing ‘chancery debate’ is necessary. Dip loma p roducti on and as se m bl i e s Broadly speaking there are two schools of thought on pre-Conquest diploma production: the ‘Chaplais’ school and the ‘Keynes’ school. The former, developed by Pierre Chaplais in a series of ground-breaking articles in the 1960s, holds that diploma production was localized and post factum throughout the Anglo-Saxon period: assemblies witnessed only the legal act of conveyance, while the charter itself was drawn up after the fact at a local religious house, often on the basis of a memorandum produced at the assembly.2 That something along these lines might take place is clear from certain early Anglo-Saxon charters, which describe the ritual act of conveyance, often involving the placing of the charter or of sods of earth on the recipient church’s altar; in such cases the diploma must have been drawn up after the transaction, since it actively describes it.3 However, Simon Keynes has since argued that although charters of the earlier period it Chaplais’ model of localized and often post factum production, from the tenth century (in Wessex from the ninth) there is evidence of more centralized production.4 This is clear not only from the greater uniformity of formulation shown by the charters of these

2 3 4

and McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 188–212. Cf. R. McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 77–134, esp. 94–8, on the production of private charters. Chaplais, ‘Origin and Authenticity’, ‘Diploma to Writ’, and ‘Anglo-Saxon “Chancery”’. S 14–15, 33, 1256, 1258. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 1–153, ‘Regenbald’ and ‘West Saxon Charters’. See also S. Keynes, ‘AngloSaxon Charters (7th–9th Century)’, in Mensch und Schrift im frühen Mittelalter, ed. P. Erhart and L. Hollenstein (St Gallen, 2006), pp. 97–108; and cf. W. H. Stevenson, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Chancery’, The Saunders Lectures 1898 (available online at www.kemble.asnc.cam.ac.uk/sites/default/iles/ iles/Stevenson%202011.pdf , accessed 21 December 2011); and Drögereit, ‘Königskanzlei’.

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Royal charters and assemblies years, but also from their witness-lists, which are remarkably consistent across archives. According to Keynes, these features are best explained by assuming that diplomas were drawn up at assemblies, presumably by royal scribes. Although Keynes’ reinements to and adjustments of Chaplais’ work have received much acceptance, new life has now been breathed into this debate by the work of Susan Kelly and Charles Insley. While fundamentally accepting the existence of a diplomatic mainstream, they argue that there might have been greater lexibility within this than Keynes’ work at times suggests. In particular, they point out that it might only have been the scribal memorandum, listing those who were to attest a diploma, which was routinely produced at assemblies and that the rest of the document might often have been drawn up later, in some cases by the recipient.5 Under such conditions older memoranda might occasionally have been reused locally to produce diplomas if for some reason newer ones were not available or did not arrive on time. If this were the case, then apparently bogus witness-lists might be found attached to documents which are fundamentally authentic – indeed, scribes might at times have attempted to update older lists when reusing them, creating diplomas whose attestations are not only anachronistic, but also internally inconsistent.6 However, neither Kelly nor Insley denies that some diplomas might have been produced centrally; they simply suggest that there was more post factum and localized production than Keynes allows for. As such, their arguments are subtle, allowing for the existence of Keynes’ mainstream, whilst still giving space to the local inluences Chaplais was so keen to emphasize.7 More importantly, these arguments suggest that diplomas may not have been as closely associated with meetings of the witan as Keynes proposes: if documents were often produced after the conveyance on the basis of scribal memoranda, some of which may have been reused, then they are not to be treated as straightforward products of assemblies. 5

6

7

Charters of Abingdon Abbey, 2 parts, Anglo-Saxon Charters 7–8, ed. S. E. Kelly (Oxford, 2000–1), pp. lxxix–lxxxiv; C. Insley, ‘Charters and Episcopal Scriptoria in the Anglo-Saxon South-West’, EME 7 (1998), 173–97. Abingdon, ed. Kelly, pp. lxxxii–lxxxiii. Similar phenomena have been detected in continental diplomatic traditions: D. Bates, ‘The Prosopographical Study of Anglo-Norman Royal Charters’, in FamilyTrees and the Roots of Politics:The Prosopography of Britain and France from theTenth to theTwelfth Century, ed. K. S. B. Keats-Rohan (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 89–102, at 91–2; A. G. Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past: Monastic Foundation Legends in Southern France (Ithaca, NY, 1995), pp. 19–21; J. Jarrett, ‘Pathways of Power in Late-Carolingian Catalonia’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of London, 2005), pp. 33–4. See also The History of the Church of Abingdon, 2 vols., ed. J. Hudson, OMT (Oxford, 2002–7), II, cxcv–ccv; and cf. Regesta regum, ed. Bates, pp. 96–109.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England However, there are certain problems with these arguments. Firstly, they risk positing an extensive practice of recycling scribal memoranda locally for which we have remarkably little solid evidence. The only certainly authentic charters of the pre-Conquest period to bear outdated witnesslists of this kind are two diplomas of King Cnut and there is every reason to believe that these represent the exception, not the norm: they are closely related recipient productions, issued in an era in which the king was often not present in England and looser arrangements for diploma production prevailed.8 As such, they suggest that witness-lists might be reused as Kelly suggests, but by no means indicate that this was a widespread or regular practice. Indeed, the very fact that the draftsman of these documents felt it necessary to include a witness-list, however outdated, bears eloquent testimony to the importance which was attached to the witan’s role in the issuing of charters: evidently a diploma which did not at least look like the product of an assembly simply would not do. Moreover, when we have evidence for memoranda being recycled under more ‘normal’ circumstances, they tend to be updated accurately in the process.9 Whilst such updating could in principle be the work of a well-informed local scribe, it would more naturally it Keynes’ model of production at assemblies, since at these events an older memorandum might be compared against actual attendance. Finally, it must be emphasized that the further evidence for the local use of outdated or partially updated memoranda in the composition of diplomas marshalled by Kelly comes exclusively from the highly suspect archive of Abingdon; under these circumstances the onus of proof must lie on those who wish to accept such dubious documents as authentic.10 Indeed, if the thesis is to hold, convincing examples will have to be found from many other archives. Thus it seems unlikely that witness-lists were at least routinely recycled in the fashion which Kelly envisages, though we should not rule out the possibility that this might have taken place upon occasion. Nevertheless, the question remains as to whether diplomas were actually produced at meetings of the witan. Here again strong arguments have been made both for and against: Kelly and Chaplais rightly emphasize that producing charters was no simple afair and would have required substantial time and skill, which they feel make post factum production more

8

9

S 963, 971. See S. Keynes, ‘Cnut’s Earls’, in The Reign of Cnut: King of England, Denmark and Norway, ed. A. R. Rumble (London, 1994), pp. 43–88, at 48–50; P. Chaplais, ‘The Authenticity of the Royal Anglo-Saxon Diplomas of Exeter’ (1966), repr. in and cited from his Essays in Medieval Diplomacy and Administration (London, 1981), no. XV, pp. 23–4; and Insley, ‘Scriptoria’, p. 191. See Keynes, Diplomas, p. 87. 10 See ibid., pp. 10–13, on Abingdon.

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Royal charters and assemblies likely; Keynes, on the other hand, argues that from the perspective of the recipients, many of whom were laymen who presumably did not always have a local scribe at their beck and call, it would have been preferable to receive the completed diploma on the spot.11 The main diiculty here is that most late ninth- and tenth-century originals are single-stage productions and thus reveal little about the circumstances of their issuing. Kelly uses this to bolster her case for post factum production, asserting that ‘the great majority of tenth-century royal diplomas surviving in original form are single-stage productions; and, since they are witnessed, they were presumably drawn up after the actual ceremony’.12 Although Kelly is right to observe that the majority of original diplomas are single-stage productions, it is not immediately clear that the rest of her argument follows.The presence of accurate witness-lists would, it is true, seem to preclude production before the meeting of the witan, but it is by no means a sure-ire argument against composition at this event, as Kelly seems to suggest. It is important here to emphasize that assemblies lasted a number of days, as we have seen, and there would therefore have been ample time during which documents could be drafted: the relevant memorandum might be jotted down at the start of an assembly and charters then produced on this basis during the course of proceedings.13 Moreover, some diplomas were produced in two stages, such as S 690, whose witness-list was added later than the main text by a second scribe, and Kelly admits that in these cases we should envisage the document being partially drafted before the conveyance and incorporated into the ceremony.14 In this context the question must be whether such arrangements are indeed exceptional, as Kelly argues, or whether they in fact might not point towards the norm. Indeed, somewhat unusual though S 690 may be, in so far as it was produced in two stages, this does not mean that the incorporation of a diploma into the conveyance ceremony itself was unusual; it might simply indicate that a completed document was normally handed over and that what made this case exceptional was the 11

12 13

14

Chaplais, ‘Anglo-Saxon “Chancery”’, pp. 42–3; Abingdon, ed. Kelly, pp. lxxxi–lxxxii; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 33–9. Abingdon, ed. Kelly, p. lxxix. An important observation of S. Keynes, ‘Church Councils, Royal Assemblies, and Anglo-Saxon Royal Diplomas’, in Kingship, Legislation and Power in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. G. R. Owen-Crocker (Woodbridge, forthcoming), the conclusions of which the author has kindly shared with me in advance of publication. Cf. H. Keller and S.Ast,‘Ostensio cartae. Italienische Gerichtsurkunden des 10. Jahrhunderts zwischen Schriftlichkeit und Performance’, AfD 53 (2007), 99–121. Abingdon, ed. Kelly, p. lxxix. See also T. A. M. Bishop, English Caroline Minuscule (Oxford, 1971), p. 9; and D. N. Dumville, English Caroline Script and Monastic History: Studies in Benedictinism, A.D. 950–1030, Studies in Anglo-Saxon History 6 (Woodbridge, 1993), pp. 52–3, and ‘English Square Minuscule Script: The Mid-Century Phases’, ASE 23 (1994), 133–64, at pp. 152–3.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England fact that for one reason or another the charter was not inished on time. It seems inherently more likely that the handing over of the diploma was a standard part of the conveyance, which occasionally led to an incomplete document being incorporated into the ceremony, than that charters were normally produced post factum, but that occasionally – for reasons which are otherwise unclear – they were partially written in advance and incorporated into it. It should certainly not surprise that the formal handing over of the charter (or traditio cartae) might form a part of the conveyance: the diploma was an essential feature of bookland tenure, as the name suggests, and later transactions could be conducted simply by handing over the existing document (the act later known as the ‘livery of seisin’).15 Still, irm conclusions cannot be drawn on such a slim basis, and if we wish to achieve greater certainty we must turn to the evidence provided by the surviving single-sheet charters themselves. As observed, these initially seem to ofer little guidance, since traditional wisdom holds that they were almost exclusively single-stage productions.Whilst it is true that the majority of royal charters of this period were produced in one stage, the degree to which this is the case has been signiicantly exaggerated, as Simon Keynes argues in an important forthcoming paper.16 Far from representing a great anomaly, S 690 can be placed beside a number of diplomas which show signs of two-stage production. Thus S 416, one of the two surviving ‘Æthelstan A’ originals, is written in the same hand and ink throughout, except for the inal two names of the witness-list, which are a later addition; it would seem that our scribe’s memorandum ran out at this point and he left a blank, which a second scribe then illed in.17 S 690, which we have already commented on briely, represents a somewhat similar case: the main text was written by the draftsman-scribe known as ‘Edgar A’, but he stopped after the boundary clause, leaving the witness-list for a later scribe to copy out – it would seem here that the relevant memorandum for some reason was not to hand.18 Also similar in certain respects are two charters written by ‘Æthelstan C’: the irst, S 464, was written in one go up to the inal six names of the witness-list, which were added by a second scribe; the 15

16

17

18

H. Brunner, Zur Rechtsgeschichte der römischen und germanischen Urkunde (Berlin, 1880), pp. 151–6; E. John, Land Tenure in Early England: A Discussion of Some Problems, Studies in Early English History 1 (Leicester, 1964), pp. 171–2; Keynes, Diplomas, p. 141. On the ‘livery of seisin’, see J. Hudson, Land, Law, and Lordship in Anglo-Norman England (Oxford, 1994), pp. 160–4. Keynes, ‘Church Councils’. I owe much of the following analysis to this paper as well as subsequent conversations with Simon Keynes on the subject. Facsimiles of Ancient Charters in the British Museum, ed. E. A. Bond et al., 4 vols. (London, 1873–8), III, no. 3. On ‘Æthelstan A’, see the works cited above, p. 33, n. 22. Ancient Charters, ed. Bond et al., III, no. 23. On ‘Edgar A’, see Drögereit, ‘Königskanzlei’, pp. 355–7 and 394–400; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 70–6; and Abingdon, ed. Kelly, pp. cxv–cxxxi.

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Royal charters and assemblies second, S 512, breaks of after what should have been the penultimate column of the witness-list, leaving a space into which a further column of names might be added, though in this case for whatever reasons it was not.19 Moreover, in S 512 this is not the only space which was originally blank: the boundary clause shows signs of later insertion and presumably again this was left blank because these details were not available when the diploma was irst drawn up. Two further charters also seem to have had their boundary clauses added after the main text: in S 535, an ‘Edmund C’ charter for King Eadred, both the boundary clause and a note to the efect that a payment of 2 pounds of gold was made in exchange for the document were added at a later date, apparently by the same scribe; and in S 717, an ‘Edgar A’ diploma in the name of King Edgar, the boundary clause was clearly itted in around the dating clause, suggesting that this was a later addition.20 Finally, perhaps the most unusual (and interesting) case of all is ofered by S 624, a charter in the name of King Eadwig: as originally drafted this document had blank spaces left for all of the main operative details (the recipient’s name and position, the estate and the boundary clause) – it would seem to have been designed as a ‘form’, which could be illed in once these details were known.21 Collectively these examples are somewhat puzzling. Though they do not represent the norm, two-stage production was evidently far more common than scholars have assumed. As such, these documents provide important evidence that diplomas were often produced at meetings of the witan and integrated into a conveyance ceremony there. Indeed, although the fact that a document was written in two stages does not alone prove that it must have been produced at an assembly, this is generally the most logical conclusion, as Kelly herself admits in the case of S 690.22 The presumption, of course, is that for post factum production a scribe would make sure that he had all the necessary details to hand before beginning work – there would be little reason to produce an incomplete diploma under such circumstances. Moreover, the kinds of details that were apparently unknown to our scribes seem to point in the direction of production at assemblies rather than locally. Thus, when witness-lists are broken of part-way through, one assumes that the memorandum ran out at this point. Whilst in principle this might happen anywhere, where these are later completed, as in S 416 and 464, this seems more likely to 19

20

21

Ancient Charters, ed. Bond et al., III, no. 10; Facsimiles of Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, ed. W. B. Sanders, 3 vols. (Southampton, 1878–84), III, no. 25. On ‘Æthelstan C’, see Drögereit, ‘Königskanzlei’, pp. 348–51 and 372–7; and Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 16, 20 and 44–5. Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, ed. Sanders, III, nos. 27 and 30. On ‘Edmund C’, see Drögereit, ‘Königskanzlei’, pp. 351–4 and 383–9; and Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 16, 21 and 26. Ancient Charters, ed. Bond et al., III, no. 20. 22 Abingdon, ed. Kelly, p. lxxix.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England have taken place at an assembly, where a second scribe might easily run of and jot down a few extra names, than at a local scriptorium at a later date. Indeed, hypothetical though such a reconstruction must be, one might well imagine ‘Æthelstan A’ delegating an assistant to go and add a few more names to a witness-list for which his memorandum had run out. Furthermore, where it is the boundary clause which is added later, as in S 512, 535 and 717, the case for centralized production is even stronger, since these are precisely the sort of details that we would anticipate being known after the fact to a local scribe, but not to a royal scribe working at an assembly. The subsequent insertion of boundary clauses into these documents might in some cases have taken place later on during the same assembly, once these details were made known, but in others it was probably left up to the recipient or a local religious house. Either way, it seems reasonable to suppose that the irst stage of copying took place at the meeting of the witan. However, the clearest evidence that two-stage production is to be associated with the issuing of charters at (and not after) assemblies comes from S 624, our ‘form’ charter: surely no scribe, no matter how inept, would have sat down to write a document after the transaction had taken place without knowing for whom the grant was in favour, or which estate was being granted; this diploma must have been produced at an assembly. It would seem that scribes were often under pressure to produce large numbers of documents quickly at these events (hence the various glitches we have been seeing), and it may well be that in this case it was felt best to ensure that a document was ready and to hand for a possible conveyance, even though the details of the recipient and estate were not yet known.23 It therefore seems likely that most diplomas drawn up in two stages were produced and issued at assemblies. Although they do not represent the norm, it would be misleading to brand these cases exceptions: twostage production was a relatively regular deviation from the norm and any model of diploma production must take it seriously.The best explanation would seem to be that diplomas were generally produced at meetings of the witan and handed over on these occasions, but that sometimes glitches occurred in the system – the memorandum was too short, or not immediately to hand, or the details of the boundaries were not yet known – which led to a partially completed document being used.When this happened, the diploma would be completed later, in some cases by 23

It is probably no accident that this document was produced in the annus mirabilis of charter production, 956, during which record numbers of diplomas seem to have been produced (this spike is visible across archives) – one imagines that under these circumstances scribes would have been under much greater pressure than usual. See further Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 48–69.

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Royal charters and assemblies the original scribe, but in others by a second one. Whether this later stage took place at the assembly is diicult to ascertain and one should not wish to be categorical: where the same scribe was involved the most economical explanation is that this took place later on during the same assembly, but in other cases it may well be that local or recipient scribes were involved, perhaps some time later. That diploma production took place at the assemblies may also explain why, unlike in the earlier period, royal charters of these years almost never describe the ceremony: if they were written in advance of the conveyance, with the intention of being integrated into it, then they could scarcely refer back to this event. The only diploma between 871 and the Conquest to do so, the Exeter foundation charter (S 1024), its within this picture. As a foundation charter, it is precisely the sort of document which we would anticipate being produced locally and under more unusual circumstances, as seems to have been the case.24 The conveyance ritual described in the charter is particularly interesting from our present perspective: Edward the Confessor is reported to have placed ‘this privilege’ (hoc priuilegium) on the altar of St Peter at Exeter and thereafter received the acclamations of those present.25 What is signiicant here is that the placement of the privilege on the altar, handing it over to St Peter, is presented as the central act.26 The diiculty obviously lies in the fact that the privilege referred to in the charter cannot be the surviving single-sheet original, since it describes this act with hindsight. It could be that a diferent diploma was issued on this occasion, which was later embellished locally to produce the existing one (a process hardly unthinkable for a foundation charter);27 alternatively, at the original ceremony a blank parchment, or carta sine litteris, may have been used, which was later written up at Exeter.28 Either way, it is clear that our draftsman 24

25

26

27

28

Chaplais, ‘Diplomas of Exeter’, pp. 28–31; Keynes, ‘Regenbald’, p. 213, n. 47; Insley, ‘Scriptoria’, pp. 192–3. S 1024 (KCD 791): ‘Itaque hoc priuilegium ego Eadwardus rex manu mea super altare sancti Petri pono …’. On the placing of charters on altars, see M. Rangow, ‘Ritual before the Altar: Legal Satisfaction and Spiritual Reconciliation in Eleventh-Century Anjou’, in Medieval and Early Modern Ritual: Formalized Behavior in Europe, China and Japan, ed. J. Rollo-Koster (Leiden, 2002), pp. 57–79; A. Angenendt, ‘Cartam ofere super altare. Zur Liturgisierung von Rechtsvorgängen’, FMSt 36 (2002), 133–58; and H. Beyer, ‘Urkundenübergabe am Altar. Zur liturgischen Dimension des Beurkundungsaktes bei Schenkungen der Ottonen und Salier an Kirchen’, FMSt 38 (2004), 323–46. This might explain why diferent copies of the charter preserve diferent witness-lists, suggesting that more than one ‘original’ may have existed: Insley, ‘Scriptoria’, p. 192. Cf. Remensnyder, Remembering, pp. 19–21. On cartae sine litteris, see P. Zumthor, La lettre et la voix de la ‘littérature’ médiévale (Paris, 1987), p. 97; and A. Gureviĉ, ‘Représentations et attitudes à l’égard de la propriété pendant le Haut Moyen

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England thought of the traditio cartae as an essential part of the conveyance; the charter was evidently expected to be incorporated into the ceremony. Further evidence that diplomas were issued at meetings of the witan is provided by two narrative accounts of diploma production. The irst comes from Byrhtferth of Ramsey’s Vita S. Ecgwini, which preserves an imaginative account of a charter being issued from a council at Alcester.29 Although this purports to record an eighth-century Mercian council, Byrhtferth knew next to nothing of his saintly protagonist and seems to have largely invented the narrative detail in the Vita; this scene has therefore been argued to represent the norms of Byrhtferth’s own day.30 This account will be discussed in greater detail later, so all that need detain us here is the description of the act of the booking of land. Byrhtferth reports that King Coenred, wishing to make a grant to Evesham, had a recently received papal privilege in favour of the foundation read aloud. Having thus gained the support of those present for the grant, he ordered Archbishop Berhtwald of Canterbury to draw up the diploma, after which those in attendance ratiied it. Now, it must be emphasized that this is a ictional account, written by a notoriously idiosyncratic author.31 None the less, there is little reason to believe that Byrhtferth would wilfully mislead us as to the basic mechanisms of charter production as he knew them, and it is striking that he describes the diploma being drawn up by a senior ecclesiast (though not, it should be noted, the recipient) and then passed on at the assembly itself – only thereafter is the document taken back to Evesham, where it is publicly read to the local congregation. A briefer description of the booking of land in the Ramsey Liber benefactorum seems to conirm this picture.This account reports how Oswald and Æthelwine made a lengthy (and certainly invented) speech petitioning Edgar to conirm the holdings of Ramsey. The king responded positively, immediately summoning a cleric to draw up a diploma.32 Now the Liber benefactorum was, admittedly, irst written in the second half of the twelfth century and on its own this rather lorid account would probably command little conidence. Nevertheless, its author had access to earlier materials and, given the broad agreement of this anecdote with

29 30

31 32

Âge’, Annales: E. S. C. 27 (1972), 523–47, at p. 533. This practice may have been known in the earlier Anglo-Saxon period, as pointed out by S. Kelly, ‘Anglo-Saxon Lay Society and the Written Word’, in The Uses of Literacy in Medieval Europe, ed. R. McKitterick (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 36–62, at 44; cf. Brunner, Zur Rechtsgeschichte, p. 161. Byrhtferth, VE III.4–6 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 260–4). C. Cubitt, ‘The Tenth-Century Benedictine Reform in England’, EME 6 (1997), 77–94, at pp. 91–2. On Byrhtferth’s reliability and issues surrounding it, see below, pp. 164–6 and 168–9. LB, c. 40 (ed. Macray, pp. 68–70).

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Royal charters and assemblies what we hear of in the Vita S. Ecgwini, we should do well to take it at face value: the king agreed to conirm Ramsey’s holdings (presumably at an assembly) and then called for a cleric to begin work on the requisite document.33 All indications, therefore, point towards the production of diplomas at assemblies being the norm. This is not to say that they could not be drafted under other circumstances, but simply that the general expectation was that they would be issued at these events.34 From our present perspective it is very much secondary whether this production was in the hands of a royal writing oice or more independent agencies: in either case it was associated with meetings of the witan. Indeed, it would be a mistake to draw too strong a line here between centralized and recipient production, and the entire concept of a ‘chancery’ in the traditional sense is perhaps in need of some deconstruction.35 Thus, for example, the agency responsible for the ‘alliterative’ charters of the 940s and 50s can neither be designated part of the diplomatic mainstream, nor reasonably considered the work of recipient scribes: what we are dealing with is charter production outside the mainstream, though still in the king’s name, primarily for a speciic region (north of the Thames).36 Where more information is forthcoming, as is often the case on the continent, pure ‘chancery’ or ‘recipient’ production seems in fact to be the exception. In Ottonian Germany, for example, it is now argued that relatively few individuals were ‘chancery’ scribes in the strictest sense (that is, permanently stationed at court, producing diplomas for recipients from throughout the kingdom), but equally very few were true ‘recipient’ scribes (that is, permanently based at the recipient house, producing diplomas only for this recipient). By far the most common were scribes with regional interests of some description: some were regularly stationed at court, but mostly produced diplomas for recipients from within a speciic region (much like the agency responsible for the ‘alliterative’ charters); others were apparently regionally based, writing diplomas for recipients from throughout the kingdom, but only when the court was stationed in (or travelling through) a speciic region – it would seem that these latter igures were based at local religious houses and only worked for the 33 34

35

36

On the Liber benefactorum and its value as a source, see further below, p. 140, with n. 73. A possible exception is the ‘Dunstan B’ charters. At least one of these, S 571 (BCS 931), claims to have been issued in the presence of the congregatio of Glastonbury, which may suggest ‘in house’ production. Still, this charter is not above suspicion and in any case the exceptional nature of these documents speaks for itself. See O. Guyotjeannin, J. Pycke and B.-M.Tock, Diplomatique médiévale (Turnhout, 1993), pp. 223–7, for nuanced discussion. On these documents, see above, p. 37, with the works cited at n. 36.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England chancery when the court was in the neighbourhood.37 Thus most scribes produced diplomas for a variety of recipients, even if they were not permanently stationed at court; meanwhile, many of those regularly at court had signiicant regional associations. If arrangements could be this luid in the Reich, where diplomas were issued on a large scale throughout the year, then we should anticipate them being at least as lexible in England, if not more so. Indeed, as we have noted, in England, unlike in Germany, diplomas seem to have been produced only at meetings of the witan – that is to say, about three to ive times a year. Given this, it is entirely possible that these duties rested primarily with those royal priests charged with writing the king’s letters and minding his haligdom, as Keynes argues,38 but it is equally possible that they were often farmed out to other experienced hands based less permanently at court. It must be emphasized that even ‘Æthelstan A’, who seems to have been charged with all diploma production for some seven or eight years (928–34/5), need only have been present at court ive times a year at most – for the rest of the time we can only guess what he might have been up to.39 Indeed, the very fact that a single individual might monopolize charter production in this fashion – and there is, it should be emphasized, no reason to believe that any other scribes were involved in producing diplomas during these years – suggests that we are not dealing with a complex bureaucratic system. Analogies might helpfully be drawn with the chanceries of the late ninth-century Carolingian kingdoms or of the Capetian realm, the latter of which has been characterized as ‘scarcely more than a one-man afair’ (‘kaum mehr als ein Ein-MannBetrieb’).40 As has been pointed out, moreover, some individuals might have split their time between service in the royal chapel and at local religious houses, as we also see elsewhere in Europe, and under these circumstances the very categories of ‘local’, ‘recipient’, and ‘royal’ scribe

37

38 40

W. Huschner, Transalpine Kommunikation im Mittelalter. Diplomatische, kulturelle und politische Wechselwirkungen zwischen Italien und dem nordalpinen Reich (9.–11. Jahrhundert), MGH: Schriften 52, 3 vols. (Hanover, 2003), esp. I, 94–214, and ‘Die ottonische Kanzlei in neuem Licht’, AfD 52 (2006), 353–70. Although Huschner’s arguments are not tenable in their entirety, his attempt to diferentiate between types of scribe seems reasonable. See further B. Merta, Review of Huschner, Transalpine Kommunikation, MIÖG 113 (2005), 403–9; and H. Hofmann, ‘Notare, Kanzler und Bischöfe am ottonischen Hof ’, DA 61 (2005), 435–80; and cf. J. L. Nelson,‘Tenth-Century Kingship Comparatively’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason, Leyser and Williams, pp. 293–308, at 299–300, on the lexible arrangements for diploma production in tenth-century Burgundy. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 134–53, and ‘Regenbald’. 39 Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 70–3. See Fleckenstein, Hofkapelle, I, 132–3, 135–6, 167–8 and 207–10; and H. Hofmann, ‘Der König und seine Bischöfe in Frankreich und im Deutschen Reich 936–1060’, in Bischof Burchard von Worms, 1000–1025, Quellen und Abhandlungen zur mittelrheinischen Kirchengeschichte 100, ed. W. Hartmann (Mainz, 2000), pp. 79–127, at 95 (for the quotation), respectively.

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Royal charters and assemblies would be luid.41 For example, if ‘Edgar A’ is indeed to be identiied as Æthelwold or some other member of the Abingdon familia, when he produced diplomas in the years 960–3 for recipients throughout the kingdom, he presumably did so under Edgar’s instructions and therefore as a ‘royal’ scribe. However, in this capacity he was naturally also charged with producing charters in favour of Abingdon, in which case he would have acted as both ‘royal’ and ‘recipient’ scribe – traditional dichotomies simply will not hold up.42 However, regardless of where these igures were stationed, there is no reason to doubt that when they wrote diplomas in the king’s name, they did so under his aegis. This again is well illustrated by the ‘alliterative’ charters, which, for all their idiosyncrasies, were produced in the king’s name, presumably on the spot wherever assemblies were held.43 Hence recipient and central production are not absolute alternatives, and one must imagine charter drafting as a lexible afair, in which diferent agencies with varying degrees of proximity to the king might play an active role. Dip lomas and as se mbly p ol iti c s If diplomas were produced at assemblies and handed over as part of the business conducted, then they provide important insights into the proceedings at these events. In particular, it would seem that the issuing of charters was associated with a public ritual of conveyance, which was witnessed by those present. Continental diplomatists increasingly emphasize the symbolic and performative nature of sovereign charters and we should do well to follow their lead here.44 Although English diplomas lack the litterae elongatae and seals of their continental counterparts (the latter of which were designed quite literally to make an impression), 41

42

43 44

P. Wormald, Review of Keynes, Diplomas, and Kleinschmidt, Untersuchungen, History 67 (1982), 309–10. Cf. J. Fleckenstein, ‘Königshof und Bischofsschule unter Otto dem Großen’ (1956), repr. in and cited from his Ordnungen und formende Kräfte des Mittelalters, pp. 168–92, and Hofkapelle II, 118–55. Huschner’s arguments (above n. 37) build on those of Fleckenstein in important respects. Cf. Mersiowsky, ‘Saint-Martin de Tours’. For the association of ‘Edgar A’ with Abingdon (and in some cases for his identiication with Abbot Æthelwold), see Drögereit, ‘Königskanzlei’, p. 416; Chaplais, ‘Origin and Authenticity’, p. 42; and Abingdon, ed. Kelly, pp. cxv–cxxv. Cf. Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 70–6, ofering an alternative and equally convincing case that ‘Edgar A’ was a royal scribe, regardless of origins and ailiations. Keynes, ‘Koenwald’; Dumville, ‘Translation’. Important discussions include H. Fichtenau, ‘Monarchische Propaganda in Urkunden’ (1956/7), repr. in and cited from his Beiträge zur Mediävistik. Ausgewählte Aufsätze, 3 vols. (Stuttgart, 1975–86), II, 18–36; H. Keller, ‘Hulderweis durch Privilegien: symbolische Kommunikation innerhalb und jenseits des Textes’, FMSt 38 (2004), 309–21; Tock, ‘Mise en scène’; and Koziol, Politics of Memory. Cf. L. Roach, ‘Public Rites and Public Wrongs: Ritual Aspects of Diplomas in Tenth- and Eleventh-Century England’, EME 19 (2011), 182–203.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England there is no reason to think that they were any less imposing – indeed, Sir Frank Stenton emphasized the solemnity of these documents.45 With their grandiloquent proems, spiritual sanctions, book script and lengthy witness-lists, Anglo-Saxon diplomas were evidently not devised with practicality foremost in mind: they were meant to impress, to present the transaction to all in attendance. Their texts, often couched in the bombastic ‘hermeneutic’ Latin of the period,46 stand in stark contrast to the (largely) vernacular private charter tradition and this would have set them apart from other forms of documentation, making them less comprehensible, but all the more imposing. As such, diplomas were more than legal and administrative documents (though they were this too): they were statements about power and authority.47 The fact that these documents were handed over during the conveyance ceremony would have underlined their symbolism, since by this act the charter came to represent tangibly the rights granted. Given this, we might well wonder, as earlier legal historians often did, whether it was the ritualized act or the written document which was legally ‘dispositive’. However, there is reason to think that this question, at least as traditionally asked, was badly put: there can be no doubt, as Heinrich Brunner and Eric John once argued, that charters were closely associated with bookland tenure;48 nevertheless, to many of those witnessing a conveyance (particularly amongst the laity) the ritual act may have seemed as important, if not more so.49 Indeed, it is questionable whether contemporaries would have sought to distinguish between the two in the way in which modern legal historians have done: since the diploma was subject to a ritualized conveyance, the transfer of rights and properties was achieved both through the written document and through the public ceremony.50 Given the public nature of conveyances, one can well appreciate that diplomas were multivalent documents, which not only served to transfer lands and rights, but also to present a speciic relationship between the 45

46 47

48

49 50

F. M. Stenton, The Latin Charters of the Anglo-Saxon Period (Oxford, 1955), esp. pp. 49–50. See also the remarks of D. N. Dumville, Liturgy and the Ecclesiastical History of Late Anglo-Saxon England, Studies in Anglo-Saxon History 5 (Woodbridge, 1992), p. 142. Lapidge, ‘Hermeneutic Style’, and ‘Poeticism’. C. Insley, ‘Where Did All the Charters Go? Anglo-Saxon Charters and the New Politics of the Eleventh Century’, ANS 24 (2002), 109–27. See also now C. Insley, ‘Rhetoric and Ritual in Late Anglo-Saxon Charters’, in Medieval Legal Process: Physical, Spoken and Written Performance in the Middle Ages, Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 22, ed. M. Mostert and P. Barnwell (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 109–21. Brunner, Zur Rechtsgeschichte, pp. 154–6; John, Land Tenure, pp. 171–2. Cf. W. D. Hazeltine, ‘General Preface’, in Anglo-Saxon Wills, ed. D. Whitelock (Cambridge, 1930), pp. xii–xl, at xxix–xxxiv. Brooks, Early History, pp. 288–9. See also Fried, ‘Historische Anthropologie’, pp. 82–3. Cf. M. Innes,‘Memory, Orality and Literacy in an Early Mediaeval Society’, P & P 158 (1998), 3–36, at pp. 8–9; and R. Thomas, Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 74–100.

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Royal charters and assemblies donor and recipient(s). However, whilst the conveyance ritual doubtless was important (especially from the perspective of the recipient), we should not exaggerate its signiicance; a large number of diplomas would have often been issued at meetings of the witan and there might sometimes have been a sense of routine about this. Moreover, the legal nature of these documents should not be downplayed in favour of the symbolic and performative: charters provided substantial legal rights and were highly valued for their testimony, as lawsuits repeatedly show.51 What we are dealing with, therefore, are documents which were both legal and also symbolic: the act of conferring rights on an individual was a sign of royal favour and as such charters bear witness both to formal legal transactions and to the personal relationships which stood behind them. Where the transaction recorded was more complicated, as in cases in which charters were used to create loanland, rather than bookland, or to conirm more local transactions, the message sent may have been more complex, but there is no reason to doubt that it would have been very public.52 Furthermore, the very fact that the king and witan, the realm’s highest authorities, saw it to create or conirm such arrangements itself signalled the power and inluence of those involved. Still, it would be wrong to suggest that all diplomas sent the same message or represented the same degree of favour, and where the recipient paid, perhaps in some cases quite a sum, to receive a diploma, the transaction might have taken on a more overtly inancial tone.We should probably imagine a spectrum between purely inancial transactions on the one hand and largely symbolic ones on the other, with the majority of diplomas falling somewhere in the middle ground. That charters could be used to send symbolic messages should not be doubted.Two of the clearest examples of this come from somewhat after our period, but are worth a brief mention. The irst is a charter issued during Edward the Confessor’s exile in Normandy, during which he granted a series of lands, including St Michael’s Mount, Cornwall, to the abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel. From what we can discern of this transaction, the actual land at St Michael’s Mount was relatively insigniicant and indeed its practical value was almost certainly secondary: what the young ætheling wished to do was to grant St Michael’s Mount to St Michael’s-on-the-Mount (Mont-Saint-Michel), appropriately symbolizing his patronage of the saint.53 The second case comes from the reign 51

52 53

Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 33–5; P. Wormald, ‘Charters, Law and the Settlement of Disputes in Anglo-Saxon England’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 289–311. See Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 31–3, on such transactions. S 1061 (KCD 791). See further S. Keynes, ‘The Æthelings in Normandy’, ANS 13 (1991), 173–205, at pp. 190–4; and H. Foxhall Forbes,‘The Development of the Notions of Penance, Purgatory and

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England of Æthelred II, speciically from the 990s, when the king sought to turn his back on his ‘youthful indiscretions’, advertising this with a series of restitutions.Whilst many of these documents restore substantial lands and rights which had been coniscated by the king and his favourites in the 980s, they were important above all as an act of penitence, which proclaimed the king’s guilt and contrition.54 Indeed, the irst of these diplomas does not restore any estates, but simply conirms Abingdon’s liberty, making a series of allusions to the Regularis Concordia in the process: this document was designed primarily as a demonstration of King Æthelred’s volte-face, signalling his renewed commitment to monastic reform and to the legacy of his father, mother and sometime adviser Æthelwold.55 As we move forward in time, it becomes harder to distinguish the more symbolic from more inancially motivated grants, in part because fewer non-diplomatic sources survive to help contextualize individual grants. Nevertheless, there can be no doubt that diplomas of earlier periods could carry similar symbolic resonances, as the ‘Second Decimation’ of King Æthelwulf in 854 demonstrates. At this event, staged on Easter Sunday, the most holy day of the year, Æthelwulf seems to have issued a tenth reduction on property dues throughout his kingdom. Clearly inspired by the biblical tithing tradition, this was a inal pious act before the king’s departure to Rome.56 Within the years formally under consideration, Æthelstan’s reign ofers some of the best comparable material and will be used as a ‘case study’. The most obviously symbolic grants of this period are a set of diplomas issued over the winter of 932/3, in which the king requests ecclesiastical recipients to sing psalms and lay recipients to give alms for the beneit of his soul.57 Quite what we are to make of these documents is unclear, but they were certainly designed to be a show of piety, perhaps not unlike the ‘Second Decimation’, and it is signiicant that this

54

55

56

57

the Afterlife in Anglo-Saxon England’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2008), pp. 200–1. C. Cubitt, ‘The Politics of Remorse: Penance and Royal Piety in the Reign of Æthelred the Unready’, Historical Research 85 (2012), 179–92; L. Roach, ‘Penitential Discourse in the Diplomas of King Æthelred “the Unready”’, JEH 64 (2013), 258–76. See also Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 176–208; P. Staford, ‘Political Ideas in Late Tenth-Century England: Charters as Evidence’ (2001), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. VII; and Roach, ‘Public Rites’, pp. 193–9. S 876 (Abing 124); with Roach, ‘Penitential Discourse’; Vollrath, Synoden, p. 309–10; and Keynes, ‘Re-reading’, p. 91, n. 70. Nelson, ‘Rights and Rituals’, pp. 14–24. See also Charters of Malmesbury Abbey, Anglo-Saxon Charters 11, ed. S. Kelly (Oxford, 2005), pp. 65–79 and 80–7; and Keynes, ‘West Saxon Charters’, pp. 1119–23. S 418 (WinchNM 10), S 419 (Shaft 8), S 379 (WinchNM 8), S 422 (Sherb 7), S 423 (Sherb 8). See also Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 134–5.

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Royal charters and assemblies series begins on 24 December.These charters are capable of sustaining at least three interpretations: they may represent an attempt to secure divine favour in the face of opposition, as Æthelstan seems to have faced a rebellion from his half-brother, Edwin, at around this time, which ended with the latter’s death at sea;58 alternatively, they may post-date Edwin’s death and constitute an act of penitence for Æthelstan’s complicity in this (though the independent dating of Edwin’s death to 933 by both Flocuin of St-Bertin and the Chronicle may speak against this);59 or they may simply be an expression of royal piety without any direct connection to temporal concerns. Somewhat diferent, but equally revealing, is a diploma from later in Æthelstan’s reign. As observed earlier, the years after 935 saw a number of changes in the composition of the witan, including the temporary disappearance of Ealdorman Æthelstan ‘Half-King’.60 What is striking, therefore, is that when he irst reappears, in what seems to have constituted a second major change in court factions around 938 × 939, his return is greeted with the issuing of a diploma in his name. It is tempting to connect this grant with the ealdorman’s return to court, seeing it as a public display of his return to favour.61 In this respect the experiences of Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ bear comparison with those of Duke Robert of Neustria, who disappeared from Charles the Straightforward’s court from 900 to 903: upon his return, Robert received a series of conirmations (or perhaps grants) of lay abbacies, which were clearly designed to signal his reconciliation with the king.62 Finally, in 939 another noteworthy diploma was issued: Æthelstan booked lands in Hampshire to his halfsister, Eadburh, in a document attested by her two brothers, the æthelings Edmund and Eadred. As already noted, one cannot help but feel that this document represents a family agreement of some description, perhaps designed to designate Edmund and Eadred as Æthelstan’s successors whilst securing the future well-being of their sister. As such, the charter may symbolize a much broader arrangement.63

58

59

60 62

63

Folcuin of St-Bertin, Gesta abbatum S. Bertini, c. 107, ed. O. Holder-Egger, MGH: SS 13 (Hanover, 1881), p. 629; ASC 933 E (ed. Irvine, p. 55). See Wormald, English Law, pp. 307–8; Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies’, pp. 352–65; and Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 40–3. On the other hand, William of Malmesbury records a later tradition that Æthelstan did seven years penance for precisely this reason: GRA II.139 (ed. Mynors, pp. 224–6); cf. E. A. Freeman, ‘The Mythical and Romantic Elements in Early English History’ (1866), repr. in and cited from his Historical Essays (London, 1871), pp. 1–39, at 10–15. I am grateful to Helen Foxhall Forbes and Michael Wood for discussion on this point. Above, pp. 35–6. 61 S 442 (BCS 728). G. Koziol, ‘Charles the Simple, Robert of Neustria, and the vexilla of Saint-Denis’, EME 14 (2006), 355–90, at pp. 376–81. See also now Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 237–47. S 446 (BCS 742), with discussion above, pp. 40–1. Cf. S. MacLean, ‘Making a Diference in TenthCentury Politics: King Athelstan’s Sisters and Frankish Queenship’, in Frankland: The Franks and

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Doubtless many more examples of symbolically charged grants could be mustered, but what remains to be emphasized is that we should not draw too strong a contrast between ‘symbolic’, ‘practical’ or ‘inancial’ transactions: Æthelstan’s attempts to obtain (or regain) divine favour in early 933 would doubtless have seemed both practical and symbolic to a contemporary audience. Indeed, ritual and symbolism were an essential part of power politics, as we shall see, and hence largely ‘symbolic’ or ‘ideological’ grants were neither impractical nor devoid of political implications. Moreover, just because recipients may have at times paid for their privileges does not mean that the favour embodied by these documents was substantially less. The impression, in fact, is that few if any diplomas served purely inancial ends and, as in the case of Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ in 938, the very act of receiving a charter could be a potent sign of Königsnähe; even if the ealdorman had paid for this grant, which is by no means inconceivable, it was signiicant that the king was willing to deal with him at all. Indeed, we should do well to presume that those who were not in the king’s good graces were in no position to request privileges, regardless of how much they may have been willing to ofer.64 Hence we should not imagine that the legal, practical or even inancial aspects of diploma granting were directly antithetic to its symbolic potential: as the traditio cartae itself demonstrates, the world of earlier medieval law and inance (not entirely unlike its more modern counterpart, for that matter) was steeped in ritual and symbolism. Given this, we might hope that diplomas would reveal something of the nature of kingship during the years under examination, illustrating changes in the types of transaction conducted at assemblies (e.g. gifts, conirmations, exchanges, restitutions and leases), or how royal authority gained ground within the newly conquered regions north of the Thames. Unfortunately, however, many of these hopes must be disappointed.This is in part because diplomas do not record the transactions behind them in a transparent manner. As already intimated, the presumption is that charters were generally requested by the recipient, who may have provided cash or other gifts in return for the privilege.65 When such payments are mentioned in diplomas, the suspicion is often that what was involved was the formation (for a

64 65

the World of the Early Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of Jinty Nelson, ed. P. Fouracre and D. Ganz (Manchester, 2008), pp. 167–90, at 187–8, for the alternative suggestion that this grant was part of Æthelstan’s campaign preparations. Cf. Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 333–59. Keynes, ‘Edgar’, pp. 39–40. See further Mersiowsky, ‘Towards a Reappraisal’, pp. 20–5; T. Reuter, ‘Mandate, Privilege, Court Judgement: Techniques of Rulership in the Age of Frederick Barbarossa’, in his Medieval Polities, pp. 413–31, at 414–15 and 419–20; and H.-H. Kortüm, Zur päpstlichen Urkundensprache im frühen Mittelalter. Die päpstlichen Privilegien 896–1046, Beiträge zur Geschichte und Quellenkunde des Mittelalters 17 (Sigmaringen, 1995), esp. pp. 21–2.

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Royal charters and assemblies price) of bookland on the basis of the recipients’ folkland, rather than the granting of land from the isc.66 Furthermore, given that such transactions may lie behind documents in which no explicit mention is made of a sum being paid, it would be very dangerous simply to brand some transactions ‘exchanges’ or ‘sales’ and others ‘gifts’.67 Indeed, for all the emphasis that charter proems place on generosity, one suspects that a harsher world of realpolitik often lay behind their issuing.68 Moreover, if most charters were requested by the recipient(s), then they cannot be read as straightforward evidence of distinctive ‘royal policies’ or the eforts of kings to impose themselves on the locality; rather they record the reverse process, whereby local igures chose to approach the king and witan. As such, charters may still help us trace aspects of royal power and inluence – after all, they reveal not only local interest in royal assemblies, but also what might be expected from the king and witan – but they do not provide direct windows into this: increasing numbers of diplomas for a given region may relect less a change in ‘royal policy’ than a change in how accessible or attractive the king and court were for local magnates. Perhaps even more problematic than the somewhat opaque nature of the diploma, however, are the archival biases on our surviving records.69 The majority of large archives come from south of the Thames, and where archives survive for the Midlands and the North, as in the case of Burton, they often provide myriad insights into local landholding, demonstrating just how much material may have been lost from these areas.70 Moreover, clusters of diplomas, focused around religious houses, 66

67

68

69

70

Such transactions would be similar to those discussed by T. Reuter, ‘Property Transactions and Social Relations between Rulers, Bishops and Nobles in Early Eleventh-Century Saxony: The Evidence of the Vita Meinwerki’, in Property and Power in the Early Middle Ages, ed. W. Davies and P. Fouracre (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 165–99, at 180–2, whereby local igures ‘granted’ land to Paderborn which they continued to control, but wished to be able to dispose of more freely. On ‘bookland’ and ‘folkland’, see P. Wormald, ‘Bede and the Conversion of England: The Charter Evidence’ (1985), repr. in and cited from his The Times of Bede: Studies in Early English Christian Society and its Historian, ed. S. Baxter (Oxford, 2006), pp. 135–66, at 153–8; and T. Charles-Edwards, ‘Anglo-Saxon Kinship Revisited’, in The Anglo-Saxons from the Migration Period to the Eighth Century: An Ethnographic Perspective, ed. J. Hines (Woodbridge, 1997), pp. 171–210, at 192–9. R. Naismith, ‘Payments for Land and Privilege in Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 41 (2013 [for 2012]), 277–342. See also Campbell, ‘Sale’, pp. 231–2; Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 33 and 107–8; and A. Kennedy, ‘Law and Litigation in the Libellus Æthelwoldi episcopi’, ASE 24 (1995), 131–83, at pp. 161–2. Important are the general observations of Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 333–59, esp. 344–7. See also R. G. R. Naismith, ‘Coinage and History in Southumbrian England c. 750–875’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2009), pp. 13–21; and Hudson, Land, Law, and Lordship, pp. 164–6. See R. Fleming, Kings and Lords in Conquest England, CSMLT 4th ser. 15 (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 18–19. See P. H. Sawyer, ‘The Charters of Burton Abbey and the Uniication of England’, Northern History 10 (1975), 28–39.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England are visible within all regions, and thus even in Wessex, for which by far the largest number of charters survives from this period, we can detect a ‘core’ of transmission, based around the large and well-preserved archives of the Old Minster, Winchester, and Abingdon. In other southerly regions more diplomas tend to be preserved than for Mercia or the Danelaw, but the spread is much thinner: a number survive for Kent, preserved above all at Christ Church, Canterbury, while diplomas for Surrey, Sussex and Cornwall appear only occasionally. Other factors may also have inluenced the charter record: on the one hand, royal patronage in some regions may have primarily taken the form of grants of folkland, the dynamics of which are all but impossible to trace in the written record;71 on the other, new diplomas were only strictly necessary for the formation of bookland – where earlier charters survived, kings (and other igures) might efect transfers simply by handing over the existing document(s). This may go some way towards explaining why fewer diplomas were produced for regions such as Kent, where we know that many early charters survived into this period, than for Wessex, whose archives do not preserve as many early muniments. Given all this, we must be very careful indeed when approaching the diploma record; it provides detailed insights into only a few regions and even here the picture is anything but complete. However, neither should we be too defeatist. New charters might be produced for transactions even in cases in which earlier ones were available, and there is every reason to believe that royal landholding and authority was greatest in central Wessex, precisely where the largest number of diplomas survives. Indeed, the distribution of surviving royal charters is probably only in part to be ascribed to the inluence of archival ilters. When we turn to the diploma evidence itself, two main trends are visible over these years. The irst and perhaps most striking is a steady increase in the number of royal charters issued and a change in the types of transaction they appear to record. Under Alfred the Great and Edward the Elder there seems to have been an active policy of avoiding new grants of bookland, which reached its peak in the years 910–24, for which no known diplomas survive. However, what is remarkable in this period is not only the sparseness of the charter record, but also the nature of the transactions recorded: the majority of diplomas issued appear to record exchanges, renewals, restitutions or leases – transactions which need not 71

S. Baxter and J. Blair, ‘Land Tenure and Royal Patronage in the Early English Kingdom: A Model and Case Study’, ANS 28 (2006), 19–46; S. Baxter, The Earls of Mercia: Lordship and Power in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Oxford, 2007), pp. 138–51; J. Hudson, The Oxford History of the Laws of England, vol. II, 871–1216 (Oxford, 2012), pp. 102–8.

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Royal charters and assemblies have diminished the isc permanently.Thus only six of the twelve largely reliable documents in Alfred’s name concern grants in which no form of remuneration or exchange is mentioned, while under Edward the igure is only ive of sixteen.72 This suggests that these rulers were not only avoiding the creation of new bookland, but also preventing the reduction of royal landholding more generally.73 How Alfred and Edward otherwise rewarded their followers is not entirely clear, though it seems probable that lands taken or leased from the church and new conquests in the Danelaw were used for this purpose.74 After ifteen years without any known diploma production, our evidence resumes early in Æthelstan’s reign. The diferences between the documents of this period and earlier West Saxon diplomatic need not be rehearsed again, but what should be emphasized is that diplomatic developments are mirrored by a change in the nature of the transactions recorded: the number of renewals, leases and exchanges falls signiicantly, and the impression is that Æthelstan and his successors were willing and able to grant lands and exemptions far more freely than their predecessors. Closer inspection reveals that this change is associated with the conquest of Northumbria in 927; at the start of his reign Æthelstan in many respects seems to have continued Alfred’s and Edward’s policy of restricting grants, and his irst four diplomas are all conirmations, renewals or restitutions.75 It is only after the takeover of Northumbria, an event celebrated in verse as well as by new royal styles on charters and coins,76 that Æthelstan begins to dispense land 72

73

74

75

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Alfred: S 321, 344 (exchange for 25 mancuses of gold), 345 (exchange for land), 346, 347 (exchange for land), 348, 350, 352, 354 (exchange for land), 355 (exchange for land), 356 (lease from Malmesbury to a royal retainer), 1628. Edward: S 359 (exchange for land), 361 (conirmation of a sale), 362, 363 (exchange for land), 364, 365, 366, 367 (renewal of a lost charter), 367a (renewal of a lost charter), 368 (renewal of a lost charter), 369 (renewal of a damaged charter), 372 (exchange for land), 373 (exchange for land), 374, 380 (exchange for land), 385 (lease). P. Wormald, ‘On þa wæpnedhealfe: Kingship and Royal Property from Æthelwulf to Edward the Elder’, in Edward the Elder, ed. Higham and Hill, pp. 264–79, at 274–5. See also J. L. Nelson, ‘Wealth and Wisdom: The Politics of Alfred the Great’ (1986), repr. in and cited from her Rulers and Ruling Families in Early Medieval Europe: Alfred, Charles the Bald, and Others (Aldershot, 1999), no. II, pp. 38–9, raising the possibility that sales of bookland were an important source of income in this period. On the use of church lands, see R. Fleming, ‘Monastic Lands and England’s Defence in the Viking Age’, EHR 100 (1985), 247–65; S. Reynolds, ‘Compulsory Purchase in the Earlier Middle Ages’, in Frankland, ed. Fouracre and Ganz, pp. 28–43, at 35–6; and Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 99–102; and on Danelaw conquests, see Dumville, ‘Æthelstan’, pp. 150–2; and Sawyer, ‘Charters of Burton’, pp. 31–2. S 394 (restitution), 395 (renewal of a lost charter), 396 (conirmation), 397 (conirmation). This sits well with the evidence of royal titulature, since until the conquest of York Æthelstan tends to be styled rex Angulsaxonum, like his predecessors: S 396 (Abing 21), S 397 (Burt 3); with Keynes, ‘England, 900–1016’, p. 468. M. Lapidge, ‘Some Latin Poems as Evidence for the Reign of Athelstan’ (1981), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature, pp. 49–86, at 71–81; C. E. Blunt, ‘The Coinage of Athelstan, 924–39: A Survey’, British Numismatic Journal 42 (1974), 34–160, esp. pp. 55–6; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 26–8.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England in a manner and on a scale hitherto unprecedented; thereafter renewals, exchanges and leases are still recorded, but the vast majority of the royal charters profess to record generous grants. As this period also sees developments in diplomatic, it is worth considering whether what was involved might have been a change in the methods of charter drafting (a mutation documentaire) rather than in the actual nature of transactions.77 We have already noted that gifts and monetary transactions may have lain behind many diplomas which do not advertise this fact, and in early Anglo-Saxon England notable differences have been observed between the numbers of ‘gifts’, ‘sales’ and ‘exchanges’ recorded in the muniments of diferent houses, suggesting that alternative diplomatic practices could make a substantial diference here.78 Moreover, all of the charters in which monetary payments are noted both before and after 927 are worded in their operative clauses as gifts, not sales or exchanges, and one has the distinct impression that the very mention of a payment was often an afterthought. This is clearest in the case of S 535, discussed above, where a note to the efect that 2 pounds of gold were given in exchange for the grant was added later. Indeed, when mentioned at all, payments are generally listed amongst a series of reasons, normally including faithful service, for making a grant, so it is entirely possible that in the many diplomas in which the grounds for the grant are not explicitly stated there was simply no place for such details. However, while these considerations serve as a salutary warning against reading changes in the charter record as a straightforward relection of socio-political change, it seems likely in this case that we are dealing with more than a documentary phenomenon. It is telling that later draftsmen continue at least occasionally to note that lands or gold were given in order to obtain charters, and though in some cases this may represent the tip of the iceberg, in others the attempt appears to have been to emphasize the distinctiveness of the transaction. Such an awareness of the diference between gift and sale is certainly to be found elsewhere in western Europe in these years, though it naturally blurred in practice.79 Perhaps 77

78 79

Cf. D. Barthélemy, La société dans le comté de Vendôme: de l’an mil au XIVe siècle (Paris, 1993), pp. 19–127, and ‘The “Feudal Revolution”: A Comment’, P & P 152 (1996), 196–205, at pp. 199–201. Naismith, ‘Coinage and History’, pp. 13–19. See J. L. Nelson, ‘Church Properties and the Propertied Church: Donors, the Clergy and the Church in Medieval Western Europe from the Fourth Century to the Twelfth’, EHR 124 (2009), 355–74, at p. 370; along with detailed case studies in W. Davies, Acts of Giving: Individual, Community, and Church in Tenth-Century Christian Spain (Oxford, 2007), pp. 135–8; B. H. Rosenwein, To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter: The Social Meaning of Cluny’s Property, 909–1049 (Ithaca, NY, 1989), pp. 109–43; E. Z. Tabuteau, Transfers of Property in Eleventh-Century Norman Law (Chapel Hill, NC, 1988), pp. 41–3; and Reuter, ‘Property Transactions’, pp. 181–3. See also J. Hannig, ‘Ars donandi. Zur Ökonomie des Schenkens im frühen Mittelalter’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 37

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Royal charters and assemblies more importantly, it is not only the changing nature of the transactions recorded over these years which is striking, but also the changing number of diplomas issued: in archives with a continuous history (such as Christ Church, Canterbury, and the Old Minster) far more royal charters survive for the years after 927, suggesting that there was a change of some description at this point – indeed, the trend, at least up until the 960s, is one of ever more intense annual diploma production.80 Furthermore, it seems more than coincidental that all of these changes should take place immediately following Æthelstan’s takeover of Northumbria, an event which we know to have been a decisive moment in the formation of the ‘kingdom of the English’. Thus, after a lull and then a complete stop in diploma production under Alfred and Edward, charter issuing increased fairly steadily through the tenth century, as kings became ever more able and willing to alienate lands and privileges. Along with this general increase, we see a slow rise in the proportion of diplomas issued for Mercia and the Danelaw. It would be dangerous to attempt to track this development statistically, given the earlier caveats about archival survival, but it is clear that as the tenth century went on larger numbers of documents were issued for these regions. Initial transactions were tentative: Edward the Elder’s diplomas for Mercia are mostly renewals of earlier charters, while likewise three of Æthelstan’s four earliest diplomas record renewals or conirmations of lands within the Danelaw – it would seem that these rulers largely satisied themselves with conirming the status quo.81 An important development is then marked by the appearance of the ‘alliterative’ charters in the 940s, which, as Cyril Roy Hart emphasizes, are amongst the earliest diplomas of West Saxon rulers for Mercia and the Danelaw.82 Further developments can be observed in Eadwig’s and Edgar’s reigns: the former saw an intensiication of grants within Mercia, associated in part with the king’s patronage of Ealdorman Ælfhere’s family;83 the latter shows signs of increasing interest in the Danelaw, perhaps the product

80 81

82 83

(1986), 149–62; and A.-J. Bijsterveld, ‘The Medieval Gift as Agent of Social Bonding and Political Power: A Comparative Approach’, in Medieval Transformations:Texts, Power, and Gifts in Context, ed. E. Cohen and M. de Jong (Leiden, 2001), pp. 123–56. Keynes, Atlas, table XXVI. However, two of Æthelstan’s conirmations are for lands sold by Edward within the Danelaw (S 396–7), perhaps indicating that he was more proactive within this region than the charter record alone suggests. Hart, Danelaw, pp. 442–3. S. Jayakumar,‘Eadwig and Edgar: Politics, Propaganda, Faction’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 83–103, at 89–90; P. Wormald, ‘The Strange Afair of the Selsey Bishopric, 953–963’, in Belief and Culture in the Middle Ages: Studies Presented to Henry Mayr-Harting, ed. R. Gameson and H. Leyser (Oxford, 2001), pp. 128–41, at 137–8.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England of Edgar’s ‘Danelaw’ upbringing and early years ruling north of the Thames.84 For all this the number of diplomas issued for land south of the Thames continues to dwarf that for Mercia and the Danelaw by a ratio of over two to one throughout this period. Even in the south a clear core can be distinguished within central Wessex, particularly around Wiltshire, Hampshire and Berkshire. As already observed, much of this distribution is to be ascribed to archival inluences. Far fewer archives survive intact for Mercia and the Danelaw, while the heartland of charter survival in Wessex correlates suspiciously with the coverage of two of the largest tenth-century archives: the Old Minster, Winchester (Wiltshire and Hampshire), and Abingdon (Berkshire). Nevertheless, it is likely that more than purely archival ilters are at work. A comparison between the well-preserved archives of Worcester and the Old Minster is instructive in this regard: although the former preserves but a handful of royal grants from our period (in contrast with large numbers of leases and private charters), in the latter late ninth- and tenth-century diplomas predominate. It is hard to know whether – and if so, to what extent – we can generalize from Worcester to Mercia and the Danelaw, but the contrast is certainly striking. The impression therefore is that fewer diplomas were issued for these regions and that royal charters became scarcer the further one travelled from central Wessex. Thus, for example, while Burton boasts a modest number of diplomas from these years, St Peter’s, York, preserves but a handful and none at all survive from Durham.85 It may, in fact, be no accident that so many substantial archives survive from Wessex: it was here that royal authority was most keenly felt and it was always likely that more diplomas would be issued and a greater interest attached to their preservation within the region. If, then, this distribution is only partly an optical illusion, one should wish to know the grounds. On a practical level, it is likely that kings had fewer holdings north of the Thames, making them less attractive patrons than local noblemen or churches.86 The distances involved might also have played a role: since assemblies were generally held in the south, often in central Wessex, it may less often have been worth the time and expense for more humble Mercian and Danelaw magnates to attend. In 84

85

86

Abrams, ‘Men of the Danelaw’; N. Lund, ‘King Edgar and the Danelaw’, Medieval Scandinavia 9 (1976), 181–95. For the contrast between York and Durham, see Woodman, ‘York and Durham’, esp. pp. 8–15 and 261–6. Unfortunately our knowledge of the isc in these years is very patchy; see Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 149–51; Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 99–100; Lund, ‘Edgar’, p. 189; Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 108–10; and P. Staford, ‘The Reign of Æthelred II: A Study in the Limits of Royal Policy

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Royal charters and assemblies fact, it is notable that grants to laymen within these regions tend to be in favour of particularly prominent igures, such as Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ and Ælfhere. Further support for this thesis is provided by Edgar’s brief reign north of the Thames (957–9), which witnessed a sudden lurry of smaller-scale grants to more modest individuals; it would seem that the royal court was suddenly more accessible from the Midlands in these years.87 A rough parallel is ofered by the mid-ninth-century rise in diploma production for Austria and Bavaria, which has been interpreted as a product of Louis the German’s accession, which irst provided a royal court in the region.88 Moreover, it may have been felt that the diplomas of rulers who spent so much of their time in the south could do little to conirm holdings or to efect transfers in more peripheral regions, especially in the far north.89 No doubt often a combination of these factors was at work. Nevertheless, the fewer diplomas issued for these regions need not be equated directly with weak royal authority; they simply suggest that a subtly diferent system was in operation. It would seem that kings were in direct contact with fewer igures from Mercia and the Danelaw and that royal inluence was exerted through these individuals: kings favoured their servants, who in turn provided the necessary control and patronage in the locality.90 Most of these magnates attended assemblies regularly, as we have seen, and they often held lands across the kingdom, forming a cadre comparable in certain respects to the Carolingian ‘imperial aristocracy’ (Reichsaristokratie).91 Conclusions We are far better informed about the granting of land than most other aspects of the witan’s operation and it is therefore important to guard against the notion that this was always the most important business conducted by it: doubtless the issuing of sovereign charters often came second

87

88

89 91

and Action’ (1978), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. IV, pp. 19–21. S 674 (grant of 5 hides to Ælfheah, minister), 676a (grant of 3 hides to Eadwald, minister), 677 (grant of 6 hides to Eahlstan, minister), 678 (grant of 14 hides to Eanulf, minister). H. Fichtenau, Das Urkundenwesen in Österreich vom 8. bis zum frühen 13. Jahrhundert, MIÖG: Ergänzungsband 23 (Vienna, 1970), pp. 88–97. Cf. Reuter, ‘Mandate’, pp. 419–20. 90 Nelson, ‘Rulers’, pp. 116–17. Campbell, ‘United Kingdom’, p. 35; P. Wormald, ‘Engla Lond: The Making of an Allegiance’ (1994), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 359–82, at 337–8. On the Reichsaristokratie, G. Tellenbach, Königtum und Stämme in der Werdezeit des Deutschen Reiches (Weimar, 1939), remains fundamental. See more recently S. Airlie, ‘Charlemagne and the Aristocracy: Captains and Kings’, in Charlemagne: Empire and Society, ed. J. Story (Manchester, 2005), pp. 90–102, and ‘The Aristocracy in the Service of the State in the Carolingian World’, in Staat im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Airlie et al., pp. 93–111.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England to law-making, arrangements for campaigns, the reception of embassies and even socializing and informal hobnobbing. Nevertheless, precisely because diplomas are so well preserved, they repay close examination. Indeed, while we should be careful not to exaggerate their signiicance, it would be equally wrong to dismiss them: considerable efort went into their production and preservation, and it should not be forgotten that the accumulation of land, rights and inluence (which had a tendency to coincide) was of central importance to the medieval aristocracy.92 As we have seen, these documents are not only records of property transactions, but also relect broader socio-political manoeuvring. Royal charters were clearly associated with meetings of the witan and under most circumstances they were issued at these events. As such, diplomas provide unique insights not only into symbolic behaviour at assemblies (a matter to which we shall later return), but also into the types of transaction taking place and the personal bonds thereby forged. We can observe a steady increase in the number of charters issued, and amongst these documents an increase in the proportion of generous grants, suggesting that royal power and landholding were progressively strengthened, enabling kings to issue privileges ever more generously.93 Nevertheless, this power and authority remained strongly focused on central Wessex: the impression is that most recipients from Mercia and the Danelaw came from the very upper echelons of society and had to travel south to receive their privileges – royal power in these regions was refracted through such individuals. This sits well with the evidence of assembly sites, discussed in the previous chapter, the majority of which lay in central Wessex. In this context of indirect rule over much of the kingdom the importance of assemblies would have been great indeed: the king needed to meet with magnates from Mercia and the Danelaw, as it was only through them that he could make his authority felt on the ground.94 How much independence these igures were allowed is hard to establish, but should not be underestimated; though perhaps not quite as powerful as Ottonian dukes, ealdormen such as Æthelstan ‘Half92

93

94

G. Duby, La société aux XIe et XIIe siècles dans la région Mâconnaise, 2nd edn (Paris, 1971), pp. 53–5; P. J. Geary, ‘Land, Language and Memory in Europe 700–1100’, TRHS 6th ser. 9 (1999), 169–84; C. Wickham, ‘The Other Transition: From the Ancient World to Feudalism’ (1984), rev. in and cited from his Land and Power: Studies in Italian and European Social History, 400–1200 (London, 1994), pp. 7–42, esp. 27–8; Innes, State and Society, pp. 68 and 253–4; Fried, Weg in die Geschichte, pp. 713–19. Cf. Brühl, Deutschland–Frankreich, pp. 492–3; and Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 375–7, who use diploma production as a (rough) measure of a ruler’s activity and inluence. Kränzle, ‘Der abwesende König’, pp. 152–7, argues that the Ottonian royal itinerary was designed to enable the ‘co-presence’ (Kopräsenz) of the king and his followers. See also Stieldorf, ‘Reiseherrschaft’, pp. 164–77.

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Royal charters and assemblies King’ and Ælfhere probably shared much in common with their German counterparts, who are now generally seen as the products, not opponents, of centralized government in the late Carolingian period.95 Thus, as in the Carolingian and Ottonian realms, kings and aristocrats in ninth- and tenth-century England were very much ‘team players’, and meetings of the witan were the ideal opportunities for them to discuss their strategies of play.96 95

96

H.-W. Goetz,‘Dux’ und ‘Ducatus’. Begrifs- und verfassungsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Entstehung des sogenannten ‘jüngeren’ Stammesherzogtums an der Wende vom 9. zum 10. Jahrhundert (Bochum, 1977); K.-F. Werner, ‘Les duchés “nationaux” d’Allemagne au IXe et au Xe siècle’ (1979), repr. in and cited from his Vom Frankenreich zur Entfaltung Deutschlands und Frankreichs: Urprünge – Strukturen – Beziehungen. Ausgewählte Aufsätze (Sigmaringen, 1984), pp. 311–28, and ‘La genèse des duchés en France et en Allemagne’ (1981), repr. in and cited from his Vom Frankenreich zur Entfaltung Deutschlands und Frankreichs, pp. 278–310; M. Becher, Rex, Dux und Gens. Untersuchungen zur Entstehung des sächsischen Herzogtums im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert, Historische Studien 444 (Husum, 1996); J. Schneider, Auf der Suche nach dem verlorenen Reich. Lotharingien im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert, Publications du CLUDEM 30 (Cologne, 2010), pp. 124–48; Brühl, Deutschland–Frankreich, pp. 303–29. See also English-language discussions in S. Airlie, ‘The Aristocracy’, in NCMH II, 431–50, at pp. 448–50; and M. Costambeys, M. Innes and S. MacLean, The Carolingian World (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 271–323. Cf. Airlie, ‘Captains’, pp. 91–4.

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Chapter 5

L E G I S L AT ION A ND C ONS E N T: LAW-MAK I N G A ND A S S E M BLY POLI TI CS

As Sir Richard Southern once observed, ‘the primary function of the medieval ruler was that of organising justice and pronouncing judgement, either through his oicials or in his own person’.1 Since kings irst set up rule within the various provinces of the Western Roman Empire, they sought to fulil this role by issuing laws, and this tradition of literate legislation was brought over to England with Christianity in the late sixth century. Although some of the earliest ‘barbarian’ codes bear only a modest imprint of Christian practice, the interests of church and king rapidly began to coalesce.2 The Old Testament in particular provided many exempla of kings with and without justice, and works on rulership elaborated on the theme, perhaps the most important being the PseudoCyprian De duodecim abusivis saeculi, an inluential Irish text known both in England and on the continent in these years.3 Even more signiicantly, from the early tenth century onwards the royal responsibility to oversee justice was enshrined in the coronation oath, according to which kings

1

2 3

R. W. Southern, The Making of the Middle Ages (London, 1953), p. 141. See further R. Deutinger, ‘Der König als Richter’, in Recht und Gericht, ed. Hartmann, pp. 31–48; J. L. Nelson, ‘Kings with Justice, Kings without Justice: An Early Medieval Paradox’, Settimane 44 (1997), 797–826; and Y. Sassier, ‘Le roi et la loi chez les penseurs du royaume occidental du deuxième quart du IXe à la in du XIe s.’, CCM 43 (2000), 257–73. M. Lupoi, The Origins of the European Legal Order, trans. A. Belton (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 26–35. M. Clayton, ‘De Duodecim Abusiuis, Lordship and Kingship in Anglo-Saxon England’, in Saints and Scholars: New Perspectives on Anglo-Saxon Literature and Culture in Honour of Hugh Magennis, ed. S. McWilliams (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 141–63; J. Grigg, ‘The Just King and De Duodecim Abusiuis Saeculi’, Parergon 27 (2010), 27–52; R. Meens, ‘Politics, Mirrors of Princes and the Bible: Sins, Kings and the Well-being of the Realm’, EME 7 (1998), 345–57; H. H. Anton, Fürstenspiegel und Herrscherethos in der Karolingerzeit, Bonner historische Forschungen 32 (Bonn, 1968), pp. 67–79. This work was translated by Ælfric of Eynsham as De XII abusiuis secundum disputationem Sancti Cipriani Martyris, ed. R. Warner, Early English Homilies from the Twelfth-Century MS.Vespasian D.XIV, EETS o.s. 152 (London, 1917), pp. 11–16, and is listed amongst the books given by Æthelwold to Peterborough in S 1446.

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Legislation and consent promised to maintain the peace, protect the church, prevent theft and uphold justice.4 Yet if it was the king’s duty to uphold justice, it was never his alone. Not only did he need ideles to oversee the running of the judicial system, but he also required advice on the principles of justice. The making and enforcement of law was therefore always in part a communal and consensual afair.5 Kings issued codes not on their own, but with the help of counsellors and/or legal experts: Gundobad drew up laws with the advice of his leading men, both Burgundian and Roman;6 Rothar issued his Edict together with his principal judges, and the involvement of iudices and the consent of the people is mentioned in subsequent additions to Lombard law;7 and the Pactus legis Salicae describes its promulgation as an act of the people without reference to royal authority.8 It should not, then, surprise that the witan looms large in the Anglo-Saxon legal material: it not only igures prominently in the promulgation of laws, but also seems to have played the role of ‘high court’ for the adjudication of disputes (if the anachronism be allowed). If, therefore, we wish to understand more fully the functions of royal assemblies, we must turn to the records of legislation and dispute settlement. It is important to examine law-making and disputing together as these in many ways constitute either side of the same coin. Indeed, although early medieval legal culture has traditionally been approached from the perspective of the surviving law-codes, more recent generations of scholars stress the importance of studying law in practice alongside legal theory.9 Anglo-Saxon historians have risen to this challenge 4

5

6

7

8

9

The Leofric Missal, ed. N. Orchard, 2 vols., HBS 113 (Woodbridge, 2002), II, 432; Promissio regis, ed. M. Clayton, ‘The Old English Promissio regis’, ASE 37 (2008), 91–150, at p. 148. Interestingly the author of the Promissio discusses these issues within the context of Pseudo-Cyprian’s teachings. S. Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe 900–1300, 2nd edn (Oxford, 1997). On the imperial background, see J. Harries, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 36–55. Lex Gundobada, prol., ed. L. R. von Salis-Mayenfeld, Leges Burgundiunum, MGH: Leges nat. Germ. 2.i (Hanover, 1892), pp. 29–34. Edictus Rothari, prol., ed. F. Bluhme, MGH: Leges 4 (Hanover, 1868), pp. 1–2; Leges Grimowaldi, prol. (ibid., p. 91); Leges Liutprandi, prol. (ibid., pp. 107–8); Leges Ratchis, prol. (ibid., pp. 183–4); Leges Aistuli, prol. (ibid., p. 195). See N. Everett, ‘Literacy and the Law in Lombard Government’, EME 9 (2000), 93–127. Pactus legis Salicae, prol., ed. K. A. Eckhardt, MGH: Leges nat. Germ. 4.i (Hanover, 1952), pp. 2–3; with P. Wormald, ‘Lex scripta and verbum regis: Legislation and Germanic Kingship from Euric to Cnut’ (1977), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 1–43, at 39–41. Particularly inluential have been F. L. Cheyette, ‘Suum cuique tribuere’, French Historical Studies 6 (1970), 287–99; S. D. White, ‘“Pactum … legem vincit et amor judicium”: The Settlement of Disputes by Compromise in Eleventh-Century Western France’ (1978), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making in Medieval France (Aldershot, 2005), no. V; and The Settlement of Disputes in Early Medieval Europe, ed. W. Davies and P. Fouracre (Cambridge, 1986).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and a number of works since the 1980s have placed practice at the centre of consideration, demonstrating how this might diverge from theory in signiicant ways.10 Of particular importance in this context have been anthropological models. Since E. E. Evans-Pritchard irst examined feuding amongst the Nuer and Max Gluckman, building on this basis, formulated his thoughts on the ‘peace in the feud’, it has been clear that conlict, be it pursued by judicial or extra-judicial means, need not simply be a force of disorder in society.11 Although these early models would not be followed unadjusted by most modern anthropologists, they irst demonstrated the potential for studying conlict not as something ‘barbaric’ and ‘other’, but as an essential part of a working society.12 Some scholars have even suggested that we should abandon the belief that ‘peace’ is the natural state of society, arguing that social relationships are constantly (re)constructed through conlict.13 Taking inspiration from such work, Paul Kershaw has recently examined the ideal of ‘peaceful kingship’ in the early Middle Ages, arguing that this was not understood as kingship without any violence or conlict, but rather as peaceful rule backed up by the active threat of force.14 It is against this background that we must approach the references to peace, feud and violence that abound in the English law-codes and dispute records of the ninth and tenth centuries. This chapter will focus on the former, while the next will deal with the latter. The two subjects are, of course, closely related and irm conclusions will therefore have to wait until both have been examined.

10

11

12

13 14

P.Wormald,‘A Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Lawsuits’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 253–87, and ‘Giving God and King their Due: Conlict and its Regulation in the Early English State’ (1997), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 333–57; S. Keynes, ‘The Fonthill Letter’, in Words, Texts and Manuscripts: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Helmut Gneuss on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. M. Korhammer (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 53–97. E. E. Evans-Pritchard, The Nuer: A Description of the Modes of Livelihood and Political Institutions of a Nilotic People (Oxford, 1940), pp. 129–91; M. Gluckman, ‘The Peace in the Feud’, P & P 8 (1955), 1–14. See also E. Colson, ‘Social Control and Vengeance in Plateau Tonga Society’, Africa 23 (1953), 199–212; and J. Black-Michaud, Cohesive Force: Feud in the Mediterranean and the Middle East (London, 1975). Engaging, more recent studies include S. Roberts, Order and Dispute: An Introduction to Legal Anthropology (Harmondsworth, 1979); J. L. Comarof and S. Roberts, Rules and Processes: The Cultural Logic of Dispute in an African Context (Chicago, 1981); E. Muir, Mad Blood Stirring:Vendetta and Factions in Friuli during the Renaissance (Baltimore, MD, 1993); C. and C. Robarchek, Waorani: The Contexts of Violence and War (Fort Worth, TX, 1998), pp. 128–47; and R. V. Gould, ‘Revenge as Sanction and Solidarity Display: An Analysis of Vendettas in Nineteenth-Century Corsica’, American Sociological Review 65 (2000), 682–704. Black-Michaud, Cohesive Force, p. 17; Roberts, Order and Dispute, pp. 45–7. P. J. E. Kershaw, Peaceful Kings: Peace, Power, and the Early Medieval Political Imagination (Oxford, 2011).

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Legislation and consent T he

WITAN

and the law

Although it has long been appreciated that early medieval kings issued laws with the advice and agreement of their counsellors, the consensual aspects of Anglo-Saxon law-making have received surprisingly little discussion. Thus, although Patrick Wormald dedicated a number of pages to law-making assemblies in his magnum opus and throughout stressed the key part of bishops in the drafting and circulation of legislation, the actual role of their consent and advice generally remains implicit.15 It is, therefore, important to emphasize that in almost all codes which purport to be royal legislation – and one must distinguish here between royally promulgated law and the non- or quasi-royal material which often circulated alongside this – mention is made of the witan. Occasionally these igures are simply said to have been ‘present’, on which basis we might presume that they were largely a passive audience for decrees, but at many points their more active involvement is emphasized: they are reported as counselling the king and consenting to ordinances.16 Alfred’s account of earlier law-making famously reports that ‘synods’ were held throughout England at which bishops and other counsellors (witan) issued codes.17 The regularity with which such consultation is mentioned might even suggest that where the involvement of the witan is not described expressis verbis it is to be assumed. Hence the Grately code (II Æthelstan) only mentions the involvement of royal counsellors at the end of the text, almost as an afterthought.18 Though there is reason to believe that kings might under certain circumstances issue injunctions without the witan, in these cases we seem to be dealing with a subtly diferent form of legislation. Thus I Edward, the only royal code from this period not to mention the witan, deals with largely administrative measures to ensure that reeves perform their duties as stipulated in existing law-books (dombec); this is less a new code than an injunction on the observation of existing ones.19 Likewise Æthelstan’s Ordinance on Charities, which largely concerns the 15

16

17 18 19

Wormald, English Law. Cf. Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’, pp. 39–41; and Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 25–6. For example Af prol. 49.9 (ed. Liebermann I, 46–7); II Ed 1 (ibid., pp. 140–1); I As prol. (ibid., pp. 146–7). Af prol. 49.7–8 (ed. Liebermann I, 44–7); with Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 226–8. II As epil. (ed. Liebermann I, 166). I Ew (ed. Liebermann I, 138–41). The only other code not to mention the involvement of the witan, III Edgar, constitutes the secular decrees of an assembly at Andover. Since the involvement of advisers is made explicit in the prologue to the ecclesiastical ordinances, we should probably not make too much of the absence of this in their secular counterpart: II Eg prol. (ed. Liebermann I, 194–5). Cf. A. Rabin, ‘Female Advocacy and Royal Protection in Tenth-Century England: The Career of Queen Ælfthryth’, Speculum 84 (2009), 261–88, at pp. 266–7, who is inclined to read slightly more into the omission of the witan in this code’s preface.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England payment of tithes and alms, mentions only the advice of the kingdom’s bishops; although this could have been issued from an assembly, it may just as well have proceeded from a synod.20 Hence it would seem that the witan was not always needed in order to issue shorter injunctions, just as Carolingian Capitularia missorum, which look remarkably similar to these texts, were often produced outside assemblies.21 In this light it is perhaps less the case that kings could not make laws without the consent of the witan, than that in practice it was not advisable to do so. Indeed, since the implementation of new ordinances depended heavily on the support of the realm’s senior magnates, it was only natural to seek their advice when undertaking substantial revisions of or additions to the law.22 It is, however, important to consider the nature of the witan’s involvement: were clauses discussed; was the consent mentioned largely a fait accompli; or, for that matter, did such descriptions merely constitute topoi? The latter issue is a particular concern, since the process of going over old laws, retaining the good ones, amending those that can be improved and getting rid of the bad ones, as Alfred frames his legislative activity, was a commonplace, which can be traced back at least as far as Justinian’s seventh novel.23 There are, none the less, indications that the participation of counsellors in Anglo-Saxon law-making was more than a literary iction. The best evidence comes from Æthelstan’s reign, during which, thanks to the large number of surviving codes, we can discern the dynamics of the making and circulation of law particularly clearly.24 Much of the legal material generated in these years does not consist of royal law, but rather of reactions of local bodies to royal initiatives, giving hints of discussion and consultation, not only at the meeting of the witan, but 20

21

22 23

24

As Alm (ed. Liebermann i, 148–9). See further Councils and Ecclesiastical Documents Relating to the English Church, vol. I, a.d. 871–1204, ed. D.Whitelock, M. Brett and C. N. L. Brooke (Oxford, 1981), p. 47. H. Mordek, ‘Kapitularien und Schriftlichkeit’ (1996), repr. in and cited from his Studien zur fränkischen Herrschergesetzgebung. Aufsätze über Kapitularien und Kapitulariensammlungen ausgewählt zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. M. Glatthaar and O. Münsch (Frankfurt, 2000), pp. 307–39, at 307; Hannig, Consensus idelium, p. 182. See also now McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 228–30 and 256–63. Cf. Hannig, Consensus idelium; Nelson, ‘Legislation and Consensus’. Corpus iuris civilis, novella 7, prol., ed. R. Schöll with R. Kroll, Corpus iuris civilis, vol. III, Novellae (Berlin, 1928), pp. 48–50; with Kern, Gottesgnadentum, pp. 269–76; and G. Dilcher, ‘Gesetzgebung als Rechtserneuerung. Eine Studie zum Selbstverständnis der mittelalterlichen Leges’, in Rechtsgeschichte als Kulturgeschichte. Festschrift für Adalbert Erler zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. G. Dilcher, G. Gudian, E. Kaufmann and W. Sellert (Aalen, 1976), pp. 13–35. S. Keynes, ‘Royal Government and the Written Word in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in The Uses of Literacy, ed. McKitterick, pp. 226–57, at 235–41; D. Pratt,‘Written Law and the Communication of Authority in Tenth-Century England’, in England and the Continent in the Tenth Century, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 331–50; L. Roach, ‘Law Codes and Legal Norms in Later Anglo-Saxon England’, Historical Research 86 (2013), 465–86; Wormald, English Law, pp. 290–308 and 439–40; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 136–48.

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Legislation and consent also at a local level; in these ‘unoicial’ texts we can see how royal decrees were received and adjusted. Thus IV Æthelstan, a text conlating and adjusting recent pronouncements, records that all of the Grately decrees (II Æthelstan) are to be respected, except for those regarding the need for trading to take place in a town and not to be carried out on Sundays.25 The statutes of the London ‘Peace Guild’ (VI Æthelstan), similarly note that all of Æthelstan’s earlier decrees are to be followed, except for those regarding trading outside a borough or on Sundays.26 It would seem that at some point after Grately Æthelstan decided to go back on his earlier decisions, and, although his grounds are not given, the suspicion is that these regulations proved impractical and that responses from reeves, ealdormen and bishops lay behind this alteration. More telling is a further clause from VI Æthelstan to the efect that at a later meeting at Whittlebury the king and the witan decided to raise the age of those liable for the death penalty from twelve to ifteen; here explicit mention is made of the discussion and consultation (wiðrædde) which stood behind the change.27 Although neither of these examples explicitly demonstrates how the advice of the king’s counsellors might have altered planned legislative activity at the original assembly, they demonstrate that law was a matter for debate and consultation and as such provide suicient grounds to trust the rhetoric of our sources when they claim that the advice of the witan played an active part in law-making. This should not come as a surprise: in the Carolingian realms, which share much with their English counterpart, particularly within the legal sphere, it was common for royal legislation to be discussed and adjusted in the process of promulgation.28 Moreover, these ‘unoicial’ texts from Æthelstan’s reign show that royal assemblies were in constant contact with local gatherings, creating a chain along which messages, reports and texts might travel – it was in this manner that news went out from meetings of the witan and was relayed back.29 In viewing this process of discussion and consultation from the perspective of written law-codes and local responses to them, we begin to touch on one of the most heated debates in Anglo-Saxon legal history. 25 26 28

29

IV As 2 (ed. Liebermann I, 171). Cf. II As 12–13, 24.1 (ibid., pp. 156–9, 164–5). VI As 10 (ed. Liebermann I, 181–2). 27 VI As 12.1 (ed. Liebermann I, 182–3). H. Mordek, ‘Unbekannte Texte zur karolingischen Gesetzgebung. Ludwig der Fromme, Einhard und die Capitulare adhuc conferenda’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Herrschergesetzgebung, pp. 161–185; H. Mordek and G. Schmitz,‘Neue Kapitularien und Kapitulariensammlungen’ (1987), repr. in and cited from Mordek, Herrschergesetzgebung, pp. 81–159, at 91–2. See also now T. Faulkner, ‘The Frankish leges in the Carolingian Period’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2010), esp. pp. 161–202. This is what Nelson, ‘How Carolingians Created Consensus’, pp. 69–70, speaks of as ‘connectivity’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Although Anglo-Saxon law naturally survives in written form, much uncertainty attaches to the value of these texts and the degree of royal initiative behind their production. In the late 1970s Patrick Wormald and Hanna Vollrath argued that early English law was efectively oral; it was the verbum regis, the spoken word of the king, which was legally constitutive.30 In recent years, however, a number of scholars have questioned these conclusions, arguing that ninth- and tenth-century kings took a clear interest in written law.31 Behind this debate lie even more heated arguments about the character of Carolingian legislation, which, as noted, has much in common with the English codes under examination.32 Although much remains controversial, recent developments in the study of Carolingian capitularies and leges may point to some ways forward. Carolingian historians have increasingly turned away from making rigid distinctions between ‘orality’ and ‘literacy’, with studies now demonstrating that the written word might be harnessed within what remained an essentially oral society.33 As such, attention has moved away from debates about whether capitularies were or were not products of the royal chancery, or whether the oral declamation of law was legally constitutive, and on to the contexts in which legal texts survive, which clearly demonstrate the importance of the written word in the circulation and reception of law, if not necessarily in its original 30

31

32

33

Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’; H. Vollrath, ‘Gesetzgebung und Schriftlichkeit. Das Beispiel der angelsächsischen Gesetze’, Historisches Jahrbuch 99 (1979), 28–54. Keynes,‘Royal Government’; Pratt,‘Written Law’; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 136–48; C. Cubitt, ‘“As the Lawbook Teaches”: Reeves, Lawbooks and Urban Life in the Anonymous Old English Legend of the Seven Sleepers’, EHR 124 (2009), 1021–49. Important works arguing for the orality of Carolingian law include Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’, and English Law, pp. 29–92; F. L. Ganshof, Was waren die Kapitularien? (Darmstadt, 1961); H. Nehlsen, ‘Aktualität und Efektivität der ältesten germanischen Rechtsaufzeichnungen’, in Recht und Schrift im Mittelalter, Vorträge und Forschungen 23, ed. P. Classen (Sigmaringen, 1977), pp. 449–502; C. Schott,‘Zur Geltung der Lex Alamannorum’, in Die historische Landschaft zwischen Lech und Vogesen. Forschungen und Fragen zur gesamtalemannischen Geschichte, Veröfentlichung des alemannischen Instituts Freiburg 59, ed. P. Fried and W.-D. Sick (Augsburg, 1988), pp. 75–105; and A. Bühler, ‘Wort und Schrift im karolingischen Recht’, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 72 (1990), 275–96. Ranged against these are R. Schneider, ‘Zur rechtlichen Bedeutung der Kapitularientexte’, DA 23 (1967), 273–94, and ‘Schriftlichkeit und Mündlichkeit im Bereich der Kapitularien’, in Recht und Schrift im Mittelalter, ed. Classen, pp. 257–79; R. Kottje, ‘Zum Geltungsbereich der Lex Alamannorum’, in Die transalpinenVerbindungen der Bayern,Alemannen und Franken bis zum 10. Jahrhundert, Nationes 6, ed. H. Beumann and W. Schröder (Sigmaringen, 1987), pp. 359–77; McKitterick, Written Word, pp. 23–75, and ‘Zur Herstellung von Kapitularien: die Arbeit des Leges-Skriptoriums’, MIÖG 101 (1993), 3–16; and W. Sellert,‘Aufzeichnung des Rechts und Gesetz’, in Das Gesetz in Spätantike und frühem Mittelalter, ed. Sellert (Göttingen, 1992), pp. 67–105. Mordek,‘Kaptularien und Schriftlichkeit’, pp. 308–10; S. Patzold, ‘Die Veränderung frümittelalterlichen Rechts im Spiegel der “Leges”-Reformen Karls des Großen und Ludwig des Frommen’, in Rechtsveränderung im politischen und sozialen Kontext mittelalterlicher Rechtsvielfalt, ed. S. Esders and C. Reinle (Münster, 2005), pp. 63–99. Cf. B. Stock, Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past (Baltimore, MD, 1990), pp. 6–8.

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Legislation and consent promulgation.34 The challenge is that the material itself is open to different interpretations and we must ind one that makes sense both of the repeated statements in early medieval law-codes regarding the oral proclamation of law and of the numerous references in these same texts to earlier (presumably written) ordinances. Wormald may well have been right when he claimed that an oral act of promulgation was ‘legally constitutive’; where he simply may have erred is in suggesting that kings were little interested in this spoken law being recorded in written form. The resulting codes need not therefore have been ‘oicial’ in a modern sense – their importance lay in their ability to record and transmit orally proclaimed law. What we are observing is neither a purely ‘oral’ nor an exclusively ‘literate’ phenomenon, but rather what Jack Goody terms ‘lecto-orality’; that is, oral expression which is facilitated by and interacts with the written word.35 Indeed, although it is true that AngloSaxon rulers only once exhort their judges to operate according to law-books,36 the many references throughout surviving codes to earlier decrees or stipulations presume the existence of law-codes in a written and consultable form.37 Moreover, IV Edgar describes the arrangements for the code’s copying and circulation, and one is inclined to treat these measures as the norm, not the exception.38 The fact that laws successfully found their way into written form and were circulated and preserved in legal collections demonstrates that these eforts were not entirely in vain.39 The extraordinary material illustrating the local reception of royal legislation in Æthelstan’s reign bears eloquent witness to this, and it is telling that in this case written responses, in some cases intended for the king, were composed. Particularly informative is III Æthelstan, issued by the bishops and counsellors of Kent, which repeats and adjusts material from II and V Æthelstan, closing with a statement to the efect that Æthelstan should alter any ordinances he 34

35 36

37

38

39

Mordek, ‘Kapitularien und Schriftlichkeit’, pp. 310–13 and 334–8; S. Airlie, ‘“For it is Written in the Law”: Ansegis and the Writing of Carolingian Royal Authority’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. S. Baxter, C. Karkov, J. L. Nelson and D. Pelteret (Farnham, 2009), pp. 219–35; Faulkner, ‘Frankish leges’, pp. 203–66; M. Innes, ‘Charlemagne, Justice and Written Law’, in Law, Custom, and Justice in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. A. Rio (London, 2011), pp. 155–203. J. Goody, Myth, Ritual and the Oral (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 153–61. I Ew prol. (ed. Liebermann I, 138). Cf. Vollrath, ‘Gesetzgebung’, pp. 42–3, claiming that AngloSaxon kings never exhorted their oicials to refer to written law. II Ew 5 (ed. Liebermann I, 142–3); II As 5 (ibid., pp. 152–3); II Em 2 (ibid., pp. 188–9); III Eg 5 (ibid., pp. 202–3). Cf. Mordek, ‘Kapitularien und Schriftlichkeit’, pp. 316–17. Keynes, ‘Royal Government’, pp. 241–2; J. Hudson, ‘L’écrit, les archives et le droit en Angleterre (IXe–XIIe siècle)’, Revue historique 308 (2006), 3–35, at p. 11. As pointed out by M. Innes, ‘Charlemagne’s Government’, in Charlemagne, ed. Story, pp. 71–89, at 79–81, of Carolingian capitularies.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England inds too harsh or too kind; the king was evidently intended to read the text in order to ensure that this local take on his laws was acceptable.40 Although analogous material for other reigns is lacking, a similar procedure is perhaps implied by the accretion of non- or quasi-royal texts to formal royal legislation. Scribes do not always distinguish these additions from the original codes and in some cases actively interpolate them into the main text(s) of the laws. Wormald believed that this undermined the value of these texts, indicating that the surviving codes were little more than informal recordings of oral declamations, which had no inherent value save trying, more often than not unsuccessfully, to ix the verbum regis in writing.41 However, while the willingness of later redactors to adjust royal law may seem surprising to modern eyes, this material is capable of sustaining a subtly diferent line of interpretation.42 These additions and interpolations might in fact be taken as evidence for the circulation of law and its adjustment to meet local needs, much as III, IV and VI Æthelstan bear witness to in Æthelstan’s reign. Although the ultimate authority to approve (or disapprove) of such additions may still have lain with the king, these texts suggest that in practice local igures were welcome to adjust norm to it context.43 There is no reason to believe that kings wished to maintain a monopoly on the formation of legal norms; they were apparently more concerned about the implementation of new measures and were therefore willing to compromise, to go back on ordinances (as Æthelstan did) or to acknowledge non-royal injunctions, provided the general message and spirit of the original decrees were maintained. In this respect, as in so many others, Anglo-Saxon legislation seems to have been little diferent from its Carolingian predecessors.44 Indeed, it has been observed that early medieval culture did not always distinguish between court judgement and the formation of new legal norms and thus precedent naturally tended to seep into nominally normative texts.45 40 41 42 43 44

45

III As epilog. (ed. Liebermann I, 170). Wormald, English Law, esp. pp. 366–97, and ‘Lex scripta’, pp. 15–25. As Wormald himself acknowledged: English Law, pp. 477–8. Roach, ‘Law Codes and Legal Norms’. C. Pössel, ‘Authors and Recipients of Carolingian Capitularies, 779–829’, in Texts and Identities in the Early Middle Ages, Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12, ed. R. Corradini, R. Meens, C. Pössel and P. Shaw (Vienna, 2006), pp. 253–74; S. Patzold, ‘Normen im Buch. Überlegungen zu Geltungsansprüchen so genannter “Kapitularien”’, FMSt 41 (2007), 331–50. H.Vollrath,‘Das Mittelalter in der Typik oraler Gesellschaften’, HZ 233 (1981), 571–94, at pp. 582–4; Lupoi, Legal Order, pp. 192–3. Cf. P. Wormald, ‘“Inter cetera bona genti suae”: Law-Making and Peace-Keeping in the Earliest English Kingdoms’ (1995), repr. in and cited from his Legal Culture, pp. 179–99, at 188–92.

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Legislation and consent Law -code s and royal admini st rati on It seems, therefore, that the witan actively participated in the making of law and that this law circulated and attracted responses. What, then, were the major concerns of law-making? Firstly, it should be noted that compensation, that favourite theme of early ‘barbarian’ law, is referred to only in passing: Alfred’s and Ine’s codes are the last to discuss compensation in detail, and later codes implicitly rely on the stipulations found therein. However, four further themes appear central to the legislative eforts of these years: lordship, theft (particularly of cattle), judicial and administrative organization and the correct ordering of Christian life and religious practice. The sustained interest in lordship should hardly surprise: since England was under almost constant Scandinavian threat in this period, it was only natural for a high value to be placed on loyalty.46 Alfred’s laws open with this theme, famously proclaiming that men are not to break their ‘oath and pledge’, and Wormald rightly noted the importance of this clause for the code, arguing that it refers to a general oath and pledge of idelity to the king.47 While there can be no doubt that loyalty took on a central role in Alfred’s legislative eforts, the immediately following clause seems to suggest a subtly diferent meaning. This states that if in need it is better to break one’s oath than the law, which clearly implies that what is referred to is a personal oath of allegiance to one’s lord – were a general oath of loyalty to the king involved, then surely this dilemma would not arise (unless we envisage Alfred asking his men to break his own laws).48 It therefore seems that what was at work was a roughly pyramidal structure of lordship descending from Alfred, with loyalty being due simply to the level immediately above. References in later codes imply, moreover, that we are dealing with at least two diferent phenomena when we hear of men’s ‘oaths and pledges’: on the one hand, with the oath and pledge a man gives his lord, probably associated with the act of commendation;49 46

47

48

49

Also important may have been seigneurial developments; see C. Dyer, Making a Living in the Middle Ages:The People of Britain 850–1520 (New Haven, CT, 2002), pp. 26–35; R. Fleming, Britain after Rome:The Fall and the Rise, 400–1070 (London, 2010), pp. 276–87; and Faith, English Peasantry, pp. 153–77. Wormald, English Law, pp. 148 and 282–4. See also A. Scharer, Herrschaft und Repräsentation. Studien zur Hofkultur König Alfreds des Großen, MIÖG: Ergänzungsband 36 (Vienna, 2000), pp. 109–17; and R. Abels, Lordship and Military Obligation in Anglo-Saxon England (Berkeley, CA, 1988), pp. 83–4. Af 1.1 (ed. Liebermann I, 46–7). Cf. the similar doubts expressed by Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 235–6; P. R. Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation in Medieval England (Ithaca, NY, 2003), pp. 80 and 100; and J. Hudson,‘The Making of English Law and theVarieties of Legal History’, in Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter, et al., pp. 421–32. Liebermann, Gesetze II, 577–8 (s.v. Mannschaftseid).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and, on the other, with the oaths and pledges given by those present at assemblies to obey newly instituted laws.50 The further promulgation of laws at the level of the shire or hundred, not to mention the development of tithings, suggests that this oath to keep the peace in accordance with new legislation was in turn required at local gatherings.51 We do, of course, hear of a general oath of loyalty under King Edmund, but the speciics of how this was administered remain uncertain, and it is unclear that a breach of the law alone would qualify as an act of treachery.52 Further eforts are made in Alfred’s code to enshrine the bonds of lordship: plotting against one’s lord is punishable by forfeiture to that lord; a man may ight on behalf of his lord without formally entering into a feud and a lord may ight on behalf of his man under the same conditions; and a man may not ight against his lord on behalf of a relative, even if the kinsman be wrongly accused. The central principle at work, as David Pratt observes, is that betraying one’s lord was now an act of treachery.53 As we move into later legislation this interest in lordship begins to go beyond loyalty, however, as lords are required to stand surety for their men and to play an active part in the implementation of law.54 II Æthelstan states that no (legal) satisfaction could be expected from men without lords and therefore decrees that all lordless men should be helped to ind a suitable master.55 An increasing onus was thus being placed on lords to keep their men in check and these regulations were further expanded under Æthelred and Cnut.56 However, the potential dangers of lordship are also noted and regulated against: lords are not to take a man into their service without the previous lord’s permission;57 lords cannot take men into their service who have wronged a previous lord or still face charges under him;58 and lords who pervert justice by siding with their own men are liable to pay for the value of the goods taken along with a ine to the king.59 50

51

52

53 54 55 56

57 58 59

IV Eg 1.5 (ed. Liebermann I, 208–9) refers to the witena wedd which stood behind the code, implying that oaths and pledges were given by those witan present at the original gemot. A process of exacting oaths and pledges at various legal assemblies is implied by VI As 10 (ed. Liebermann I, 181–2). See further Pratt, Political Thought, p. 236, and ‘Written Law’, p. 347. III Em 1 (ed. Liebermann I, 186–9). Cf. S. Baxter, ‘The Limits of the Late Anglo-Saxon State’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 503–13, at 505. Af 4.2, 42.5–6 (ed. Liebermann I, 50–1 and 76–7); Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 237–8. III As 7.1 (ed. Liebermann I, 170); III Em 7 (ibid., p. 191). II As 2 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3). S. Baxter, ‘Lordship and Justice in Late Anglo-Saxon England: The Judicial Functions of Soke and Commendation Revisited’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter et al., pp. 383–419, esp. 399–407. II Ew 6–7 (ed. Liebermann I, 144–5). V As 1 (ed. Liebermann I, 166–9); III Em 3 (ibid., p. 190). II As 3 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3).

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Legislation and consent Though this new emphasis on lordship represents an important development, a degree of caution is called for in assessing it. Medieval law-making was fundamentally an act of the élite, which naturally tended to represent the maximum claims rather than the realities of lordship; as such, we must hesitate before taking these laws as direct evidence that lordship began to take over from kinship as the primarily social bond in these years, as some scholars have done.60 The laws themselves in fact do little to give this impression and regular reference is made to the importance of relatives throughout: these igures are to help a convicted man pay his wergild, and only where insuicient kin are available may other associates be called upon;61 they are to help lordless men to ind a lord;62 they are to stand surety for those guilty of sorcery, arson or theft;63 and they are to take legal responsibility for landless relatives visiting from other shires.64 As the irst of these references suggests, kinsmen were closely associated with the payment of compensation, but their responsibilities clearly went much further. However, since relatives were intimately associated with compensation and feuding, it is important to give some consideration to this.65 Traditionally it has been argued that feud-like behaviour was efectively banned by II Edmund, relecting the general trend of rising lordship.66 Although this line of interpretation has been strengthened and nuanced by Patrick Wormald,67 there are reasons for questioning elements of its validity. In fact, Paul Hyams now argues that no systematic attempt was made to ‘ban’ feuds in this period, pointing out that interpretations to this efect rest on dangerously functionalist assumptions: that kinship 60

61 63 64 65

66

67

See e.g. H. R. Loyn, ‘Kinship in Anglo-Saxon England’ (1975), repr. in and cited from his Society and Peoples: Studies in the History of England and Wales, c. 600–1200 (London, 1992), pp. 45–64. On law-making as an aristocratic act, see R. Le Jan, ‘Justice royale et pratiques sociales dans le royaume franc au IXe siècle’ (1997), repr. in and cited from her Femmes, pouvoir et société dans le Haut Moyen Âge (Paris, 2001), pp. 149–70, at 167–8; and on élites, see most recently Les élites et la richesse au haut Moyen Âge, ed. R. Le Jan, L. Feller and J.-P. Devroey (Turnhout, 2010). Af 30 (ed. Liebermann I, 64–5). 62 II As 2 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3). II As 6.1–2 (ed. Liebermann I, 154–5); VI As 1.4, 9 (ibid., pp. 174, 181). II As 8 (ed. Liebermann I, 154–5). On the concept of ‘feud’, see P. R. Hyams, ‘Was There Really Such a Thing as Feud in the High Middle Ages?’, in Vengeance in the Middle Ages: Emotion, Religion and Feud, ed. S. A. Throop and P. R. Hyams (Farnham, 2009), pp. 151–75; contra P. H. Sawyer, ‘The Bloodfeud in Fact and Fiction’, in Tradition og historieskrivin: Kilderne til Nordens ældste historie, Acta Jutlandica 63.2, ed. K. Halstrup and P. M. Sørensen (Aarhus, 1987), pp. 27–38; and G. Halsall, ‘Relections on Early Medieval Violence: The Example of the “Bloodfeud”’, Memoria y Civilización 2 (1999), 7–29. Cf. Wickham, Framing, p. 178, n. 70. Loyn,‘Kinship’, pp. 54–5; H. G. Richardson and G. O. Sayles, Law and Legislation from Æthelberht to Magna Carta (Edinburgh, 1966), pp. 20–1; Liebermann, Gesetze II, 320 (s.v. Blutrache), and Gesetze III, 126. Wormald, ‘God and King’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and lordship, and similarly legal procedure and self-help, were inherently opposed.68 The earliest Anglo-Saxon laws did not ban feuds, but facilitated compensation by providing guidelines for wergild payments. In our era we begin to see more direct attempts to control feuding, but none of these question the basic principle of self-help. It is diicult to know if the few clauses supporting bonds of lordship against those of kinship found much resonance in practice, but in principle they attempt only to channel violence, not to prevent it. Indeed, although kin is most often mentioned in connection with vengeance, it is clear that lords and associates might also be involved in this, so no absolute antipathy between lordship and feuding can be postulated.69 Even II Edmund seems aimed less at banning tit-for-tat violence than at clarifying how it may be pursued: it allows relatives to decide whether to support their kin, enabling them to disown unruly family members.70 The belief expressed is not that vengeance itself is problematic, but that the kin-group should not be forced into a feud by its most aggressive members; the hope was presumably that the threat of losing the support of one’s relatives would discourage violence, fostering the elusive ‘peace in the feud’.Thus at no point did kings strive unambiguously for a monopoly on legitimized force; they merely sought to reduce violence to a desirable minimum by whichever means available.71 Naturally legislation at times attempts to prevent feuds – neither thieves or suspected thieves are liable for kin support,72 nor those found in bed with another man’s wife,73 nor those who repeatedly fail to attend the judicial assembly74 – but the aim remains only to limit: by freeing relatives from the need to support troublesome kinsmen these measures might in practice have reinforced the basic principles of feuding.75 Here again Anglo-Saxon rulers do not look so very diferent from their Carolingian and post-Carolingian counterparts on the continent,

68

69

70

71

72 73 75

Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation. See also T. B. Lambert, ‘Protection, Feud and Royal Power: Violence and its Regulation in English Law, c. 850–c. 1250’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Durham University, 2009), pp. 18–55, and ‘Theft, Homicide and Crime in Late Anglo-Saxon Law’, P & P 214 (2012), 3–43; and K. Shoemaker, Sanctuary and Crime in the Middle Ages, 400–1500 (New York, 2011), pp. 78–92. Ine 76.2 (ed. Liebermann I, 122–3); Af 30 (ibid., pp. 64–5); VI As 7 (ibid., pp. 177–8); II Em 1 (ibid., pp. 186–7). Cf. Muir, Mad Blood, pp. 77–107. II Em 1 (ed. Liebermann I, 188–9). Whitelock, EHD, p. 427, saw the code as evidence for ‘how widely current was the practice of private vengeance in the mid-tenth century’. W. C. Brown, Violence in Medieval Europe (Harlow, 2011), pp. 197–9; Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 172–5. Ine 21, 28, 35 (ed. Liebermann I, 98–105); III Em 2 (ibid., pp. 188–9). Af 42.7 (ed. Liebermann I, 76–7). 74 II As 20.7 (ed. Liebermann I, 160–1). Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation, pp. 79–84. Cf.W. I. Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking: Feud, Law, and Society in Saga Iceland (Chicago, 1990), pp. 175–7.

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Legislation and consent who sought to limit and channel violent behaviour, but did not question the basic validity of self-help.76 Of course, we should not go from overestimating the legal powers of our rulers to underestimating them. Kings certainly did ‘[write] themselves into the discords of society’, as Wormald once put it;77 it is simply questionable whether they went much further – the efort was to regulate, to encourage the payment of compensation and to foster peace.78 In their occasional emphasis on bonds of lordship these measures less undermined the existing role of kin in ensuring justice than added an additional layer, providing further means for addressing the needs of order. It would therefore be dangerous to view the new emphasis on lordship as ‘formal’, ‘public’ and centripetal, acting against the ‘private’ and centrifugal pull of kinship. Lordship and kinship were both essential for the operation of justice and both had the potential to undermine it. The dangers of lordship were well known, as the clauses against lords who might pervert justice to their own cause suggest.79 Indeed, lordship itself was an essentially personal bond and most oaths were made to individual lords, not directly to the broader public order.80 Alfred tried to turn the oath to the service of the body politic, but he arguably played a dangerous game in turning a breach of loyalty into treachery, since by doing so he not only empowered his agents, but also ran the risk of losing control over them. Yet if lordship might threaten royal authority, kinship too posed dangers.The great lords whose powers were enshrined in these codes also had relatives of their own for whom they might wish to ensure preferential treatment, and legislation expresses concerns about men with powerful kin, who cannot be brought to justice.81 Although kinship and lordship were therefore hardly polar opposites, they operated diferently, and by maintaining the interests of both, along with those of 76

77

78 79

80

81

Innes, State and Society, p. 135; S. MacLean, Kingship and Politics in the Late Ninth Century: Charles the Fat and the End of the Carolingian Empire, CSMLT 4th ser. 57 (Cambridge, 2003), p. 139; H. Kamp, ‘La vengeance, le roi et les compétitions faidales dans l’empire ottonien’, in La vengeance, 400–1200, Collection de l’école française de Rome 357, ed. D. Barthélemy, F. Bougard and R. Le Jan (Rome, 2006), pp. 259–80. Wormald, ‘God and King’, p. 341; however, Wormald went further, claiming that English kings not only wrote themselves into society’s discords, but also ‘re-orchestrated the whole symphony of feud in a royal key’ (ibid.). See similarly J. Hudson, ‘Faide, vengeance et violence en Angleterre (ca. 900–1200)’, in La vengeance, ed. Barthélemy, Bougard and Le Jan, pp. 341–82; and cf. Af 42 (ed. Liebermann I, 74–7). Lambert, ‘Theft, Homicide and Crime’. II As 3 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3); with S. Keynes, ‘Crime and Punishment in the Reign of King Æthelred the Unready’, in People and Places in Northern Europe 500–1600: Essays in Honour of Peter Hayes Sawyer, ed. I. N. Wood and N. Lund (Woodbridge, 1991), pp. 67–81, at 70–1. Cf. J. Fried, ‘Der karolingische Herrschaftsverband zwischen “Kirche” und “Königshaus”’, HZ 235 (1982), 1–43. III As 8 (ed. Liebermann I, 170); VI As 8.2 (ibid., p. 178).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the royal agents who might receive some of the proits of justice, kings walked a tightrope of competing interests. As we turn away from lordship and kinship and on to the next major theme of royal legislation, theft, we begin to touch on a third important social bond, that of community.82 Thieves posed a central problem in the Middle Ages, which was dealt with repeatedly by both English and continental lawmakers.83 Theft has already come up in passing, as lords and relatives were required to act as sureties for thieves, not to assist their escape and not to avenge them. Alongside these negative stipulations we also ind ‘positive’ regulations against theft: thieves and suspected thieves may be killed on the spot,84 and detailed arrangements are made for cattle-tracking, using tithings and hundreds.85 These decrees come into their own when viewed alongside the London ‘Peace-Guild’ statutes (VI Æthelstan), which show a local guild reacting cooperatively to legislative initiatives, and the Hundred Ordinance, which details how tithings and hundreds were to pursue thieves. Were further evidence to survive we would doubtless ind many more hints at such interests in law and punishment at the community level.86 Indeed, the basic principles of proof in Anglo-Saxon law, the oath and ordeal, both required community involvement, and although they may seem ‘irrational’ and open to abuse to the modern eye, there is every reason to believe that they were efective in an early medieval world of small face-to-face communities.87 Another concern of our texts is the evolution of local courts and legaladministrative divisions, particularly of the shire, hundred and tithing, which were intended in part to help control theft.88 These developments 82 83

84 85 86

87

88

Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities, esp. pp. 12–38. J. Goebel, Felony and Misdemeanor: A Study in the History of Criminal Law, 2nd edn with an introduction by E. Peters (Philadelphia, PA, 1973), esp. pp. 65–81 and 347–8. Ine 21, 28, 35 (ed. Liebermann I, 98–105). III Em 6 (ed. Liebermann I, 188–9); Hundred 2 (ibid., pp. 192–3). However, the suggestion of Richardson and Sayles, Law and Legislation, pp. 18–19, that VI As provides evidence for a general practice of shires being incorporated as guilds seems to stretch the evidence rather far. S. Reynolds, ‘Rationality and Collective Judgement in the Law of Western Europe before the Twelfth Century’, Quaestiones medii aevi novae 5 (2000), 3–19. On ordeal, see R. Bartlett, Trial by Fire and Water: The Medieval Judicial Ordeal (Oxford, 1986); P. R. Hyams, ‘Trial by Ordeal: The Key to Proof in the Early Common Law’, in On the Laws and Customs of England: Essays in Honor of Samuel E.Thorne, ed. M. A. Arnold (Chapel Hill, NC, 1981), pp. 90–126; P. Brown, ‘Society and the Supernatural: A Medieval Change’ (1976), rev. in and cited from his Society and the Holy in Late Antiquity (London, 1982), pp. 302–32; D. Rollason, Two Anglo-Saxon Rituals: Church Dedication and the Judicial Ordeal, Brixworth Lecture 1987 (Leicester, 1988), pp. 12–19; Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 84–7; and Liebermann, Gesetze II, 601–4 (s.v. Ordal). Less has been written about oath-helping, though see Bartlett, Trial, pp. 24–33; Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 81–4; and Liebermann, Gesetze II, 377–80 (s.v. Eideshelfer). Pratt, ‘Written Law’; H. R. Loyn, ‘The Hundred in England in the Tenth and Early Eleventh Centuries’ (1974), repr. in and cited from his Society and Peoples, pp. 111–34; S. Keynes, ‘Shire’, in

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Legislation and consent constitute an impressive achievement, but we know little about them and should therefore resist the temptation of creating a master narrative of ever-increasing ‘state’ control over justice in these years. Indeed, there is reason to believe that the development of such institutions at least in part bears witness to the growing pains of the ‘kingdom of the AngloSaxons’ and latterly ‘of the English’. Thus clauses to the efect that cases are not to be brought directly to the king unless they have already been brought to a local assembly were probably designed more to stem the low of cases coming to the royal court than to strengthen the operation of local courts.89 Tithings may also represent a response to the diiculties encountered maintaining the peace in the expanding kingdom, perhaps originating as early as Æthelstan’s reign.90 These institutions are therefore not simply relections of the vitality of central authority, but also symptoms of and reactions to the diiculties it encountered. Moreover, as the evidence of shiring suggests, such divisions did not spring up overnight and we should not presume that the entire kingdom was covered by a perfect patchwork of shire and hundred courts at any point in our period.91 Although local courts are mentioned often enough in codes, the distinctions between hundred and shire courts are frequently unclear and one can well imagine that practice rarely lived up to the stipulated ideals.92 It is also salutary to remember that administrative reforms do not always achieve their stated goals and might, in fact, open the way for new abuses, as is perhaps implied for tenth-century England by the hostility which Lantfred expresses toward a local reeve at Winchester.93 Finally, it must be admitted that we cannot be certain that any of the codes issued up until IV Edgar were designed to take efect in the Danelaw, and hence these legal-administrative developments, though doubtless important, need not have had a major impact everywhere. Across this period we can also observe the development of an increasingly Christian legal outlook. Already earlier English laws had sought to protect the church and its property, but legislation from Alfred onwards

89

90 91

92 93

BEASE, pp. 420–2; Liebermann, Gesetze II, 482–3 (s.v. Graftschaftsgericht), 516–22 (s.v. Hundred ) and 743–8 (s.v. Zehnerschaft); A. Williams, Æthelred the Unready:The Ill-Counselled King (London, 2003), pp. 78–80. II As 3 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3); III Eg 2 (ibid., pp. 200–1); D. Whitelock, ‘Recent Work on Asser’s Life of Alfred’, in Asser’s Life of King Alfred, ed. W. H. Stevenson (Oxford, 1959), pp. cxxxii–clii, at cxliv–cxlv, n. 2. Pratt, ‘Written Law’. Cf. Molyneaux, ‘English Kingdom’, pp. 171–4. See Molyneaux, ‘English Kingdom’, pp. 131–78, for a refreshingly conservative view of developments. Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 64–5. Lantfred, Translatio, c. 25 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 308–10). Cf. P. Fouracre, ‘Carolingian Justice: The Rhetoric of Improvement and Contexts of Abuse’, Settimane 42 (1995), 771–803, at pp. 788–90.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England bears witness to a new efort to craft a Christian society.94 These laws show increasing cooperation between secular and ecclesiastical spheres, with ecclesiastical concerns seeping into royal legislation. This is already visible in Alfred’s code, which decrees that those who break their oath and pledge shall not only be outlawed, but also excommunicated – here for the irst time in the history of Anglo-Saxon law secular and spiritual sanctions are intended to reinforce each other.95 This measure is strengthened by Æthelstan’s legislation, which declares that anyone guilty of swearing a false oath may not be buried on consecrated ground unless he perform penance.96 This irst call for penance is a harbinger of things to come, and later codes also threaten those who do not pay church dues with excommunication,97 instruct that perjurers and sorcerers are to be excommunicated unless they perform penance98 and require that murderers perform penance before entering into the king’s presence.99 What we seem to be observing is the development of a heightened sense of legal morality; a stronger fear of the pollution caused by sin within society.100 These concerns reach their high point in IV Edgar, a code issued in response to an attack of the plague, in which Edgar expresses the view that this disaster was divine punishment, which could be lifted only by ensuring the correct observance of Christian life.101 Thus well before Archbishop Wulfstan II’s extraordinary legislation, concepts of sin and crime, of penance and (legal) punishment, had begun to mingle.102 94

95 97 98 99 100

101

102

E. M.Treharne,‘A Unique Old English Formula for Excommunication from Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 303’, ASE 24 (1995), 185–211, at pp. 190–9; S. Hamilton, ‘Remedies for “Great Transgressions”: Penance and Excommunication in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England, ed. F. Tinti (Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 83–106, at 97–100; E. Screen, ‘Anglo-Saxon Law and Numismatics: A Reassessment in the Light of Patrick Wormald’s The Making of English Law’, British Numismatic Journal 77 (2007), 150–72, at pp. 155–60. On Alfred’s code, see most recently Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 222–32. Af 1.7 (ed. Liebermann I, 48–9). 96 II As 26 (ed. Liebermann I, 164–5). I Em 2 (ed. Liebermann I, 184–5). Cf. IV Eg 1.3 (ibid., pp. 206–7). I Em 3 (ed. Liebermann I, 184–5). I Em 6 (ed. Liebermann I, 186–7); II Em 6 (ibid., pp. 188–9); with Treharne, ‘Formula’, p. 196. For helpful comparanda, see R. Meens, ‘Het heilige bezoedeld. Opvattingen over het heilige en het onreine in de vroegmiddeleeuwse religieuze mentaliteit’, in Willibrord, zijn wereld en zijn werk, Middeleeuwse studies 8, ed. P. Bange and A. G. Weiler (Nijmegen, 1990), pp. 237–55; M. de Jong, The Penitential State:Authority and Atonement in the Age of Louis the Pious, 814–40 (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 185–213; and M. Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London, 1966). IV Eg (ed. Liebermann I, 206–15). Cf. Meens, ‘Politics’; M. Blattmann, ‘“Ein Unglück für sein Volk”. Der Zusammenhang zwischen Fehlverhalten des Königs und Volkswohl in Quellen des 7.– 12. Jahrhunderts’, FMSt 30 (1996), 80–102; and S. Foot, ‘Plenty, Portents and Plague: Ecclesiastical Readings of the Natural World in Early Medieval Europe’, Studies in Church History 46 (2010), 15–41, at pp. 32–41. See also J. Hudson,‘Kings and Crimes: Ideology and Practice in the Tenth and Twelfth Centuries’, in Droit et société en France et en Grande-Bretagne (XIIe–XXe siècles): fonctions, usages et représentations, ed. P. Chassaigne and J.-P. Genet (Paris, 2003), pp. 15–38.

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Legislation and consent Th e

WITAN

and the law: p re l iminary conc lu si on s

Together these legal provisions provide much insight into the matters dealt with at meetings of the witan. They relect a very real concern for law and order, a desire to ensure that justice was available to all and that the correct order of Christian society be maintained. The concerns of lordship met those of Christianity here: it was in the interest of both that men should keep the oaths and pledges which they made upon Gospels and relics.103 However, for all the ambition demonstrated by these codes, questions remain as to their inluence. Not only does their preservation raise questions about their practical application, but the exasperation with which our kings at times exhort their people to obey royal ordinances more carefully suggests that legislation by no means met with universal success.104 Moreover, successful or unsuccessful, many of these codes may only have been designed to take efect outside the Danelaw, which seems to have preserved a degree of social and legal distinctiveness; here, one presumes, more traditional ‘customary’ law continued to prevail. Indeed, even in the West Saxon heartlands we should presume that traditional and localized legal practices continued to have an important part to play in practice: royally promulgated law sought to be neither comprehensive nor exclusive in this regard. Hence, if we are to get a clearer picture of how law and justice operated on the ground, we must now turn our attention to the surviving dispute records. 103

104

T. P. Oakley, English Penitential Discipline and Anglo-Saxon Law in their Joint Inluence (New York, 1923), pp. 174–93. II Ew prol. (ed. Liebermann I, 140–1); II As 25 (ibid., pp. 164–5); V As prol. (ibid., pp. 166–7); IV Eg 1.5 (ibid., pp. 208–9); with Keynes, ‘Crime and Punishment’. Cf. W. Hartmann, ‘Karl der Große und das Recht’, in Karl der Große und sein Nachwirken. 1200 Jahre Kultur und Wissenschaft in Europa, ed. P. L. Butzer, M. Kerner and W. Oberschlop, 2 vols. (Turnhout, 1997), I, 173–92, at pp. 186–7.

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Chapter 6

T HE WITAN A ND T H E SETTLEMENT OF DIS PU T ES

The study of disputes ofers further opportunities to glimpse the legal activity of the witan: it allows us to see it being consulted in the course of conlicts and ofers an opportunity to test the inluence of the laws it promulgated. Although it might seem that in looking at disputes our attention shifts dangerously away from royal assemblies, these ultimately stood behind local courts as a source of norms and the inal court of appeal. Indeed, Chris Wickham argues that royal assemblies were essential for the functioning of local legal gatherings throughout western Europe in the earlier Middle Ages, so much so that these often ceased to meet in times of political insecurity during which rulers were prevented from meeting with their senior magnates. While Wickham’s clearest evidence comes from northern Italy, where in periods of instability the low of court records (placita) dries up, there are hints of similar tendencies elsewhere which help underpin his generalizations.1 As noted, despite extensive discussion over the last thirty years, the study of dispute remains extremely popular, with much recent work dedicated to it.2 One impetus behind this historiographical development has been the increasing cross-fertilization between history and anthropology, which has opened up new possibilities for studying the operation of 1

2

C. Wickham, ‘Public Court Practice: The Eighth and Twelfth Centuries Compared’, in Rechtsverständnis und Konliktbewältigung. Gerichtliche und außergerichtliche Strategien im Mittelalter, ed. S. Esders (Cologne, 2007), pp. 17–30. See also C. Wickham, ‘Justice in the Kingdom of Italy in the Eleventh Century’, Settimane 44 (1997), 179–255, at p. 195. Helpful overviews include Brown, Violence; S. D. White, ‘Repenser la violence: de 2000 à 1000’ (1999), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. III, and ‘From Peace to Power: The Study of Disputes in Medieval France’ (2001), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. VIII; D. Barthélemy, ‘La vengeance, le jugement et le compromis’, in Le règlement des conlits au Moyen Âge, ed. C. Gauvard (Paris, 2001), pp. 11–20; and W. C. Brown and P. Górecki, ‘What Conlict Means: The Making of Medieval Conlict Studies in the United States, 1970–2000’, in Conlict in Medieval Europe: Changing Perspectives on Society and Culture, ed. Brown and Górecki (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 1–35.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes public authority, particularly in ‘stateless’ or ‘semi-state’ societies. Michael Wallace-Hadrill led the way in this respect, demonstrating the applicability of anthropological models of feuding to Merovingian Francia.3 He was followed by Frederic Cheyette, Stephen White and Patrick Geary, who used the study of dispute as a means of understanding French society of the eleventh and twelfth centuries.4 Within such contexts the study of conlict often became a litmus test of central authority, a means of distinguishing acephalous and semi-state societies from their more centralized counterparts.5 However, as the study of disputes – along with the anthropological approaches on which it rests – has developed, aspects of this paradigm have been questioned. In particular, it has been observed that the diferences between ‘stateless’ and ‘centralized’ political communities are often smaller on the ground than we might imagine, and the dangers of applying structuralist and functionalist models, which tend to emphasize strong distinctions between ‘primitive’ and ‘modern’ societies, have rightly been underlined.6 Moreover, further work has highlighted the limitations of our sources, which are largely restricted to the legal sphere and potentially conceal or downplay the signiicance of informal and extra-judicial means of settlement.7 In particular, many of the diferences previously drawn between the centralized and ‘public’ Carolingian state and its ‘feudal’ successors have disappeared or signiicantly diminished on closer inspection.8 At the most fundamental level all of these 3

4

5

6

7

8

J. M. Wallace-Hadrill, ‘The Bloodfeud of the Franks’ (1959), repr. in and cited from his The Long-Haired Kings (London, 1962), pp. 121–47. Cheyette, ‘Suum cuique tribuere’; S. D.White, ‘Feuding and Peace-Making in the Touraine around the Year 1100’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. I; P. J. Geary, ‘Living with Conlicts in Stateless France: Typology of Conlict Management Mechanisms, 1050–1200’ (1986), trans. in his Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 1994), pp. 125–60. For example G. Althof , ‘Königsherrschaft und Konliktbewältigung im 10. und 11. Jahrhundert’ (1989), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln der Politik im Mittelalter. Kommunikation in Frieden und Fehde (Darmstadt, 1997), pp. 21–56; H. Keller, ‘Die Idee der Gerechtigkeit und die Praxis königlicher Rechtswahrung im Reich der Ottonen’ (1997), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft, pp. 34–50 and 204–13 (notes). S. D. White, ‘Tenth-Century Courts at Mâcon and the Perils of Structuralist History: Re-reading Burgundian Judicial Institutions’ (2003), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. IX; F. L. Cheyette, ‘Some Relections on Violence, Reconciliation, and the “Feudal Revolution”’, in Conlict in Medieval Europe, ed. Brown and Górecki, pp. 243–64; P. J. Geary, ‘Moral Obligations and Peer Pressure: Conlict Resolution in the Medieval Aristocracy’, in Georges Duby: l’écriture de l’histoire, Bibliothèque du Moyen Âge 6, ed. C. Duhamel, A. Lobrichen and G. Lochrinchen (Brussels, 1996), pp. 217–22. P. [J.] Geary, ‘Extra-Judicial Means of Conlict Resolution’, Settimane 42 (1995), 569–605. See similarly Barthélemy, ‘Vengeance’; and Harries, Law and Empire, pp. 172–90. J. L. Nelson, ‘Dispute Settlement in Carolingian West Frankia’ (1986), repr. in and cited from her Frankish World, pp. 51–74; J. Martindale, ‘“His Special Friend”? The Settlement of Disputes and Political Power in the Kingdom of the French (Tenth to Mid-Twelfth Century)’, TRHS 6th ser. 5 (1995), 21–57; R. E. Barton, Lordship in the County of Maine, c. 890–1060 (Woodbridge, 2004),

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England discussions underline how important, yet equally how diicult, it is to demonstrate change and diference across time and space. As such they have important implications for our understanding of later Anglo-Saxon law, since the case for English exceptionalism within the legal sphere, most powerfully developed by Patrick Wormald, rests on demonstrating a sharp diference between England and its increasingly ‘feudalized’ continental counterparts in these years.9 The essential reference work for Anglo-Saxon dispute settlement is Wormald’s ‘Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Lawsuits’. From this list we can identify thirteen disputes from the period between Alfred’s accession and the death of Edward the Martyr which are recorded in charters, of which four are preserved in documents of dubious authenticity.10 However, care is called for in our assessment of these documents since, as Paul Hyams observes, the suspicion is that many exist precisely ‘because they treat the unusual case’.11 Moreover, the perspectives ofered by charters are anything but impartial: many were drawn up by religious houses involved in disputes and all were preserved in church archives.12 The accounts are also by their nature retrospective and therefore must be subjected to a similar form of source criticism as more literary works.13 Nevertheless, these accounts were still written at diferent places and times and can be compared with the information preserved in the Libellus Æthelwoldi episcopi and the Ramsey Liber benefactorum, so we are not without ‘controls’. D i spute set t le me nt in Anglo-S axon charte r s We shall begin with the evidence of charters, starting with those which provide lengthy accounts of disputes.Where these reports are particularly

9

10

11

12

13

pp. 146–96; M. Costambeys, ‘Disputes and Courts in Lombard and Carolingian Central Italy’, EME 15 (2007), 265–89; Geary, ‘Moral Obligations’. This was appreciated by Wormald, who wrote:‘I have oversimpliied them [the contrasts between tenth-century England and its continental neighbours] of course, and the next volume [of The Making of English Law] will have to take on board recent “revisionist” trends in this area’ (English Law, p. 483, n. 9). Wormald, ‘Handlist’. Note that in what follows suits which were heard in Mercia before 918 are not considered, unless they were heard in Alfred’s or Edward’s presence (e.g. S 1441, 1446). Hyams, ‘Charters’, p. 176. See also Wormald, English Law, p. 145; and cf. A. Esch, ‘ÜberlieferungsChance und Überlieferungs-Zufall als methodisches Problem des Historikers’, HZ 240 (1985), 529–70, at pp. 540–1. Wormald, ‘Charters’, pp. 291–2, and English Law, p. 146. Cf. J. A. Bowman, Shifting Landmarks: Property, Proof, and Dispute in Catalonia around the Year 1000 (Ithaca, NY, 2004), pp. 12–13. S. Foot, ‘Reading Anglo-Saxon Charters: Memory, Record or Story?’, in Narrative and History in the Early Medieval West, ed. E. M. Tyler and R. Balzaretti (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 29–65; D. Bates, ‘Charters and Historians of Britain and Ireland: Problems and Possibilities’, in Charters and Charter Scholarship, ed. Flanagan and Green, pp. 1–14, at 2–4; J. Fried, Der Schleier der Erinnerung. Grundzüge einer historischen Memorik, rev. edn (Munich, 2012), p. 371.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes full, they generally show disputes continuing across generations and it should therefore be assumed that any given account in a charter illustrates but one moment in a dispute, which quite possibly endured long after its production.14 The irst case for which we have suicient information to sustain detailed discussion is from the reign of Alfred the Great and involves a dispute between Winchcombe and Wullaf over land at Upton in Blockley, Gloucestershire.15 Winchcombe claimed that it had been granted this land by Cenwulf; however, a certain Æthelwulf testiied that the land had in fact been granted by Cenwulf to Wullaf, who held it at the time of the plea. Wullaf was able to prove his case by producing the pristinos libellos on which his claim rested and it was agreed that he should hold the lands, but that upon his death they should revert to Worcester. This dispute raises a number of issues. Firstly, it implies that Wullaf won his case outright, without any concessions to Winchcombe. Some caution is called for, however, because the account was likely drawn up at Worcester, whose interests lay only in its claim to the land; it is entirely possible that Winchcombe received some form of compensation which went unrecorded. Secondly, although the dispute was formally between Wullaf and Winchcombe, Wullaf apparently felt the need for support, which he seems to have obtained by promising the reversion of the estate to Worcester were he to win. This looks dangerously close to bribery to modern eyes, but as we shall see it was relatively standard practice. Finally, it is unclear what kind of court heard the plea. The decision is recorded with the witness of both King Alfred and Ealdorman Æthelred, but neither plays a discernible role in the suit, so one is tempted to conclude that their attestations served simply to strengthen Worcester’s position against future claims.The impression is of relatively informal measures of dispute settlement, which the king might oversee, but in which he was often not directly involved.16 The next case is found in the justly famous ‘Fonthill Letter’. As this suit has received detailed exegesis, my purpose is only to highlight aspects which throw further light on the other cases under consideration.17 The 14

15 16 17

This is the case with most medieval dispute records: White, ‘Feuding’, pp. 204–8; Bowman, Landmarks, pp. 185–6; C. Wickham, Courts and Conlict in Twelfth-Century Tuscany (Oxford, 2003), pp. 92–3. S 1442 (BCS 575). Pratt, Political Thought, p. 54. Cf. S 1441 (BCS 574). S 1445 (CantCC 104). See esp. Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’; Wormald, English Law, pp. 144–8; A. Rabin, ‘Old English forespeca and the Role of the Advocate in Anglo-Saxon Law’, Mediaeval Studies 69 (2007), 223–54, at pp. 243–52, and ‘Testimony and Authority in Old English Law: Writing the Subject in the “Fonthill Letter”’, in Law and Sovereignty in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. R. S. Sturges (Turnhout, 2011), pp. 153–72; S. T. Smith, ‘Of Kings and Cattle

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England letter ofers evidence which is unique in a number of respects: it was written as part of an ongoing dispute; the dispute recorded concerns two lay parties; and the letter demonstrates the use of the written word – and possibly the drafting of letters – by a layman.18 As in the previous case, we have evidence that one of the parties involved, Helmstan, resorted to assistance from a more powerful associate, his godfather Ordlaf, to whom he eventually ceded the land. This has been treated as an act of bribery and it may be that tenth-century legislation against bribery was made with such cases in mind;19 nevertheless, the impression is also that this was relatively commonplace, and Andrew Rabin points out that most legal advocates, as Ordlaf is here termed, received remuneration in some form.20 The suspicion, therefore, is that we are seeing the tip of a much larger iceberg and that not only legal advocates, but also oath-helpers and others who assisted in cases might be wooed or threatened into doing so. Further aspects of the dispute also suggest that justice operated in a relatively informal manner: Ordlaf, despite his vested interests, was apparently eligible to judge the irst case raised by Æthelhelm against Helmstan;21 when this case came to court, Ordlaf was able to come to Helmstan’s aid, ensuring that his oath did not fail in exchange for the estate at Fonthill, which Ordlaf subsequently loaned back to Helmstan; after the resolution of the irst suit, Ordlaf implied that compensation may have been given or at least ofered to Æthelhelm; and inally, even after Helmstan had apparently lost everything, he was able to regain royal favour by seeking out King Alfred’s tomb and returning with a seal, though it is unclear whether his forfeited lands were ever returned.22 It would be rash to presume that legal principles had no inluence on this case, but it certainly

18

19 20

21

22

Thieves: The Rhetorical Work of the Fonthill Letter’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology 106 (2007), 447–67; and N. Brooks, ‘The Fonthill Letter, Ealdorman Ordlaf and Anglo-Saxon Law in Practice’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter et al., pp. 301–17. Ordlaf ’s authorship is convincingly defended by Brooks, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 313–14, against M. Boynton and S. Reynolds, ‘The Author of the Fonthill Letter’, ASE 25 (1996), 91–5. See also Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 95–6; and M. Gretsch, ‘The Language of the “Fonthill Letter”’, ASE 23 (1994), 57–102, at pp. 77 and 95–8. II As 17 (ed. Liebermann I, 158–9); with Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, p. 75. Rabin, ‘Old English forespeca’, pp. 247–9, and ‘Female Advocacy’, pp. 278–9. See below, pp. 185–90. However, as Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, p. 69, points out, judges might have been chosen from both parties and thus not have been expected to be unbiased. Such a case is described in LB, c. 49 (ed. Macray, pp. 78–80). The meaning of Helmstan’s gestures at this point remains something of a mystery: Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 88–9; Brooks, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 311–12; Smith, ‘Cattle Thieves’, pp. 457–9; J. Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour and Political Communication in Later Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 36 (2007), 127–50, at p. 138.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes seems that law was more lexible in action than in normative form.23 One of the few aspects which seems to relect contemporary legislation unambiguously is the elusive reference to the ‘oath’ which Helmstan had broken by committing his second crime, which probably refers to his personal oath of idelity as a king’s thegn, rather than a general oath of loyalty.24 This suggests that Alfred’s legislation on lordship and oaths afected judicial practice, and it may be that such legal reasoning often lay behind decisions even though this is not explicitly stated. Although the king’s direct involvement here is greater than in the previous case, it remains minimal and it seems that the main means of appealing for royal support was through well-placed friends and relatives (such as Ealdorman Ordlaf ) and not the ‘oicial’ channels. Indeed, Alfred’s own intervention, hearing the case Pilate-like while washing his hands, has recently been characterized as being more ‘charismatic’ than ‘institutional’.25 Far from demonstrating the ‘iercely punitive’ side of Anglo-Saxon justice,26 the suit suggests the reverse: namely, that a well-connected igure could relatively easily evade justice and even when eventually outmanoeuvred might still regain royal favour by an act of humility. The next case is preserved in a grant of land at Osterland, Kent, by Eadgifu to Christ Church, Canterbury, which contains a detailed history of her claims to the estate.27 These claims went back to the ninth century, when Eadgifu’s father bought the land from Goda. However, Goda later denied having sold the estate and, despite being defeated by oath at court, managed to maintain control of it until Eadgifu’s ‘friends’ (frynd) were able to induce King Edward (her later husband) to intervene on her behalf. This led to the estate being given to Eadgifu, who, in a show of kindness, allowed Goda to keep all the land save two sulungs. Such demonstrations of mercy were a common feature of dispute settlement in tenth-century Germany, where they were often planned in advance, and it may be that something similar is going on here.28 In any case, on Æthelstan’s accession, Goda, who had yet to receive the lands he had been 23

24 25

26 27

28

Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, esp. p. 97. Cf. F. Pollock and F. W. Maitland, The History of English Law before the Time of Edward I, 2 vols., 2nd edn (Cambridge, 1923), I, 38–40, characterizing Anglo-Saxon judicial procedure as ‘stif and unbending’ (p. 38). Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, p. 84, n. 127. Hudson, ‘L’écrit’, pp. 5–6. On the potential biblical resonances, see Stanley, Rechtsplege, pp. 164–70. The phrase is that of Brooks, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 316–17. S 1211 (CantCC 124). See also Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 214–16; and Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 82–3. G. Althof, ‘Compositio. Wiederherstellung verletzter Ehre im Rahmen gütlicher Konliktbeendigung’, in Verletzte Ehre. Ehrkonlikte in Geselleschaften des Mittelalters und der Frühen Neuzeit, Norm und Struktur 5, ed. K. Schreiner and G. Schwerhof (Cologne, 1995), pp. 63–76.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England promised, took the opportunity to ask the king to intervene with Eadgifu on his behalf in order to obtain the relevant charters. Goda’s decision to raise claims at this point may have been designed to exploit tensions between Æthelstan and Eadgifu, who was not the king’s mother and whose interests lay in the eventual accession of her own sons (Æthelstan’s halfbrothers Edmund and Eadred).29 In any case, Æthelstan did get involved and the matter was settled before the witan: Eadgifu gave the land-books to Goda, who in turn swore an oath that the dispute would thereby be settled. Nevertheless, matters later took a turn for the worse for Eadgifu some years later: following the death of her younger son, Eadred, she was despoiled of her lands and Goda’s sons took the opportunity to seize the remaining two sulungs at Osterland.30 They held these until another regime change made it possible for Eadgifu to bring a plea before Edgar and his witan, which restored the estates to her, after which she granted them to Christ Church. This case further underscores the lexibility of tenthcentury dispute settlement: when a irst plea failed to be enforced, Eadgifu was able to appeal – apparently unoicially – to King Edward, making use of the connections of her ‘friends’; when Edward put his support behind her claims, she was able to gain oicial rights to the estates, but, perhaps feeling that these were unlikely to go unchallenged, she arranged a compromise, whereby she claimed only a portion of Goda’s land; further opportunities for Goda’s relatives were ofered by Eadgifu’s political misfortunes, which they exploited to retake the remaining sulungs; and inally another regime change allowed Eadgifu to regain these. As in the Fonthill dispute, we see the central importance of personal relationships in deciding cases, and the level at which the pleas were heard seems to have been a matter of little concern: the irst suit was apparently heard at a local level, perhaps a shire or hundred court, but this did not preclude an informal appeal to Edward; later the dispute came to a compromise before Æthelstan and his witan; and the inal plea was apparently brought directly to Edgar and his witan.The witan could bring the greatest pressure to bear on the case, but even here Eadgifu sought a compromise,31 which then lasted until she fell victim to the vicissitudes of tenth-century politics. When inally a further judgement was made under Edgar, it involved only the return of the two sulungs, whilst Goda’s sons were allowed to keep 29

30 31

However, the known dynastic conlicts of Æthelstan’s reign were with the sons of Ællæd, not Eadgifu, and it is possible that he had already come to an agreement of some kind with the latter: Staford, ‘King’s Wife’, p. 25; Jayakumar, ‘Politics of the English Kingdom’, p. 28; Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies’, pp. 336–40. On the despoiling of Eadgifu’s lands, see Staford, ‘King’s Wife’, p. 24. One wonders if her earlier diiculties in bringing judgements to bear against Goda inluenced her approach.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes the rest of their father’s lands, apparently unpunished for their rapacity. Eadgifu’s move to grant this land immediately to Christ Church may well imply weakness: just as Ordlaf granted the problematic estate at Fonthill to Winchester, so too Eadgifu perhaps thought herself best rid of Osterland. It seems telling that even a igure of her stature could encounter such dificulty when faced by determined local resistance. A similarly informal picture of localized dispute practices emerges from the next case under consideration, a conlict over an estate at Standon, Hertfordshire, between the widow Æthelgifu and a certain Eadmer, who was the son of her sister-in-law. This dispute is recorded in Æthelgifu’s will (written c. 985 × 1002) but clearly took place earlier, probably in the 950s.32 According to this account what transpired is that after the death of Æthelgifu’s husband his kinsmen sought to prevent her from bequeathing property which she had been left in his will.The matter was taken to a joint meeting of the shires of Bedford and Hertford at Hitchin, where Æthelgifu succeeded in producing the requisite oath and thus seems to have prevailed (the text is somewhat unclear on this point). Nevertheless, her opponents were not to be deterred; they continued to maintain their claims, despite the success of Æthelgifu’s oath and the evidence of the will (cwide) of her late husband. Indeed, Eadmer, her nephew, seems to have taken justice into his own hands at this point, seizing Standon and dispossessing her. As a result, Æthelgifu was forced to appeal to the king. The wording of the account becomes somewhat unclear at this point and is worth quoting in full: ‘Then I sought out the king and gave him 20 pounds [and] then he gave me my land against his will’ (Þa sohte ic þæne cing 7 geseald. hym.xx. punda þa he me myn lond on his unþonc). What is unclear here, thanks to the proliferation of male personal pronouns, is to whom precisely Æthelgifu gave the money. The syntax of the passage would seem to suggest the king, which is by no means unthinkable; as we have noted, it was not uncommon for disputants to give gifts or make payments to those who might support their cause. Nevertheless, the reference to this being done ‘against his will’ (on his unþonc) points in the opposite direction: there is no reason to believe that the king, who had hitherto played no discernible part in this suit, would be perturbed about upholding the decision of a local shire court. On the other hand, Eadmer and his kinsmen had every reason to resist such a result, which efectively dispossessed them. What makes best sense of the passage, therefore, is to presume that Æthelgifu appealed to the king, who in turn 32

S 1497 (St Alb 7). See Charters of St Albans, Anglo-Saxon Charters 12, ed. J. Crick (Oxford, 2007), pp. 92–4; and L. Tollerton, Wills and Will-Making in Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge, 2011), pp. 73–5.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England arranged a compromise: she would pay Eadmer 20 pounds and he would then return the lands, albeit against his will. As with the previous suits, the impression is of a relatively informal system of justice: though local courts were available, the recalcitrance of Æthelgifu’s opponents forced her to appeal to the king (and perhaps also witan, though they are not mentioned explicitly). Even at this level, however, it was a compromise which was sought: Æthelgifu would pay her nephew in exchange for his quitclaim. The next suit, involving a dispute over land at Sunbury, Middlesex, ofers somewhat more evidence for formalized conlict resolution.33 The case began with the theft of a dependent woman, who later was found in the hands of Æthelstan of Sunbury. He was called to vouch warranty that he had bought the woman, but apparently was unable to do so and therefore did not appear at court on the appointed day. As a result, Æthelstan had to return the woman to Ælfsige along with 2 pounds compensation and to pay his wer (i.e. his wergild) to the local ealdorman. Since Æthelstan did not have the money, his brother ofered to pay it instead in exchange for Sunbury, but Æthelstan refused, preferring to forfeit the estate. Upon Eadred’s death Æthelstan returned to Sunbury in hope of regaining it; however, Eadwig upheld the forfeiture and granted the estate to Beornric. The accession of Edgar ofered Æthelstan further opportunities and he took his case to the Mercian witan, where as previously it was decreed that the estate should be forfeit, unless Æthelstan pay his wer. As he still could not, the estate was once again forfeited, this time being granted to Ealdorman Æthelstan (what had happened to the claims of Beornric in the meantime is unclear). Æthelstan later sold the estate to Ealdorman Ecgferth, who in turn promised it to Archbishop Dunstan, apparently in his will. Ecgferth, however, later drowned under unspeciied circumstances, though the suspicion is that he was involved in an act of theft or treachery, since the witan declared his lands forfeit, preventing the estate’s bequest to Dunstan.34 The archbishop ofered the king Ecgferth’s wergild, presumably in the hope of redeeming him after death, an act which might not only obtain a consecrated grave for the ealdorman, but also secure his post-obit bequest;35 the king, however, responded that he had already left matters in Ealdorman Ælfheah’s hands. Six years later Dunstan bought the land uncontested from Ælfheah for 200 mancuses, 33

34 35

S 1447 (BCS 1063). See Brooks, Early History, p. 249; Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 217–18; P. Staford, ‘King and Kin, Lord and Community: England in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries’, in her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. VIII, pp. 5–8; and Hudson, Laws of England, pp. 175–7. Anglo-Saxon Charters, ed. A. J. Robertson (Cambridge, 1939), p. 338. Cf. II Atr 8–9 (ed. Liebermann I, 224–6); with Liebermann, Gesetze II, 479 (s.v. Grab).

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The witan and the settlement of disputes though claims may well later have been raised against him, since the surviving account was probably produced for use as evidence in court.36 On the face of it this case ofers much more evidence for the formal operation of courts and lawsuits: the irst case was lost by Æthelstan for contumacy; he was forced to pay his wergild or forfeit his estate, a decision upheld by subsequent kings; eventually, once the land was in Ecgferth’s hands, he too seems to have forfeited it, though the grounds are unclear. This certainly suggests that courts could, at least upon occasion, demand the payment of ines and compensation and impose forfeiture on those unable to do so. On the other hand, certain aspects of the case still reveal a degree of lexibility within the legal system: although the original suit was presumably made at the shire or hundred court, as it was overseen by the ealdorman, subsequent claims by Æthelstan were brought directly to the witan and the ultimate forfeiture by Ecgferth also seems to have been decreed by the witan. Similarly, Æthelstan’s repeated eforts to regain these lands, despite his inability to pay his wergild, indicate that he thought his forfeiture anything but immutable.37 That Æthelstan or his relatives might have a valid claim to the land also seems to be acknowledged implicitly by the subsequent lords of Sunbury, who were keen to be rid of it, passing it from one to another like a hot potato: Ealdorman Æthelstan sold it on to Ecgferth, who in turn promised the estate to Dunstan, perhaps in order to obtain the archbishop’s support for his tenure. Indeed, that even Dunstan’s tenure was not above question is suggested by the very existence of the document. Forfeitures also make an appearance in the Snodland dispute, which, thanks to Patrick Wormald, has received much attention.38 This case began under Edgar, but reached its inal recorded settlement in the early years of Æthelred II. The dispute concerned land at Snodland, Kent, which had been granted by a widow, Æscwyn, to Rochester. Later, however, according to the claims of Bishop Ælfstan, the relevant landbooks were stolen by the priests and sold to Ælfric, Æscwyn’s son, who may well have been keen to regain what he felt to be his rightful inheritance. However, Ælfric passed away, apparently soon thereafter, leaving Snodland once more in Æscwyn’s hands. At a meeting of the ‘king’s thegns’ (cinges ðeningmanna), overseen by King Edgar, Archbishop Dunstan 36 37

38

Kennedy, ‘Law and Litigation’, p. 167, n. 144. Cf. Staford,‘King and Kin’, pp. 7–8, for the alternative possibility that the later suits were brought against Æthelstan by his opponents. S 1457 (Roch 36). See Wormald, ‘Charters’, pp. 298–306, and ‘Germanic Power Structures: The Early English Experience’, in Power and the Nation, ed. Scales and Zimmer, pp. 105–24, at 116 and 119–20; Tollerton, Wills and Will-Making, pp. 161–5; and C. Wickham, The Inheritance of Rome: A History of Europe from 400 to 1000 (London, 2009), pp. 453–4.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and other important witan, a plea was then raised against the widow. Rochester won the case, regaining Snodland, and Æscwyn was forced to forfeit her other estates at Bromley and Fawkham, Kent. She thereafter threw herself on the mercy of Rochester, whose bishop managed to obtain the widow’s forfeited lands for St Andrew’s in exchange for 15 gold mancuses and 130 pounds of silver, thereafter granting them to Æscwyn in usufruct. On the face of it this dispute seems to display the mechanisms of English justice at their most eicient: Æscwyn’s original grant is upheld and the family is punished for attempting to regain Snodland. Nevertheless, some aspects still point in the opposite direction: why and how Bishop Ælfstan of Rochester managed to appeal directly to what appears to have been a royal rather than local court is unclear; meanwhile, despite the originally harsh punishment meted out on Æscwyn, she managed in the end to retain usufruct of her lands and avoid further penalties, which might have seemed to her little more than the re-establishment of the status quo ante. The inal case for which a narrative of any length survives concerns the forfeiture of Ailsworth, Northamptonshire, in the reign of Edgar.39 This account is more laconic than those just discussed, giving little background to the dispute involved. The charter explains only that an unnamed widow and son were found guilty of witchcraft against a certain Ælfsige, that the widow was caught and drowned by her opponents and that her son escaped and was declared an outlaw. Their lands were forfeited to the king, who granted them to the same Ælfsige. The suspicion is that a broader conlict lies behind these events and that we have but a snapshot of developments: the charges of witchcraft may well have been brought forward by Ælfsige and his associates, and certainly what seems to be recorded is the success of his party in an ongoing dispute with the widow and son. There is little sense of central control being behind the actions described: those on the spot seem to have taken the punishment of the widow into their own hands and it was presumably a local court which declared her son an outlaw – formal legal authority thus seems to have rubber-stamped the actions of Ælfsige and others post factum rather than playing an active role in developments. Although the formal penalty for witchcraft according to the Grately code was execution, it would seem that the widow was efectively a victim of mob justice.40 Indeed, given the close association between witchcraft and ordeal 39 40

S 1377 (Pet 17). As 6 (ed. Liebermann I, 152–3). See further A. Davies, ‘Witches in Anglo-Saxon England’, in Superstition and Popular Medicine in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. D. G. Scragg (Manchester, 1989), pp. 41–56, at 49–51.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes by cold water, and the fact that the Grately code prescribes ordeal for those denying charges of witchcraft, this may well be an early example of ‘witch-swimming’.41 In any case, the fact that the king granted the forfeited estate directly to Ælfsige seems to conirm the suspicion that he ultimately lay behind these events. The remaining disputes must be read against the background of these more detailed accounts. Most mention court cases only as an aside and it is therefore rarely possible to contextualize events. The majority of these further suits involve forfeitures, and Patrick Wormald has taken this as evidence for the strong imposition of royal control over justice in the tenth century.42 The evidence of the more detailed suits, as sketched above, however, nuances his case: at least where further details are known, forfeitures hardly seem absolute and were clearly open to negotiation. The evidence of the remaining shorter reports is similarly mixed: although Wormald is right to note the high number of charters mentioning coniscation, many are of dubious authenticity, leaving us with only two further forfeitures to place beside the cases already discussed.43 These two cases are, moreover, as ambiguous as those already encountered. The irst involves the famous forfeiture by Ealdorman Wulfhere for inidelity in King Alfred’s reign. Like the ‘Fonthill Letter’, this case strongly suggests that Alfred’s legislation on loyalty was taken seriously.44 As with the ‘Fonthill Letter’, however, we cannot be certain that Wulfhere’s disgrace was permanent; at the very least it does not seem to have hurt his family’s fortunes, as his grandson later appears as an ealdorman under Æthelstan, and the suspicion is that Wulfhere, like Helmstan, may at some point have obtained pardon.45 This possibility is strengthened by the one further certainly authentic mention of coniscation from these years, which describes the original forfeiture only in the context of restoring these lands to Wulfric ‘Cuing’.46 Evidently forfeitures were not absolute, and may in some cases have constituted a largely symbolic show of disfavour, which was, in so far as it brought the recalcitrant subject to heel, expected to be followed by a return to favour. Such practices were certainly common in the West Frankish and 41 42

43 44

45

46

II As 6.1 (ed. Liebermann I, 154–5). See further Bartlett, Trial, pp. 23–4 and 144–52. Wormald, ‘God and King’, pp. 339–40. See also P. Wormald, Lawyers and the State: The Varieties of Legal History, Selden Society Lecture 2001 (London, 2006), pp. 16–18. S 362, 687. Cf. the often blatant forgeries containing accounts of forfeitures: S 375, 414–15, 443. S 362 (BCS 595); with Whitelock, EHD, p. 541; and Nelson, ‘Continental Perspective’, pp. 52–5, and ‘Power and Authority’, pp. 324–6. B.Yorke, ‘Edward as Ætheling’, in Edward the Elder, ed. Higham and Hill, pp. 25–39, at 36–7; Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 240–1; Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 108–9. S 687 (Abing 86). See Jayakumar, ‘Politics of the English Kingdom’, pp. 83–5; and Abingdon, ed. Kelly, pp. clxxxii–clxxxiv.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Ottonian realms, where coniscation and the loss of favour were often employed less as punishments in the modern sense than as a means of negotiation: they were expected to be lifted provided the individual was willing to submit to his lord.47 It would be dangerous on the basis of the accounts of Helmstan and Wulfric alone to assume that all or even most men found guilty of treachery or theft were eventually pardoned, but in the absence of further information it would be equally unfounded to assume that all other forfeitures led to the permanent downfall of the individuals involved. It is possible that scholars have at times been too inluenced here by the more detailed records of blinding and coniscation from Æthelred II’s reign, presuming on their basis that royal justice throughout the later ninth and tenth centuries was equally aggressive. Yet there are reasons to believe that, at least where lawsuits are concerned, Æthelred’s reign represents the exception, not the rule. The sources pose somewhat of a problem here: since it is irst in Æthelred’s reign that diplomas regularly include lengthy accounts of earlier disputes, it is possible that they simply unveil what had long been common practice.48 Be that as it may, one can only presume that the viking attacks and resulting need to defend the realm and raise record levels of tribute put a unique strain on the English kingdom, and the sudden appearance of so many reports of forfeiture at this point should surely be seen at least in part as a product of this. Yet far from evidencing the king’s much-famed incompetence, these cases may well suggest the reverse: that, in response to the challenges facing him, Æthelred imposed royal authority over crime and punishment to a degree hitherto unprecedented. Nevertheless, even in the worst throes of the viking onslaught, execution and coniscation remained but one of a variety of punishments available, and some igures, such as Æthelmær and Ordulf, were allowed to enter monasteries, thus retiring peacefully from the political scene.49 As Mayke de Jong notes, such monastic retirement was not imprisonment in the modern sense, but rather a means of 47

48

49

G.Althof,‘Das Privileg der deditio. Formen gütlicher Konliktbeendigung in der mittelalterlichen Adelsgesellschaft’ (1997), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln, pp. 99–124; T. Reuter, ‘PeaceBreaking, Feud, Rebellion, Resistance:Violence and Peace in the Politics of the Salian Era’ (1991), trans. in his Medieval Polities, pp. 355–87; E. Z. Tabuteau, ‘Punishments in Eleventh-Century Normandy’, in Conlict in Medieval Europe, ed. Brown and Górecki, pp. 131–49; G. Koziol, Begging Pardon and Favor: Ritual and Political Order in Early Medieval France (Ithaca, NY, 1992), pp. 177– 234; I. Krause, Konlikt und Ritual im Herrschaftsbereich der frühen Capetinger. Untersuchungen zur Darstellung und Funktion symbolischen Verhaltens, Symbolische Kommunikation und gesellschaftliche Wertesysteme 13 (Münster, 2006), pp. 110–75. Stenton, Charters, pp. 74–82; Keynes, ‘Crime and Punishment’. Cf. Barthélemy, Vendôme, pp. 19–127. S. Keynes, ‘King Æthelred’s Charter for Eynsham Abbey (1005)’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter et al., pp. 451–73, esp. 455–6.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes saving face which left the possibility of future reconciliation open (as we in fact see in Æthelmær’s case, since he returned to politics later on in Æthelred’s reign).50 Punishing one’s followers was always a tricky matter for a medieval ruler, and even the most powerful had to be careful not to tip the balance too far away from the carrot and towards the stick.51 Moreover, since kingship in this period was increasingly viewed in Christological terms – a development which began in the eighth and ninth centuries, but arguably reached its high point in the tenth and eleventh – it was essential that a ruler be willing to demonstrate mercy. In such a context a king who was willing to forgive wrongdoers was a strong ruler, not a weak one, as Stefan Weinfurter observes.52 It therefore should not come as a surprise that contemporary legislation makes explicit allowance for outlaws receiving pardon: although outlawry was taken seriously, the hope of reconciliation was clearly held out.53 That royal pardon was obtainable in practice is evident from the cases of Helmstan and Wulfric, as we have seen.54 Therefore, while coniscations are to be taken as an indication that royal stipulations on loyalty and theft inluenced legal practice, it seems likely that forfeiture was used sparingly and that the hope of regaining one’s previous position was often present. Moreover, since coniscation was the most likely punishment to afect landholding, the charter record almost certainly exaggerates its frequency. A helpful contrast is ofered by continental dispute records of the early Middle Ages. Here, thanks to the existence of a tradition of formal judicial charters or placita, a much greater variety of suits is recorded: although the preservation of these documents similarly favours cases involving land, many more continental accounts of disputes over boundaries and serfs survive than English, 50

51

52

53

54

M. de Jong, ‘Monastic Prisoners or Opting Out? Political Coercion and Honour in the Frankish Kingdoms’, in Topographies of Power, ed. de Jong and Theuws, pp. 291–328. See also K. Sprigade, ‘Die Einweisung ins Kloster und in den geistlichen Stand als politische Maßnahme im frühen Mittelalter’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Heidelberg, 1964), esp. pp. 102–15 and 124–7. See further M. Innes, ‘Property, Politics and the Problem of the Carolingian State’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 299–313; and Kamp, ‘Vengeance’. S. Weinfurter, ‘Investitur und Gnade. Überlegungen zur gratialen Herrschaftsordnung im Mittelalter’, in Investitur- und Krönungsrituale. Herschaftseinsetzungen im kulturellen Vergleich, ed. M. Steinicke and S. Weinfurter (Cologne, 2005), pp. 105–23. See also Keller, ‘Idee der Gerechtigkeit’, pp. 49–50; and cf. P. J. E. Kershaw, ‘The Alfred–Guthrum Treaty: Scripting Accommodation and Interaction in Viking Age England’, in Cultures in Contact, ed. Hadley and Richards, pp. 43–64, at 49–50; and M. Treschow, ‘The Prologue to Alfred’s Law Code: Instruction in the Spirit of Mercy’, Florilegium 13 (1994), 79–110, on the English evidence. Af 7 (ed. Liebermann I, 52–3). Cf. N. D. Hurnard, The King’s Pardon for Homicide before A.D. 1307 (Oxford, 1969). Thus far one should wish to relativize Wormald’s bold claim that Earl Godwine’s ability to regain royal favour in 1052 was ‘the exception to the English rule’ (‘God and King’, p. 340, n. 28).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England giving a sense of the sort of material we have probably lost.55 Thus the diferences between the surviving dispute records from England and the continent arguably do not so much prove that forfeiture was more common in the regnum Anglorum – as Wormald seems to suggest – as alert us to the difering nature of the sources available. In England it would seem that the lack of direct administrative continuity with the Roman Empire prevented the development of a tradition of formal court records comparable to the placitum. The evidence for the day-to-day running of the judicial system is similarly mixed: it is clear that local courts were in operation, but the decisions made by disputants as to which court to take their pleas to seem to owe more to their own personal connections than to royal stipulations.The king and witan at times played an important role as the highest level of authority, but even their decisions could be louted, and a complex series of factors, including both royal backing and local support, was necessary in order to make one’s case stick. Indeed, that judgements themselves were anything but inviolable is suggested by the regularity with which disputes re-emerged after the death of either one of the parties involved or the king; even when temporarily defeated, many disputants harboured realistic hopes of obtaining a better deal in the future. It should, moreover, be suspected that the importance of both the king and formal courts is exaggerated by our accounts; as Patrick Geary reminds us, it was in the interests of the ruler and those recording such cases to emphasize the formality and authority of the judicial system.56 Finally, it seems that throughout the cases surveyed personal relationships were of paramount importance: friendship or familial relationship with the king or other important igures proved decisive for both Helmstan and Eadgifu, whilst connections to more local igures were cultivated in most other attempts to secure favourable decisions.57 If institutions inluenced the parameters within which these conlicts at times unfolded, it is still personal bonds which generally decide the suits and, given the porous and ill-deined boundaries of the court, in many cases the diference between court judgement and informal settlement may have blurred.58

55

56 57

58

R. Hübner, ‘Gerichtsurkunden der fränkischen Zeit’, ZRG: GA 12 (1891), 1–118, and 14 (1893), 1–248. On placita, see further P. Fouracre, ‘Placita and the Settlement of Disputes in Later Merovingian Francia’, in Settlement of Disputes, ed. Davies and Fouracre, pp. 23–43; and Wickham, ‘Justice’. Geary, ‘Conlict Resolution’. See also Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 212–23, along somewhat similar lines. See S. D. White, ‘Inheritances and Legal Arguments in West France, 1050–1150’ (1987), repr. in his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. VI, pp. 64–5; and cf. Roberts, Order and Dispute, pp. 71–2.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes D i spute sett le me nt in house c h roni c le s In the evidence ofered by the house chronicles of Ramsey and Ely we can discern somewhat similar patterns. These sources consist of local accounts of the history of the two abbeys which focus on their landholding and disputes with their neighbours.59 The Libellus Æthelwoldi episcopi, which appears to be a translation of a contemporaneous vernacular account, preserves the more detailed and reliable information, while the Ramsey Liber benefactorum must be treated with somewhat greater care. The basic picture painted by the Libellus, somewhat in contrast to the charters surveyed, is one of a society in which the king and witan play a peripheral role: Edgar is often mentioned granting or selling lands (some of which had been forfeited), but only once actively hears a case.60 The majority of disputes mentioned can be dated no more securely than to the years between Edgar’s and Æthelwold’s deaths (975 × 984), though there are grounds for thinking that most took place during Edward the Martyr’s reign (975–8). Edgar had been a strong supporter of Æthelwold, but after his death the bishop had backed Æthelred II’s unsuccessful bid for the succession, which opened the door for Æthelwold’s opponents to raise claims against him; much as we have just seen in the disputes recorded in charters, Ely’s neighbours seem to have exploited the opportunity of a royal accession to their beneit. However, Edward’s death and Æthelred’s succession three years later brought Æthelwold back to the forefront of politics and it therefore seems unlikely that many of the disputes were initiated (or renewed) after 978.61 As a group, these cases display many of the features seen in the charter record. Although a number of disputes apparently came to court judgements,62 most lengthy conlicts led to compromise, even in some cases after a judgement had been made.63 The impression is that disputes between particularly unequal parties were more likely to lead to adjudication, whilst Æthelwold and the monks of Ely had greater diiculties 59

60 61

62

63

In general, see E. van Houts, Local and Regional Chronicles, Typologie des sources du Moyen Âge occidental 74 (Turnhout, 1995). LÆth, c. 29 (= LE II.19, ed. Blake, p. 95). On the politics of these years, see Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 163–76; D. J.V. Fisher, ‘The Anti-Monastic Reaction in the Reign of Edward the Martyr’, Cambridge Historical Journal 10 (1950–2), 254–70; S. Jayakumar, ‘Reform and Retribution:The “Anti-Monastic Reaction” in the Reign of Edward the Martyr’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter et al., pp. 337–52; and D. Waßenhoven, ‘The Role of Bishops in Anglo-Saxon Succession Struggles, 955–978’, in Leaders of the Anglo-Saxon Church from Bede to Stigand, ed. A. R. Rumble (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 97–108. LÆth, cc. 27–8, 34, 35, 44 and 45 (= LE II.18, II.24, II.25, II.33 and II.34, ed. Blake, pp. 93–4, 97–8, 98–9, 107–8 and 109–10). LÆth, cc. 8, 10–11, 14, 15, 38, 42 and 43 (= LE II.10, II.11, II.12, II.13, II.27, II.32 and II.33, ed. Blake, pp. 82–4, 84–8, 89–91, 100–1, 105–7 and 107–8).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England dealing with local notables and their associates. This should not come as a surprise, and a similar tendency for disputes between unequal parties to be adjudicated while those between relative equals were not has been noted elsewhere in Europe in this period.64 Perhaps the clearest instance of this is provided by the dispute between Æthelwold and the relatives Herewulf and Æthelstan, who managed to maintain their holdings in and around the minster of Horningsea for many years despite stolen goods being found in the latter’s possession.65 The two kinsmen were apparently initially able to prevent the matter coming to court by giving a certain Wulfstan (probably Wulfstan ‘Dalham’) a portion of the treasures which they had illicitly received.This smacks of the bribery and avoidance of justice we have already seen, and subsequent events show that the brothers were more than able to exploit the judicial system to their beneit. Bribery or not, the ploy seems to have worked, since only on Herewulf ’s death was the dispute renewed. By this point Æthelwold had bought Horningsea, but Æthelstan continued to hold the estate of Eye, claiming that it was his private holding, not the minster’s. Æthelwold brought the case to court, and Æthelstan, faced by such powerful opposition, turned to his associates, again requesting assistance from Wulfstan, this time ofering him Eye at any price he cared to name. Once more, the strategy appears to have been successful, and only upon Wulfstan’s death was the dispute renewed. Despite the death of his strongest supporter, Æthelstan’s options had not yet run out: he now sought the protection of Oswulf, Goding and Eadferth, amongst others, who agreed to support his case. The result appears to have been an extra-judicial compromise, whereby Æthelwold ofered to drop his claims in exchange for Eye. Matters remained thus until the death of Edgar, whereupon Æthelstan and his two brothers reoccupied Eye and gave money to various local igures, including Æthelstan the son of Mann and Omund, presumably in a bid to strengthen their position.66 Æthelwold was, nevertheless, able to bring a plea to court, where a further compromise was struck: Æthelstan was ofered land elsewhere and his brothers were ofered monetary compensation in return for Eye. This case demonstrates how diicult Æthelwold found it to bring well-connected and intransigent opponents to justice. However, it does not stand alone. Further lands at Horningsea, which were taken from Ely by the reeve Wulfric, seem to have made their way back into the abbey’s hands thanks entirely to the piety of a 64 65

66

Barton, Maine, p. 190. LÆth, c. 42 (= LE II.32, ed. Blake, pp. 105–7). This incident is also discussed, with diferent emphasis, by A. Williams, The World before Domesday: The English Aristocracy 900–1066 (London, 2008), pp. 34–5. LÆth, c. 43 (= LE II.33, ed. Blake, pp. 107–8).

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The witan and the settlement of disputes later occupant, who decided to return them to the foundation apparently without any proactive judicial action; it would seem in this case that Æthelwold felt unable to bring the matter to court and therefore could only wait and hope that later occupants would respect Ely’s claims.67 Similarly Ingulf took lands from Ely and only the fortuitous deaths of Ingulf, his wife and his sons in turn – interpreted by the author of the Libellus as God’s judgement – paved the way for the return of the lands.68 It is clear, therefore, that even the well-connected monks at Ely did not always have matters their own way, and the Libellus ends with a list of lands which the foundation had at some point lost.69 To view these cases from the perspective of modern judicial procedure, in comparison to which they might well seem ‘rude’ and ‘archaic’ (to borrow the formulations of Pollock),70 would be to misunderstand them. These disputes between local families and Ely need to be understood within their social context and are in many ways comparable to those involving Cluny and its neighbours in this period, as discussed by Barbara Rosenwein. Rosenwein notes that the same families – often the same individuals – who had granted or sold land to Cluny in many cases later attempted to claim it back. It seems, therefore, that grants and sales were not seen as absolute and permanent, but as establishing an ongoing relationship between grantor or vendor and the religious house. The result of most conlicts was a quitclaim, but those who raised the claims were rarely left empty-handed: they were often rewarded with money, beneices or precariae (in many cases on the land irst granted). Although it would be wrong to assume that these disputes were artiicial, that the anger and violence expressed in them was ‘false’, there was a clear social logic behind them: they were part of the process whereby families (re-)negotiated their relationships with Cluny.71 Similar patterns are visible in relations between religious houses and their lay neighbours in many regions of western Europe in this period, though there were naturally local variations on the theme.72 In this respect at least it would seem that dispute settlement in England was anything but exceptional and the cases recorded in the Libellus, and indeed those seen in ninthand tenth-century England more generally, clearly conform to a similar 67 68 69 70 71

72

LÆth, c. 42 (= LE II.32, ed. Blake, pp. 105–7). LÆth, c. 46 (= LE II.35, ed. Blake, p. 110). LÆth, cc. 55–7 and 60 (= LE II.44–6 and II.49, ed. Blake, pp. 115 and 116). Pollock and Maitland, English Law I, 38. Rosenwein, Neighbor of Saint Peter, esp. pp. 49–77. See also D. Barthélemy, L’an mil et la paix de Dieu: la France chrétienne et féodale 980–1060 (Paris, 1999), pp. 82–99. See e.g. S. D. White, Custom, Kinship, and Gifts to Saints: The laudatio parentum in Western France, 1050–1150 (Chapel Hill, NC, 1988); J. Nightingale, Monasteries and Patrons in the Gorze Reform: Lotharingia c. 850–1000 (Oxford, 2001); and Reuter, ‘Property Transactions’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England pattern: in many cases disputants may not have expected absolute victory, but rather to re-establish or renegotiate relations. The result therefore was often, though by no means always, a compromise. Far fewer cases survive in the Liber benefactorum of Ramsey, a twelfthcentury work whose author made use of earlier materials, including possibly a chronicle by Byrhtferth of Ramsey.73 Its account must naturally be treated with caution, but there is little reason to doubt that it relects the mechanisms of dispute settlement in this period with a rough degree of accuracy. Indeed, the disputes recorded look very much like those seen in the Libellus Æthelwoldi: in three of the four the result recorded is a compromise,74 whilst in the fourth dispute the court ruled in favour of Ramsey against Ælfnoth, but his response was simply to retake the lands he claimed forcibly.75 Most of the disputes raised against Ramsey seem to have involved disgruntled kin disputing their ancestors’ bequests: a priest named Æthelstan, who as a kinsman of Archbishop Oda was presumably also a relative of Oswald, challenged a grant by the latter to Ramsey; and the wife of Æthelstan the son of Mann contested his bequests following his death.76 In both cases Ramsey ultimately kept the land, but the basic rights of the families were respected: Æthelstan the priest was given 80 mancuses to drop his claims, whilst Æthelstan Mannson’s widow was granted usufruct of the lands in question for herself and her daughters, in a manner comparable to the precarial grants seen at Cluny.77 Perhaps the most detailed account involves Leofwine’s claim to Ramsey’s 10 hides at Slepe.78 The grounds for his claim are not given, though general background is given to Ramsey’s claims to another estate, comprising 18 hides at Barnwell. It is elliptically stated that Ramsey’s claim to this land had become weak over time and that it was therefore decreed in the reign of Edward the Martyr that it should revert to the king. Despite this ruling, 73

74 75 76

77

78

A. Gransden, ‘Traditionalism and Continuity during the Last Century of Anglo-Saxon Monasticism’ (1989), repr. in and cited from her Legends,Traditions and History in Medieval England (London, 1992), pp. 31–79, at 66–70; Byrhtferth of Ramsey:The Lives of St Oswald and St Ecgwine, ed. M. Lapidge, OMT (Oxford, 2009), pp. xlii–xliii. LB, cc. 25, 33 and 47 (ed. Macray, pp. 48–51, 59–61 and 76–8). LB, c. 49 (ed. Macray, pp. 78–80). LB, cc. 25 and 33 (ed. Macray, pp. 48–51 and 59–61). On Oswald’s kinship, see Byrhtferth, VO II.2 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 34–6); with A. Wareham, ‘St Oswald’s Family and Kin’, in St Oswald of Worcester: Life and Inluence, ed. N. Brooks and C. Cubitt (London, 1996), pp. 46–63, at 47–53. Kinsmen contesting bequests was common throughout western Europe: White, Custom, Kinship and Gifts to Saints, and ‘Inheritances’; Tabuteau, Transfers of Property, pp. 175–9; and Reuter, ‘Property Transactions’. Rosenwein, Neighbor of Saint Peter, pp. 113–22. See also Tabuteau, Transfers of Property, pp. 78–9; and C. Wickham, ‘Land Disputes and their Social Framework in Lombard-Carolingian Italy, 700–900’ (1986), rev. in and cited from his Land and Power, pp. 229–56, at 249–50, for similar phenomena elsewhere. LB, c. 47 (ed. Macray, pp. 76–8).

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The witan and the settlement of disputes however, Ramsey was able to hold on to the estate, thanks to the favour they enjoyed from Edward. Around the same time Leofwine raised a plea regarding Slepe and the monks used this opportunity to get rid of their questionable holdings at Barnwell, which they ofered to Leofwine under the condition that he quitclaim Slepe. This dispute is reported as if were an outright victory for Ramsey, but it seems in fact to represent a compromise: Leofwine received a larger piece of land for giving up his claim to Slepe, whilst the monks managed to be rid of a potentially weak claim to land at Barnwell. Of course, the danger for Leofwine was that this land might later be coniscated, but so far as we know it was not, and it is likely that he would have renewed his dispute with Ramsey had this transpired. For the most part, therefore, the accounts preserved at Ely and Ramsey conirm the impression made by those in charters. In both sources we hear of courts and formal judicial institutions; however, the operation of these seems to have depended very much on individual circumstances. Indeed, Alan Kennedy observes that it is often impossible to distinguish shire and hundred courts in the Libellus Æthelwoldi; whilst a distinction existed in principle, this evidently blurred in practice.79 Similarly, the Libellus provides ample evidence for courts meeting between multiple hundreds, for which law-codes make no provision. Moreover, these courts do not seem to have met at set locations: they tended to be held at major centres (Cambridge, Ely, etc.), but might also be taken ‘on the road’ and clearly convenience for those involved was the decisive factor. Finally, and perhaps most tellingly, no absolute sense of jurisdiction reigned: it appears that parties might bring pleas to various courts, seeking out ones at which they were more likely to receive a favourable hearing. It is clear, therefore, that much room for manoeuvre remained. Related to this lexibility is the continuing primacy of personal bonds in the processing and settlement of disputes. Time and again cases are decided by the timely intervention of those with power and inluence, both in the Fenlands and at court: Æthelwold was able to intervene with the king on behalf of Oslac, ensuring that instead of being outlawed he simply had to pay a sum;80 Æthelstan presbyter managed to prevent his case from coming to court for many years thanks to the support of Wulfstan;81 and it was only thanks to the support of Ealdorman Æthelwine that the

79

80 81

Kennedy, ‘Law and Litigation’, esp. pp. 137–44. See also R. Fleming, Domesday Book and the Law: Society and Legal Custom in Early Medieval England (Cambridge, 1998), pp. 38–40. LÆ, c. 29 (= LE II.19, ed. Blake, p. 95). LÆ, c. 42 (= LE II.32, ed. Blake, pp. 105–7).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England claims of another Æthelstan to lands granted to Ramsey were quashed and Æthelstan was forced to accept a compromise.82 Nevertheless, judicial institutions certainly inluenced the behaviour of these igures: they often brought cases to courts, whose authority they acknowledged, though by no means blindly accepted. At times these institutions no doubt limited (or at least altered) their options and afected the outcome of disputes, and thus far one should not deny the impact of the administrative and judicial developments of this period. Still, the overriding impression is that conlict processing in the locality remained more a matter of compromise and negotiation, regardless of whether this was played out at court or outside it. Indeed, as Stefen Patzold observes, the informal means of settlement highlighted by Cheyette, White and Geary in the 1970s and 80s are by no means limited to acephalous or semi-state societies.83 Courts may have inluenced the means by which disputes were settled, but the decisive factors, a combination of local and supra-regional inluence, probably remained much the same.84 Similarly, royal initiatives inluenced certain cases involving theft and outlawry, but these constitute a minority and it is clear even here that declarations of forfeiture were negotiable. The absence of outright feuds in these accounts might be seen as an indication that legislation had left an indelible mark on such activity, but it must also be admitted that these sources are strongly biased towards land and civil law. Certainly King Edgar’s ravaging of Thanet in 969 is redolent of feud-like behaviour, and the many conlicts later witnessed within the English aristocracy during Edward the Confessor’s reign suggest that tit-for-tat violence remained a mainstay of aristocratic life.85 In any case, the disputes recorded provide ample evidence for recourse to force and violence, and the very portrayal of these conlicts arguably bears witness to what Hanna Vollrath characterizes as a ‘feud mentality’. Thus according to Vollrath accounts that are highly partisan and display little if any sympathy for the authors’ opponents are indicative of the same kind of aggressive behaviour which characterizes feuding.86 Whilst her insistence that this mentality is a product 82 83

84 85

86

LB, c. 25 (ed. Macray, pp. 48–51). S. Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster. Studien zu Auseinandersetzungen in monastischen Gemeinschaften des ottonisch-salischen Reichs, Historische Studien 463 (Husum, 2000), pp. 340–1. See also Geary, ‘Moral Obligations’, along similar lines. Cf. Wickham, ‘Land Disputes’, pp. 250–2. On ravaging, see M. Innes, ‘Danelaw Identities: Ethnicity, Regionalism and Political Allegiance’, in Cultures in Contact, ed. Hadley and Richards, pp. 65–88, at 70; and on the politics of Edward the Confessor’s reign, see now Baxter, Earls of Mercia, esp. pp. 17–60. H. Vollrath, ‘Konliktwahrnehmung und Konliktdarstellung in erzählenden Quellen des 11. Jahrhunderts’, in Die Salier und das Reich, 3 vols., ed. S. Weinfurter (Sigmaringen, 1991), III, 279–96.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes of a purely ‘oral’ society cannot be sustained – highly literate expressions of it can be found up to the Renaissance and beyond – the basic point is well taken: the narrative aggression expressed by medieval writers was part of a broader societal practice of violent disputing.87 Ultimately law and the courts became a gloss on power politics, but alone were unlikely to efect momentous change.88 Law - code s, disp ute settle me nt and th e W I T A N : conc lusion s Time and again it has been admitted that the evidence prevents a simplistic reading. It is clear that law and justice were important issues for the witan and that attempts were made to circulate legislation. The laws which resulted bear witness to an interest in and concern for justice which might at irst glance appear unique in late ninth- and tenthcentury Europe. Although none of these laws is cited in court cases, that these concepts had an impact on practice is suggested by cases of forfeiture for treason and theft. None the less, the impression is not one of purely invasive judicial administration: while treachery and theft might lead to forfeiture and outlawry, this could and often was lifted. Thus, as in Carolingian Francia, it would seem that laws were a starting point for debate and discussion, rather than inlexible statutes.89 Indeed, the English law-codes of this period should probably be treated as Simon MacLean recently has Carolingian capitulary legislation: as a distinctive discourse about kingship and governance, but not an indication that issues of crime and punishment were any more or less pressing, or any more or less efectively dealt with, than in the preceding or following centuries, for which little comparable legislation survives.90 Even Patrick Wormald, who put such store in law-making as evidence for invasive and powerful kingship in this period, admitted that the surviving codes tell us more about royal aspirations than about realities on the ground.91 The dangers of reading legislation as a direct index of royal control over 87

88

89

90

91

See Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster, pp. 224–7 and 344–8, for important criticisms of Vollrath; and Muir, Mad Blood, pp. 93–6 and 200–2, for similar expressions from Renaissance Fruili. As Wickham observes, ‘it is an illusion to imagine that even the most elaborate legal system, even were it to come reinforced by a complex and powerful coercive apparatus … could always change previous ways of disputing overnight’ (Courts, p. 156). A. Rio, Legal Practice and the Written Word in the Early Middle Ages: Frankish Formulae, c. 500– 1000, CSMLT 4th ser. 75 (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 198–211. See also Faulkner, ‘Frankish leges’, pp. 161–202. S. MacLean, ‘Legislation and Politics in Late Carolingian Italy:The Ravenna Constitutions’, EME 18 (2010), 394–416, esp. pp. 415–16. Cf. H. Krause, ‘Königtum und Rechtsordnung in der Zeit der sächsischen und salischen Herrscher’, ZRG: GA 82 (1965), 1–98. Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’, esp. pp. 23–4 and 37–41.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England crime and punishment are nowhere clearer than in later eleventh- and twelfth-century England, shortly after our period: although between Cnut and the Angevin ‘Great Leap Forward’ little royal legislation was produced, there is ample evidence that kings continued to develop and expand their control over the judicial system.92 Though law and litigation certainly were inluenced by royal initiatives, in practice these ordinances were always subject to local power constellations, and the customary ‘good, old law’ probably continued to decide matters on the ground more often than not. Almost a century ago Fritz Kern irst underlined the central role of such customary law in the Middle Ages, and though his arguments have been most fully received by post-Conquest historians, there is every reason to believe that they hold for our period as well.93 In this respect it is perhaps telling that the only reference to contemporary law in a literary work, a discussion of Edgar’s measures against theft in Lantfred’s Translatio S. Swithuni, cannot be shown to relate to any surviving legislation.94 Law-codes were an important part of the law, but they neither claimed to contain all the law nor to be the only law, and their ordinances were not so much absolute norms as guides for good practice.95 When we examine the operation of courts in the Libellus Æthelwoldi, our only detailed contemporary narrative, what we see approximates the regulations in codes, but varies in many important particulars, showing that administrative distinctions were not always clear on the ground. Indeed, even in legislation the divisions between hundred and shire courts and the respective roles of the reeves, bishops and ealdormen in the administration of justice are somewhat ill-deined. Although such overlapping jurisdictions need not have simply led to confusion or ineiciency, they certainly suggest a legal system very diferent from that of modern English Common Law.96 At this local level law and justice operated through a mix of formal and informal procedures which defy classiication according to modern concepts of ‘public’ and ‘private’.97 This should hardly surprise us: throughout 92 93

94

95 96 97

Hudson, Land, Law, and Lordship; Lambert, ‘Protection, Feud and Royal Power’, pp. 149–220. F. Kern, ‘Recht und Verfassung im Mittelalter’, HZ 120 (1919), 1–79. Cf. M. T. Clanchy, ‘Remembering the Past and the Good Old Law’, History 55 (1970), 165–76; Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities, pp. 13–21. Lantfred, Translatio, c. 26 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 310–14); with D.Whitelock, ‘Wulfstan Cantor and AngloSaxon Law’ (1968), repr. in and cited from her History, Law and Literature, no. V; and Wormald, English Law, pp. 125–8 and 370. Roach, ‘Law Codes and Legal Norms’. See also Cubitt, ‘Reeves’, p. 1048. A point eloquently made by Fleming, Domesday Book. Bowman, Landmarks, pp. 219–23; Barton, Maine, pp. 127–31; Barthélemy, Vendôme, pp. 654–6. See further J. L. Nelson, ‘The Problematic in the Private’ (1990), repr. in and cited from her Courts, Elites, and Gendered Power in the Early Middle Ages: Charlemagne and Others (Aldershot, 2007), no. IV.

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The witan and the settlement of disputes the Middle Ages the distinctions between public and private power were luid, and assessments of the late medieval English state emphasize that law and justice continued to operate through a complex mix of private and public means.98 However, our evidence is not only ambiguous, but also fragmentary, making generalization dangerous. The Libellus Æthelwoldi provides invaluable insights into disputes in and around Ely, but it must be remembered that the Fenlands were a peripheral region, to which kings rarely travelled. It should not, therefore, come as a surprise if more active royal involvement were visible elsewhere, as might be suggested for central Wessex by Alfred’s role in the Fonthill dispute, or Asser’s descriptions of Alfred’s judicial initiatives.99 On the other hand, if the Libellus might lead us to underestimate royal involvement, it is likely that other sources exaggerate it. In any case, we should assume that royal authority was most often invoked and was most efective where the king’s own interests were touched upon, and it is not surprising that many of the cases referred to the king and witan involved royal friends or relatives – it was in such situations that the king had both a motive for involvement and a means of imposing his will.100 Hence, although disputes might be settled at formal courts, even in such situations personal relationships remained of paramount importance both for deciding at which court(s) the case would be heard and for what verdict would be given.101 In this combination of formal and informal means of settlement Anglo-Saxon disputing practices look very similar to what we see in Carolingian Francia or in the later Ottonian Reich. In both of these realms kings were frequently active hearing disputes, but sometimes struggled to bring their judgements to bear, and in both rulers did not exercise an absolute monopoly on legitimate force (Max Weber’s Gewaltmonopol), but rather operated within the boundaries of traditional justice. Attempts were made to curb illicit violence, but these made use of bonds of family, friendship and association.102 That 98

99 100 101 102

E. Powell, Kingship, Law and Society: Criminal Justice in the Reign of Henry V (Oxford, 1989), pp. 65–114; C. Carpenter, The Wars of the Roses: Politics and the Constitution in England, c. 1437–1509 (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 47–66. Asser, VÆ, c. 106 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 92–5). Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation, p. 103. Cf. Reuter, ‘Sonderweg’, pp. 394–8. See Fleming, Domesday Book, pp. 19–28. On Carolingian dispute settlement, see amongst others Nelson, ‘Settlement of Disputes’; Innes, State and Society, pp. 129–40; Rio, Legal Practice, pp. 198–211; W. [C.] Brown, ‘Conlict, Letters, and Personal Relationships in the Carolingian Formula Collections’, Law and History Review 25 (2007), 323–44; and Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 340–52; and on Ottonian dispute settlement S. Patzold, ‘… inter pagensium nostrorum gladios vivimus. Zu den “Spielregeln” der Konliktführung in

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England in practice what was licit and illicit (and what was public and private) often remained unclear, a matter to be interpreted in context, is to be anticipated – even in the Roman Empire the control of legitimate violence was a constant (and often losing) battle.103

103

Niederlothringen zur Zeit der Ottonen und frühen Salier’, ZRG: GA 118 (2001), 58–99;Althof , ‘Konliktbewältigung’; and Kamp, ‘Vengeance’. B. R. Shaw, ‘Bandits in the Roman Empire’, P & P 105 (1984), 3–52.

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Chapter 7

T HE ‘F U RT H E R BU S INE S S ’ OF THE W I TA N

It is important to keep in mind that although the making of laws and issuing of diplomas were important functions of the witan, they were not its sole raison d’être. The king’s need to meet with and consult the kingdom’s senior magnates went far beyond these concerns, and we can be sure that a broad spectrum of further issues was often dealt with at assemblies. Unfortunately only a rough impression of these can be reconstructed, since we lack a detailed contemporary discussion of assembly politics along the lines of Hincmar of Reims’ De ordine palatii.1 Still, some progress can be made and indeed Hincmar’s own remarks may shed indirect light on the Anglo-Saxon evidence. Hincmar wrote his De ordine palatii in 882 and dedicated it to the young king of West Francia, Carloman. In the later sections of the work he describes how Frankish assemblies were meant to function. Two assemblies would apparently be held annually: a smaller-scale gathering of the realm’s leading magnates, at which plans for the coming year were made, and a general assembly, at which these were presented to a wider audience, which might raise concerns or grievances. Hincmar emphasizes the crucial importance of counsel and consent at these events: kings were to be guided and informed by their people, particularly their senior advisers. However, assemblies were also social occasions, at which rulers would seek to establish personal contacts with their people by receiving them and exchanging gifts.2 How accurate Hincmar’s description is has been a matter of some debate. The issue is complicated by the fact that he drew on an earlier libellus written by Adalhard of Corbie (d. 827), which makes it diicult to establish how much of Hincmar’s material relates to his own time and how much to an earlier period.3 Moreover, 1

2 3

See also Rosenthal, ‘Public Assembly’, pp. 35–8; Weber, ‘Reichsversammlungen’, pp. 72–94; and Eichler, Reichsversammlungen, pp. 77–106, for further comparanda. Hincmar, De ordine palatii, cc. 6–7 (ed. Schiefer and Gross, pp. 82–96). See McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 144–6, with further references.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England when Hincmar wrote this work he had been out favour for some time and clearly hoped that the recent regime change would help improve his fortunes. As such, his idealized picture of the workings of counsel is in part polemical, designed to underline the importance of the archbishop’s own voice, which had so often been passed over in recent times.4 Still, for his message to have had efect Hincmar’s text must have borne at least some relation to contemporary practices.5 Furthermore, since our focus is not on ninth-century Francia, but rather late ninth- and tenth-century England, such source-critical issues are secondary; what is important is that Hincmar’s account gives a reasonable impression of how early medieval assemblies might function. Particularly noteworthy is the distinction he makes between gatherings of diferent scales and the implication that even at general assemblies the kingdom’s senior magnates formed a distinct group, which Stefen Patzold aptly terms the ‘tone-setting circle’ (tonangebender Kreis).6 Though nothing so detailed survives from England, the expectation certainly was that kings would also keep regular counsel: the mid-tenthcentury ‘Constitutions of Oda’ advises rulers to have prudent counsellors and Wulfstan of York’s Institutes of Polity emphasizes that kings should have regular resort to the advice of their witan.7 In order to gain the broadest possible understanding of the more general business that such counsellors dealt with, the following discussion at times ranges beyond sources from the years 871–978, since to exclude relevant evidence from Æthelred’s, Cnut’s or Edward the Confessor’s reigns would limit the material available unreasonably. Although assemblies may have changed subtly over the years after 978, there is no reason to believe that accounts from this period are entirely unrepresentative of earlier norms and practices. Conse nsus, as se mbl ie s and th e administ ration of the real m Nineteenth- and early twentieth-century discussions of the witan focused particularly on its ‘functions’ and its ‘constitutional’ role: the attempt was 4

5

6 7

S. Patzold, ‘Konsens und Konkurrenz. Überlegungen zu einem aktuellen Forschungskonzept der Mediävistik’, FMSt 41 (2007), 75–103, at pp. 77–88. See also Patzold, Episcopus, pp. 278–9. J. F. Fleckenstein, ‘Die Struktur des Hofes Karls des Großen im Spiegel von Hinkmars De ordine palatii’ (1976), repr. in and cited from his Ordnungen und formende Kräfte des Mittelalters, pp. 67–83; Nelson, Charles the Bald, pp. 43–50. Patzold, ‘Konsens und Konkurrenz’. ‘Constitutions of Oda’, ed. Whitelock, Brett and Brooke, Councils, p. 70; Wulfstan of York, Institutes of Polity, ed. K. Jost, Schweizer altenglische Arbeiten 47 (Bern, 1959), p. 48.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan to deine its powers and the limits of its jurisdiction.8 While this work illuminated important aspects of assembly politics, the basic approach in many respects is not especially helpful. As Tryggvi Oleson had already noted, it proceeds from the questionable premise that early medieval assemblies operated like modern parliaments, with speciied areas of competence, quora and other formal regulations.9 When we begin to look at the operation of these events, however, it rapidly becomes clear that although a few matters were the (almost) exclusive remit of the witan – the issuing of royal charters and making of national laws being perhaps the most notable – many other concerns might periodically be brought forth for consultation. Therefore, while modern bureaucratic precision should not be anticipated, it is possible to identify a number of issues which were routinely discussed by the witan. Assemblies ofered a natural forum for various ‘acts of state’, as we might now term them, perhaps the most prominent being coronations.10 These brought magnates together from throughout the kingdom and therefore certainly qualify as meetings of the witan, albeit somewhat exceptional ones. That coronations were felt to be bona ide assemblies is shown by the fact that diplomas were sometimes issued on these occasions: Æthelstan restored land to St Augustine’s, Canterbury, on the day of his coronation, whilst Eadred issued a charter in favour of Wulfric, pedisequus, at his.11 It may have been felt particularly apropos for the king to issue diplomas at this moment, publicly exerting for the irst time the prerogatives conferred through consecration.12 Interestingly, a similar tendency for newly anointed monarchs to issue charters has been noted by continental historians and thus, for example, Geofrey Koziol draws attention to a joint diploma issued by Lothar IV and his son Louis V of West Francia immediately after the latter’s consecration: here the issuing of the charter was clearly designed to present Louis’ throne-worthiness at a key moment.13 Although only these two charters are known with

8

9 10

11 12

13

Kemble, Saxons in England II, 182–240; Stubbs, Constitutional History, pp. 133–57; Freeman, Norman Conquest, pp. 100–17; Maitland, Constitutional History, pp. 56–60. Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 25–6 and 75–90. Nelson, ‘Inauguration Rituals’. Whilst ‘coronation’ technically refers only to the placing of the crown on the ruler’s head, it is used here as a shorthand for the entire inauguration ritual. S 394, 520. Whitelock, EHD, p. 551; P. A. Goold, ‘King Eadred of Wessex’, Somerset Archaeology and Natural History 142 (1999), 317–27, at p. 319. However, kings could issue charters before their consecration, as both Æthelstan and Edgar seem to have done: Keynes, ‘England’, pp. 467–8; Nelson, ‘Inauguration Rituals’, pp. 298–300. G. Koziol, ‘A Father, His Son, Memory, and Hope: The Joint Diploma of Lothar and Louis V (Pentecost Monday, 979) and the Limits of Performativity’, in Geschichtswissenschaft und ‘Performative Turn’. Ritual, Inszenierung und Performanz vom Mittelalter bis zur Neuzeit, Norm und Struktur 19, ed.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England certainty to have been issued at coronation assemblies, the absence of further examples may simply relect the nature of the Anglo-Saxon diploma: as already observed, the vast majority of royal acta are neither dated nor located precisely and hence a number could conceivably have been issued from coronation assemblies, but simply make no explicit mention of the fact. In any case, we are entitled to presume that a large number of the king’s ideles were present at ruler inaugurations, even where no diplomas survive to record this.The importance of such a substantial audience doubtless lay in part in the fact that on this occasion the king made his oath and pledge to uphold law and justice and to protect the church. The importance of this audience is underlined by our only detailed description of a ruler consecration, that of Edgar’s second coronation in 973, which reports that messengers travelled throughout the kingdom to announce the event.14 Associated with coronation was election, which at least theoretically was a separate act, preceding consecration.15 Ælfric of Eynsham neatly summarizes the principle at work in his Homily for Palm Sunday: ‘No man can make himself king, but the people has a choice to choose as king whom they please; but after he is consecrated as king, he then has dominion over the people, and they cannot shake his yoke from their necks’ (Ne mæg man hin sylfne to cynge gedon ac þæt folc hæfð cyre to ceasenne þone to cyning þe him sylfum licað; Ac syððan he to cyninge gehalgod bið. Þonne hæfð he anweald ofer þam folce. 7 hi ne magon his geoc. of heoran swyran asceacan).16 For the ‘people’, we should of course understand the witan, who at least in principle represented the populus at large. That the king was expected to be elected is therefore clear enough and many sources describe royal accession in these terms: S 520 clearly distinguishes between the electio optimatum and consecratio at Eadred’s inauguration;17 B. reports that in 957 Edgar was elected to the kingship in Mercia, although it seems unlikely that he was consecrated this early;18 the Passio Eadwardi describes how Edward II was irst elected by Dunstan and the witan

14 15

16

17 18

J. Martschukat and S. Patzold (Cologne, 2003), pp. 83–103. See also now Koziol, Politics of Memory, pp. 549–55. Byrhtferth, VO, IV.6–7 (ed. Lapidge, 104–10). See further below, pp. 162–6. Kemble, Saxons in England II, 214–19; Stubbs, Constitutional History, pp. 150–3; Freeman, Norman Conquest, pp. 608–9; Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 54–7. Ælfric of Eynsham, Catholic Homilies: The First Series, ed. P. Clemoes, EETS s.s. 17 (Oxford, 1997), p. 294. Ælfric closely follows his source, Ps-Chrysostom, here, but there is no reason to doubt that he felt the comments relevant to England. Cf. M. Godden, ‘Ælfric and Anglo-Saxon Kingship’, EHR 102 (1987), 911–15. S 520 (BCS 815). B., VD, c. 24 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 74–6). See Nelson, ‘Inauguration Rituals’, pp. 298–300, suggesting that he was irst consecrated in late 960 or early 961.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan and only thereafter consecrated;19 and Æthelred II, in a charter of 990 × 1006 (probably c. 999), similarly describes how the witan had ‘unanimously elected’ (unanimiter elegerunt) his half-brother Edward II.20 The reference in the Chronicle to Æthelstan being irst elected in Mercia then consecrated at Kingston likewise presents these as two separate events – indeed, in this case election and coronation were separated by more than a year, although the Chronicle entry alone does not make this fact clear.21 However, this was also an exceptional case, given the succession dispute which seems to have taken place between Æthelstan and Ælfweard, and it may be that election often directly preceded coronation and was even felt to be an integral part of it.Thus B.’s description of Eadwig’s inauguration closely associates the two actions: Eadwig is anointed and crowned ‘by common election’ (communi electione).22 The value of election by the witan was a favourite topic of constitutional historians, who sought to ascertain the importance of election vis-à-vis designation and blood-right.23 However, it is now clear that a series of factors were involved, which cannot simply be reduced to opposing legal principles.24 Indeed, to contrast the competing interests of dynastic and the electoral right is to apply modern legalistic categories, which would not have been shared by contemporaries. Recent scholarship on royal succession in the Ottonian Reich ofers a helpful point of comparison here. German historians have increasingly turned away from sterile debates about the ‘rules’ which purportedly determined succession, emphasizing instead that designation, election and descent might all play a part depending on the context.25 Thus the agreement of the witan might, all other matters being equal, be little more than a fait accompli; however, in situations of uncertainty it would doubtless have taken on a greater signiicance, and we should not assume that election was ever meaningless. Even in cases in which the succession was largely settled it was essential for a new monarch to obtain the symbolic endorsement imparted by election and consecration, and we can well imagine that 19 20 21

22 23

24

25

Passio Sancti Eadwardi regis et martyris, ed. C. E. Fell (Leeds, 1971), p. 2. S 937 (Abing 129). ASC DBC 924 (= 924–5) (ed. Cubbin, p. 41).WM, GRA II.131 (ed. Mynors, p. 206), simpliies this event, but maintains a time-lag between election and consecration. B., VD, c. 21 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 66). Kemble, Saxons in England II, 214–19; Stubbs, Constitutional History, pp. 151–3; Purlitz, König und Witenagemot, pp. 13–33; Chadwick, Studies, pp. 355–62; Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 54–7. Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 82–90. See also the cogent remarks of C. [N. L.] Brooke, From Alfred to Henry III, 871–1272 (London, 1961), pp. 79–81. S. Patzold,‘Königserhebungen zwischen Erbrecht undWahlrecht?Thronfolge und Rechtsmentalität um das Jahr 1000’, DA 58 (2002), 467–501; L. Körntgen, ‘“In primis Herimanni ducis assensu”. Zur Funktion von D H II. 34 im Konlikt zwischen Heinrich II. und Hermann von Schwaben’, FMSt 34 (2000), 159–84.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England those placed in senior positions might have been able to extract promises or win favour by ofering to ease or threatening to hinder an election.26 As the regularity with which the witan was consulted suggests, early medieval kings could not rule efectively without the support of their magnates and election was the irst public display of this. Moreover, there was no guarantee of success and always a possibility that an election might be delayed or divided, as may have happened in 924. It has been argued that because the witan possessed the ‘right of election’, it similarly enjoyed a ‘right of deposition’.27 However, just as any ‘right of election’ must be treated as a lexible practice rather than a ixed norm, so too to speak in terms of a ‘right of deposition’ would be dangerously anachronistic.28 At no point in the later Anglo-Saxon period do we know of the witan deposing a king who continued to hold sway; rather, it seems to have reserved the right to elect a new ruler if the previous one were driven out or in cases in which the line of succession was unclear, as shown by the move to recall Æthelred II in 1014.29 Although we should not ignore the possibility that the witan might in theory turn against an unpopular ruler, in practice assemblies remained very much ‘royal’ in nature. Indeed, the very act of consecration, which made the king one of the Lord’s anointed, made ruler deposition a problematic afair, as Ælfric’s observations suggest.30 That contemporaries found the thought of killing an anointed king troublesome is clear from the reactions to the murder of Edward the Martyr.31 Nevertheless, we equally should not presume that just because no kings were deposed, this was unthinkable. Byrhtferth, when reporting Edgar’s second coronation, notes that those who gathered did so not to put the king to death, but rather to consecrate him, a statement which might well indicate that ruler deposition was conceivable.32 Elections and coronations were, however, exceptional events and most meetings of the witan would have been kept busy with more quotidian 26

27

28 29 30

31

32

Liebermann, National Assembly, p. 56–7. Cf. P. Staford, ‘The Laws of Cnut and the History of Anglo-Saxon Royal Promises’ (1981), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. VI. Kemble, Saxons in England II, 219–21; Stubbs, Constitutional History, pp. 153–6; Freeman, Norman Conquest, pp. 106–7 and 604–8; Purlitz, König und Witenagemot, pp. 12–49; Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 22–3 and 57–9. Cf. Chadwick, Studies, pp. 362–6, arguing against this. Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 82–90. ASC 1014 CDE (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, pp. 98–9). The Augustinian reading of Ælfric’s passage as a relection on free will ofered by Godden,‘AngloSaxon Kingship’, need not exclude this interpretation. D. Rollason,‘The Cults of Murdered Royal Saints in Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 11 (1982), 1–22, at pp. 17–19. Byrhtferth, VO IV.6 (ed. Lapidge, p. 106). On the other hand, this phrase may be litotes, perhaps reminiscent of the extensive use of negative expressions in Old English poetry.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan afairs. Similar at least in certain respects to the election of the king would have been the appointment of bishops and abbots. It is hard to know how much inluence the witan normally had in such contexts – indeed, it is often diicult to ascertain how much royal input was involved.33 From a canonical standpoint elections should, of course, have been made by the monks or canons of the religious house in question, but in England as elsewhere other interests often made themselves felt in practice.34 As one would anticipate, the more important the vacant see, the more likely was the king to take an active interest in episcopal appointments, and it is telling that the three most inluential Southumbrian sees, Canterbury, Winchester and Worcester, all rapidly went to monastic reformers following Edgar’s accession in 959, with the previous archbishop of Canterbury, Byrhthelm, being actively removed to make way for Dunstan.35 Edgar’s interventions are perhaps the most decisive of this era, demonstrating the inluence which kings could exert over the episcopate if they so desired. On a more general level, the policy of appointing ‘Danelaw’ igures to the metropolitan see of York, followed consistently throughout much of this period, also suggests that rulers could (and did) control important appointments.36 It may even be that some kings followed a policy of appointing court chaplains to vacant sees, in a manner reminiscent of Ottonian practice, though whether this was followed regularly is diicult to ascertain.37 As noted, kings most often intervened in elections to important sees; however, it is precisely in these cases that the ruler was most likely to want or need support and it is hardly surprising that many of these appointments were made before the witan. Thus Byrhtferth reports that Archbishop Oda of Canterbury was elected by Æthelstan in consultation with his advisers while, according to B., Dunstan’s election to 33

34

35

36 37

G. Lanoë, ‘Approche de quelques évêques moines en Angleterre au Xe siècle’, CCM 19 (1976), 135–50; T. Vogtherr, ‘Zwischen Benediktinerabtei und bischölischer Cathedra. Zu Auswahl und Amtsantritt englischer Bischöfe im 9.–11. Jahrhundert’, in Die früh- und hochmittelalterliche Bischofserhebung im europäischen Vergleich, Beihefte zum Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 48, ed. F.-R. Erkens (Cologne, 1998), pp. 287–326. T. Reuter, ‘The “Imperial Church System” of the Ottonian and Salian Rulers: A Reconsideration’ (1982), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 325–54; R. Schiefer, Der geschichtliche Ort der ottonisch-salischen Reichskirchenpolitik (Opladen, 1998), and ‘Karl der Große und die Einsetzung der Bischöfe im Frankenreich’, DA 63 (2007), 451–68; Hofmann, ‘Der König und seine Bischöfe’. D. Whitelock, ‘The Appointment of Dunstan as Archbishop of Canterbury’ (1973), repr. in and cited from her History, Law and Literature, no. IV, pp. 237–42; Brooks, Early History, pp. 243–6. Whitelock, ‘Dealings’. M. F. Smith, ‘The Preferment of Royal Clerks in the Reign of Edward the Confessor’, HSJ 9 (1997), 159–73; T. Bolton, The Empire of Cnut the Great: Conquest and the Consolidation of Power in Northern Europe in the Early Eleventh Century (Leiden, 2009), pp. 101–3; F. Barlow, The English Church 1000–1066: A History of the Later Anglo-Saxon Church, 2nd edn (London, 1979), pp. 81–4.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Worcester took place at a magnum sapientium conventus and his translation to Canterbury was made ‘at the advice of the witan’ (sapientium consilio).38 Although the Chronicle is generally less forthcoming when it comes to episcopal appointments, the obit of Oscytel similarly reports that he had been appointed to York by the consent of Eadred and his witan.39 Other sources from the later Anglo-Saxon period tell a similar tale: Byrhtferth’s Vita S. Ecgwini, which purports to report eighth-century events but is largely Byrhtferth’s own concoction, depicts its protagonist being elected at a grand assembly in the presence of the king, and William of Malmesbury reports that Wulfstan II of Worcester was appointed at a meeting of the witan.40 From these references it is clear both that kings frequently took counsel when appointing bishops and that this consultation often took place at assemblies. It is likely, therefore, that in many cases in which we simply hear of bishops being ‘appointed’ this in fact took place at an assembly. Nevertheless, there are also indications that kings might appoint prelates independently: Æthelwold is said to have been made bishop ‘by royal command’ (iubente rege); Dunstan was apparently ofered the see of Crediton by Eadgifu and Eadred while at a feast; and when Eadsige of Canterbury gave up his see because of inirmity, consecrating Siward as his successor, he is said to have done so upon the advice of Edward the Confessor and Godwine, but not, it would seem, at a meeting of the witan.41 Thus, although many (quite possibly most) episcopal appointments were made or conirmed by the witan, this was apparently not a ixed rule.42 The advice of the king’s counsellors would, where possible, be taken into consideration, but where this was not practicable the king might either take control himself or leave matters to the local congregation.

38

39

40

41

42

Byrhtferth, VO I.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 22); B., VD, cc. 25–6 (ed.Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 76–80). See also Adelard of Ghent, Lectiones in depositione S. Dunstani, Lectio VII, ed. M.Winterbottom and M. Lapidge, The Early Lives of St Dunstan, OMT (Oxford, 2012), p. 128, who reports that Edgar consulted the witan before recalling Dunstan from exile. ASC 971 CD (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, p. 81). Liebermann, National Assembly, p. 63, claims that the Chronicle also describes Ælfric’s nomination to Canterbury as proceeding from a meeting of the witan, but he seems to have erred here: ASC 994 A (ed. Bately, p. 79); ASC 996 CDE (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, p. 87). Byrhtferth, VE I.10 (ed. Lapidge, p. 222); William of Malmesbury, Vita S. Wulfstani, ed. M. Winterbottom and R. M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury: Saints’ Lives, OMT (Oxford, 2002), pp. 44–6. Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 16 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 28–30); B., VD, c. 19 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 62); ASC 1044 C, 1043 E (= 1044) (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, p. 108). Stubbs, Constitutional History, pp. 149–50; Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 91–2; Barlow, English Church, pp. 107–8. Cf. Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 63–4; and Maddicott, Origins, p. 26, arguing to the contrary.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan Even less is known about the appointment of abbots, though a similar degree of pragmatism is likely to have been the order of the day. There are reasons for thinking that the witan might be somewhat less involved in abbatial appointments: not only were monastic houses, at least from the reign of Edgar, technically free to elect their own abbots,43 but monasteries were also of somewhat less importance to the administration of the realm and it was therefore more likely that kings would allow them this freedom. Thus Edgar seems to have been largely happy to let the reformers Æthelwold and Oswald oversee their own foundations. Nevertheless, kings certainly could appoint abbots when the occasion called for it: B. reports that Dunstan was granted Glastonbury ‘by order of the king’ (jussu regis), whilst Æthelwold was granted Abingdon by Eadred.44 Whether in these cases the witan was consulted is not clear, but seems unlikely: B.’s account suggests that Dunstan’s appointment was a unilateral royal decision, while Wulfstan Cantor makes reference only to a petition on Æthelwold’s behalf by Eadgifu, the king’s mother, and to the consent of Dunstan, which need not have been obtained at an assembly. The impression, therefore, is that abbatial appointments were at the very least not suiciently important to be noted regularly within the business of the witan and may often have been made outside assemblies. Indeed, the one case of an abbatial election taking place at an assembly cited by Liebermann, that of Manni to Evesham in 1045, does not hold up under scrutiny, though according to the account of the C version of the Chronicle Rothulf was appointed abbot of Abingdon at a meeting of the witan in 1050.45 It may be, as Liebermann argued, that abbatial appointments, even when made independently of the witan, were conirmed by it, but this is pure speculation.46 As we move on to ever more uncertain ground, it is possible that the appointment of ealdormen and other secular magnates took place at meetings of the witan. The evidence here is extremely thin, but Liebermann argued, largely by analogy with bishops, that ealdormen were generally appointed at assemblies; a conclusion which seems inherently plausible if not ultimately demonstrable.47 It certainly is telling that meetings of the witan had the authority to exile ealdormen, removing them from oice, and thereafter to return oices to sometime exiles. Thus when 43 44

45

46 47

See the comments in Lives of St Dunstan, ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 50, n. 143. B., VD, c. 15 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 50); Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 11 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 18–20). ASC 1045 D (= 1044) (ed. Cubbin, p. 67); ASC 1050 C (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, pp. 111–12). Cf. Liebermann, National Assembly, p. 63. Liebermann, National Assembly, pp. 63–4. Ibid., p. 65. See also Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 93–4.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Ealdorman Wulfhere was outlawed in the reign of Alfred, the account of the event – preserved in a later diploma’s narratio – emphasizes the active involvement of the witan.48 Similarly under Edward the Confessor we hear a number of times of prominent ealdormen being exiled and reappointed, almost always at assemblies.49 In such cases exile and outlawry took on overtly political overtones which made the witan’s actions more than purely ‘legal’ and one can easily understand why kings might have desired additional support; exiling prominent noblemen and aristocrats was not to be undertaken lightly. Hence, at least occasionally appointments to secular oice took place at assemblies and we should allow for the possibility that they were frequently consulted about such matters.50 Nevertheless, it also seems likely that ealdormen could be appointed independently when occasion called for it, as is suggested by the cases of Harold and Tostig Godwineson, who were appointed directly by the king according to the Vita Edwardi.51 Some of the most fraught measures the witan might have dealt with were divisions of the kingdom. At least twice in our period the realm seems to have been divided along the Thames: between Æthelstan and his brother Ælfweard, and between Eadwig and Edgar. The details of the former division are particularly shadowy, but in the latter case at least there is reason to believe that this was planned in advance.52 If so, it is inherently likely that the witan was consulted in the process, something which may be suggested by B.’s report that this division was witnessed by ‘all the people’ (uniuerso populo). Certainly the later Chronicle account of the division of the kingdom between Harold Harefoot and Harthacnut presents this as proceeding from an assembly.53 Analogies may also be drawn with the Carolingian kingdoms of the mid to late ninth century, which were divided and redivided numerous times, in almost all cases at assemblies.54 So far we have dealt largely with what might be considered ‘domestic’ or ‘internal’ afairs. However, another set of issues which must often have come before assemblies were matters which might somewhat anachronistically be termed issues of ‘foreign policy’. These are most prominently

48 49

50 51 52 53 54

S 362 (BCS 595). ASC 1052 D (= 1051–2) (ed. Cubbin, pp. 69–73); ASC 1048 E (= 1052) (ed. Irvine, p. 84); ASC 1055 C (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, pp. 115–16); ASC 1055 D (ed. Cubbin, p. 74); ASC 1065 C (ed. Cubbin, pp. 77–8). See also Stubbs, Constitutional History, p. 149; and Kemble, Saxons in England II, 228–9. Vita Edwardi I.5 and I.7 (ed. Barlow, pp. 46 and 76). See above, p. 41, with references at n. 53. B., VD, c. 24 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 74); ASC 1036 EF (= 1035) (ed. Irvine, p. 76). Voss, Herrschertrefen, pp. 176–98.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan recorded in peace treaties, which were ratiied by the king and witan.55 Although treaties and other less formal agreements may often have been forged while on campaign, as we see in the reign of Edward the Elder, there is no reason to doubt that a suicient number of notables were consulted for these to be understood as bona ide acts of the witan.56 That the consultation behind such treaties and agreements was ‘genuine’, that the witan’s approval was important, is to be inferred not only from their rhetoric, but also on practical grounds: if peace were to be kept, the kingdom’s magnates would have to be willing to respect it. Moreover, as we have seen, the consultation mentioned in contemporary law-codes was by no means an empty topos and analogies may usefully be drawn here, since treaties were clearly treated as – and are preserved alongside – royal legislation.57 A process of consulting the kingdom’s leading aristocrats before conirming a formal peace is suggested by the Encomiast’s description of Cnut’s peace-making with Edmund Ironside: intermediaries are sent back and forth between the camps and Cnut consults his advisers on the details.58 It stands to reason that alliances or decisions to cease hostilities were also brought before the witan, although no formal written records were made in such cases, and it is clear that many of the submissions to Edward the Elder during his conquest of the Danelaw were planned events, designed to create binding agreements. Potentially associated with treaties and alliances were inter-dynastic marriages, and it should not surprise if arrangements for these were also made at assemblies. We have already observed that Sihtric’s marriage to Æthelstan’s sister may have taken place at an assembly, while William of Malmesbury reports that another of Æthelstan’s sisters, Eadhild, was promised to Hugh the Great of Francia at an ‘assembly of nobles’ (conventus procerum) at Abingdon.59 Although pragmatic considerations might at times have dictated otherwise, meetings of the witan aforded a natural stage for receiving such foreign dignitaries: not only would it be easier for the king to consult his advisers under such circumstances, but assemblies provided the ruler with a unique opportunity to display his authority. In such contexts the embassy might become both actor and audience: 55

56 57

58 59

For example AGu (ed. Liebermann I, 126–9); II Atr (ibid., pp. 220–4). See also Kemble, Saxons in England II, 213–14; and Kershaw, ‘Alfred–Guthrum Treaty’. See above, pp. 48–9. P. Wormald, ‘Lawbooks’, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, vol. I, c. 400–1100, ed. R. Gameson (Cambridge, 2012), pp. 525–36. This proximity between treaty and law-code is a feature of early and high medieval law-making: J. Fried, ‘Überlegungen zum Problem von Gesetzgebung und Institutionalisierung im Mittelalter’, in Institutionen und Geschichte. Theoretische Aspekte und mittelalterliche Befunde, Norm und Struktur 1, ed. G. Melville (Cologne, 1992), pp. 133–6. Encomium Emmae II.13 (ed. Campbell, p. 28). WM, GRA II.135 (ed. Mynors, p. 218).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the king underlined the links he enjoyed with neighbouring rulers to his followers by receiving the delegation; meanwhile, the large number of bishops, ealdormen and thegns (not to mention possibly neighbouring British rulers) in attendance would have advertised the power and authority of the English monarch to his esteemed guests.60 Although no detailed descriptions of the reception of foreign delegations survive, we know them to have been a regular feature of politics: books passed between Æthelstan and the Ottonian court, presumably by means of embassies; B. mentions the presence of messengers from the oriens regnum (presumably the Reich) at Edmund’s court; Richer of Reims recounts that envoys from Hugh of Francia met Æthelstan in York in 936; Flodoard of Reims reports that English emissaries were present at the Ottonian court at Easter 949; and Edgar is said to have sent a delegation to the Reich shortly before his second coronation in 973.61 Moreover, beyond this highest level it is likely that the periodic attendance of neighbouring Insular rulers ofered an opportunity to make various diplomatic arrangements: border disputes, tribute payments and a host of other matters were doubtless often discussed. Conversely, embassies could be sent out by the witan, and thus in 868, just before our period, we are informed that King Burgred of Mercia and his counsellors decided to request the assistance of King Æthelred I against the vikings.62 The alternative to peace, the waging of war, was naturally also a matter for the witan. Although foreign invasions might necessitate a rapid and independent royal response, longer campaigns were presumably planned jointly by king and witan. The most secure evidence for this comes from the main Chronicle account of Æthelred II’s reign, which records that the witan called for ships to be assembled in London in 992 and that the king and witan jointly decided to oppose invading forces in 999.63 The witan was also involved in decisions to sue for peace and make tribute payments in these years, and it is probably in part out of this tradition that

60

61

62 63

Cf. W. Pohl, ‘The regia and the hring – Barbarian Places of Power’, in Topographies of Power, ed. de Jong and Theuws, pp. 439–66, at 462–3. S. Keynes, ‘King Athelstan’s Books’, in Learning and Literature in Anglo-Saxon England: Studies Presented to Peter Clemoes on the Occasion of his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. M. Lapidge and H. Gneuss (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 143–201; B., VD, c. 13 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 47); Richer of Reims, Historiae II.2, ed. H. Hofmann, MGH: SS 38 (Hanover, 2000), p. 98; Flodoard of Reims, Annales, s.a. 949, ed. P. Lauer (Paris, 1905), p. 122; Byrhtferth, VO IV.5 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 102). See also Bihrer, Begegnungen, pp. 236–57. ASC 868 (ed. Plummer I, 68–71). ASC 992, 999 CDE (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, pp. 86 and 88). This account was probably written c. 1020 in or around London: S. Keynes, ‘The Declining Reputation of Æthelred the Unready’ (1978), rev. in and cited from Anglo-Saxon History: Basic Readings, ed. D. Pelteret (New York, 2000), pp. 157–90.

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The ‘further business’ of the witan its later role in instituting and abolishing heregeld is to be understood.64 Direct evidence for military decisions being made at assemblies before 978 is not so forthcoming, but the indirect evidence is certainly suggestive. Thus Æthelstan’s expedition north against Constantin II of Alba in 934 set out from an assembly at Winchester at Pentecost (25 May), then stopped of at Nottingham on 7 June to hold another assembly, before inally being welcomed back at a third gathering at Buckingham on 13 September; the role of assemblies in raising and directing Æthelstan’s troops could scarcely be clearer.65 Similarly we have seen that the meetings held by Æthelstan at Exeter and Lifton may have formed part of the king’s military and political manoeuvring in Cornwall; again it would appear that royal counsellors were anything but passive bystanders and many may have been engaged in military activities within the region. On a more general level one cannot but assume that a host of problems variously relating to the kingdom and its administration were regularly brought before the witan. A naturally selective guide to the more quotidian concerns dealt with is provided by the law-codes discussed earlier, which show assemblies dealing with questions about how hundred courts were to meet; issues regarding the payment of tithes and the correct celebration of church festivals; problems with rapacious reeves and lords; questions relating to coinage and trade; and diiculties posed by criminal activities, particularly theft. However, no list is ever likely to do full justice to the range and breadth of issues discussed at assemblies. The witan was a microcosm of the polity, and any issues of importance to the kingdom at large might be raised, from the most practical concerns of law and order, to more moral concerns about purity and pollution. Conclusions The broad array of business brought before the witan indicates that assemblies were lexible, designed to react to the needs of the realm. It is clear from the range of matters about which rulers sought consultation that this was a matter of importance: in order to have decrees imposed and appointments accepted, kings needed not only counsel but also the willing assent and support of their senior magnates. Although it is hard to trace the dynamics of this in detail, it seems likely that both groups beneited from such cooperation: the leading nobles had the opportunity to inluence policy, whilst the king gained strength and authority from 64

65

ASC 994, 1002, 1006, 1011 CDE (ed. O’Brien O’Keefe, pp. 87, 89, 91 and 95–6); Keynes, ‘Heregeld’, in BEASE, p. 235; Williams, Æthelred, pp. 151–3. Maddicott, Origins, pp. 13–14.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England their support. That rulers valued and at times required the consent of their followers is not, therefore, straightforward evidence of weakness; if anything, it may point in the opposite direction. Still, we should not doubt that the need to consult important igures did also limit royal authority in important ways, and the very fact that we know of kings who went back on laws, who expelled but then reinstated ealdormen, underlines the importance attached to this consultation. In this light it would seem that Wulfstan’s comments in the Institutes of Polity about the importance of counsel, though idealized, were not so far from the truth: kings do indeed seem to have sought advice regularly and been willing to respond to it.66 66

Wulfstan, Institutes of Polity (ed. Jost, p. 48).

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Chapter 8

S Y MBOL S IN C ONT E XT: RI TUAL AND D E M ONS T R AT ION AT A SSEMBLI ES

So far our attention has largely been on the practical aspects of the assemblies: who attended, where and when they met and what business was conducted. However, if we were to leave matters at that, we should be ignoring the important question of what assemblies were like for those present. Meetings of the witan did more than fulil administrative functions; they were events, experienced and remembered by those present. We have already had occasion to touch on a few aspects of this experience: we have noted the tendency for æthelings and queens to appear in diploma witness-lists at key moments, observed the discussion and debate which lay behind the law-codes and commented on the lobbying that went on behind the scenes at royal elections. Nevertheless, a more holistic approach is needed if we are to get a real ‘feel’ for assemblies. We must be willing to take up Johannes Fried’s challenge to historians to use our imagination (Phantasie) more actively: although our approach must remain academically rigorous (wissenschaftlich), Fried encourages us to put ourselves into the shoes of those experiencing events, to use our sources more creatively to establish what they might have been like for those present.1 For this purpose we must turn once more to our narrative sources.While only a few detailed descriptions of assemblies survive, they do much to ill out the framework provided by the evidence of charters, law-codes and the laconic entries in the Chronicle. The following chapter examines ritual and symbolic communication at assemblies from this standpoint.2 Assemblies were the most 1

2

J. Fried, ‘Wissenschaft und Phantasie. Das Beispiel der Geschichte’, HZ 263 (1996), 291–316. Although aspects of this approach have been criticized, with some justiication, there remains much to recommend it. See G. Althof , ‘Von Fakten zu Motiven. Johannes Frieds Beschreibung der Ursprünge Deutschlands’, HZ 260 (1995), 107–17; and J. Fried, ‘Über das Schreiben von Geschichtswerken und Rezensionen. Eine Erwiderung’, HZ 260 (1995), 119–30; and cf. K. J. Leyser, ‘The Ascent of Latin Europe’ (1986), repr. in and cited from his Communications and Power I, 215–32, at pp. 231–2. An important inspiration has been Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England public events of the year and hence decisions and displays made at them were not only of administrative but also symbolic signiicance. Indeed, as Paul Töbelmann observes of later medieval German assemblies, such events were characterized not only by the presence of a large number of attendees, but also by the public and symbolic nature of the business conducted.3 In order to gain the fullest possible understanding of this symbolic discourse the few detailed surviving descriptions of meetings of the witan will be discussed irst, after which the ritual behaviour seen in these accounts will be contextualized within the broader evidence for symbolic communication in the public sphere. What emerges from this investigation is that Anglo-Saxon assemblies, much like their continental counterparts, were occasions of pomp and display and hence it would appear that politics in England was no less ritualized than elsewhere in western Europe, as is often presumed.4 As in the previous chapter, evidence is at times taken from sources dealing with the years after 978, though generally only when similar reports can also be found earlier. Rite s and ritual s at as se m bl i e s It is perhaps best to start with the most famous and most detailed description of a royal assembly, Byrhtferth’s account of King Edgar’s (second) coronation in the Vita S. Oswaldi.5 Byrhtferth begins by noting that the consecration took place in the sacrum tempus during which magnates were accustomed to assemble, indicating that while we are dealing with a particularly important event, it is nevertheless to be understood as part of a tradition of regular assembly politics. Byrhtferth goes on to note that the king sent his edict (edictum) out all through the kingdom, announcing the event. What this constituted – formal letters, brief notes or sealed writs6 – is not speciied, but certainly what is indicated is the announcement of the meeting, probably in written form. Those called upon then hastened ‘with joy’ (cum gaudio) to Bath, where a group gathered around the king, whom they led crowned and elected to the church, where the rest of the assembled men awaited them.7 The two archbishops, Dunstan 3

4 5 6 7

P. Töbelmann, ‘Formen der Repräsentation auf Reichsversammlungen des hohen und späten Mittelalters’, in Politische Versammlungen und ihre Rituale. Repräsentationsformen und Entscheidungsprozesse des Reichs und der Kirche im späten Mittelalter, Mittelalter-Forschungen 27, ed. J. Peltzer, G. Schwedler and P. Töbelmann (Ostildern, 2009), pp. 219–45. Cf. Reuter, ‘England and Germany’, pp. 291–6. Byrhtferth, VO IV.6–7 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 104–10). The writ may have been in use by this time; see above, p. 44, n. 64. On Edgar’s wearing of the crown as he enters the church, see P. E. Schramm, ‘Die Krönung bei den Angelsachsen’ (1934), rev. in and cited from his Kaiser, Könige und Päpste. Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Geschichte des Mittelalters, 4 vols. (Stuttgart, 1968–71), II, 167–207, at p. 189; and cf. Richardson and Sayles, Governance, pp. 397–412.

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Symbols in context and Oswald, then took the king’s hands and led him into the church, while those present sang antiphons. Once within the church building the king prostrated himself before the altar and Dunstan, having lifted the diadem from Edgar’s head, began to intone the Te Deum. At this moment the archbishop was unable to keep himself from weeping tears of joy, realizing that the people did not deserve ‘such a humble and wise leader’ (humilis tamque sapientes ).8 Edgar then took his coronation oath, after which Dunstan and Oswald each recited a prayer for the king. Then the archbishops jointly anointed and exalted Edgar, singing a further antiphon, and handed over the regalia: the ring, sword, crown and sceptre. This was followed by mass, after which events were brought to a close with a feast, at which the foremost bishops, Dunstan and Oswald, sat alongside the king, who was seated above the others on a throne, while the rest of the bishops, ealdormen and nobles were seated around them rejoicing. The queen, meanwhile, enjoyed a separate feast with the abbots and abbesses.9 On the surface this account represents the same kind of choreographed public display (or Inszenierung) which has engaged German historians of recent generations: all events seem to be immaculately planned and executed, with symbolic resonances at every turn.10 Edgar is the centre of attention throughout the ceremony, with his two archbishops, Dunstan and Oswald, taking on supporting roles. Their prominence relects their royal favour: it is they who have the honour of consecrating and anointing the elected king, and it is they who sit beside him at the feast. Seating orders and orders of procession at such public events were of central importance, as they might not only relect status, but also actively help create it.11 Other aspects of this display are also rich in

8

9

10

11

On the term rector and its possible signiicance, see Anton, Fürstenspiegel, pp. 384–404; M. Becher, Eid und Herrschaft. Untersuchungen zum Herrscherethos Karls des Großen,Vorträge und Forschungen: Sonderband 39 (Sigmaringen, 1993), pp. 166–9; R. A. Markus, Gregory the Great and His World (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 26–33; and D. Pratt,‘The Illnesses of King Alfred the Great’, ASE 30 (2001), 39–90, at pp. 81–5. This feast, which Byrhtferth refers to as a ‘wedding (feast)’ (nuptiae), has been the cause of much discussion: Byrhtferth, ed. Lapidge, pp. 110–11, n. 69; J. L. Nelson,‘The Second English Ordo’, in her Politics and Ritual, pp. 361–74, at 373; E. John, Reassessing Anglo-Saxon England (Manchester, 1996), p. 136. On Inszenierung, see G.Althof,‘Demonstration und Inszenierung. Spielregeln der Kommunikation in mittelalterlicher Öfentlichkeit’ (1993), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln, pp. 229–57; and T. Reuter, ‘Velle sibi ieri in forma hac: Symbolic Acts in the Becket Dispute’ (2001), trans. in his Medieval Polities, pp. 167–90. H.-W. Goetz, ‘Der “rechte” Sitz. Die Symbolik von Rang und Herrschaft im Hohen Mittelalter im Spiegel der Sitzordnung’, in Symbole des Alltags – Alltag der Symbole. Festschrift für Harry Kühnel zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. G. Blaschitz, H. Hundsbichler, G. Jaritz and E.Vavra (Graz, 1992), pp. 11–47; K.-H. Spieß, ‘Rangdenken und Rangstreit im Mittelalter’, in Zeremoniell und Raum. 4. Symposion

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England symbolism: the king’s prostration before the altar at the start of the ceremony demonstrates his humility before God,12 whilst Dunstan’s tears at this act signal his afection for Edgar. At the high point of the ceremony, the handing over of the regalia, these items come to represent the kingdom metonymically, which is placed into Edgar’s able hands.13 Finally, to cap events of the coronation feast serves to demonstrate and conirm the consensus of those present. However, there are problems with this account. For all the immediacy of description, Byrhtferth was not present at the event and much of his text is lifted more or less verbatim from a version of the ‘Second English Coronation Ordo’.14 Furthermore, although Byrhtferth might have drawn on oral or written reports, his reliability even when describing the events of his own day has been shown to be far from above question.15 Byrhtferth’s distance from the events he reports, which took place some twenty-ive to thirty years earlier, may itself be problematic. Historians have become increasingly chary about relying on accounts preserved considerably after the events they describe, as the memories recorded, perhaps handed down over a generation or more by ‘oral tradition’ before being ixed in writing, might have been adjusted signiicantly in the process.16 Thus long before Byrhtferth’s quill touched parchment reports of Edgar’s coronation might have been stylized in the process of recalling and retelling, afected along the way by the dynamics of ‘collective’, ‘social’ and ‘cultural’ memory.17 Byrhtferth’s account must also be understood within its historical context: it was written during the increasingly troubled later years of Æthelred II’s reign, during which ecclesiastics looked back on Edgar’s reign as a ‘Golden Age’.18 What is

12

13

14

15 16

17

18

der Residenzen-Kommission der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, Residenzforschung 6, ed.W. Paravicini (Sigmaringen, 1997), pp. 39–61. R. Deshman, ‘The Exalted Servant: The Ruler Theology of the Prayerbook of Charles the Bald’, Viator 11 (1980), 385–417; Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 98–103 and 166–73. On regalia, see P. E. Schramm et al., Herrschaftszeichen und Staatssymbolik. Beiträge zu ihrer Geschichte vom dritten bis zum sechzehnten Jahrhundert, 3 vols., MGH: Schriften 13 (Stuttgart, 1954–6); with J. Bak, ‘The Medieval Symbology of the State: Percy E. Schramm’s Contribution’, Viator 4 (1973), 33–63. M. Lapidge, ‘Byrhtferth and Oswald’, in St Oswald of Worcester, ed. Brooks and Cubitt, pp. 64–83, at 70–2. Ibid., pp. 72–80; Sayles and Richardson, Governance, p. 399. Particularly important are the arguments of Fried, Schleier; though see also R. Bartlett, The Hanged Man: A Story of Miracle, Memory, and Colonialism in the Middle Ages (Princeton, NJ, 2004), pp. 106–16. On which, see M. Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, trans. L. A. Coser (Chicago, 1992); J. Fentress and C. Wickham, Social Memory (Oxford, 1992), esp. pp. ix–x; and J. Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (Munich, 1992), esp. pp. 19–24 and 29–86. S. Keynes, ‘An Abbot, an Archbishop, and the Viking Raids of 1006–7 and 1009–12’, ASE 36 (2007), 151–220, at p. 215; Jayakumar, ‘Politics of the English Kingdom’, pp. 11–12 and 296–7.

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Symbols in context therefore represented, as is often the case with depictions of ritual, is an ideal, not reality.19 Given this, it should hardly surprise us that recent commentators have been quite critical of Byrhtferth’s reliability.20 Nevertheless, there are perhaps grounds for rehabilitating aspects of this account. Although Byrhtferth had access to a copy of the relevant coronation Ordo, this by no means rules out the possibility that he had other sources; indeed, the opening scene of those congregating in Bath and the inal depiction of the coronation feast must either stem from independent sources or be Byrhtferth’s own invention.21 Even if the latter is the case, these descriptions presumably possess a degree of verisimilitude – Byrhtferth’s positive message would have fallen on deaf ears if the rituals and norms represented bore no relation to experienced reality. This is not an insigniicant point, particularly as Byrhtferth was writing within thirty years of this act, for an audience which might have included some of those who had been present at the consecration. That this event made an impression on contemporaries, that they continued to remember its rough details, is clear enough: not only do Byrhtferth and the Chronicle report it in glowing terms, but the act of submission at Chester which followed Edgar’s coronation was recalled by Ælfric of Eynsham in his Life of Swithun, written at around the same time as the Vita S. Oswaldi.22 Even if memories of the speciic details of Edgar’s consecration had begun to grow dim, the more recent inaugurations of Edward the Martyr and Æthelred could have served as reminders of what such events were like. Although the similarities between the coronations might lead to confusion, to aspects of all three being combined into a single idealized recollection, this would not undermine the essential value of Byrhtferth’s account as a representation of what these events were like.23 By their nature consecration ceremonies are repetitive and 19

20

21 22

23

P. Buc, ‘Warum weniger die Handelnden selbst als eher die Chronisten das politische Ritual erzeugten – und warum es niemandem auf die wahre Geschichte ankam’, in Die Macht des Königs, ed. Jussen, pp. 27–37 and 371–2 (notes). Lapidge, ‘Byrhtferth and Oswald’; D. A. Warner, ‘Comparative Approaches to Anglo-Saxon and Ottonian Coronations’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 275–92, at 286–92. As noted by Schramm, ‘Krönung’, pp. 188–9. Ælfric of Eynsham, Life of St Swithun, c. 28, ed. M. Lapidge, The Cult of Saint Swithun, Winchester Studies 4.ii (Oxford, 2003), p. 606. A parallel is ofered by the hotly debated accounts of Henry I’s and Otto I’s consecrations in Widukind of Corvey, Res gestae Saxonicae I.26 and II.1–2, ed. H.-E. Lohmann and P. Hirsch, MGH: SRG 60 (Hanover, 1935), pp. 39 and 63–7. See Brühl, Deutschland – Frankreich, pp. 415–18 and 465–70; J. Fried, ‘Die Königserhebung Heinrichs I. Erinnerung, Mündlichkeit und Traditionsbildung im 10. Jahrhundert’, in Mittelalterforschung nach der Wende 1989, HZ: Beihefte n.s. 20, ed. M. Borgolte (Munich, 1995), pp. 267–318; H. Keller, ‘Widukinds Bericht über die Aachener Wahl und Krönung Ottos I.’ (1995), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft, pp. 91–130 and 237–75 (notes); G. Althof ,‘Geschichtsschreibung in einer oralen Gesellschaft. Das Beispiel des 10. Jahrhunderts’ (2001), repr. in and cited from his Inszenierte Herrschaft. Geschichtsschreibung und

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England retrospective, conirming a ruler’s place within the line of kings before him,24 and thus in all likelihood Edward’s and Æthelred’s consecrations would have been a reasonable guide to the general details of Edgar’s.25 It therefore stands to reason that although we are dealing with an idealized depiction, possibly contaminated by memories of subsequent events, it still represents what (coronation) assemblies were like and the focus on symbolic acts is unlikely to deceive entirely. Further descriptions of assemblies from Byrhtferth’s œuvre provide more detail on this symbolic discourse. Somewhat earlier in the Vita S. Oswaldi Byrhtferth describes an Easter assembly held c. 965.26 At this event all the important men of the realm, along with an incalculable number of more humble people, are said to have come to the king, who ‘royally received’ them (suscepit regaliter). Although the speciic preparations for this meeting are not described in detail, as they are in the account of Edgar’s coronation, that the assembly was carefully planned is evident, not least from the fact that it coincided with the Easter celebrations. At the assembly those present attended church for vespers, where they chanted ‘in the presence of the heavenly King and the earthly one’ (conspectum celestis regis et terreni). After the service had begun the king stood up and publicly announced his desire to reform monastic life and refound monasteries across England. Finally, once the paschal celebrations were over, Edgar gave those present permission to depart; Oswald, however, stayed on to press the petitions of his servants, entering into the king’s presence and obtaining permission to found Ramsey. As with the coronation of 973, this assembly takes on a strikingly ritualized form. The arrival and departure of guests is accompanied by ceremonial: Edgar receives them ‘royally’ and they await his permission to depart. This relects norms similar to those prevalent in the Carolingian, Ottonian and Capetian kingdoms, where subordinate igures were expected to approach their seniors, who would receive them with

24 25

26

politisches Handeln im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 2003), pp. 105–25; L. Körntgen, Königsherrschaft und Gottes Gnade. Zu Kontext und Funktion sakraler Vorstellungen in Historiographie und Bildzeugnissen der ottonisch-frühsalischen Zeit, Orbis mediaevalis: Vorstellungswelten des Mittelalters 2 (Berlin, 2001), pp. 74–88; P. Buc,‘Noch einmal 918–919: Of the Ritualized Demise of Kings and of Political Rituals in General’, in Zeichen – Rituale – Werte, ed. G. Althof (Münster, 2004), pp. 151–78. Schramm, Herrschaftszeichen II, 504; Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 195–6. Althof , Ottonen, pp. 70–1, makes essentially the same point about the coronations of Otto I and Otto II. See Byrhtferth, VO V.4 (ed. Lapidge, p. 154), for a brief description of Æthelred’s coronation. Byrhtferth, VO III.9–12 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 70–80). On which, see Vollrath, ‘König Edgar’; and J. Barrow, ‘The Chronology of the Benedictine “Reform”’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 211–23.

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Symbols in context appropriate dignity and whose permission might be expected before departing.27 The assembly itself was punctuated by religious rites, by the liturgical observance of the Easter solemnities, which serve to compare the earthly ruler in attendance, Edgar, with the celestial King to whom the service is dedicated. Moreover, it is during the oice of vespers, apparently within the church building, that Edgar announces his desire to reform monastic life, and his speech constitutes a public demonstration of support for the reform, which surely must have been planned in advance.28 Finally, the royal favour enjoyed by Oswald is emphasized by his ability to stay on after the assembly and enter into the ‘king’s presence’ (regis praesentia), where he pushes the petitions of his servants – only the king’s closest ideles could expect to obtain such private audiences.29 Byrhtferth records one further assembly in the form of a council held by King Coenred at Alcester, as described in the Vita S. Ecgwini.30 This formally reports an eighth-century Mercian council, but, as we have already observed, Byrhtferth knew next to nothing of his protagonist and hence his account presumably relects the practice of assemblies in his own day.31 Much like Edgar, Coenred is reported to have sent out orders to all of his leading men to assemble at Alcester. Having received this instruction, they approached from all sides and, upon arrival, seated themselves ‘in order … as is the custom’ ( seriem … ut mos est). Once they were assembled, the king gave a speech, explaining his desire to grant land at Homme to Evesham. In order to drum up support for this, Coenred ordered a papal privilege in favour of the foundation to be brought forward and read aloud.This had the desired efect, and Coenred went on to request that Archbishop Berhtwald draw up a diploma, which is described as including a joint blessing-anathema. Finally, once the document had been ratiied by those present, the king ordered that it be taken to Evesham, which was done once the relevant speeches were inished and the others present had begun to depart. Here again Byrhtferth presumes that assemblies would involve much symbolic display. Particularly interesting is his reference to a seating order being in place at the council ‘as is the custom’ (ut mos est: my emphasis) – evidently this was standard practice in Byrhtferth’s day. Although this seating order may be a purely ecclesiastical matter, since those attending 27

28

29 31

Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’, pp. 108–16; de Jong, Penitential State, pp. 215–16; Koziol, Begging Pardon, p. 48; Krause, Konlikt und Ritual, pp. 62–3. On the symbolic potential of speeches, see J. Feuchter, ‘Deliberation, rituelle Persuasion und symbolische Repräsentation. Zugänge zur Redekultur auf vormodernen französischen Generalständen’, in Politische Versammlungen und ihre Rituale, ed. Peltzer et al., pp. 207–17. See below, pp. 184–90. 30 Byrhtferth, VE III.4–6 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 260–4). See above, p. 86, with n. 30.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England synods were required to sit in strict order,32 it might equally represent more general practice. Such an order of seating certainly accords well with Byrhtferth’s depiction of Edgar’s coronation feast in the Vita S. Oswaldi, at which Edgar was seated in the middle on a raised throne, lanked to his right and left by Dunstan and Oswald.33 The description of the booking of land underlines the ritualized form that these conveyances took: irst a papal privilege is read out for all to hear, then Coenred formally obtains the support of those present, after which he entrusts the composition of the diploma to a senior ecclesiastic in attendance. Byrhtferth’s acquaintance with diplomatic norms is shown by his mention of the consent of those present, which would be formalized in the diploma’s witnesslist, and by his reference to the document’s joint blessing-anathema; evidently he had a clear idea of what diplomas were like and believed them to be drawn up at meetings of the witan and handed over as a part of the event. Therefore, whilst this account itself is fanciful, there is no reason to doubt the norms expressed: the granting of sovereign charters was an important public act in England as on the continent and aspects of the ritual outlined here can be paralleled in other sources.34 What emerges from these accounts is that Byrhtferth saw meetings of the witan as deeply symbolic events, not unlike the grand assemblies held by the Ottonian and Carolingian (later Capetian) kings ruling on either side of the Rhine. Moreover, his writings suggest that a similar symbolic language was used in England to that found on the continent. However, as we have noted, Byrhtferth’s accounts are hardly unproblematic. Even if he is unlikely to have fabricated events or traditions entirely, he is a notoriously idiosyncratic writer and there is therefore a danger that the interest in ritual and symbolism shown here is peculiarly ‘Byrhtferthian’.35 Moreover, as Byrhtferth had been educated at Ramsey, where he became acquainted with the great continental scholar Abbo of Fleury, it is possible that his interest in the rituals and symbols of kingship was at least in part inherited from this (continental) tradition, rather than contemporary English practice.36 We must, therefore, turn to other

32

33 34 35 36

Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen, pp. 32–5. See also H. Heimpel, ‘Sitzordnung und Rangstreit auf dem Basler Konzil. Skizze eines Themas’, in Studien zum 15. Jahrhundert. Festschrift für Erich Meuthen, ed. J. Helmrath and H. Müller, 2 vols. (Munich, 1994), I, 1–9. On ‘right’ and ‘left’, see Goetz, ‘Der “rechte” Sitz’, pp. 17–23; and Spieß, ‘Rangdenken’, pp. 45–6. See above, pp. 78–89. On Byrhtferth’s style and preoccupations, see most recently Byrhtferth, ed. Lapidge, pp. xliv–lxv. On Abbo, see M. Mostert, The Political Theology of Abbo of Fleury: A Study of the Ideas about Society and Law of the Tenth-Century Monastic Reform Movement, Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen 2 (Hilversum, 1987); and P. Riché, Abbon de Fleury: un moine savant et combatif (vers 950–1004) (Turnhout, 2004).

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Symbols in context sources as ‘controls’ on Byrhtferth; only if they present a similar picture may we proceed with any certainty. For the most part other sources conirm rather than undermine the picture presented by Byrhtferth. Thus B.’s famous account of Eadwig’s inauguration in Vita S. Dunstani is similarly rich in symbolism to Byrhtferth’s presentation of Edgar’s coronation.37 Unlike in Byrhtferth’s account, however, here the act of consecration is only briely described – Eadwig is said to be ‘anointed and consecrated to the kingship’ (ungueretur et consecraretur in regem) – and greater attention is given to the coronation feast. At this event Eadwig is said to have been illed with lust, departing early to fornicate with his consort and her mother. Archbishop Oda, shocked by this afront, stood up and spoke out against this, condemning Eadwig for leaving his followers at the precise moment at which he should be celebrating his new place amongst them ‘as is itting’ (ut condecet) and ordering those present to go forth and fetch the errant king. Most of the magnates, however, were understandably hesitant to do so, so it fell to Dunstan and his kinsman Cynesige to take up the charge: they proceeded into the royal bedchamber where they found Eadwig romping with the two women while his crown, the symbol of his God-given oice, lay unattended on the loor. Dunstan returned the crown to its correct place on Eadwig’s head and upbraided the king, enjoining him to come back to his ‘rightful place of sitting’ (condignum sessionis triclinium) at the feast. This account is clearly designed to undermine Eadwig’s regime and, at the same time, to set the scene for Dunstan’s subsequent falling out with the king; it shows Dunstan to have been in the right from the start.38 At the crux of the narrative is the representation of incest and fornication within the royal family: Eadwig’s consort, Ælfgifu, is depicted as an archetypal evil queen, a veritable Jezebel. Accusations of sexual depravity were, of course, a classic means of undermining royal authority in the Middle Ages. The king’s household was meant to set an example for the nation; yet here the king and his consort are shown wantonly sinning, unable to forgo their lustful pleasures even for the duration of the coronation feast.39 However, our author was also interested in the 37

38

39

B., VD, c. 21 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 66–8). Note that although Riché, Abbon, pp. 35–6 and 49; and Mostert, Political Theology, p. 59, n. 71, maintain the old identiication of ‘B.’ with Byrhtferth, this has been deinitively refuted: Memorials of Saint Dunstan, ed.W. Stubbs, Rolls Series 63 (London, 1874), pp. xxii–xxv. See also Lapidge, ‘B. and the Vita S. Dunstani’; and M. Winterbottom, ‘The Earliest Life of St Dunstan’, Scripta Israelica classica 19 (2000), 163–79. Therefore, although Lapidge, ‘B. and the Vita S. Dunstani’, p. 280, suggests that this episode ‘contains some vivid details which imply irst-hand observation’, greater caution is perhaps due. See G. Bührer-Thierry, ‘La reine adultère’, CCM 35 (1992), 299–312; S. Airlie, ‘Private Bodies and the Body Politic in the Divorce Case of Lothar II’, P & P 161 (1998), 3–38; T. Reuter, ‘Sex, Lies

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England symbolism of the feast itself, which is depicted as an inversion of the ideal represented in Byrhtferth’s account of Edgar’s coronation: whilst Edgar drinks and dines proudly amongst his followers, Eadwig senselessly departs the feast and his faithful retainers are forced to set an example for their ruler, reminding the king of his duties and dragging him back to the meal.40 The coronation feast was evidently a signiicant display of regality and by breaking convention and departing from it early Eadwig demonstrated his unsuitability for the kingship. Indeed, at numerous points in the account it is emphasized that Eadwig’s correct place was at the table with his followers, underlining his disregard for etiquette.The king’s neglect for his kingdom, moreover, becomes symbolized by his crown, which lies ‘far from his head, negligently thrown away onto the ground’ (a capite ad terram usque neglegenter avulsam). Signiicant here is the use of the adverb neglegenter: according to the Carolingian understanding of royal oice, at least from the time of Louis the Pious onwards, neglegentia was treated as a constant threat and, given the fact that Louis’ legislation circulated widely amongst English reformers, one anticipates similar concerns being current in later tenth-century England.41 The much briefer description of the coronation of Edward the Martyr in the Passio Eadwardi furnishes few further details about the ceremony, but similarly highlights the signiicance of the event.42 Edward is said irst to be chosen by Dunstan and the witan, after which the archbishop placed a cross banner, which ‘according to custom was carried before him’ (ex consuetudine prae se ferebatur), into the midst of those assembled, in an act presumably designed to show his formal approval of the election. Only thereafter did Dunstan along with the other bishops present proceed to anoint the king. Although post-Conquest in surviving form, the Passio may have drawn on earlier materials, perhaps compiled soon after 1001, and in any case there is little reason to doubt the basic details

40 41

42

and Oath-Helpers: The Trial of Queen Uota’ (2002), trans. in his Medieval Polities, pp. 217–30; M. McLaughlin, ‘“Disgusting Acts of Shamelessness”: Sexual Misconduct and the Deconstruction of Royal Authority in the Eleventh Century’, EME 19 (2011), 312–32; and cf. Douglas, Purity and Danger, pp. 129–39. See also Gautier, Le festin, pp. 95–7; and Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’, pp. 142–3. See de Jong, Penitential State, pp. 121–2; and C. Booker, Past Convictions: The Penance of Louis the Pious and the Decline of the Carolingians (Philadelphia, PA, 2009), pp. 141–2, 147–8 and 165–6, on neglegentia; and J. Semmler, ‘Das Erbe der karolingischen Klosterreform im 10. Jahrhundert’, in Monastische Reformen im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert, Vorträge und Forschungen 38, ed. R. Kottje and H. Maurer (Sigmaringen, 1989), pp. 29–77; M. Gretsch, ‘Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 57: A Witness to the Early Stages of the Benedictine Reform in England?’, ASE 32 (2003), 111–46; and Wulfstan of Winchester: The Life of St Æthelwold, ed. M. Lapidge and M. Winterbottom, OMT (Oxford, 1991), pp. lviii–ix, on the circulation of Lious’ reform texts. Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, p. 2). The brief account of Edward’s reign in Byrhtferth, VO IV.18 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 136–40), does not report this event.

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Symbols in context of this account.43 The cross banner described represents the tradition of episcopal cross processions, which had a long and proud history in England – Augustine’s mission is reported to have used them as early as the sixth century44 – and was also popular by this time in the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich.45 It is clear, therefore, that our author saw this as an important symbol of episcopal oice and an appropriate sign of Dunstan’s approval.46 Moreover, he evidently felt that election and consecration constituted a signiicant airmation of Edward’s kingship, worthy of report in an otherwise brief Passio. Finally, two further descriptions of the same assembly held for the rededication of the Old Minster, Winchester, early in the reign of Æthelred II (in 980) survive and are included for discussion here as they take us barely beyond our formal cut-of point of 978. Church dedication ceremonies were often local afairs, but the Old Minster, thanks no doubt to its royal connections, enjoyed the personal presence of the king and the most important English nobles at this event.47 It seems that the dedication was to an extent a continuation of the secular assembly which had been held immediately before at Andover, as the magnates came directly from there to Winchester together. Both accounts of this dedication were written by Wulfstan Cantor: the more lorid is to be found in the Narratio metrica de S. Swithuno, while a somewhat drier account is included in the Vita S. Æthelwoldi. Both agree on the particulars, but focus on diferent aspects of the event. In the Narratio metrica Wulfstan notes that during the dedication ceremony several bishops followed the king ‘in order’ (in ordine), with Archbishop Dunstan leading the way, in a scene reminiscent of the order of seating described by Byrhtferth at the Council of Alcester.48 Along with the bishops, a large number of nobles and ealdormen were present 43

44

45

46

47

48

Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, pp. xi–xx). Eric Denton warns me, however, that an earlier Passio may never have existed. Certainly the surviving account bears few of the characteristic features of the tenth-century ‘hermeneutic style’. Bede, Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum I.25, ed. B. Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors, OMT (Oxford, 1969), pp. 74–6. This may represent the origin of the tradition. Goldberg, ‘Frontier Kingship’, pp. 61–72, esp. 71–2. Cf. Adam of Bremen, Gesta Hammaburgensis ecclesiae pontiicum III.15, ed. B. Schmeidler, MGH: SRG 2, 3rd edn (Hanover, 1917), p. 156. One of the bishop’s Herrschaftszeichen, as discussed by T. Reuter, ‘Bishops, Rites of Passage, and the Symbolism of the State in Pre-Gregorian Europe’, in The Bishop: Power and Piety at the First Millennium, Neue Aspekte der europäischen Mittelalterforschung 4, ed. S. Gilsdorf (Münster, 2004), pp. 23–36. On church dedication ceremonies, see Rollason, Rituals, pp. 7–12; and C. E. Karkov, ‘The Frontispiece to the New Minster Charter and the King’s Two Bodies’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 224–41. Wulfstan, Narratio metrica, ‘De dedicatione magne ecclesie’, lines 61–114 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 376–80).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and all are reported to have rejoiced at the event, after which a grand feast was put on. At this meal food and drink were abundant, with course following course and innumerable cups of wine being passed around; indeed, Wulfstan comments that this was the most lavish dedication he had heard tell of in all England. Finally, the singing of hymns signalled the end of the meal, after which all present departed in joy. This entire description is rich in symbolism: those present follow the procession in strict order, and the sumptuous feast, described in great detail by Wulfstan, not only presents the consensus of those attending, but also demonstrates Æthelwold’s largesse and generosity as host.49 Wulfstan wrote a somewhat less vivid account of these events slightly later in his Vita S. Æthelwoldi.50 Although the language used is less ornate, in keeping with the more laconic style of the Vita, the event depicted is also highly symbolic: virtually all the men of the kingdom are said to have been present and to have celebrated ‘with great joy’ (cum omni gaudio) for two days on end. During this time those who had previously been Æthelwold’s enemies were inspired by God to submit themselves to the bishop, bowing their necks to his knee, kissing his hand and commending themselves to his prayers. Wulfstan’s focus here is, not surprisingly, more on Æthelwold’s agency, on his ability to obtain the submission of his opponents and restore peace and concord. What is striking, however, is the demonstrative form which this takes: Æthelwold’s opponents publicly bow down before him, they kiss his hand and ‘commend themselves’ (se … commendarent) to his prayers.51 It is particularly interesting to note Wulfstan’s use of the verb se commendare here, as this could be used both for a secular act of commendation to a lord and for the spiritual act of commending oneself to someone’s prayers.52 Although the latter is what technically takes place, the submission of Æthelwold’s enemies to the bishop looks suspiciously like secular commendation and Wulfstan may well be seeking to highlight this parallel.53 Also striking is the fact that 49

50 51

52

53

On feasts as demonstrations of generosity, see M. Dietler, ‘Feasts and Commensal Politics in the Political Economy: Food, Power, and Status in Prehistoric Europe’, in Food and the Status Quest: An Interdisciplinary Perspective, ed. P.Wiessner and W. Schiefenhövel (Providence, RI, 1996), pp. 87–125, at 96–7. Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 40 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 60–2). On the signiicance of this act, see D. J. Sheerin, ‘The Dedication of the Old Minster, Winchester, in 980’, Revue Bénédictine 88 (1978), 261–73, at pp. 262–3. The Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, ed. R. Latham and D. R. Howlett (Oxford, 1975–), s.v. commendare sections 3, 4. Unfortunately we know little about the form which commendation took: Baxter, Earls of Mercia, pp. 204–5; Williams, World before Domesday, p. 69; F. W. Maitland, Domesday Book and Beyond: Three Essays in the Early History of England (Cambridge, 1921), pp. 69–70.

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Symbols in context these igures are said to have kissed Æthelwold’s hand: equal parties were meant to kiss each other on the mouth (the so-called ‘kiss of peace’) and hence this act further symbolizes their subservience.54 This event thus looks remarkably similar to the rituals of submission seen on the continent in these years, where acts of bowing, prostration and commendation were often used to end disputes and re-establish friendly relations.55 These are, admittedly, but four further accounts of only three assemblies, one of which is post-Conquest in provenance and two of which describe an event two years after 978. They none the less highlight much of the same symbolism we saw in Byrhtferth’s work and, since they were written independently, go a considerable way towards conirming the impression made by his accounts. However, if we are to understand the symbolism of these events fully, we must look for similar depictions of demonstrative behaviour beyond these few detailed reports of assemblies. Ritual and ce re mony at and beyond as se mbl i e s Hitherto we have limited ourselves to detailed descriptions of assemblies, which are relatively few and far between. However, at many points our sources briely present scenes of assemblies or court life which help enlarge this picture. Symbolic behaviour at meetings of the witan must therefore be treated as a part of this broader world of ritual and gesture: all public acts could take on symbolic overtones, with assemblies simply standing at the most public and most ritualized end of a spectrum.56 Hence in what follows additional accounts and anecdotes will be taken into consideration, examining in greater detail some of the types of demonstration routinely described: emotional displays; hierarchical demonstrations; rituals of petition and intervention; and rites of passage. As noted, not all of these scenes come from meetings of the witan, but they all relate to the public sphere and thus represent the type of behaviour we might expect to see at such events. 54

55

56

H.Vollrath, ‘The Kiss of Peace’, in Peace Treaties and International Law in European History: From the Late Middle Ages to World War One, ed. R. Lesafer (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 162–83, at 173–7. P. R. Hyams, ‘Homage and Feudalism: A Judicious Separation’, in Die Gegenwart des Feudalismus, Veröfentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 173, ed. N. M. Fyrde, M. Mollat du Jourdin and O.-G. Oexle (Göttingen, 2002), pp. 13–50; L. Roach, ‘Submission and Homage: Feudo-Vassalic Bonds and the Settlement of Disputes in Ottonian Germany’, History 97 (2012), 355–79; Althof , Macht der Rituale, pp. 68–84; Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 177–234; Krause, Konlikt und Ritual, pp. 110–75 and 182–200. Cf. Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 300–1.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Emotional displays One of the features of medieval literature that often strikes the modern reader is the extremes of emotion presented: tears of joy, laments of sorrow and angry outbursts abound. Early commentators saw these as evidence of how ‘backward’ and ‘childish’ the Middle Ages were, as indications that the people of the time were unable to control their emotions.57 In recent years, however, historians have begun to take a more nuanced approach. They are now inclined to see these expressions of emotion as conscious displays; not necessarily any less heartfelt, but serving a social rationale which cannot be dismissed as ‘childish’.58 Perhaps the most common emotional expression encountered is crying, and we have already seen that Dunstan is reported to have wept at King Edgar’s inauguration. These were evidently tears of joy, not lamentation, as Dunstan rejoices at Edgar’s willingness to humble himself before God. Other similar reports survive: Edgar is said to have cried at the news of the miracles of Swithun and Dunstan is reported to have been brought to tears by the beauty of the singing of the souls of the dead, which he was granted to hear.59 However, tears could carry diferent meanings in diferent contexts, and crying might also demonstrate compassion and sympathy. Thus Archbishop Oda is described as receiving the ‘gift of tears’ whenever he read the Gospel lections for Easter, a pious act of sympathy for the suferings of Christ which Byrhtferth informs us faithful worshippers were accustomed to experience.60 B. reports that Dunstan would often cry whilst performing liturgical ceremonies, presumably for the same reason.61 Alternatively, crying might 57

58

59

60

61

J. Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, trans. R. J. Payton and U. Mammitzsch (Chicago, 1996), pp. 1–29; M. Bloch, Feudal Society, trans. L. A. Manyon, 2 vols. (London, 1961), I, 73; N. Elias, The Civilizing Process: Sociogenetic and Psychogenetic Investigations, trans. E. Jephcott, rev. edn (Oxford, 1994), pp. 52–60. G. Althof, ‘Empörung, Tränen, Zerknirschung. Emotionen in der öfentlichen Kommunikation des Mittelalters’ (1996), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln, pp. 258–81; S. D.White, ‘The Politics of Anger’ (1998), repr. in and cited from his Feuding and Peace-Making, no. IV; J. Fried, ‘Ritual und Vernunft – Traum und Pendel des Thietmar von Merseburg’, in Das Jahrtausend im Spiegel der Jahrhundertwenden, ed. L. Gall (Berlin, 1999), pp. 15–63, at 37–52; S. Airlie,‘The History of Emotions and Emotional History’, EME 10 (2001), 235–41; M. Garrison, ‘The Study of Emotions in Early Medieval History: Some Starting Points’, EME 10 (2001), 243–50; B. H. Rosenwein, Emotional Communities in the Early Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 2006). Wulfstan, Narratio metrica I.4, lines 828–43 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 450–2); Byrhtferth, VO V.7 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 162–4). Byrhtferth, VO I.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 24). See further P. Nagy, Le don des larmes au Moyen Âge: un instrument spiritual en quête d’institution (Ve–XIIIe siècle) (Paris, 2000), and ‘Religious Weeping as Ritual in the Medieval West’, Social Analysis 48 (2004), 117–37; and S. Waldhof , ‘Der Kaiser in der Krise? Zum Verständnis von Thietmar IV, 48’, DA 54 (1998), 23–54, at pp. 32–5. B., VD, c. 37 (ed.Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 104); cf. ibid., cc. 30 and 38 (ed.Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 88 and 104).

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Symbols in context express regret, often speciically for sin. King Eadred was apparently brought to tears by the realization of the ill he had done to Dunstan in removing him from court, many of those seeking the intercession of Swithun are said to have made prayers cum lacrimis or cum gemitu and it may have been relection on his sins which brought Cnut to tears while praying at St-Omer.62 Perhaps most moving of all, however, are the penitential gestures of Ealdorman Æthelwine, who is said to have gone on foot to Ramsey and prostrated himself tearfully before the altar in prayer.63 Tears of sadness and mourning, perhaps closest to our modern understanding of crying, are also to be found. These are most prominent in descriptions of funerals, such as those of Oswald, Æthelwold and Edward the Martyr, which are reported to have been met with the lamenting of the entire realm.64 Hence tears were, like most symbols, polysemic, and crying could express a range of emotions, from sadness to regret, to joy and jubilation.65 Prominent though tears are, they are not the only form of emotional display recorded. Another emotion which is commonly described is joy (gaudium or hilaritas). What precisely this involved is rarely dwelt upon, but that it was an emotion which could be recognized by those present is clear from the countless descriptions of how people rejoiced or acted cum gaudio.This was apparently the ideal state for feasts, coronations and other celebratory displays and such joy was intended to illustrate the willing countenance of those present at these events.66 Other emotions appear less often, but were doubtless also capable of demonstrative usage.Thus in Wulfstan Cantor’s Vita S. Æthelwoldi the saintly protagonist at two points expresses furor at his disobedient monks. Here Æthelwold’s anger is a pointed demonstration of frustration, designed to chastise the monks

62

63 64

65

66

Ibid., c. 14 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 50); Lantfred, Translatio, cc. 6, 9, 18, 29 and 38 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 288–90, 292, 300, 318 and 332); Encomium Emmae II.21 (ed. Campbell, p. 36). Byrhtferth, VO V.14 (ed. Lapidge, p. 184). Cf. LB, c. 60 (ed. Macray, pp. 103–4). Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 41 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, p. 62); Byrhtferth, VO V.18 (ed. Lapidge, p. 194); Omnibus est recolenda, ed. D. N. Dumville, ‘The Death of King Edward the Martyr – 18 March, 979?’, Anglo-Saxon 1 (2007), 269–84, at p. 280. G. Althof , ‘Der König weint. Rituelle Tränen in öfentlicher Kommunikation’, in ‘Auführung’ und ‘Schrift’ in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, ed. J.-D. Müller (Stuttgart, 1996), pp. 239–52; M. Becher, ‘“Cum lacrimis et gemitu”.Vom Weinen der Sieger und Besiegten im fr ühen und hohen Mittelalter’, in Formen und Funktionen öfentlicher Kommunikation im Mittelalter, Vorträge und Forschungen 51, ed. G. Althof (Stuttgart, 2001), pp. 25–52. On the polysemy of symbols, see V. Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca, NY, 1967), pp. 50–1, and The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Chicago, 1969), pp. 41–2 and 52–3; and P. Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 262–70. G. Althof, ‘Freiwilligkeit und Konsensfassaden. Emotionale Ausdrucksformen in der Politik des Mittelalters’, in Pathos, Afekt, Gefühl. Die Emotionen in den Künsten, ed. K. Herding and B. Stumpfhaus (Berlin, 2004), pp. 145–61.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England into obedience.67 The alternative to such righteous anger, unjustiied or unbridled wrath, is reported in the Vita S. Ecgwini when the saintly protagonist is ‘turned upon in anger’ (in iram conversus) by a crowd he had exhorted to penance.68 So too the master of a slave released from her bonds by Swithun is reported to have initially reacted in anger, until the wonder of the miracle dawned on him.69 That wrath was potentially dangerous is underlined by the anonymous author of the Vita Edwardi, who praises the king for controlling his anger.70 It is, therefore, clear that our writers were interested in emotions, which could be used to convey a variety of messages. Since these emotions are often described in similar contexts, the suspicion may be that they are simply topoi which bear little relation to reality.Yet it should be remembered that emotional displays themselves, much like literary topoi, tend to be repeated within similar social contexts, and repetition alone therefore should not lead us to doubt their veracity. Just as at modern funerals friends and family are expected to show sorrow, so too in later Anglo-Saxon England anticipated emotions might be expressed, without this being reduced to the level of ‘acting’.71 Symbolizing community and hierarchy At a number of points we have noted the presence of orders of seating, standing and procession in our sources, which serve to represent hierarchical relationships: Edgar sat on a raised throne at the centre of his coronation feast, with Dunstan and Oswald to either side; at the Council of Alcester all present are said to have seated themselves in order; and at the rededication of the Old Minster, Winchester, the procession took a set order. Similar descriptions elsewhere conirm that symbolic orders of precedence were of great signiicance. Byrhtferth emphasizes that Oswald, upon his return from Fleury to England, was received nobly by King Edgar and ordered to sit beside him: being seated next to the monarch 67

68 69 70

71

Wulfstan, VÆ, cc. 28 and 33 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 44 and 50). Benedictine obedience is a central theme of the Vita: K. O’Brien O’Keefe, Stealing Obedience: Narratives of Agency in Later Anglo-Saxon England, H. M. Chadwick Memorial Lecture 19 (Cambridge, 2009). Byrhtferth, VE I.12 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 228–30). Lantfred, Translatio, c. 39 (ed. Lapidge, p. 332). Vita Edwardi I.1 (ed. Barlow, p. 18). See also G. Althof , ‘Ira regis: Prolegomena to a History of Anger’, in Anger’s Past: The Social Uses of an Emotion in the Middle Ages, ed. B. H. Rosenwein (Ithaca, NY, 1998), pp. 59–74; and J. E. A. Jolife, Angevin Kingship, 2nd edn (London, 1963), pp. 87–109; and cf. Ælfric of Eynsham, Lives of Saints, ed. W. W. Skeat, 4 vols., EETS o.s. 76, 82, 94, 114 (Oxford, 1881–1900; repr. as 2 vols., Oxford, 1966), I, 16. See Garrison, ‘Emotions’, along similar lines; as well as Rosenwein, Emotional Communities, pp. 26–9 and 61; and Fried, ‘Ritual und Vernunft’, pp. 37–52. Cf. Bourdieu, Logic of Practice, p. 73.

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Symbols in context was clearly a special honour not shown to all.72 Even more telling is Byrhtferth’s account of the argument that broke out between Ælfheah and Germanus after Abbot Foldbriht’s miraculous (if brief) return to life: both wished to be the irst to approach the venerable man, since ‘they attached great importance to rank’ (multum de principatu cogitantes); evidently it was a tricky and important matter of etiquette as to who should be accorded precedence.73 Moreover, in the Ramsey Liber benefactorum we similarly hear that Ælfwine and the others present at Ramsey’s dedication swore to protect the church and its lands ‘in order of rank’ (iuxta ordinem dignitatum).74 Social hierarchies were also expressed by forms of arrival and departure: it was expected that juniors would approach their seniors, who would welcome them appropriately and whose permission might be required before departing. Arrival and welcome could take various forms, the most exulted being an adventus, a ritual procession loosely based on the entrance of Christ into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.75 At an adventus the hosts were expected to come out to meet their guests along the way in an occursus, an act which not only honoured the guests by ofering them accompaniment along the last stretch of the journey, but also maintained formal etiquette, respecting the guests’ higher standing by making it appear as if the hosts had come to the guests, rather than vice versa. Once the guests had been greeted in appropriate fashion, the hosts and guests would process together into the city, palace or religious centre, accompanied by the singing of antiphons or laudes regiae and the carrying of banners or other symbols.76 Quite when formal reception becomes adventus is a moot point, but it is clear enough that advents were known in pre-Conquest England. Given their religious undertones, it should hardly surprise that we often hear of bishops enjoying such processions.77 Æthelwold’s body was apparently received at Winchester 72 74 75

76

77

Byrhtferth, VO IV.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 104). 73 Ibid. IV.8 (ed. Lapidge, p. 114). LB, c. 58 (ed. Macray, pp. 95–7). Cf. Byrhtferth, VO V.11–12 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 172–80). E. H. Kantorowicz, ‘The “King’s Advent” and the Enigmatic Panels in the Doors of Santa Sabina’ (1944), repr. in and cited from his Selected Studies (Locust Valley, NY, 1965), pp. 37–75; P. Willmes, Der Herrscher-‘Adventus’ im Kloster des Frühmittelalters, Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 22 (Munich, 1976); D. A. Warner, ‘Ritual and Memory in the Ottonian Reich: The Ceremony of Adventus’, Speculum 76 (2001), 255–83. Another inspiration was the Antique tradition of military triumphs: M. McCormick, EternalVictory:Triumphal Leadership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West (Cambridge, 1986), pp. 335–42; S. G. MacCormack, Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity (Berkeley, CA, 1981), pp. 17–89. However, note that laudes regiae do not appear to have been known in England before the later years of Edward the Confessor’s reign: Hare, ‘Kings, Crowns and Festivals’; M. Lapidge, ‘Ealdred of York and MS. Cotton Vitellius E.XII’ (1983), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature, pp. 453–67. Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’, p. 135.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England with an adventus: according to Wulfstan Cantor people from all around locked to accompany the saint’s bier into the city where he was laid to rest.78 Byrhtferth’s account of Oswald’s funeral similarly takes the form of an adventus ofered to the body at St Peter’s, Worcester.79 Bishops, however, were not the only ones to enjoy these processions, and saints’ relics might also be ofered them; thus both of Swithun’s translations seem to have taken this form.80 The description of the procession for the irst translation is relatively brief, but its ceremonial form is clear enough, as incense and crosses are said to have been borne alongside the relics.81 The procession for the second translation is described in somewhat greater detail: all the people of Winchester are reported to have processed three miles barefoot to meet up with the reliquary, which was returning from court to Winchester. When the procession reached the saint’s remains, those involved prostrated themselves before the relics in adoration, before accompanying them back into the town, singing melodies and psalms.82 Here the barefoot approach of those coming from Winchester to meet the relics adds a new element to the ritual, as going barefoot was a traditional demonstration of humility, often carrying speciically penitential implications.83 Indeed, further descriptions conirm the prevalence of barefoot processions in pre-Conquest England, and the speciic combination of barefoot procession and adventus was also known in the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich.84 However, despite its religious undertones, the adventus was by no means restricted to bishops, abbots and saints. Indeed, similar in certain respects to the second translation of Swithun is Byrhtferth’s description of the reception of Ælfwold at Winchester. Ælfwold, who had killed a man during the ‘Anti-Monastic Reaction’, undertook a barefoot journey to the Old Minster, presumably as an act of penance. When Bishop 78

79 80

81 82 83

84

Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 41 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 62–4); with T. Reuter, ‘Ein Europa der Bischöfe. Das Zeitalter Buchards von Worms’, in Burchard von Worms, ed. Hartmann, pp. 1–28, at 1–2. Byrhtferth, VO V.18 (ed. Lapidge, p. 194). R. Deshman, The Benedictional of Æthelwold, Studies in Manuscript Illumination 9 (Princeton, NJ, 1995), pp. 185–90. Cf. M. Heinzelmann, Translationsberichte und andere Quellen des Reliquienkultes, Typologie des sources du Moyen Âge occidental 33 (Turnhout, 1979), pp. 66–77. Wulfstan, Narratio metrica I.5, lines 915–1045 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 456–60). Ibid. II.1, lines 22–68 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 492–6). Koziol, Begging Pardon, p. 302; K. Schreiner, ‘“Nudibus pedibus”. Barfüßigkeit als religiöses und politisches Ritual’, in Formen und Funktionen öfentlicher Kommunikation im Mittelalter, ed. Althof, pp. 53–124. Lantfred, Translatio, c. 28 (ed. Lapidge, p. 316); Wulfstan, Narratio metrica II.11, lines 688–705 (ed. Lapidge, p. 518); Byrhtferth, VO IV.16 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 132–4). Cf. Thietmar of Merseburg, Chronicon IV.45, ed. R. Holtzmann, MGH: SRG n.s. 9 (Berlin, 1935), pp. 182–5; Vita S. Adalberti, c. 8, ed. J. Hofmann, Europäische Schriften der Adalbert-Stiftung-Krefeld 2 (Essen, 2005), p. 133.

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Symbols in context Æthelwold heard of Ælfwold’s approach, he ordered his monks to go out to meet the nobleman on his way and to accompany him back bearing gospel books, holy water, the cross, incense and candles. Whether these details had been planned in advance is unclear, but either way Æthelwold’s actions turned a humble act of repentance into a public celebration of Ælfwold’s piety.85 Further evidence for laymen being ofered ceremonial entrances is provided by Byrhtferth’s description of how both Archbishop Oswald and Ealdorman Æthelwine were accustomed to be welcomed at Ramsey: they would be greeted ‘with such great honour’ (quantis honoribus), with two deacons coming out to meet them carrying the four books of the evangelists and four oblates or acolytes carrying candles, whilst others bore holy water and incense and the precantor sang an antiphon.86 Upon Æthelwine’s death, the ealdorman’s body was received at Ramsey with a similar act: it was transported to the foundation, where people came out on horseback and foot to meet the body, including monks carrying candles, crosses and gospel books.87 A description of the translation of Edward the Martyr preserved in an anonymous late tenth-century poem implies that this event was similarly accompanied by an adventus, as his bier is said to have been ‘worthily accompanied by the people’ (digne commitante popello).88 Though less detailed, the account in the Passio Eadwardi suggests much the same, as here Edward’s body is said to have been ‘honourably and laudably received’ at Shaftesbury (digne et laudabiliter receptum).89 Therefore, although we have precious few descriptions of royal funerals, it may well be that adventus-style processions formed a regular part of them. Moreover, given the evidence for ealdormen such as Æthelwine being regularly welcomed in this fashion, it seems likely that kings enjoyed these rites in life as well as in death.90 It might have been such a ceremony that the author of the Encomium Emmae had in mind when he reported that Edmund Ironside was welcomed into London pompatice in 1016.91 Similarly Byrhtferth’s report that before his death magnates went out to meet Edward the Martyr along his route ‘as was itting’ (ut decuit) suggests that the occursus was a standard part of receiving the king.92

85 87 88

89 90

91 92

Byrhtferth, VO IV.14 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 128–30). 86 Ibid. IV.15 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 130–2). Ibid. IV.21 (ed. Lapidge, p. 200). See also Tollerton, Wills and Will-Making, pp. 243–4. Omnibus est recolenda, lines 9–21 (ed. Dumville, p. 280). As Dumville points out, this poem claims to be the product of an eye-witness (‘Death of Edward the Martyr’, p. 278). Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, p. 10). Cf. J. Kerr, Monastic Hospitality:The Benedictines in England c. 1070–c.1250, Studies in the History of Medieval Religion 32 (Woodbridge, 2007), pp. 110–19. Encomium Emmae II.8 (ed. Campbell, p. 24). Byrhtferth, VO IV.18 (ed. Lapidge, p. 138).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England However, adventus processions only represent the grandest form of arrival, and most receptions would have taken a more understated form. Nevertheless, even in these cases it was of great moment that guests be greeted with appropriate ‘honour’ or ‘dignity’, a matter which our sources often emphasize: Oswald is described as being received by King Edgar ‘worthily … as always’ (digniter … sicut semper); Edgar is similarly reported to have customarily been well disposed towards Æthelwold; Oda and Æthelhelm are said to have been received at court gloriose; and Ecgwine was apparently received by the king cum gaudio upon his return from Rome.93 In situations of political or social instability such matters might take on a heightened importance, since the form of greeting and reception was meant to express relative hierarchy. It is therefore not without reason that the Encomiast carefully notes that for their irst meeting following Swein’s death Cnut and his brother Harald, who had succeeded his father to the kingdom of Denmark, met on neutral territory at a doorway.94 What demonstrative behaviour was involved in receiving a guest ‘honourably’ is rarely speciied, as such details were presumably well known to a contemporary audience and in little need of explanation.95 However, embraces and kisses (especially the kiss of peace) were forms of greeting throughout the Middle Ages and presumably constituted the core acts in most cases.96 Byrhtferth’s Vita S. Oswaldi provides some concrete examples: Oscytel is said to have welcomed Oswald back to England with embraces, while Oswald and Æthelwine are reported to have kissed the monks of Ramsey after they had been received.97 Likewise both embraces and kisses were reportedly exchanged by Cnut and his brother Harald at their liminal meeting.98 A particularly interesting example is provided by Byrhtferth’s description of Edward II’s martyrdom: the king is said to have been distracted just before his death by a man who ofered him a kiss in greeting.99 A similar report is recorded in the Passio Eadwardi, 93

94 95

96

97 98 99

Ibid. IV.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 104); Wulfstan, Narratio metrica I.4, lines 813–14 (ed. Lapidge, p. 450); Byrhtferth, VO I.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 22); Byrhtferth, VE II.1 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 236–8). Emma and Harthacnut are also reported to have been received gloriosissime in Flanders: Encomium Emmae III.13 (ed. Campbell, p. 52). Encomium Emmae II.2 (ed. Campbell, p. 16). This is a common problem faced when studying such ritual acts: G. Althof, ‘Ungeschriebene Gesetze. Wie funktioniert Herrschaft ohne schriftlich ixierte Normen?’, in his Spielregeln, pp. 282–304. H. Fuhrmann, ‘“Willkommen und Abschied”. Begrüßungs- und Abschiedsrituale im Mittelalter’ (1993), repr. in and cited from his Überall ist Mittelalter. Von der Gegenwart einer vergangenen Zeit (Munich, 1996), pp. 17–39. Byrhtferth, VO III.4 and IV.15 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 56 and 132). Encomium Emmae II.2 (ed. Campbell, p. 16). Byrhtferth, VO IV.18 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 138–40).

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Symbols in context where Edward’s murderer is said to have been able to gain the king’s conidence by ofering him the kiss of peace.100 Of course, these writers are paralleling the martyred king’s fate with Judas’ betrayal of Christ and the strict veracity of either account may therefore be doubted;101 nevertheless, they suggest that the kiss of peace was a standard demonstration of friendly intent and that the behaviour of Edward’s murders broke strongly with the established ‘rules of the game’. Indeed, the kiss of peace might be a general sign of goodwill and afection, and presumably it is as such that Germanus kissed the monks of Ramsey before his departure.102 Likewise it was as a sign of renewed friendship and favour that Edward the Confessor kissed Godwine after the earl had submitted to him in 1052.103 Correctly greeting a guest was an important rite de passage which established an appropriate relationship between host and guest. An often associated rite, which might follow greeting, was the sharing of food and drink.104 It should therefore hardly surprise that feasting took on a central role at assemblies, at which almost all those attending were to an extent royal ‘guests’. In the Middle Ages, as in the modern world, commensality was an essential means of building and maintaining group solidarity, which might be every bit as important as the formal business conducted by the witan.105 In fact, we should not think of feasting as being sealed of from the formal world of politics, since feasts themselves might ofer a stage for afairs of state; for example, B. reports that Eadred’s

100 101

102 103

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105

Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, p. 5). Lapidge, ‘Byrhtferth and Oswald’, pp. 79–80. The comparison with Judas is explicit in the Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, p. 5). Given the general similarities but important divergences in detail between these accounts, one wonders if they are in part the product of oral reports. See C. E. Wright, The Cultivation of Saga in Anglo-Saxon England (Edinburgh, 1939), pp. 161–72; and C. Cubitt, ‘Sites and Sanctity: Revisiting the Cult of Murdered and Martyred Anglo-Saxon Royal Saints’, EME 9 (2000), 53–83, at pp. 82–3; and cf. Fried, Schleier, pp. 358–93. Byrhtferth, VO V.15 (ed. Lapidge, p. 184); cf. ibid. V.13 (ed. Lapidge, p. 182). Vita Edwardi I.5 (ed. Barlow, pp. 38–44). See further K. Schreiner, ‘“Gerechtigkeit und Frieden haben sich geküßt” (Ps. 84, 11). Friedensstiftung durch symbolisches Handeln’, in Träger und Instrumentarien des Friedens im hohen und späten Mittelalter, Vorträge und Forschungen 43, ed. J. Fried (Sigmaringen, 1996), pp. 37–86. Cf. A. van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, trans. M. B. Vizedom and G. L. Cafee (London, 1960), pp. 26–40. Gautier, Le festin; L. Roach, ‘Hosting the King: Hospitality and the Royal iter in Tenth-Century England’, Journal of Medieval History 37 (2011), 34–46. More generally, see G. Althof , ‘Der frieden-, bündnis-, und gemeinschaftstiftende Charakter des Mahles im fr ühen Mittelalter’, in Essen und Trinken in Mittelalter und Neuzeit, ed. I. Bitsch, T. Ehlert and X. von Ertzdorf (Sigmaringen, 1990), pp. 13–25; M. J. Enright, Lady with a Mead Cup: Ritual, Prophecy and Lordship in the European Warband from La Tène to the Viking Age (Dublin, 1996); and D. A. Bullough, Friends, Neighbours and Fellow-Drinkers:Aspects of Community and Conlict in the Early Medieval West, H. M. Chadwick Memorial Lecture 1 (Cambridge, 1990).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England mother Eadgifu ofered Dunstan the vacant see of Crediton at a meal.106 Moreover, the very act of dining and drinking together could itself be a political statement, and hence feasting was well suited to conirming or re-establishing relationships in times of tension. There is therefore a certain poignancy to Wulfstan Cantor’s accounts of the feast for the rededication of the Old Minster, discussed above, since it was on this occasion that Æthelwold’s enemies submitted to him and the wounds of the ‘AntiMonastic Reaction’ were healed.107 Similarly it should not surprise that once Cnut and Harald came to an understanding they sealed their pact with a feast – here the sharing of food and drink was evidently meant to forge important bonds of mutual obligation.108 Indeed, it is notable that the Encomiast goes to great eforts to exonerate Godwine of involvement in Ætheling Alfred’s death; evidently after dining with the ætheling it would have been unforgiveable for Godwine to hand him over to his foes.109 However, much as feasts might foster a sense of community, this was only amongst the élite, and they remained at the same time emphatically hierarchical events: not only was dining and drinking with the king a privilege accorded to few, but even amongst those present orders of seating and rituals of dining would have served to express relative hierarchy.110 The regularity with which the kingdom’s élite enjoyed this privilege is suggested by episodes in the Vitae of Dunstan and Æthelwold, which describe visiting kings enjoying lavish meals at which the level of mead could not be reduced below a palm’s measure thanks to saintly intervention, anecdotes which emphasize both the conspicuous consumption associated with such events and the diiculties this might pose for the prospective host.111 Feasting therefore seems to have played a dual role: it expressed hierarchy, while at the same time fostering a sense of community. The importance of feasts, greetings and orders of seating and standing thus lay irst and foremost in the hierarchies and relationships expressed. 106 107 108 109

110

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B., VD, c. 19 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 62). Sheerin, ‘Dedication’, pp. 262–3. Encomium Emmae II.2 (ed. Campbell, p. 18). Ibid. III.4 (ed. Campbell, p. 42); with S. Keynes, ‘Queen Emma and the Encomium Emmae Reginae’, in Encomium Emmae, ed. Campbell, pp. [xiii]–[lxxxvii], at [lxiii]–[lxv]. Cf. Dietler, ‘Commensal Politics’; J. Goody, Cooking, Cuisine and Class: A Study in Comparative Sociology (Cambridge, 1982); P. Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. R. Nice (London, 1984), pp. 179–200. B., VD, c. 10 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 34–6); Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 12 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, pp. 22–4). Whilst this is a hagiographic motif, taken ultimately from the Feast of Cana, there is no reason to doubt that running out of drink was a real concern: Roach, ‘Hosting the King’, pp. 36–7.

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Symbols in context These demonstrations were all associated in some manner with concepts of favour – to hold the favour of the king or other important magnates and to give expression to this was clearly of utmost importance. In fact, a veritable obsession with obtaining, holding and demonstrating favour, particularly royal favour, is expressed in all contemporary accounts. As noted, Oswald’s prominent position at court was underlined by his ability to obtain a private audience with Edgar. Other igures are similarly praised for their Königsnähe: Ealdorman Æthelsige, Oswald’s patron, is described as being inluential whenever in the regis praesentia;Wulfstan Cantor recalls that Æthelwold found favour in the praesentia regis, becoming Æthelstan’s inseparable companion; Eadred is said to have loved Abbot Dunstan so much that he made him his chief adviser; and Byrhtferth reports that King Æthelred of Mercia enjoyed discussions with Ecgwine, who was his revered counsellor and spokesman.112 That such royal ideles were a decisive force in politics inds further conirmation in vernacular literature. In book three of the Old English Soliloquies – which departs entirely from Augustine’s text, constituting a largely independent work – the author explains how, when a condemned man sees the favour enjoyed by the king’s favourites, who are gathered around the ruler, his punishments seem greater, whilst for their part the king’s dear ones appreciate more greatly the beneits which they enjoy.113 Further on in the same book the author includes an account of a lord driving his dear one from him, only later to return the man to favour.114 Likewise, in a passage of the Old English Boethius which lacks a direct Latin equivalent Wisdom instructs Boethius that he would not have fallen from Theodoric’s grace had he not enjoyed folly as much as the king’s other favourites.115 Such references demonstrate that in England as on the continent access to the king was at all times restricted by the channels of friendship 112

113

114 115

Byrhtferth, VO III.14 (ed. Lapidge, p. 86); Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 7 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, p. 10); B., VD, c. 19 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 62); Byrhtferth, VE I.10 (ed. Lapidge, p. 222). Old English Soliloquies, book 3, ed. T. A. Carnicelli, King Alfred’s Version of St Augustine’s Soliloquies (Cambridge, MA, 1969), p. 94. From my present perspective the issue of Alfredian authorship is very much secondary, since there is no doubt that the ‘Alfredian’ works are to be ascribed to the period under study. See M. Godden,‘Did King Alfred Write Anything?’, Medium Ævum 76 (2007), 1–23, and ‘The Alfredian Project and its Aftermath: Rethinking the Literary History of the Ninth and Tenth Centuries’, Proceedings of the British Academy 162 (2009), 93–122; D. Pratt, ‘Problems of Authorship and Audience in the Writings of King Alfred the Great’, in Lay Intellectuals in the Carolingian World, ed. P. Wormald and J. L. Nelson (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 162–91; and J. Bately, ‘Did King Alfred Actually Translate Anything? The Integrity of the Alfredian Canon Revisited’, Medium Ævum 78 (2009), 189–215. Old English Soliloquies, book 3 (ed. Carnicelli, pp. 96–7). The Old English Boethius: An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae, ed. M. Godden and S. Irvine, 2 vols. (Oxford, 2009), I, 298 and 445. See further Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 37–8.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England and association and that being able to stand in the royal presence and to communicate directly with the ruler was a particular honour.116 That only those in favour might approach the king is, moreover, suggested by a report in the E-version of the Chronicle for 1051, according to which Earl Godwine and Harold were not allowed into King Edward’s presence because of their rebellious actions.117 A similar concern to prevent those deprived of favour – in this case on legal and moral grounds – from approaching the king is expressed by contemporary legislation, which requires homicides and excommunicates to perform penance before entering into the royal presence.118 The importance of favour is further underlined by the competition that might take place over it, which often led to accusations of favouritism: the anonymous biographer of Edward the Confessor notes that problems were caused when the king ‘lent his ear’ more to Robert of Jumièges than to Godwine; meanwhile the Encomiast observes, doubtless with a hint of criticism, that Eadric Streona held the ear of Edmund Ironside.119 That royal favour was just as hotly competed for in earlier years is suggested by Dunstan’s experiences: according to B. he was thrice ejected from court as a result of the machinations of jealous courtiers, and one imagines that jockeying of a similar kind lies behind many of the changes in charter attestations traced earlier.120 The reason why Königsnähe was so sought after was that there was an important nexus here between displays of favour, on the one hand, and concrete inluence at court, on the other: by being seen to be close to the king, magnates (re)airmed their familiarity with the monarch, demonstrating their position of power.121 Rituals of petition and intercession The importance of holding royal favour lay to a large extent in one’s ability to communicate directly with the king.This made one an ideal intercessor, a igure capable of taking the petitions of those less well placed 116 117

118

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120 121

Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’, pp. 143–4. ASC 1048 E (= 1051) (ed. Irvine, p. 81). Cf. G. Althof, ‘Huld. Überlegungen zu einem Zentralbegrif der mittelalterlichen Herrschaftsordnung’ (1991), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln, pp. 199–228, at 206. I Em 6 (ed. Liebermann I, 184–5); II Em 6 (ibid., pp. 188–9); V Atr 29 (ibid., pp. 244–5); with Treharne, ‘Formula’, p. 196. Given the proximity between penance and submission, one wonders if these clauses point towards an English practice not unlike deditio. See L. Roach, ‘Penance, Submission and deditio: Religious Inluences on Dispute Settlement in Later Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 41 (2013 [for 2012]), 343–71. Vita Edwardi I.3 (ed. Barlow, p. 30); Encomium Emmae II.8 (ed. Campbell, p. 24). Cf. the important observations of Patzold, ‘Konsens und Konkurrenz’. B., VD, cc. 6, 13 and 22 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, pp. 20–4, 42–6 and 68–70). Althof , ‘Huld’. See similarly Jolife, Angevin Kingship, pp. 87–109.

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Symbols in context at court to the ruler or to other members of the witan – indeed entire chains of petition and intercession might be established.122 As noted, a sign of Oswald’s favour is that he is able to bring his monks’ petitions to the king and a number of further descriptions of petitioning survive: Eadgifu is reported to have intervened with Eadred to secure Abingdon for Æthelwold and Dunstan is said to have petitioned Edgar for the appointment of Oswald to Worcester.123 Petitions most often went up ascending levels of hierarchy, as in these cases, but they could also be used by the most powerful igures, including kings. Having intercessors in such situations might strengthen one’s case and help convince otherwise recalcitrant igures. Thus Eadred is said to have called on his mother Eadgifu to ofer Dunstan the see of Crediton; although the attempt ultimately failed, the king evidently believed that Eadgifu might succeed where he alone would not.124 It was only natural that men facing legal accusations would similarly call upon friends and relatives for assistance, and we have seen that intercession and mediation played a central role in legal disputes.125 Much of this intervention was informal, involving helping bring cases to court or pulling strings to ensure a favourable verdict. However, intercession could also take a more formal guise, that of the legal advocate or forespeca, as deined in II Edmund.126 The prominence of Queen Ælfthryth as an advocate in the later tenth century nicely illustrates the workings of the system: as a powerful woman at court she was ideally placed to defend the claims of friends and associates; as a woman, moreover, she seems to have been deemed a particularly appropriate advocate for other women.127 Nevertheless, even the apparently institutionalized forespeca seems to have held a somewhat ambiguous position: he is mentioned only in this one code, although the term appears often enough in dispute records, and Andrew Rabin notes that legal advocacy seems to have been more tolerated than encouraged.128 It is therefore likely that legislation on the 122

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125 126

127

128

G. Althof,‘Verwandtschaft, Freundschaft, Klientel. Der schwierige Weg zum Ohr des Herrschers’, in his Spielregeln, pp. 185–98; H. Kamp, Friedensstifter und Vermittler im Mittelalter (Darmstadt, 2001); Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 70–6; Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster, pp. 264–6 and 272–5; S. Gilsdorf , ‘Dee¯sis Deconstructed: Imagining Intercession in the Medieval West’, Viator 43.1 (2012), 131–74. Wulfstan, VÆ, c. 11 (ed. Lapidge and Winterbottom, p. 18); Byrhtferth, VO III.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 58). B., VD, c. 19 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 62). See also above, pp. 154 and 181–2; and cf. Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 74–6. Above, pp. 122–46. II Em 7 (ed. Liebermann I, 188–91); with Liebermann, Gesetze II, 726 (s.v.Vorsprecher); and Rabin, ‘Old English forespeca’. Rabin, ‘Female Advocacy’. On the (quite diferent) continental tradition of advocacy, see now C. West, ‘The Signiicance of the Carolingian Advocate’, EME 17 (2009), 186–206. Rabin, ‘Old English forespeca’, pp. 236–42.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England issue was more an attempt to regulate the unavoidable but potentially dangerous role of intervention, than to create a formal legal institution ex nihilo – or, in other words, what we are dealing with is a common social practice that went well beyond the legal sphere. As Rabin further notes, legal advocates were generally rewarded for their services with gifts or payments, and it is likely that this was true of intercession more generally.129 The value and nature of such gifts would presumably have varied depending on the context: at one end of the spectrum they might have involved little more than crudely buying the support of a more senior igure, while at the other a small gift between friends or associates might have been a matter of etiquette, little more than a show of appreciation. Most remuneration presumably stood somewhere between these extremes, and it is often diicult to ascertain the precise signiicance of the gifts recorded. Thus Byrhtferth reports that when Oda called Oswald back from Fleury his messengers came loaded with gifts ‘as is customary’ (ut solitus est); whether the custom referred to is that embassies between monastic houses should come bearing gifts or that entreaties should be accompanied by gifts is not immediately clear.130 We have seen in a number of disputes that parties may have gained or secured support for their cause by promising the reversion of lands, and again the line between ‘gift’ and ‘bribe’ may often have been very fuzzy indeed. In some situations intercessors might even have exploited their position to their own beneit. One suspects that this may have been the case in Æthelwold’s intervention with King Edgar to ensure that a certain Oslac was not deprived of his lands. According to the surviving account the king acquiesced on the condition that Oslac pay 100 mancuses, and though it might seem on the face of it that Æthelwold received little beneit for his actions, when Oslac could not pay the sum, he was forced to borrow 40 mancuses from Æthelwold, to whom he gave 40 hides in gratitude (or, perhaps more likely, in exchange).We cannot know whether this result was anticipated from the start, but Oslac does not seem to have been entirely pleased with it, as he later tried to reclaim the land from Ely, and the possibility that Æthelwold was acting out of self-interest therefore must be taken seriously.131 One should not, 129

130 131

Ibid., pp. 247–9, and Rabin, ‘Female Advocacy’, pp. 278–9. See also Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 221–2. Similar norms were observed on the continent: Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 333–8; Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster, pp. 236–8; J.-P. Poly and E. Bournazel, The Feudal Transformation, 900–1200, trans. C. Higgitt (New York, 1991), pp. 189–90. Byrhtferth, VO III.3 (ed. Lapidge, p. 54). The two possibilities are not mutually exclusive. LÆth, c. 29 (= LE II.19, ed. Blake, p. 95). See also J. Pope, ‘Monks and Nobles in the Anglo-Saxon Monastic Reform’, ANS 17 (1994), 165–80, at pp. 169–70, who seems to overlook some of the nuances of this case.

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Symbols in context however, conclude that intercession was merely an aggrandizing exercise: good lords or kind relatives might have genuinely desired the best for their kinsmen and followers and been willing to intervene without any concrete rewards being anticipated – indeed cultivating the image of a ‘good lord’ or ‘good friend’ might be its own beneit.132 Regardless of the motivation behind it, it is clear that intercession played a central role in English politics, much as it did in contemporary East and West Francia. As recent scholarship on these regions demonstrates, intercessors played a crucial role in society at all levels: it was expected that requests for pardon or favour would be made through intercessors and advocates, who would help ensure that their friends and associates received the treatment they deserved.133 How petitions were presented is, however, rarely stated. On the continent requests were generally accompanied by demonstrations of humility: by prostration, kneeling or other gestures of subservience.134 Although explicit descriptions of these acts are scant, the language of petition and supplication suggests that similar gestures may have accompanied requests in England: many of the same Latin terms are used for both secular petitions and prayer (that is, requests for divine intercession), implying a close congruence between the concepts.135 Given this, it seems likely that the gestures of prayer, including kneeling and/or prostration, were also involved in the act of petitioning.136 That prostration before a superior was practised is clear enough: in the Vita S. Ecgwini we are informed that a swineherd, having been introduced to Bishop Ecgwine by a local reeve, threw himself at the saint’s feet; meanwhile the Vita S. Oswaldi reports that a priest prostrated himself before Archbishop Ælfsige before passing on news of a recent vision.137 Even the king prostrated himself during the coronation ceremony (admittedly here before God rather than his people), and Eadwig is said to have knelt before Oda in a gesture of atonement.138 That such 132 133 134

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137 138

See below, pp. 222–3, on such ‘symbolic capital’. See esp. Kamp, Friedensstifter und Vermittler. C. Garnier, Die Kultur der Bitte. Herrschaft und Kommunikation im mittelalterlichen Reich (Darmstadt, 2008), esp. pp. 70–88; G. Althof, ‘Fußfälle: Realität und Fiktionalität einer rituellen Kommunikationsform’, in Eine Epoche im Umbruch. Volksprachliche Literalität 1200–1300, ed. C. Bertelsmeier-Kierst and C. Young (Tübingen, 2003), pp. 111–22; Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 59–76. Thus, for example, the verb exorare is used both for secular petitions and for prayers in Lantfred, Translatio, cc. 25 and 27 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 310 and 314). The observations of Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 8–13 and 56–8; and Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 42–3, therefore hold mutatis mutandis for the English evidence. Byrhtferth, VE II.11 (ed. Lapidge, p. 248); Byrhtferth, VO I.8 (ed. Lapidge, p. 30). Byrhtferth, VO I.3 (ed. Lapidge, p. 13). See also C. Insley, ‘Charters, Ritual and Late TenthCentury English Kingship’, in Gender and Historiography: Studies in the History of the Earlier Middle Ages in Honour of Pauline Staford, ed. J. L. Nelson, S. Reynolds and S. M. Johns (London, 2012), pp. 75–89, on royal self-abasement.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England acts of supplication at least occasionally accompanied petitions is, therefore, to be anticipated. As Eadgifu’s intervention to secure Abingdon for Æthelwold demonstrates, the act of petitioning could be associated with the granting of lands, rights and oices, and it is therefore worth briely considering the processes which lay behind the issuing of diplomas. It stands to reason that, as in other contexts, junior igures would direct their requests through more powerful associates. Unfortunately, however, Anglo-Saxon diplomatic does little to clarify this matter, since, unlike later Carolingian and Ottonian diplomas, which bear an ‘intervention protocol’ recording who intervened or petitioned the king for a grant, English royal charters record these details only in exceptional cases.139 However, a handful of diplomas do mention intervention or petition, either by a third party or the recipient, and it is likely that this was commonplace.140 That most grants were requested by recipients or intermediaries and not spontaneously ofered is suggested by a number of anecdotes in the Libellus Æthelwoldi: Sigewold and Thurstan are said to have petitioned Edgar for Ely, and only when they began to quarrel did the king decide to endow a monastery and place it under Æthelwold’s oversight; Æthelwold is reported to have obtained lands which many others had desired by putting his request to Edgar irst; and Queen Ælfthryth is said to have pleaded with the king on Æthelwold’s behalf to sell land at Stoke to Ely.141 Along similar lines the Ramsey Liber benefactorum records that Archbishop Oswald and Ealdorman Æthelwine jointly requested a charter conirming the monastery’s holdings from Edgar.142 It is likely that in many if not most of these cases such petitions were accompanied by gifts, either for the intercessor or for the king (possibly both), and we have already observed that monetary transactions may more often have lain behind the issuing of charters than the documents themselves suggest.143 That such transactions were common enough is also implied by Byrhtferth’s report that Oswald received his irst minster in Winchester in exchange for an ‘appropriate sum’ (digno 139

H. Bresslau, Handbuch der Urkundenlehre für Deutschland und Italien, 2 vols., 2nd edn (Berlin, 1912–31), Bedeutung von Intervention und Petition’, in Grundwissenschaften und Geschichte. Festschrift für Peter Acht, ed. W. Schlögl and P. Herde (Kallmünz Opf, 1976), pp. 73–7. S 367, 367a, 368, 411, 633, 643, 660, 779, 796, 802. See also Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’, p. 143. Note that some of the sinthama diplomas in favour of the Old Minster, Winchester, claim to have been issued Adelwoldo presule deposcente: S 815–16, 823. However, these charters are of dubious authenticity and if genuine are probably recipient productions: Property and Piety in Early Medieval Winchester: Documents Relating to the Topography of the Anglo-Saxon and Norman City and its Minsters, Winchester Studies 4.iii, ed. A. Rumble (Oxford, 2002), pp. 99–104. LÆth, cc. 3–4, 38 and 51 (= LE II.1–2, II.27 and II.39, ed. Blake, pp. 73–4, 101–2 and 111–12). LB, c. 40 (ed. Macray, pp. 68–70). 143 Above, pp. 91 and 98–9. II, 193–9; A. Gawlik, ‘Zur

140

141 142

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Symbols in context pretio).144 It would seem that obtaining charters was a dynamic process, similar to other acts of petition, in which intercession, often combined with ofers of money, land or other gifts, played a central role. It therefore seems that much wheeling and dealing took place at meetings of the witan, as humble igures would ask lords, relatives or associates to intervene on their behalf with the king or with other igures further up the chain of inluence. Along all lines bonds of association would be brought into play, and the wheels of politics would be greased by gifts and promises. Implicit in the need to petition the king through wellplaced igures at court is a distinction between public and private spheres: royal favourites might obtain a private audience with the king, whilst others would struggle to achieve the same. Contemporary writers show themselves to be well attuned to the diferences between these spheres: Asser’s description of his intimacy with Alfred serves to advertise his position of favour at court; Ordlaf ’s consultation of Alfred in his bedchamber during the Fonthill dispute demonstrates a similar familiarity with the ruler; and Ecgwine’s prominence is underlined by his ability to achieve a ‘private audience’ (singulare colloquium) with the pope.145 Cumulatively this evidence suggests that, much as Gerd Althof has argued for Ottonian Germany, a series of meetings with diferent degrees of publicity would have taken place at English assemblies: at the most private level one-toone discussions with the ruler or small audiences with the most important ealdormen and bishops; then more public discussions with larger groups of ealdormen, bishops and other senior magnates; and inally public acts to pronounce the decisions made.146 As the levels of publicity mounted, it would have become increasingly diicult to express dissent, as the consequences of publicly contradicting the king and his inner circle would have been great, and at the inal act of promulgation any expression of disagreement might come dangerously close to outright rebellion (and might be used to signal this).147 At all stages the most powerful igures would exert the greatest inluence, but would not act out of individual interests alone: they also represented the needs and petitions of their relatives, followers and communities. Only once consultation had been 144 145

146

147

Byrhtferth, VO II.5 (ed. Lapidge, p. 35). Asser, VÆ, c. 88 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 73–4); S 1445 (CantCC 104); Byrhtferth, VE I.13 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 228–30). G. Althof , ‘Colloquium familiare – colloquium secretum – colloquium publicum. Beratung im politischen Leben des frühen Mittelalters’ (1990), repr. in and cited from his Spielregeln, pp. 158–84. See also Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 245–9. Note that this distinction between colloquium secretum and colloquium publicum was already grasped by Lintzel, Hoftage, pp. 3–5. Cf. G. Schwedler, ‘Formen und Inhalte: Entscheidungsindung und Konsensprinzip auf Hoftagen im späten Mittelalter’, in Politische Versammlungen und ihre Rituale, ed. Peltzer et al., pp. 151–79, at 177; Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 48–56.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England concluded could decisions be promulgated.148 That this inal act was still important, however, should not be doubted: it was in this moment that the consensus of the realm was publicly proclaimed and those present conirmed their willingness to impose or obey new measures.149 Rites de passage and the distribution of gifts and oices A number of petitions discussed involved obtaining land or oices for friends and associates, and we have seen that appointments to both secular and ecclesiastical oice might take place at assemblies. Much interest therefore attaches to what (if any) acts were involved in making these appointments. Naturally we are best informed about the entrance of kings into oice, as seen in the numerous descriptions of royal consecrations discussed above. However, rather less is known about the other rites de passage which may have taken place at assemblies, whereby æthelings might have been presented as throne-worthy successors or magnates promoted to new oices.150 The most compelling evidence that æthelings may have undergone a public rite de passage in order to welcome them to court comes from a poem written by a certain John, probably John the Old Saxon, for Æthelstan, which Michael Lapidge convincingly associates with Æthelstan’s formal presentation to the court of King Alfred.151 The precise details of this act are preserved only in William of Malmesbury’s later account of this event in the Gesta regum, according to which Æthelstan was made miles by investment with cloak and sword.152 The suspicion naturally is that this account updates the symbolism of the event, efectively turning it into the knighting ceremony with which William’s audience would have been acquainted. Nevertheless, given the signiicance of swords and weaponry to the Anglo-Saxon aristocratic élite, it should hardly surprise us if comparable forms of weapon investiture were already practised before the 148

149

150 151

152

Byrhtferth thus emphasizes that only after consultation did Oswald and Æthelwine inform the king about the events which transpired at Ramsey’s dedication: VO V.12 (ed. Lapidge, p. 180). Cf. G. Althof, ‘Inszenierung verplichtet. Zum Verständnis ritueller Akte bei Papst-KaiserBegegnungen im 12. Jahrhundert’, FMSt 35 (2001), 61–84; and Pössel,‘Symbolic Communication’, pp. 243–5. Cf. van Gennep, Rites of Passage, pp. 65–115. Lapidge, ‘Some Latin Poems’, pp. 60–71, esp. 67–9. See also Yorke, ‘Edward’, pp. 31–3; and Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies’, pp. 266–74. The alternative reading of the poem ofered by G. R. Wieland, ‘A New Look at the Poem “Archalis clamare triumuir”’, in Insignis sophiae arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren, Publications of the Journal of Medieval Latin 6, ed. Wieland, C. Ruf and R. G. Arthur (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 178–92, does not entirely convince, as it takes little account of the evidence for similar rites in the neighbouring Frankish realms. See also Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 31–3 and 110–12. WM, GRA II.133 (ed. Mynors, p. 210).

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Symbols in context Conquest. Indeed, remarkably similar rites were associated with coming of age in the Carolingian realms, with which Alfred’s court was in close contact, and it may therefore be that William’s account is substantially accurate.153 Certainly William had access to information about (and possibly accounts of) Æthlestan’s reign which no longer survive and we ignore his testimony at our peril.154 Of course, we still cannot be certain that the ritual transpired exactly as described, nor can we tell whether this was the norm, but this account at least suggests that an ætheling might be presented to the court or witan as ‘heir apparent’. It is, moreover, entirely possible that the rite described was relatively commonplace and that when æthelings irst begin attesting royal charters, which as we have seen was often at key moments in their predecessors’ reigns, they were presented to the witan in a similar fashion.155 It is possible that the granting of oices more generally was accompanied by symbolic acts, and it has been observed that the later ceremonies of investiture and knighting have their origin in early medieval traditions of weapon giving.156 Indeed, it has already been suggested that royal oicers in later Anglo-Saxon England were invested with weapons symbolizing their posts.157 One of the key pieces of evidence here is the report in a private charter from Æthelred II’s reign that Ealdorman Ecgferth forfeited his lands ‘by the sword that hung on his hip when he was drowned’ (þurh þæt swyrd þe him on hype hangode þa he adranc), which seems to suggest that the ealdorman’s sword was intimately associated with his landholding and oice.158 It may not, therefore, be too great a leap to suggest that Ecgferth irst received his ealdordom by means of this sword. Comparable forms of investiture are certainly known from ninth- and tenth-century France and Germany, and an interesting analogue is ofered by Thietmar of Merseburg’s report that Count Gerhard of Alsace lost a comitatus along with the spear with which he had been invested; here Gerhard’s loss of the symbol of investiture is presented as

153

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155 156

157 158

J. L. Nelson, ‘Ninth-Century Knighthood: The Evidence of Nithard’ (1989), repr. in and cited from her Frankish World, pp. 75–87; R. Le Jan, ‘Frankish Giving of Arms and Rituals of Power: Continuity and Changes in the Carolingian Period’, in Rituals of Power, ed. Theuws and Nelson, pp. 281–309; T. Reuter, ‘Carolingian and Ottonian Warfare’, in Medieval Warfare: A History, ed. M. Keen (Oxford, 1999), pp. 13–35, at 34–5. Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 250–8; R. M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury: Gesta regum Anglorum, vol. II, General Introduction and Commentary, OMT (Oxford, 1999), pp. 116–18. Above, pp. 40–2. D. Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight, and the Historian, trans. G. R. Edwards (Ithaca, NY, 2009), pp. 209–22, and La chevalerie: de la Germanie antique à la France du XIIe siècle (Paris, 2007), pp. 75–116. Banton, ‘Ealdorman’, p. 16; Tollerton, Wills and Will-Making, pp. 195–6. S 1447 (BCS 1063).

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England being tantamount to the loss of the countship itself.159 The similarities between this account and the report of Ecgferth’s death are striking, and it is interesting to note that in Ecgferth’s case it is his sword, not spear, which represents his post, perhaps indicating a subtle diference between the symbols of oice in England and Germany. This distinction is all the more interesting in the light of Johannes Fried’s observation that whereas the sword was the favoured symbol of oice in Anglo-Saxon and AngloNorman artwork, in the Ottonian-Salian Reich the lance or spear was preferred.160 The later account of Godwine’s submission to King Edward by means of a deditio also seems to associate his oice holding with weaponry, in so far as Godwine is reported to have thrown aside his weapons, thereby relinquishing his earldom – and perhaps by extension secular life more generally – only to be reinvested with these by the king shortly thereafter, signalling his return to oice.161 Furthermore, the tradition of the heriot, a death due paid to one’s lord in war-gear, suggests that followers were felt to owe these items to their lords, a plausible ground being a previous act of investiture.162 Of course, none of this proves that secular oice holding must have been granted by means of investiture, but it does show that weapons were intimately associated with oice and social standing (the two cannot always be distinguished), and that lords might grant these items to their followers on the basis of service. It is only a small step from this to accepting that some form of investiture was at least occasionally practised. Indeed, it has been pointed out that the later rites of ‘feudal’ investiture and reliefs have important pre-Conquest antecedents and we should take the possibility of continuity seriously.163 However, when we come to the parallel issue of the

159

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Thietmar, Chronicon V.21 (ed. Holtzmann, pp. 244–7). Cf. ibid. VI.3 (ed. Holtzmann, pp. 276–7); and more general discussion in P. Depreux, ‘Les récits d’investiture et leur signiication (du IXe au XIe siècle)’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 399–410. J. Fried, Otto III. und Boleslaw Chrobry. Das Widmungsbild des Aachener Evangeliars, der ‘Akt von Gnesen’ und das frühe polnische und ungarische Königtum, Frankfurter historische Abhandlungen 30, 2nd edn (Stuttgart, 2001), pp. 126–7. Cf. ibid., pp. 45–52; and Schramm, Herrschaftszeichen II, 492–537, esp. 522–4. Vita Edwardi I.4 (ed. Barlow, pp. 42–4). Cf. K. J. Leyser, ‘Early Medieval Canon Law and the Beginnings of Knighthood’ (1984), repr. in and cited from his Communications and Power I, 51–71. R. Abels, ‘Heriot’, in BEASE, pp. 235–6; N. Brooks, ‘Arms, Status and Warfare in Late-Saxon England’ (1978), repr. in and cited from his Communities and Warfare, pp. 138–61. Richardson and Sayles, Governance, pp. 42–61; J. Gillingham, ‘The Introduction of Knight Service into England’ (1982), repr. in and cited from his The English in the Twelfth Century: Imperialism, National Identity and Political Values (Woodbridge, 2000), pp. 187–208, and ‘Thegns and Knights in Eleventh-Century England:Who was Then a Gentleman?’ (1995), repr. in and cited from his The English in the Twelfth Century, pp. 163–85.

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Symbols in context appointment of abbots and bishops our sources fail us almost entirely. The only contemporary account which reveals anything of the possible mechanisms behind this is B.’s report that Eadred installed Dunstan as abbot of Glastonbury by seating him in the ‘priestly chair’ (sacerdotalem cathedram), but this was clearly an exceptional case, since Eadred had recently ejected Dunstan from court, so we must be cautious about generalizing on its basis.164 On the other hand, rings and stafs were also associated with episcopal and abbatial oice by this period and it is entirely possible that these were handed over in a symbolic act of appointment.165 Just as meetings of the witan ofered an opportunity for the king to grant lands or oices, so too rulers might use these occasions to distribute other gifts and rewards.We have seen that Hincmar reports that gifts were brought to assemblies in the Frankish realms, and while we have few explicit references to gifts being made at English assemblies, this would doubtless have been common practice.166 Alfred’s will notes that he had given his followers money at Eastertide and, although the document does not state that this was an annual tradition, major feast-days were probably often used to reward followers.167 Many kings were remembered at religious houses for gifts of artefacts as well as land, and some of these were almost certainly also made at meetings of the witan. However, just as assemblies ofered the king an opportunity to distribute wealth, so too they were occasions at which he might collect gifts and dues. We have seen that those wishing for a royal audience or a grant of land might ofer gifts to secure their desires, and it is likely that assemblies more generally were opportunities for people to bring gifts or earnings to the king in the hope of obtaining or maintaining favour. In particular, the Welsh and northern rulers may at times have brought gifts with them, perhaps including the tribute they often owed.168 Thus, while acts of giving and receiving were not limited to assemblies, they ofered a natural stage for them.169 164 165 166 167

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B., VD, c. 14 (ed. Winterbottom and Lapidge, p. 50). Barlow, English Church, pp. 109–11;Vogtherr, ‘Auswahl’, p. 316. Hincmar, De ordine palatii, cc. 6 and 7 (ed. Gross and Schiefer, pp. 82–4 and 92). S 1507 (WinchNM 1). See also Asser, VÆ, c. 81 (ed. Stevenson, pp. 67–8), who remembers being granted Congresbury and Banwell on Christmas Eve; and cf. Notker, Gesta Karoli Magni II.21 (ed. Haefele, pp. 91–2); with Nelson, ‘Rights and Rituals’, pp. 21–2. That tribute was exacted is suggested by the poem Armes prydein, lines 17–2, 69–86, 123–4, ed. I. Williams, Mediaeval and Modern Welsh Series 6 (Dublin, 1972), p. 10; as well as WM, GRA III.134.5 (ed. Mynors, pp. 214–16). See further Dumville, ‘Brittany and “Armes Prydein Vawr”’. See F. Curta, ‘Merovingian and Carolingian Gift Giving’, Speculum 81 (2006), 671–99, esp. pp. 686–8; and J. L. Nelson, ‘The Setting of the Gift in the Reign of Charlemagne’, in The Languages of Gift in the Early Middle Ages, ed. W. Davies and P. Fouracre (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 116–48.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Ritual and de monstrati on at as se m bl i e s : p re l iminary conclu si on s It is time now to bring the threads of this discussion together. It has emerged that a broad variety of ritualized behaviour is regularly reported in contemporary narrative sources, suggestive of a common symbolic discourse. The source material for this demonstrative behaviour may be somewhat less rich than it is for contemporary France or Germany, but it is far richer than has generally been appreciated, suggesting that such symbolic acts were as important in England as they were elsewhere on the continent.170 Most rituals discussed have been found in a variety of sources, and there is not a single important narrative which does not preserve a number of examples of such demonstrative behaviour. What we are dealing with, therefore, is hardly an isolated phenomenon and, although individual sources may deceive, it is tempting to suggest that this ritualized discourse conforms at least roughly to the realities of assembly practice. Nevertheless, making this jump from narrative descriptions to political reality is not unproblematic, and the degree to which the rituals presented in literary accounts relect the realities of medieval politics has been a matter of considerable debate. The following chapter, therefore, will take this issue up, before returning to the role of symbolic communication at assemblies. 170

The irst to emphasize the potential of this material was Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’. Cf. Reuter, ‘Symbolic Acts’, p. 169.

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Chapter 9

R I T UA L A ND R E A L IT Y: T HE P RO BLEM OF T H E S OU R C ES

As noted in the previous chapter, contemporary narrative sources record a wide variety of ritualized behaviour at assemblies and other public events, suggesting that this was a central feature of later Anglo-Saxon politics. Nevertheless, there is a danger in relying as heavily on literary descriptions of these events as we have done hitherto. As Philippe Buc, in particular, warns, rituals can be literary artiices, designed to convey messages or present arguments. Although the rituals described under such circumstances might draw on the real ‘rules of play’ observed by a society, it is also possible that aspects of their presentation are more purely literary, intended to allude to classical or biblical precedent, rather than to report events accurately or even believably.1 Similar issues have been raised by Christina Pössel in her recent work on Carolingian royal ritual, though she is less inclined than Buc to treat ritual demonstration on a purely textual level.2 Therefore, if we are to maintain that the descriptions of ritualized behaviour under consideration are substantially accurate, further evidence must be marshalled. Particularly helpful here is the evidence provided by documentary sources, artwork and the liturgy. Each of these comes with its own diiculties of interpretation and no more than a brief sketch can be ventured, but all provide important ‘controls’ on our narrative accounts. If similar symbolic interests can be found in a number of these diferent source-types, then it becomes increasingly unlikely that what we are observing are purely literary ictions.3 1

2

3

Buc, Dangers of Ritual. See also P. Buc, ‘Ritual and Interpretation: The Early Medieval Case’, EME 9 (2000), 183–210, and ‘Political Rituals and Political Imagination in the Medieval West from the Fourth Century to the Eleventh’, in The Medieval World, ed. P. Linehan and J. L. Nelson (London, 2001), pp. 189–213; and cf. Reuter, ‘Pre-Gregorian Mentalities’, pp. 96–7; and H. Vollrath, ‘Haben Rituale Macht? Anmerkungen zu dem Buch von Gerd Althof: Die Macht der Rituale. Symbolik und Herrschaft im Mittelalter’, HZ 284 (2007), 385–400. Pössel,‘Symbolic Communication’, esp. pp. 26–33. See also C. Pössel,‘The Magic of Early Medieval Ritual’, EME 17 (2009), 111–25. Cf. Nelson, ‘Rights and Rituals’, pp. 23–4; and Patzold, Episcopus, pp. 530–2.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Ritual and symbol i sm beyond narrative s ourc e s Perhaps the clearest case in which diferent types of source come together to create a coherent picture is the interest shown in royal regalia in this period.We have already seen that the symbolism of the crown and coronation was of great interest to writers such as B. and Byrhtferth, but a comparable interest can also be found in many other places. Developments in coronation ordines over this period suggest that the form which ruler consecrations took was a matter of much contemporary interest: the early tenth century saw a move from the ‘First Coronation Ordo’, according to which the king was crowned with helm and invested with staf in militant Old Testament fashion, to the ‘Second Coronation Ordo’, which involved coronation with crown and investment with ring, sword and sceptre.4 Particularly striking here is the introduction of a crown into the ceremony. Iconographic and artistic sources provide further evidence for an interest in crowns in these years: Æthelstan, perhaps the irst ruler to have been consecrated using the Second Ordo, is also the irst king who is frequently represented crowned on his coinage.5 Moreover, the irst English ruler portraits which survive or can be reconstructed accurately are of Æthelstan, both of which similarly present him wearing a crown.6 Later tenth-century artwork of the ‘Winchester School’ develops these interests further. This work, closely associated with the Benedictine reform and the patronage of Bishop Æthelwold, often presents Christ as a crowned monarch, emphasizing both the regality of Christ and the Christological nature of kingship.7 This connection is further underlined by the fact that images of the king, such as that of Edgar in the New Minster Refoundation Charter, present him crowned, highlighting the God-given nature of his oice.8 However, this interest in crowns does not stop with Christ and Edgar: the magi are also presented as crowned monarchs, as is St Benedict.9 Within the glossing tradition which also lowered amongst reformed monastic circles, probably beginning as early 4 5

6

7

8

9

Nelson, ‘Ritual and Reality’, and ‘Second English Ordo’. Blunt, ‘Coinage’, pp. 47–8 and 57. That Æthelstan was the irst to be consecrated with this Ordo is argued by Nelson, ‘Second Anglo-Saxon Ordo’; and Little, ‘Dynastic Strategies’, pp. 311–36. Keynes, ‘Athelstan’s Books’, pp. 170–85; C. E. Karkov, The Ruler Portraits of Anglo-Saxon England, Anglo-Saxon Studies 3 (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 55–63; D. Rollason, ‘St Cuth[b]ert and Wessex: The Evidence of Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 183’, in St Cuthbert, His Cult and His Community to AD 1200, ed. G. Bonner, D. Rollason and C. Stanclife (Woodbridge, 1989), pp. 413–24. R. Deshman, ‘Christus rex et magi reges: Kingship and Christology in Ottonian and Anglo-Saxon Art’, FMSt 10 (1976), 367–405, at pp. 367–77, and Benedictional, pp. 45–8, 92–3 and 192–214. Karkov, Ruler Portraits, pp. 84–118; R. Deshman, ‘Benedictus monarcha et monachus: Early Medieval Ruler Theology and the Anglo-Saxon Reform’, FMSt 22 (1988), 204–40, at pp. 221–3. Deshmann, ‘Benedictus monarcha’, and Benedictional, pp. 26–7, 117–21, 193–5 and 202–4.

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Ritual and reality as Æthelstan’s reign, we similarly observe much attention being given to the rendering of terms for crowns and diadems into the vernacular, relecting a cultural context in which these were clearly ‘buzzwords’.10 Cumulatively the evidence for an interest in crowns, coronations and their symbolism is therefore overwhelming; it would seem that the accounts of Byrhtferth and B. do not stand on their own in this regard, but rather relect a broader socio-political context in which such regalia were of great signiicance.11 Although the example of crowns is perhaps the most striking, evidence for many other aspects of contemporary ritual can be found beyond narrative sources. Thus, for example, the attention given in narrative accounts to grand processions, particularly to adventus ceremonies, also inds relection elsewhere. Liturgical and homiletic sources of the period record the details of the most important church processions, held at Candlemas, Palm Sunday and Rogationtide, which served as the inspiration for these more secular ceremonies.12 Rites such as these are suggestive of an interest in what Brad Bedingield terms the ‘dramatic liturgy’ in these years; that is, liturgical celebration which actively seeks to play out aspects of the biblical events commemorated.13 Representations of these ceremonies are also found in contemporary artwork: the Benedictional of Æthelwold includes a striking image of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the archetypal adventus ceremony and the model for the Palm Sunday procession.14 Moreover, given the emphasis throughout the Benedictional on the kingship of Christ, it is entirely possible that this image also relects a contemporary practice of ceremonial royal entrances at monasteries, as Robert Deshman observes.15

10

11 12

13

14

15

Gretsch, Intellectual Foundations, pp. 98–104; J. Kirschner, Die Bezeichnungen für Kranz und Krone im Altenglischen (Munich, 1975), pp. 177–261. See also Maddicott, Origins, pp. 18–23; and Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 216–23. Candlemas: The Missal of Robert of Jumièges, ed. H. A. Wilson, HBS 11 (London, 1896), pp. 158–60; The Missal of the New Minster, Winchester, ed. D. H. Turner, HBS 93 (Leighton Buzzard, 1962), pp. 69–72; The Portiforium of Saint Wulstan, 2 vols., ed. A. Hughes, HBS 89–90 (Leighton Buzzard, 1956–7), I, 97–8; Ælfric, Catholic Homilies: The First Series (ed. Clemoes. pp. 256–7). Palm Sunday: Canterbury Benedictional, ed. Woolley, pp. 22–8; Pontiicale Lanaletense: A Pontiical Formerly in Use at St Germans, Cornwall, ed. G. H. Doble, HBS 74 (London, 1937), pp. 73–5. Rogation days: Missal of the New Minster, ed. Turner, pp. 7–8; Portiforium, ed. Hughes, I, 62–3; Ælfric, Catholic Homilies: The First Series (ed. Clemoes, p. 318); The Vercelli Homilies and Related Texts, ed. D. Scragg, EETS o.s. 300 (Oxford, 1992), pp. 228–30 and 315–26. M. B. Bedingield, The Dramatic Liturgy of Anglo-Saxon England, Anglo-Saxon Studies 1 (Woodbridge, 2002). The Benedictional of St Æthelwold: A Masterpiece of Anglo-Saxon Art. A Facsimile, ed. A. Prescott (London, 2001), fol. 45v. Deshman, Benedictional, pp. 198–200. Cf. H. Mayr-Harting, Ottonian Book Illumination: An Historical Study, 2 vols. (London, 1991), I, 119–25.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England In the iconography of Christ’s entrance into Jerusalem, as represented in the Benedictional of Æthelwold, Christ’s prominence is underlined by his position at the front of the procession. The illustration of the ceremony for the dedication of a church in the Lanalet Pontiical also depicts such a procession and here too it would seem that those taking part were doing so in order.16 On a general level contemporary artwork shows a clear appreciation for order and hierarchy, not dissimilar to the descriptions of symbolic orders found in written sources: more elevated placement in a portrait implies higher status, as does standing (or sitting) in the middle of a composition or leading a procession. Artists were evidently well aware of the signiicance of such prominence and anticipated an audience with a similar awareness. Such an appreciation for the details of rank and position is also revealed in other sources, perhaps most notably in the carefully ordered witness-lists of diplomas, as discussed earlier. It has been suggested that these lists represent the order of seating at assemblies, or the order in which witnesses traced their non-autograph signa by hand on the charter.17 Both are possibilities and not mutually exclusive. Indeed, since these lists clearly relect the status of those attesting, they presumably represent the orders of seating and standing which would have prevailed at assemblies more generally, since senior igures would naturally expect to be accorded primacy in any public demonstrations.18 Therefore, regardless of precisely what symbolic order witness-lists relect, they do much to corroborate the ample literary and artistic evidence for the importance attached to demonstrations of rank. Diplomas and law-codes also provide conirmation of more general aspects of the symbolic communication witnessed at assemblies, in so far as these documents were not only discussed and drawn up at these events, but also formally presented in a public act of promulgation. Within this context Patrick Wormald rightly noted the importance that Anglo-Saxon law-codes attach to the verbum regis: many are written in the royal ‘voice’ and contain hints that their origins lie in a public declaration made by the king before his people.19 It may be, moreover, that the promulgation of law was followed by the taking of oaths and pledges from those present in a demonstrative act of consent.20 The royal charter presents a somewhat similar picture, as we have seen: a grant would generally be 16 17

18 20

Pontiicale Lanaletense, ed. Doble, pl. 2. J. Campbell, ‘Some Agents and Agencies of the Late Anglo-Saxon State’ (1987), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 201–25, at 223–4; Abrams, ‘Men of the Danelaw’, p. 184; and Maddicott, Origins, p. 15, suggest a seating order; while A Hand-Book to the Land-Charters, and other Saxonic Documents, ed. J. Earle (Oxford, 1888), pp. xxxvi–xxxvii, suggests the tracing of nonautograph signa. Cf. Tock, ‘Mise en scène’. Goetz, ‘Der “rechte” Sitz’; Spieß, ‘Rangdenken’. 19 Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’. VI As 10 (ed. Liebermann I, 181–2); IV Eg 1.5 (ibid., pp. 208–9).

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Ritual and reality discussed and its conditions clariied, before the king ordered the document to be drawn up and publicly handed over to the recipient.21 Thus, as with the making of law, although written documentation was essential, it was also of great moment that the grant be symbolically enacted. The fact that both charters and law-codes were ceremonially promulgated in this fashion thus corroborates the general picture presented in literary works of how decisions at assemblies would irst be made in small groups or behind closed doors then presented to a larger audience. Non-literary sources also reveal aspects of the symbolism of emotional displays. A number of diplomas describe those granting or attesting as doing so ‘happily’ or ‘joyfully’: King Edgar twice grants land hilari vultu;22 numerous kings make grants hilariter or ovans;23 and those attesting are often described as ovantes.24 Since, as we have seen, these documents were generally produced before the conveyance, these terms should not be taken as straightforward descriptions of the ritual act.What they presumably relect, therefore, are commonplace emotional demonstrations: the joy shown by the kings and those witnessing was intended to express their agreement and demonstrate the sincerity of their actions.25 This suggests a close analogy with the descriptions of joy found in literary sources, which seem to have similarly served to underline the consensus behind the acts described. Descriptions of tears and their shedding can likewise be found outside narrative sources, particularly in penitentials and the liturgy for the reconciliation of penitents.We have noted that one of the meanings of tears was to signify regret (for sins) and it is as such that they were accorded importance in penitential contexts.26 The tenth-century ‘Old English Introduction for a Confessor’, a text which explains the ritual for the reception of a penitent before confession, states that he is to prostrate himself before his confessor and with a weeping voice request his penance.27 The ‘Old English Handbook for a Confessor’, probably written by Archbishop Wulfstan II ofYork,28 attaches a similar signiicance to the 21 22

23 24 25

26

27 28

See above, pp. 78–89. S 638, 763. The formulation is biblical in origin: C. S. Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness: Civilizing Trends and the Formation of Courtly Ideals (Philadelphia, PA, 1985), pp. 168–72. Hilariter: S 438, 490, 529, 701, 707. Ovans: S 481, 488, 587–8, 654, 674, 679, 705. S 403, 405, 413, 418, 418a, 419, 422, 426, 474–5, 482, 502, 517a, 517b, 534, 587–8, 641, 654, 705. A similar case is made for the use of hilariter in tenth-century French private charters by F. Vercauteren,‘Avec le sourire …’, in Mélanges oferts à Rita Lejeune, ed. F. Dethier (Gembloux, 1969), pp. 45–56, at 47–50. Tears are also often associated with cleansing properties, which may further explain their prominence in the rites of penance: Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 125. OE Introduction (ed. Frantzen, S 31.01.01). R. Fowler, ‘A Late Anglo-Saxon Handbook for the Use of a Confessor’, Anglia 83 (1965), 1–29, at pp. 6–12; C. Cubitt, ‘Bishops, Priests and Penance in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, EME 14 (2006),

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England penitent’s tears: he is supposed to fast, to spend time praying in church and to try to obtain tears and weep for his sins.29 Within the liturgy such references are even more common. As the ‘Old English Handbook’ suggests, penitents actively prayed for their tears: two penitential prayers in the Portiforium of Saint Wulfstan include requests to be granted tears, while the Missal of Robert of Jumièges contains a missa pro petitione lacrimorum.30 Tears are also often noted in rites for the reconciliation and absolution of penitents: the rites preserved in the Lanalet Pontiical and in the Missal of Robert of Jumièges contain a prayer that God should forgive those lamenting and crying;31 the Egbert Pontiical’s rite includes a prayer noting the weeping of the penitents;32 and the prayers accompanying the rites for the absolution of penitents in the Canterbury Benedictional at no less than three points refer to the penitents’ tears (lacrimas) or weeping (letus).33 It is, therefore, abundantly clear that those performing penance were expected to cry during the ceremony and this suggests a similarly ‘instrumental’ use of emotions to that we have seen in literary sources: tears were meant to send a message, to signify the penitents’ regret.34 We have, therefore, seen that at many turns evidence from documentary, liturgical, art-historical and at times philological sources serves to conirm elements of the symbolic communication reported in literary accounts. The value of these other sources lies in the fact that they conform to diferent conventions and are relatively unlikely to have adopted or adapted tropes directly from contemporary literature. Moreover, the more diferent types of source we can ind attesting to individual rituals and symbols, the greater our certainty can be that these are not simply a product of literary, artistic or formulaic typologies. Of course, there remains a line of continuity between all of these sources, in so far as contemporary writers and artists were acquainted with liturgical practice, whilst diplomas themselves might be written in a distinctly literary form and presented to the recipient in a quasi-liturgical fashion. Moreover, all of these sources were produced by churchmen and preserved within church archives and as such

29

30 31 32 33

34

41–63, at pp. 53–4; J. T. Lionarons, The Homiletic Writings of Archbishop Wulfstan: A Critical Study, Anglo-Saxon Studies 14 (Woodbridge, 2010), pp. 133–5. OE Handbook (ed. Frantzen, D 56.04.01). See also Ælfric, Catholic Homilies: The First Series (ed. Clemoes, p. 344), exhorting men to confess their sins ‘with weeping’ (mid wope). Portiforium, ed. Hughes, II, 6 and 16; Missal of Robert, ed. Wilson, pp. 258–60. Pontiicale Lanaletense, ed. Doble, pp. 75–80, at 76; Missal of Robert, ed. Wilson, pp. 270–2, at 272. Two Anglo-Saxon Pontiicals, ed. Banting, pp. 131–2, at 131. Canterbury Benedictional, ed. Woolley, pp. 29–35. Cf. A Pre-Conquest English Prayer-Book, ed. B. J. Muir, HBS 103 (Woodbridge, 1988), pp. 44–6. Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 316–21; Foxhall Forbes, ‘Notions of Penance’, pp. 103–7.

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Ritual and reality they constitute very much an ecclesiastical perspective. Nevertheless, extreme scepticism is not warranted.35 Coloured though our sources are by their ecclesiastical origins, we should not forget that secular igures were in close contact with the church throughout this era: they were supporters of reformed monasticism;36 they wrote (or dictated) letters, wills and in at least one case a Latin prose chronicle;37 and they were the patrons of writers such as Ælfric of Eynsham.38 Moreover, literary in l avour though some of the descriptions of rituals in narrative sources may be, this alone does not mean that they bear little resemblance to contemporary society. Indeed, Philippe Buc’s criticisms at times come dangerously close to creating a dichotomy between literary representation and the society in which it is produced; yet, as Émile Durkheim long ago observed, a society is constituted not only by its individuals and their environment, but also by the representations (literary and otherwise) it creates of itself.39 Our narrative sources were a part of contemporary discourses about ritual and symbols and thus are not divorced from practice, even if they might not in every case directly mirror it.40 Furthermore, the Bible itself, whence so many topoi were drawn, not only provided examples for literary imitation but also for personal emulation, and we should not forget that people did try to imitate and adapt biblical rites and symbols in daily life (perhaps at times mediated through the ‘dramatic liturgy’). There are, in fact, a number of indications of a heightened interest in ritual and symbolism in this period. We have seen the interest of contemporary literary works in ritual, which inds little parallel in the earlier Anglo-Latin tradition. Robert Deshman points out that a similar lowering of interest in symbolism and ceremonial can be seen in artwork from the time of Alfred the Great onwards, reaching its high point in 35 36

37

38

39

40

Cf. the important arguments of Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 86–93 and 321–4. Pope, ‘Monks and Nobles’; A. Rumble, ‘The Laity and the Monastic Reform in the Reign of Edgar’, in Edgar, ed. Scragg, pp. 242–51; cf. Nightingale, Monasteries and Patrons. Keynes, ‘Fonthill Letter’, pp. 95–6; Gretsch, ‘Language’, pp. 95–8; K. A. Lowe, ‘The Nature and Efect of the Anglo-SaxonVernacular Will’, Journal of Legal History 19 (1998), 23–61; The Chronicle of Æthelweard, ed. A. Campbell (London, 1962), pp. xxxvi–xxxvii and xlv–li; S. Ashley, ‘The Lay Intellectual in Anglo-Saxon England: Ealdorman Æthelweard and the Politics of History’, in Lay Intellectuals, ed. Wormald and Nelson, pp. 218–45. C. Cubitt, ‘Ælfric’s Lay Patrons’, in A Companion to Ælfric, ed. M. Swan and H. Magennis (Leiden, 2009), pp. 165–92. É. Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, trans. K. E. Fields (New York, 1995), pp. 419–29. A similar point is made by Pierre Bourdieu, when he argues that ‘discourse is not something additional (as some tend to lead one to believe when they speak of “ideology”); it is a part of the economy itself ’: Practical Reason: On the Theory of Action, trans. R. Johnson (Cambridge, 1998), p. 119. See also Görich, Ehre Friedrich Barbarossas, pp. 12–16; and Althof, ‘Fußfälle’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the work of the ‘Winchester School’ at the end of our period.41 From a liturgical standpoint the tenth century was similarly an era of development, with particular attention being given to the dramatic possibilities of the liturgy: the attempt was increasingly to visualize and play out biblical narratives.42 Thus at many points the interests of secular ritual, liturgical rite and artistic representation meet, and it might not be inaccurate to suggest that at the highest levels of society a form of ritualized and quasi-liturgical kingship was emerging, not dissimilar to that witnessed in Carolingian Francia and Ottonian Germany.43 It would seem, therefore, that the ninth- and tenth-century English were every bit as interested in rituals as their continental neighbours. T he s ource s of ritual At a number of points we have observed the similarity between the forms of symbolic communication represented in English sources and those found on the continent, particularly in East and West Francia. The question which naturally arises is what caused these similarities and a number of possibilities emerge. A likely source of many of the forms of symbolic display witnessed is contact with the Carolingian realms. Close ties with these were established as early as the reign of Ofa of Mercia (757–96), opening avenues for the imitation and adaptation of Carolingian culture and ritual.44 As the West Saxon dynasty began to achieve ascendancy in the course of the ninth century these contacts if anything intensiied: texts and manuscripts travelled between England and the continent;45 Æthelwulf, Alfred’s 41

42

43

44

45

R. Deshman, ‘Anglo-Saxon Art after Alfred’, Art Bulletin 56 (1974), 176–90, and Benedictional, pp. 215–50. Cf. Mayr-Harting, Book Illumination I, 63–5, aptly characterizing book illumination as the artistic counterpart of political ritual. Bedingield, Dramatic Liturgy, esp. pp. 222–8; H. Mayr-Harting, ‘Artists and Patrons’, in NCMH III, 212–30, at pp. 215–16. N. Staubach, Rex christianus. Hofkultur und Herrschaftspropaganda im Reich Karls des Kahlen, vol. II, Die Grundlegung der ‘religion royale’, Pictura et Poesis 2.ii (Cologne, 1993), pp. 221–81; H. Keller, ‘Herrscherbild und Herrschaftslegitimation. Zur Deutung der ottonischen Denkmäler’ (1985), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft, pp. 167–83 and 298–310 (notes); H. MayrHarting, ‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation der ottonischen Familie’, in Otto der Große: Magdeburg und Europa, 2 vols., ed. M. Puhle (Mainz, 2001), I, 133–48, and Book Illumination I, 57–153. Note that though Körntgen, Königsherrschaft, pp. 161–445, now provides an important critique of Keller’s and Mayr-Harting’s approach, he if anything further underlines the liturgical nature of Ottonian ruler representation. W. Levison, England and the Continent in the Eighth Century (Oxford, 1946); J. Story, Carolingian Connections: Anglo-Saxon England and Carolingian Frankia, c. 750–870 (Aldershot, 2003). R. McKitterick, ‘Exchanges between England and the Continent, c. 450–c. 900’, in History of the Book, ed. Gameson, pp. 313–37; R. Gameson, ‘The Circulation of Books between England and the Continent, c. 871–c. 1100’, in History of the Book, ed. Gameson, pp. 344–72.

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Ritual and reality father, married Charles the Bald’s daughter, Judith, and had a Frankish letter-writer, Felix;46 while Alfred’s own reign saw much adoption and adaptation of Carolingian ideas.47 The Carolingian rulers of the eighth and ninth centuries in many ways set the bar for their successors when it came to ritualized display. Thus, as Carlrichard Brühl has shown, the Ottonian tradition of festival crownings (Festkrönungen) has its origins in the Carolingian period, and more recent studies emphasize that etiquette and display were of central importance at court and assemblies in these years.48 Where Frankish inluence on England is perhaps clearest is in the form of the irst and second English coronation ordines, which developed out of the West Frankish liturgical tradition.49 In the tenth century, contacts intensiied further under Æthelstan, who was connected by marriage to all of the major royal and ducal families of Western Europe.50 After Æthelstan the interest in dynastic links waned, but the existing cultural and political ties were maintained. Indeed, an increase in ecclesiastical contacts was brought about by the monastic reform, which was inspired by similar movements on the continent and thus ensured that the channels for inluence remained wide open.51 A particularly important source of inspiration in these later years may have been the Ottonian court, with which especially close ties were forged. Æthelstan’s half-sister Eadgyth married Otto I, and this connection continued to be remembered at the end of the century, when Æthelweard wrote his Chronicon for Abbess Mathilda of Essen.52 We know that these familial links paved the way for individuals and books 46

47 48

49

50

51

52

P. Staford, ‘Charles the Bald, Judith and England’ (1981), repr. in and cited from her Gender, Family and the Legitimation of Power, no. I; Lupus of Ferrières, Epistola 13, ed. E. Dümmler, Epistolae Karolini Aevi, vol. IV, MGH: Epp. 6 (Berlin, 1925) pp. 22–3. See mostly recently Scharer, Herrschaft und Repräsentation; and Pratt, Political Thought. C. Br ühl, ‘Fränkischer Krönungsbrauch und das Problem der “Festkrönungen”’ (1962), repr. in and cited from his Aus Mittelalter und Diplomatik. Gesammelte Aufsätze, 3 vols. (Hildesheim, 1989–97), I, 351–412, and ‘Kronen- und Krönungsgebrauch im fr ühen und hohen Mittelalter’ (1982), repr. in and cited from his Aus Mittelalter und Diplomatik, I, 413–43; J. L. Nelson, ‘Was Charlemagne’s Court a Courtly Society?’ (2003), repr. in and cited from her Courts, Elites, and Gendered Power, no. XI; Depreux, ‘Gestures’; Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’. J. L. Nelson, ‘The Earliest Royal Ordo: Some Liturgical and Historical Aspects’ (1980), repr. in and cited from her Politics and Ritual, pp. 341–60, and ‘The Second English Ordo’. V. Ortenberg, ‘“The King from Overseas”: Why did Æthelstan Matter in Tenth-Century Continental Afairs?’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 211–36; S. Foot, ‘Dynastic Strategies: The West Saxon Royal Family in Europe’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 237–53. P. Wormald, ‘Æthelwold and his Continental Counterparts: Contact, Comparison, Contrast’ (1988), repr. in and cited from his Times of Bede, pp. 169–206; H. Dauphin, ‘Le renouveau monastique en Angleterre au Xe siècle et ses rapports avec la réforme de Saint Gérard de Brogne’, Revue Bénédictine 70 (1960), 177–96; L. Donnat, ‘Recherches sur l’inluence de Fleury au Xe siècle’, in Études ligériennes d’histoire et d’archéologie médiévales, ed. R. Louis (Auxerre, 1975), pp. 165–74. van Houts, ‘Matilda of Essen and Aethelweard’.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England to pass between the Ottonian and English courts and we should do well to presume that ideas, rumours and reports travelled along with them. Because of its location on the Rhine, Lotharingia was in particularly close contact with England and important economic ties between the regions began to develop.53 At the Ottonian court ritual and display were cultivated to a level scarcely matched elsewhere in Western Europe.54 Indeed, the Carolingian West Frankish dynasty seems to have begun to borrow from, adapt and react to Ottonian royal ritual in this period, and it should therefore hardly come as a surprise if the English had done likewise.55 It has been noted that Abbot Æscwig of Bath was sent to the Ottonian court shortly before Edgar’s second coronation in 973 and the suspicion is that he played a decisive role in the planning of this event. In particular, one cannot help but wonder whether the Carolingian and Ottonian tradition of festival crownings might not have made an impression on the abbot and the other emissaries with him, perhaps inspiring the very concept of a second coronation. In fact, Æscwig may even have been present at Otto I’s court for Palm Sunday and Easter in 973, which according to Thietmar of Merseburg were celebrated with particular solemnity.56 Furthermore, it is possible that the very interest in regalia at the English court, visible as early as Æthelstan’s reign, owed something to Ottonian inspiration, perhaps mediated in this case through Coenwald of Worcester, who had visited the Reich on Æthelstan’s behalf in 928/9 to arrange Eadgyth’s marriage to Otto.57 53

54

55

56

57

H. Mayr-Harting, Church and Cosmos in Early Ottonian Germany: The View from Cologne (Oxford, 2007), pp. 10–11; M. Hare, ‘Cnut and Lotharingia: Two Notes’, ASE 29 (2000), 261–78, at pp. 269–77. IV Atr 2.8 (ed. Liebermann I, 234) implies that exemptions were being ofered to imperial merchants in London. However, this text is problematic and the relevant section may be interpolated: D. Keene, ‘Text, Visualization and Politics: London, 1150–1250’, TRHS 6th ser. 18 (2008), 69–99, at pp. 93–4; cf. S. Lebecq and A. Gautier, ‘Routeways between England and the Continent in the Tenth Century’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 17–34, at 28–9. K. J. Leyser, ‘Ritual, Ceremony and Gesture: Ottonian Germany’, in his Communications and Power I, 189–213; Althof , Macht der Rituale, pp. 68–135; Mayr-Harting, ‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation’; T. Reuter, ‘Regemque, quem in Francia pene perdidit, in patria magniice recepit: Ottonian Ruler Representation in Synchronic and Diachronic Comparison’ (1998), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 127–46. Koziol, Begging Pardon, pp. 109–37; B. Schneidmüller,‘Wahrnehmungsmuster undVerhaltensformen in den fränkischen Nachfolgereichen’, in Deutschland und der Westen Europas im Mittelalter,Vorträge unf Forschungen 56, ed. J. Ehlers (Stuttgart, 2002), pp. 263–302, at 280–9, and ‘Fränkische Bindungen – Heinrich I., Otto der Große, Westfranken und Burgund’, in Otto der Große, ed. Puhle, I, 503–16, at pp. 514–15. Thietmar, Chronicon II.30–1 (ed. Holtzmann, pp. 76–9); Leyser, ‘Ottonians and Wessex’, pp. 95–7; Keynes, ‘Edgar’, pp. 49–50; cf. Klewitz, ‘Festkrönungen’. Keynes, ‘Koenwald’; J. Ehlers, ‘Sachsen und Angelsachsen im 10. Jahrhundert’, in Otto der Große, ed. Puhle, I, 489–502, at pp. 493–7, and ‘Die Königin aus England’, pp. 33–9; W. Georgi, ‘Bischof Keonwald von Worcester und die Heirat Ottos I. mit Edgitha’, Historisches Jahrbuch 115 (1995), 1–40.

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Ritual and reality Yet the Ottonian Reich is not the only potential point of inluence in the tenth century. Much of Ottonian royal ritual was a development and adaptation of existing Carolingian practice, aspects of which might have been known to the English independently, as we have seen.58 Moreover, close links were also maintained throughout these years with both the West Frankish court and the counts of Flanders, which would have provided further avenues for continental developments to reach England. Thus Louis IV (d’Outremer) of West Francia had an English mother, Eadgifu, and was raised at Æthelstan’s court, while Hugh of Francia, the kingdom’s most powerful magnate, was married to another of Æthelstan’s sisters, Eadhild.59 Ties with Flanders, on the other hand, went back to Alfred the Great’s reign, when Count Baldwin II married one of Alfred’s daughters, Ælfthryth, and these contacts were maintained throughout the tenth century, thanks at least in part to the monastic reform movement, which brought the circles of Flemish monasticism into close contact with their English counterparts.60 Flanders itself straddled the East and West Frankish realms, and it is not without reason that Julia Barrow singles it out as a potentially important point of inluence in these years.61 However, England’s more immediate Insular neighbours in Wales, North Britain and Ireland may also have inspired some of the forms of ritualized display we have seen. Unfortunately, the evidence here is extremely hard to trace, since no detailed narrative sources survive from these regions to place alongside those from England or the continent. Nevertheless, there can be no doubt that assemblies played an important role in politics in these polities, and it is likely that such events were similarly characterized by pomp and display.62 Certainly if we look at the more detailed narratives preserved in slightly later works, such as the early twelfth-century Cogad Gáedel re Gallaib, we can ind ample evidence for kingship in these regions taking on a similarly ritualized form.63 On a more general level what was slowly developing in these years was a more uniied ‘Western

58

59 60

61 62

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Reuter, ‘Carolingian Tradition’; H. Keller, ‘Die Ottonen und Karl der Große’, FMSt 34 (2000), 112–31. MacLean, ‘Making a Diference’; Foot, ‘Dynastic Strategies’. P. Grierson, ‘The Relations between England and Flanders before the Norman Conquest’, TRHS 4th ser. 23 (1941), 71–112; S.Vanderputten, ‘Canterbury and Flanders in the Late Tenth Century’, ASE 35 (2006), 219–44. Barrow, ‘Demonstrative Behaviour’, pp. 134 and 148–50. See B. Jaski, Early Irish Kingship and Succession (Dublin, 2000), pp. 49–56; and T. Charles-Edwards, ‘Gorsedd, dadl, and llys: Assemblies and Courts in Medieval Wales’, in Assembly Places and Practices, ed. Pantos and Semple, pp. 95–105, on Irish and Welsh assemblies respectively. Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh: The War of the Gaedhil with the Gaill, or the Invasions of Ireland by the Danes and other Norsemen, ed. J. H. Todd, Rolls Series 48 (London, 1867). On which, see M. Ní Mhaonaigh, Brian Boru: Ireland’s Greatest King (Stroud, 2007), pp. 39–52, 66–79 and 131–3.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England European’ culture, which allowed room for local variation, but saw many of the same features come to predominate throughout France, England, Germany and beyond.64 Under such circumstances a greater degree of homogeneity in political ritual was only to be anticipated. However, although much inspiration is certainly to be ascribed to the inluence of England’s neighbours, this should not lead us to neglect more local traditions. There is every reason to believe that Anglo-Saxon kings from earliest times made use of symbolic means to communicate their authority, and inluences from elsewhere would therefore have been adapted into an existing framework, rather than slotted into a void. Moreover, cross-Channel inluences would always have been two-way, and Anglo-Saxon traditions may just as well have inluenced their continental and insular neighbours as the reverse. As we have seen, the English kings of this period were, like their continental counterparts, heirs to the Carolingian tradition of royal ritual and pomp and in some cases it may be that they served as the immediate inspiration for their neighbours, rather than vice versa.Thus, for example, our best evidence for the Ottonian commitment to ritual and regalia comes from late tenth- and early eleventh-century sources, quite some time after a similar interest in crowns is witnessed in England under Æthelstan.65 It may be signiicant that Bruno of Cologne, who as Otto I’s brother and archbishop of Cologne would have been in close contact with the English court, has been seen as the driving force behind the dynasty’s developing interest in crowns and the symbols of rule (Herrschaftszeichen).66 Indeed, the prelate had been tutored by Israel the Grammarian, who himself had spent time at Æthelstan’s court and had irsthand experience of English political culture.67 However, be that as it may, to present any such inluences travelling in only one direction would be to oversimplify what was doubtless a complex situation, and developments on either side of the Channel (and also Rhine, for that matter) probably inluenced one another in a dynamic fashion over these years.68 64

65 66

67

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Southern, Making of the Middle Ages, pp. 17–72; R. Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350 (London, 1993). See similarly Foot, Æthelstan, p. 221. Mayr-Harting,‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation’, pp. 141–4; R. Staats, Theologie der Reichskrone. Ottonische ‘Renovatio Imperii’ im Spiegel einer Insignie, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 13 (Stuttgart, 1976), pp. 120–7; G. Wolf , Die Wiener Reichskrone, Schriften des Kunsthistorischen Museums 1 (Vienna, 1995), pp. 105–11. Ruotgar, Vita Brunonis archiepiscopi Coloniensis, c. 7, ed. I. Ott, MGH: SRG n.s. 10 (Cologne, 1958), p. 8. See M. Lapidge, ‘Israel the Grammarian in Anglo-Saxon England’ (1992), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Latin Literature, pp. 87–104; and M. Wood, ‘A Carolingian Scholar in the Court of King Æthelstan’, in England and the Continent, ed. Rollason et al., pp. 135–62. Cf. Bihrer, Begegnungen, pp. 341–8, whose conviction that no clear inluences between these kingdoms can be discerned efectively constitutes an argument from silence.

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Ritual and reality Finally, it is important to bear in mind that the English might have at times independently developed similar forms of symbolic expression to those found elsewhere. Important impulses both in England and on the continent in these years came from the circles of reformed monasticism, which, as Karl Leyser once observed, were strongly committed to ritualized display.69 Particularly important here must have been the inluence of the liturgy, which as we have noted could be a potent source of symbols and rituals and for many laymen would have been the main point of contact with the Bible, which they would have heard read during the mass and scenes from which they might have seen acted out. Only certain aspects of liturgical observance were open to the laity, but these included some of the most dramatic celebrations: the major feasts of Easter, Christmas and Pentecost; the expulsion and reconciliation of penitents in the Lenten period; the dramatic Candlemas, Palm Sunday and Rogationtide processions; and baptism, itself often associated with the Easter observances.70 On a more quotidian level the mass, oice and private acts of prayer were not without their own symbolic power, and echoes of these can be found in the acts of supplication and in the rituals of greeting described in literary sources (one thinks in particular of the importance of the osculum pacis within the mass).71 Indeed, the liturgy was of central importance to royal authority in Merovingian and Carolingian Francia, and there is reason to believe that this was also true of England, particularly in the years after the Benedictine reform.72 Thus important aspects of public worship were open to the laity, and it is from these rituals to which laymen were privy that much of the symbolic language of our sources derives. Given this, it is likely that some of the similarities we see in these years are due less to conscious copying than to the existence of a similar ‘ritual vocabulary’ on either side of the Channel. It would seem, therefore, that symbolic communication entered political life via a number of avenues. It is likely that a long-standing tradition of royal ritual and symbolism existed, but that onto this were grafted 69

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Leyser,‘Ritual, Ceremony and Gesture’, pp. 194–5. See also Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen, pp. 334–46; Mayr-Harting, Book Illumination I, 83–8; and Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster, pp. 281–9. On lay interaction with the liturgy in these years, see Bedingield, Dramatic Liturgy; and H. Foxhall Forbes, Heaven and Earth in Anglo-Saxon England:Theology and Society in an Age of Faith (Farnham, 2013); and cf. D. A. Bullough, ‘The Carolingian Liturgical Experience’, Studies in Church History 35 (1999), 29–64, grappling with somewhat similar issues. For a general introduction, see C. Vogel, The Medieval Liturgy: An Introduction to the Sources, trans. W. G. Storey and N. K. Rasmussen (Washington, DC, 1986). See J. A. Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development, 2 vols., trans. F. A. Brunner (Westminster, MA, 1951–5), II, 321–32. Y. Hen, The Royal Patronage of Liturgy in Frankish Gaul to the Death of Charles the Bald, HBS: subsidia 3 (Woodbridge, 2001); I. H. Garipzanov, The Symbolic Language of Authority in the Carolingian World (c. 751–877) (Leiden, 2008), pp. 43–100.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England important new developments.These were at least in part inspired by contacts with the Carolingian and post-Carolingian rulers of what were to become France and Germany, but probably also at times represent independent or partly independent adaptations from the liturgy. The result was a society in which rituals were used lexibly, as they were elsewhere: some relatively set rites were known, but new ones might be developed or existing traditions adapted to it any given situation.73 Conclusions If, as I have argued, we can largely take our narrative sources at face value, then it emerges that symbolic communication played a central role at English assemblies of this period. Provided we are willing to take up Johannes Fried’s call for us to use our imagination more creatively, these descriptions of ritualized behaviour can shed further light on more general aspects of assembly politics, as discussed in previous chapters.74 We can well imagine that assembly attendance would have been symbolic: magnates might have been greeted by the king upon arrival and if they were not, or, for that matter, if they refused to show up altogether, this would doubtless have been registered by the others present. Indeed, prominent absences, such as those of Frithestan of Winchester in the early years of Æthelstan’s reign, would not have gone unnoticed.75 The choice of assembly sites was also important, since such locations formed the stages for the types of ritualized display which took place. Thus we should envisage an event such as Æthelstan’s Lifton assembly of 12 November 931, which as we have seen is to be associated with the king’s political manoeuvring in the south-west, as a demonstrative act, designed to advertise the new political order in the region to those present (who, it should be recalled, included the neighbouring Welsh rulers).76 Even more routine acts, such as the granting of charters and making of laws, could send important and timely messages: the issuing of a diploma might demonstrate the recipient’s favour, whilst law-making presented a powerful image of regality.77 It would not be far from the truth to say that 73

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G. Althof, ‘The Variability of Rituals in the Middle Ages’, in Medieval Concepts of the Past: Ritual, Memory, Historiography, ed. Althof , J. Fried and P. J. Geary (Cambridge, 2002), pp. 71–87, and ‘Baupläne der Rituale im Mittelalter. Zur Genese und Geschichte ritueller Verhaltensmuster’, in Die Kultur des Rituals. Inszenierungen, Praktiken, Symbole, ed. C. Wulf and J. Zifras (Munich, 2004), pp. 177–97. Cf. Fried, ‘Wissenschaft und Phantasie’. See above, pp. 34–5; and cf. G. Althof, ‘Herrschaftsausübung durch symbolisches Handeln oder: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der Herrschaft durch Zeichen’, Settimane 52 (2005), 367–94, at pp. 387–8. See above, pp. 60–2. 77 See above, pp. 89–94; and Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’.

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Ritual and reality all business conducted at assemblies could take on symbolic resonances and therefore approaching these events from the standpoint of ritual and symbolic communication brings together many of this book’s themes. Yet accounts of ritualized display serve not only to ill out details hinted at elsewhere, but also provide additional insights into aspects of assembly politics which might otherwise be overlooked. In particular, women, who hitherto have appeared only in the guise of royal brides and periodic witnesses to transactions, emerge as a more powerful force in narrative accounts: though assemblies were very much a man’s world, queens and dowagers, such as Eadgifu and Ælfthryth, could evidently play an important part at these events.78 Hence, contrary to common report, pre-Conquest English sources are just as interested in ritual and symbolism as their continental equivalents and on their basis alone we should conclude that demonstrative behaviour was as important in ninth- and tenth-century England as it was elsewhere. Our sources may be somewhat thinner on the ground than they are for the Ottonian Reich or parts of West Francia, but they tell a remarkably similar tale: meetings of the witan were carefully choreographed events, not unlike Ottonian crown-wearings or the French, Catalan and Flemish ‘Peace of God’ assemblies. Of course, some writers devote more time to ritualized display than others: Byrhtferth is notable for his interest in such matters, while the Chronicle rarely describes them. Nevertheless, when assemblies or public events are reported, all of our writers agree that these were occasions at which demonstrative behaviour and display were crucially important. The situation is, in fact, little diferent from that in Ottonian Germany, that archetypal example of a highly ritualized polity, where some sources ofer much richer pickings for scholars of symbolic communication than others: Thietmar of Merseburg stands out for his interest in symbols and rituals, while Adalbert of Magdeburg’s Continuatio Reginonis devotes comparatively little space to such matters.79 We should no more conclude on the basis of Adalbert’s account that the Ottonian period saw little interest in symbolic display, than should we presume the same for England on the basis of the Chronicle. Rather we must take all of the narrative material together and compare it with other evidence, as attempted here.The result is a remarkably consistent picture, one which suggests that rituals did catch the attention of contemporaries in England and were felt worthy of recording. Later Anglo-Saxon 78 79

On the gendered nature of medieval assemblies, see Nelson, ‘Charlemagne’s Court’, pp. 43–4. One wonders if Adalbert’s reticence is due to his annalistic framework; cf. J. L. Nelson,‘Carolingian Royal Funerals’, in Rituals of Power, ed. Theuws and Nelson, pp. 131–84, at 175–6; and Depreux, ‘Gestures’, p. 70.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England political culture was therefore very much a ‘culture of signs and symbols’, and a late Carolingian or Ottonian courtier would have found relatively little surprising at the court of an Æthelstan or an Edgar.80 As elsewhere in Europe, one of the main roles of ritualized display at assemblies was to present and conirm consensus, to advertise the willing countenance of those present and to bind them to the decisions made.81 Nevertheless, this does not mean that rituals were purely communicative and did not possess a power of their own. Recent research emphasizes that communication itself was an essential part of power and authority in the earlier Middle Ages; there was an extent to which consensus existed only when activated and presented before an audience.82 Symbolic acts therefore formed an essential part of the business of assemblies and, as Thomas Bisson insightfully notes, in such contexts ritualized celebration was part and parcel of political persuasion.83 Doubtless much of this symbolic display was planned and controlled – ‘staged’ (inszeniert), to borrow Gerd Althof ’s favoured metaphor.84 Still, this should not lead us to presume that there was no lexibility: as Althof ’s critics point out, within the Ottonian Reich as elsewhere there is ample evidence that rituals allowed room for improvisation.85 Part of the very power of rituals lay in this lexibility, in the fact that they might be deployed in scenarios which had not been subject to prior planning. B.’s account of Eadwig’s coronation feast suggests just this: surely the king did not plan to abandon the feast early, any more than Oda intended from the start to send Dunstan and Cynesige after him; nevertheless, these igures responded dynamically to developments. Although this polemical account cannot be taken simply at face value, as we have seen, it must still have been conceivable to both B. and his audience that rituals might fall prey to such sudden, apparently whimsical decisions. Indeed, important as the symbolism of feasting doubtless was, meals and banquets are some of the least predictable and controllable of events: people get drunk, tongues 80

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Cf. G. Althof, ‘Die Kultur der Zeichen und Symbole’ (2003), repr. in and cited from his Inszenierte Herrschaft, pp. 274–97. Nelson,‘How Carolingians Created Consensus’. See also C. Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (Oxford, 1997), p. 137, commenting on the ability of ritual ‘to generate social consensus’. See Kershaw, Peaceful Kings, pp. 12–14; and C. West, ‘Evaluating a Conlict at Court: A West Frankish Perspective’, in Streit am Hof, ed. Becher and Plassmann, pp. 317–30, at 324–6. T. N. Bisson, ‘Celebration and Persuasion: Relections on the Cultural Evolution of Medieval Consultation’, Legislative Studies Quarterly 7 (1982), 181–204. See also S.Weinfurter,‘Versammlungen und politische Willensbildung zwischen Inszenierung und Ritual. Zusammenfassende Überlegungen’, in Politische Versammlungen und ihre Rituale, ed. Peltzer et al., pp. 273–9, at 276. Althof , ‘Demonstration und Inszenierung’. See also Reuter, ‘Symbolic Acts’, pp. 167–9. Patzold, Konlikte im Kloster, pp. 281–9; Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’, pp. 26–33; Melve, ‘Assembly Politics’; M. Borgolte, ‘Biographie ohne Subjekt, oder wie man durch quellenixierte Arbeit Opfer des Zeitgeistes werden kann’, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen 249 (1997), 128–41.

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Ritual and reality wag and dissent potentially lies around every corner.86 The dangers of feasting were well known and are often noted in vernacular literature. Thus, to pick perhaps the most famous example, when Beowulf predicts that peace between the Danes and Heathobards will not last, he envisages strife being renewed by a drunken warrior at a feast.87 It should, therefore, be clear that rituals were by no means always successful at creating and consolidating consent – as Philippe Buc rightly notes, they were dangerous and might fail.88 Moreover, to say that politics was consensual is by no means to imply that all of those present at assemblies and other public events were pleased by the decisions made and presented: doubtless there was often pressure to reach agreement and ierce competition over positions of power and inluence, as the experiences of Dunstan vividly illustrate.89 However, none of this undermines the signiicance of ritualized display in the formation of political consensus.90 If anything the fact that rituals might fail and could be controversial underlines their importance: our writers take such joy in successful ritualized display, in working consensus, because it was diicult to obtain and not to be taken for granted. In this respect Christina Pössel is probably right to see the consent presented at early medieval assemblies as part of what James C. Scott would term a ‘public transcript’; that is, as part of an ideological statement about the correct order of society, which takes its very power from being made and accepted publicly.91 Such public transcripts need not be welcomed by all members of society (indeed, by deinition they are not) – what matters is that they are recognized, since recognition alone implies acquiescence and acceptance. 86

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See H.-W. Goetz, ‘Spielregeln, politische Rituale und symbolische Kommunikation in der Merowingerzeit. Das Beispiel Gregors von Tours’, in Spielregeln der Mächtigen. Mittelalterliche Politik zwischen Gewohnheit und Konvention, ed. C. Garnier and H. Kamp (Darmstadt, 2010), pp. 33–59, at 39–40; and cf. P. O’Leary ‘Contention at Feasts in Early Irish Literature’, Éigse 20 (1984), 115–28. Beowulf, lines 2029b–2069a, ed. R. D. Fulk, R. E. Bjork and J. D. Niles, Klaeber’s Beowulf and the Fight at Finnsburg, 4th edn (Toronto, 2009), pp. 69–70. Buc, Dangers of Ritual, esp. pp. 15–50. Patzold, ‘Konsens und Konkurrenz’; Schwedler, ‘Formen und Inhalte’. On the power of ritual, see Bell, Ritual, pp. 128–35; and, from an early medieval perspective, Pössel, ‘Early Medieval Ritual’. Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’, pp. 237–9. See J. C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: The Hidden Transcript of Subordinate Groups (New Haven, CT, 1990), esp. pp. 45–69; and cf. J. Comarof, Body of Power, Spirit of Resistance: The Culture and History of a South African People (Chicago, 1985).

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Chapter 10

T H E ROL E OF T H E WITAN : CELEBRATI O N A ND PE R S UA S IO N

One of the most extraordinary features of English history in the late ninth and tenth centuries is the clear evidence for regular, well-attended royal assemblies. As we have seen, these dealt with a great variety of business, handling much of the administration of the realm. Indeed, the impression is that when the witan was unable to meet or only able to meet irregularly, much of the business of kingship was put on hold. Thus during the early years of Æthelstan’s reign, when the newly elected king seems to have struggled for acceptance in Wessex, few charters were issued and no law-codes were produced, while likewise Edward the Martyr’s brief and troubled reign produced few diplomas and no known legislation. Even more telling is the evidence (or lack thereof) from Eadred’s later years, during which illness apparently prevented the king from attending assemblies.1 Although meetings seem to have continued to take place in his absence, they were rarer and seem to have dealt with a more limited set of issues – no law-codes were produced, few diplomas were issued and appointments to ealdordoms were apparently avoided.2 Although the absence or rarity of assemblies in such cases might be seen primarily as a result, rather than cause, of political instability,3 it was probably often both cause and efect: assemblies met more rarely (or not at all) because of existing problems, but without them it was hard to re-establish consensus and overcome these diiculties. Although surviving narratives provide detailed descriptions of only a small number of these events, they allow us to get a l avour of what assemblies must have been like: they were impressive, not only in terms of attendance, but also in terms of the fanfare and show put on. They 1

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The key evidence here is Eadred’s absence from the witness-lists of ‘Dunstan B’ diplomas from 951 onwards: Keynes, Atlas, table XXIX, and ‘“Dunstan B” Charters’, pp. 185–6. Cf. Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 122–6. See C.Wickham, Problems in Doing Comparative History, Reuter Lecture 2004 (Southampton, 2005), pp. 21–2.

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The role of the witan were the stages for one of the most successful dynasties in English history and played an important role in the processes of uniication which were underway in these years. At meetings of the witan more clearly than anywhere else we can see Northumbrians, Danes, Mercians and West Saxons interacting, and such regular assemblies doubtless contributed to a growing sense of unity, forged in the face of common dangers and enemies.4 As at a number of other points, similarities suggest themselves with the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich, where defensive eforts against the Magyars are felt to have contributed to the development of a sense of collective identity in these years.5 Indeed, it should not be forgotten that, for all the successes of contemporary rulers, the English kingdom was under severe pressure at many points during this period: the viking threat was ever present and many rulers were only in their mid-teens at the point of their accession.6 One can only assume that under such circumstances these rulers were guided signiicantly by the help and advice of elder statesmen, such as Æthelstan ‘Half-King’ and Coenwald of Worcester, advice which would have often been given at assemblies. K i ng ship and conse nt : the W I T A N and th e late Anglo-S axon state It is in this act of pulling together and ensuring common involvement that the ambiguities of assembly politics begin to show themselves.Whilst regular assemblies and high attendance might be seen as indications of strong central authority, as evidence that rulers could command their followers’ presence, the involvement of so many people beyond the king in ruling the realm would also seem to limit royal authority substantially, precluding any form of absolutism.7 It is in the face of such apparent paradoxes that historians since the 1980s have increasingly moved away from traditional models of medieval kingship, according to which the king and aristocracy were seen as oppositional forces in a struggle for power, to ones which emphasize the cooperative nature of rulership (or 4

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Foot, ‘Angelcynne’; Wormald, ‘Engla Lond’; Scharer, Herrschaft und Repräsentation, pp. 118–33; N. Brooks, ‘English Identity from Bede to the Millennium’, HSJ 14 (2005), 33–51, at pp. 43–51. See esp. G. Althof, Amicitiae und Pacta. Bündnis, Einigung, Politik und Gebetsgedenken im beginnenden 10. Jahrhundert, MGH: Schriften 37 (Hanover, 1992). More generally, see Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, pp. 151–60, 180–1 and 209–12; and I. D. Evrigenis, Fear of Enemies and Collective Action (Cambridge, 2008). Ofergeld, Reges pueri, pp. 169–72; Wickham, Comparative History, pp. 17–18. It is not without reason that some scholars characterize rulership in these years as almost oligarchic: Fleming, Kings and Lords, pp. 21–39;Wickham, Comparative History, pp. 23–8 and 31–4, and Framing, p. 347.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England at least successful rulership) in these years.8 Though a degree of consensus is necessary for the maintenance of any socio-political order, in societies in which wealth is generated primarily by rent and renders, as was the case throughout the Middle Ages, rulership was particularly dependent on the support of the landed aristocracy.9 This consensus should not, however, be idealized: coercion would often have lain behind it, and if anything consensual government tends to be a balancing act in which it is impossible to please all concerned.10 Moreover, much competition might take place over positions of power and inluence, and thus beneath a façade of consent would often have lurked lingering tensions.11 Still, it is clear enough that kings were dependent on aristocratic support, and modern scholarship rightly emphasizes that medieval rulers and their senior magnates were ‘team players’. In such contexts the horizontal bonds of kinship and friendship might help constitute the political order, rather than simply undermine it.12 When applied in practice, these cooperative models have important implications, as Matthew Innes above all demonstrates: if kings were dependent on aristocratic support, then rulership must been seen as a complex game involving many players, each trying to use the system to his (or, more rarely, her) own beneit.13 Successful kingship would have consisted of mobilizing support and balancing interests and hence, as Roman Deutinger puts it, the aim of royal rule was not so much independent governance as the achievement of consensus, which alone made collective action possible.14 In this light, medieval kingship begins to look less formal and top-down than traditional models imply.15 Whilst Innes, 8

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13

14 15

Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities; Nelson, ‘Legislation and Consensus’; Hannig, Consensus Fidelium. Wickham, Framing, pp. 56–150. See also Carpenter, Wars of the Roses, pp. 34–44, on the later Middle Ages; and cf. E. Shils, ‘Consensus’ (1968), rev. and repr. in his Center and Periphery, pp. 164–81. Schwedler, ‘Formen und Inhalte’; Weinfurter, ‘Versammlungen’, p. 276. Patzold, ‘Konsens und Konkurrenz’; Streit am Hof, ed. Becher and Plassmann. Cf. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance. Airlie, ‘The Aristocracy’, ‘Captains’, and ‘Service of the State’; R. Le Jan, Famille et pouvoir dans le monde franc (VIIe–Xe siècle): essai d’anthropologie sociale (Paris, 1995), esp. pp. 126–35; J. L. Nelson, ‘Peers in the Early Middle Ages’ (2001), repr. in and cited from her Courts, Elites, and Gendered Power, no. VI. Innes, State and Society. See also MacLean, Kingship and Politics; and B. H. Rosenwein, ‘The Family Politics of Berengar I, King of Italy (888–924)’, Speculum 71 (1996), 247–89. Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 225–72. For example K.-F. Werner, ‘Heeresorganisation und Kriegführung im deutschen Königreich des 10. und 11. Jahrhunderts’ (1968), repr. in and cited from his Structures politiques du monde franc (VIe–XIIe siècles): études sur les origines de la France et de l’Allemagne (London, 1979), no. III, and ‘Missus – marchio – comes. Entre l’administration centrale et l’administration locale de l’empire carolingien’ (1980), repr. in and cited from his Vom Frankenreich zur Entfaltung Deutschlands und Frankreichs, pp. 108–56; and F. L. Ganshof , Frankish Institutions under Charlemagne, trans. B. and M. Lyon (Providence, RI, 1968).

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The role of the witan Deutinger and others do not dismiss the very real power that rulers at times wielded, they remind us that rulers were always working closely with others and that royal power and authority was as often channelled by ‘informal’ means as through institutions and state structures. In this light the holding of assemblies is to be seen as a sign of strength, but this strength rests less in the king’s ability to act independently than to compromise and ind agreement. Indeed, as Bernd Schneidmüller observes, the question asked by future scholarship should be less whether medieval kingship was consensual than how this consensus was achieved.16 These more theoretical observations match the evidence surveyed well: at assemblies we can see later Anglo-Saxon kings actively courting people from around the realm, trying to build and maintain ground-level consensus by granting charters, hearing pleas and responding to local legislative initiatives. Acknowledging that rulership in this period was as bound up with questions of personal relationships and ensuring consent as it was with bureaucracy and institutionalization helps to explain one of the great mysteries of the late Anglo-Saxon state: namely, how it can appear both extremely precocious in some respects, and at the same time so very different from the modern bureaucratic nation state in others. Recent studies have tended to place greater emphasis on the modern aspects: the advanced system of coinage, particularly from the reform of King Edgar on;17 the issuing of legislation, demonstrating a commitment to law and order;18 the ability to raise tax and tribute;19 and the king’s freedom to appoint and dismiss ealdormen and other royal oicers.20 However, there are a number of aspects of this picture which might be queried or nuanced: Rory Naismith now suggests that the later Anglo-Saxon coinage system is not simply a relection of royal power, but a product of cooperation between moneyers and kings, which by no means only beneited the latter;21 the evidence 16 17

18 19

20

21

Schneidmüller, ‘Konsensuale Herrschaft’. Campbell, ‘Late Anglo-Saxon State’, pp. 7–8 and 17, and ‘United Kingdom’, pp. 32–3. See further R. H. M. Dolley and D. M. Metcalf , ‘The Reform of the English Coinage under Edgar’, in Anglo-Saxon Coins: Studies Presented to F. M. Stenton on the Occasion of his 80th Birthday, 17 May 1960, ed. R. H. M. Dolley (London, 1961), pp. 136–68; B. H. I. H. Stewart, ‘Coinage and Recoinage after Edgar’s Reform’, in Studies in Late Anglo-Saxon Coinage in Memory of Bror Emil Hildebrand, Numismatiska Meddelanden 35, ed. K. Jonsson (Stockholm, 1990), pp. 455–85; and Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 74–127. Wormald, English Law. P. Wormald, ‘Pre-Modern “State” and “Nation”: Deinite or Indeinite?’, in Staat im frühen Mittelalter, ed. Airlie et al., pp. 179–89, at 182; M. K. Lawson, ‘Collection of Danegeld and Heregeld in the Reigns of Aethelred II and Cnut’, EHR 99 (1984), 721–38. Banton, ‘Ealdormen’, pp. 334–7; Baxter, Earls of Mercia, pp. 118–24; Campbell, ‘Late Anglo-Saxon State’, pp. 16–17, and ‘United Kingdom’, pp. 33–5; Wormald, ‘Pre-Modern “State”’, p. 181. Naismith, Money and Power, pp. 87–155. Although Naismith focuses on the eighth and ninth centuries, he makes it clear that the model established by this point ‘would remain at the heart of Anglo-Saxon coinage until 1066’ (p. 155). See also Screen, ‘Law and Numismatics’, pp. 162–4,

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England of legislation and dispute settlement, surveyed earlier, has proved similarly open to alternative interpretations; meanwhile, the royal right to appoint and dismiss oicers, though undeniable in principle, must be treated alongside the tendency, at least in the eleventh century (and probably also earlier), for these oices to become hereditary and for those dismissed to regain their positions only shortly after their fall from grace.22 Even taxation, that classic litmus test of state power according to Chris Wickham’s model,23 was at least in part the result of what might be termed a historical accident, rather than representing a natural development of royal authority: it was irst out of the urgent need to raise heregeld late in Æthelred’s reign that taxation emerged – initially as a communal rather than purely royal interest, it should be noted – and only later was this turned towards the proit of the state. It should also be emphasized that while scholars often speak of the late Anglo-Saxon state as if it were a static entity, it was anything but this and in many ways was a product of developments during this period. The diiculty is that many of these, such as shiring and the formation of hundreds, are impossible to date precisely, and as a consequence there is a perennial danger of writing a ‘shadow history of institutions which did not really exist’, of pushing the origins of these institutions ever further back in time.24 Yet, for all the important developments of the late ninth and tenth centuries, it is irst under Æthelred that many of these state structures seem to have been tested in earnest, and it is probably no accident that it is at this point that many shires are irst attested – whether they existed earlier is a moot point, but either way it seems signiicant that they ind their way into the historical record at this juncture – and that shire-reeves are irst regularly recorded.25 Yet these are not the only ‘irsts’: it is also irst in Æthelred’s reign that we hear of taxation and of magnates routinely being executed, exiled and blinded. Moreover, according to Robin Fleming it was in the latter years of Æthelred’s reign that the kingdom’s traditional political order, dominated by a group of

22 23

24 25

pointing out that ‘the tendency has perhaps been to assume more regular and systematized institutions than may have existed in practice’ (p. 163). See further Roach, ‘Penance, Submission and deditio’. C. Wickham, ‘Lineages of Western European Taxation, 1000–1200’, in Colloqui Corona, Municipis i Fiscalitat a la Baixa Edat Mitjana, ed. M. Sánchez and A. Furió (Lleida, 1997), pp. 25–42. See also Wickham, Framing, pp. 57–60. The phrase is that of Leyser, ‘Ottonian Government’, p. 80. On shires, see C. S.Taylor, ‘The Origin of the Mercian Shires’, in Gloucestershire Studies, ed. H. P. R. Finberg (Leicester, 1957), pp. 17–45; J. Whybra, A Lost English County: Winchcombeshire in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries, Studies in Anglo-Saxon History 1 (Woodbridge, 1990); J. Campbell, History of the English Shires (Matlock, 1997); Hill, ‘Shiring’; and Keynes, ‘Shire’; and on shire-reeves, see W. A. Morris, The Medieval English Sherif to 1300 (Manchester, 1927), pp. 22–3; and Keynes, Diplomas, pp. 197–8.

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The role of the witan closely related aristocratic families, irst broke apart.26 Whilst it is inevitably diicult to know to what extent these developments represent changes rather than a continuation of existing practices, they are presumably at least in part new.This should come as no surprise: Æthelred’s reign witnessed one of the most sustained foreign threats in English history, which left a signiicant mark on the nascent kingdom.27 It has been an important lesson of modern sociology that centralization is not so much part of the natural development of the state (as constitutional history held) as a response to threats and crises.28 In this light, it would seem that important aspects of the aggressive late Anglo-Saxon state, so evocatively presented by Patrick Wormald,29 were products of these ‘crisis’ years, and we must think twice before projecting them onto an earlier period. However, even in later years there are indications that the English state was not an administrative monolith.The limits of centralization and bureaucratization are perhaps clearest at court: though it is likely that kings possessed a writing oice of some description, this never monopolized diploma production and in comparison with its Carolingian and Ottonian counterparts looks decidedly underdeveloped – indeed, the evidence for it is so scant that some scholars continue to doubt its existence altogether.30 Similarly surprising is the fact that English kings issued diplomas only at assemblies; although continental rulers of the earlier Middle Ages issued sovereign charters frequently over the course of the year, their Anglo-Saxon counterparts would seem to have been considerably more constrained in this regard.31 The use of spiritual sanctions in these documents is also notable, since this would traditionally be interpreted as a sign of weak rulership, as an indication that spiritual threats are needed to ill the void left by secular authority.32 The role of spiritual sanctions in charters is paralleled by the presence of ecclesiastical penalties in royal legislation, which again according to classic models might 26 27 28

29 30

31 32

Fleming, Kings and Lords, pp. 39–52. Keynes, ‘An Abbot’, and ‘Vikings’, pp. 73–82. B. Badie and P. Birnbaum, The Sociology of the State, trans. A. Goldhammer (Chicago, 1983), pp. 65–134, esp. 67–78. See also Reuter, ‘Sonderweg’, pp. 402–3. For example Wormald, ‘God and King’, and Lawyers and the State. R. A. Brown, Normans and the Norman Conquest, 2nd edn (Woodbridge, 1985), pp. 58–63; P. Chaplais, Review of Dumville, English Caroline Script, Journal of the Society of Archivists 16 (1995), 105–7. Cf. Schneidmüller, ‘Konsensuale Herrschaft’, pp. 53–5. For example G. Duby,‘The Evolution of Judicial Institutions: Burgundy in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries’ (1946–7), trans. in his Chivalrous Society, trans. C. Postan (Berkeley, CA, 1977), pp. 15–58, at 19–20; M. Zimmermann, ‘Le vocabulaire latin de malédiction du IXe au XIIe siècle: construction d’un discours eschatologique’, Atalaya 5 (1994), 37–55, at pp. 39–41. Note, however, that secular sanctions were never a part of English diplomatic.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England be seen as a sign of weakness.33 On a general level, the very commitment to pomp and ritual at assemblies and on the public stage, traced in the last two chapters, could be seen as an indication of a weak or ‘archaic’ state, in which rituals are needed to compensate for the lack of formal institutions.34 These unusual features should not lead us to reject the very real achievements of late Anglo-Saxon kings, but they do call for caution and perhaps point to weaknesses in more traditional models of the state. These models, generally based more or less explicitly on the work of Max Weber, tend to be functionalist (or structural-functionalist) and evolutionary, seeing degrees of statehood as expressed through opposed principles of ‘rational’ and ‘irrational’ means of governance. However, modern sociologists and anthropologists have long since abandoned or nuanced Weber’s approach in these regards and we should do well to do likewise.35 Indeed, we have noted that medieval historians now argue that royal and aristocratic power were not necessarily antagonistic and further work has re-examined other functionalist dichotomies, such as those between law and liturgy, or spiritual and secular sanctions, inding these to be equally misleading.36 Within our context, we should not deny that a degree of institutionalized authority can been seen in pre-Conquest England, but we should equally be willing to emphasize its otherness, to recognize that Anglo-Saxon kings may have achieved their aims as often by means of personal contacts and informal bonds as they did by cold, hard, institutionalized government. Meetings of the witan are an ideal example of the dual nature of kingship in this period: it was at these events that law-codes, charters and other administrative documents were produced; yet they were also occasions of pomp and display, moments for informal hobnobbing, gossiping and networking. Any analysis which privileges one of these features over the others risks misunderstanding these events. It is important to emphasize this because ritual and symbolic communication have been given relatively short shrift in previous work on the Anglo-Saxon state. Indeed, though scholars have certainly been aware of their existence, they have apparently not felt them to be crucial to the workings of central authority. Thus James Campbell has written insightfully about the importance of feasting in Anglo-Saxon aristocratic society and has noted the role of pomp at early English courts, 33 34 35 36

For example, Poly and Bournazel, Feudal Transformation, pp. 151–2. For example, Althof, Ottonen, pp. 243–7; Mayr-Harting, ‘Herrschaftsrepräsentation’, pp. 136–7. For important but fair criticism, see Badie and Birnbaum, Sociology, pp. 17–24. J. L. Nelson, ‘Liturgy or Law: Misconceived Alternatives?’, in Early Medieval Studies in Memory of Patrick Wormald, ed. Baxter et al., pp. 433–47; Bowman, Landmarks, pp. 56–80.

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The role of the witan but when he comes to discuss the state on an abstract level these features seem to disappear from sight.37 Patrick Wormald has given more attention to these aspects and, following his lead, Stephen Baxter has noted the potential importance of rituals and ‘charisma’ for the ideology of the state.38 Nevertheless, even here Weberian ‘charisma’ has been felt to be of at best secondary importance or, to use Wormald’s words, ‘less a substitute for efective institutional government than a gloss [on it]’.39 Now, Wormald is right to note that charisma alone, ritual without any form of institutionalized authority to back it, cannot in the long run be the basis for efective rulership, but it does not necessarily follow that it is secondary to institutional government. If that were the case, why was this not clearer to contemporary writers, who invested such time and efort into describing royal pomp and ceremony? Evidently they felt these to be germane to power and authority and we replace their agenda with our own at our peril.40 It is important to remember here that Weber’s concept of charisma, on which Wormald draws, is a functionalist construct – although Weber allowed for charisma to coexist with ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ authority, he saw it as alien and antithetic to both – and as such sufers from the problems of functionalism underlined by modern anthropologists and sociologists.41 In particular, it creates a potentially dangerous dichotomy between ritualized ‘charisma’ and ‘efective institutional government’, positing a hydraulic relationship whereby one increases only at the expense of the other.Yet, as subsequent studies have shown, state structures and charisma need not be antagonistic and at least under certain circumstances are symbiotic.42 Just as the development of the written word does not lead to the complete eclipse of oral modes of communication, so too bureaucracy and institutionalization need not result in symbolic communication being 37

38 39

40

41

42

J. Campbell, ‘England, c. 991’ (1993), repr. in and cited from his Anglo-Saxon State, pp. 157–78, at 162–4 and 176–7, and ‘Anglo-Saxon Courts’, in Court Culture in the Early Middle Ages: The Proceedings of the First Alcuin Conference, ed. C. Cubitt (Turnhout, 2003), pp. 155–69. Cf. Campbell, ‘Late Anglo-Saxon State’, and ‘Agents and Agencies’. Wormald, ‘Power Structures’; Baxter, ‘Late Anglo-Saxon State’. Wormald,‘Power Structures’, p. 108. See also Maddicott, English Parliament, p. 21, concurring with this assessment.The following arguments seek to build on those presented in Roach,‘Hosting the King’, pp. 44–6. Cf. the observations of M. Innes, ‘Practices of Property in the Carolingian Empire’, in The Long Morning of Medieval Europe: New Directions in Early Medieval Studies, ed. J. R. Davis and M. McCormick (Aldershot, 2008), pp. 247–66, at 264. Badie and Birnbaum, Sociology, pp. 3–64; A. Giddens, Studies in Social and Political Theory (London, 1977), pp. 96–134, and The Constitution of Society: Outline of a Theory of Structuration (Cambridge, 1984), pp. 227–80 and 293–7. Cf. Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, pp. 142–8. Shils, ‘Charisma’; Bourdieu, Logic of Practice, p. 141; P. Smith, ‘Culture and Charisma: Outline of a Theory’, Acta Sociologica 43.2 (2000), 101–11.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England accorded less importance.43 Indeed, formal state structures might ofer new opportunities for rituals and demonstrative behaviour; these might be turned to the service of the state.44 That ritual was successfully integrated into these structures is suggested by the fact that royal charters and law-codes, those administrative documents par excellence, were subject to ritualized enactment. Of course, Wormald himself was aware that realities on the ground were more complex than Weberian ideal types suggest, and his own work beautifully illustrates the importance of ritualized acts of law-making in this era.45 He would, therefore, certainly not have wanted us to draw too sharp a distinction between charismatic ‘gloss’ and ‘efective institutional government’. Indeed, it is important to keep in mind that modern Western society has a very ambiguous relationship with ritual: we are accustomed to thinking of it as ‘empty’ and ‘supericial’.46 This distrust in many ways is the heritage of the Reformation and Enlightenment, owing much to sixteenth- and seventeenth-century debates about religious ritual, which led to an increasing distinction between ‘outer’ and ‘inner’, between appearance and reality, with the latter inevitably being favoured over the former.47 Earlier this distinction was apparently less strictly maintained, and scholars have suggested that this more open and positive attitude to the ‘outer’ explains the importance of ritual in medieval society.48 Taken to its extreme, this line of reasoning comes dangerously close to suggesting that the archetypal ‘medieval man’ (whoever he might have been!) appreciated no distinction whatsoever between exterior show and innate qualities.Yet there is ample evidence from England as elsewhere to the contrary: Byrhtferth comments that Abbot Foldbriht ‘seemed harsh to those who know not how to examine a person’s inner secrets, but judge according to appearance’ (durus hominibus uisus est qui nesciunt secreta intueri que sunt in homine, sed iudicant secundum faciem);49 43

44

45 46 47

48 49

J. Goody, The Domestication of the Savage Mind (Cambridge, 1977), pp. 15–16; Fried, Schleier, pp. 316–17. See also now Goody, Myth, Ritual and the Oral, esp. pp. 153–61. Cf. E. J. Goldberg, ‘Dominus Hludowicus serenissimus imperator sedens pro tribunali: Conlict, Justice, and Ideology at the Court of Louis the German’, in Streit am Hof, ed. Becher and Plassmann, pp. 175–202, at 200. Wormald, ‘Lex scripta’, and English Law, pp. 416–49. See also Nelson, ‘Liturgy or Law’. M. Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (London, 1970), pp. 1–18. B. Stollberg-Rilinger, ‘Knien vor Gott – Knien vor dem Kaiser. Zum Ritualwandel im Konfessionskonlikt’, in Zeichen – Rituale – Werte, ed. Althof , pp. 501–33; P. Burke, ‘The Repudiation of Ritual in Early Modern Europe’, in his Historical Anthropology of Early Modern Italy: Essays on Perception and Communication (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 223–38; B. Muir, Ritual in Early Modern Europe, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 155–302, esp. 294–302. See also Huizinga, Autumn, pp. 234–48. Fichtenau, Lebensordnungen, pp. 11 and 49; Schreiner, ‘Friedenstiftung’, pp. 39 and 56. Byrhtferth, VO iv.8 (ed. Lapidge, p. 112).

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The role of the witan Ælfric touches on the theme of inner and outer (or spiritual and worldly) at a number of points in his homilies, praising Benedict of Nursia for his ability to see through false pomp, meditating on the spiritual and literal signiications of the Eucharist and warning against false prophets, who appear holy but in reality are not;50 and a similar distinction between false and true prophets is made in the homilies of Wulfstan and the Blickling collection.51 On a general level the emphasis placed on rituals being performed freely and sincerely in contemporary narrative sources suggests that people were well aware that individuals might be forced into performing rites which did not relect their own thoughts and desires.52 Indeed, that deception was conceivable is illustrated by the accounts of the death of Edward the Martyr, whose attackers, as we have seen, are said to have tricked the king by greeting him peacefully.53 It therefore will not do to state that exterior show and innate qualities were not distinguished at all in these years.54 Nevertheless, this does not mean that the same degree of cynicism about ritual and exterior show was felt as it is in the modern West, and there certainly are indications that ritual and reality were more closely associated in the earlier Middle Ages than they are now.55 Many of the contexts in which outer show and innate qualities are distinguished in Anglo-Saxon literature are negative ones – examples of sorcerers, demons and works of the devil – and there often seems to be a disquiet about this sinister disjunction between appearance and reality; it was clearly hoped and believed that in the long run the two would be brought back into congruence.56 Such a desire to bring ‘outer’ and ‘inner’ into agreement lies at the heart of Anglo-Saxon judicial mutilation, the aim of which was to make crimes visible, to announce to society what might otherwise 50

51

52 53

54

55

56

Ælfric of Eynsham, Catholic Homilies:The Second Series, ed. M. Godden, EETS s.s. 5 (Oxford, 1979), pp. 99, 152–4 and 236. The Homilies ofWulfstan, ed. D. Bethurum (Oxford, 1957), pp. 289–90; The Blickling Homilies, ed. R. J. Kelly (London, 2003), pp. 42 and 122–6. Pössel, ‘Symbolic Communication’, pp. 210–11. Byrhtferth, VO IV.18 (ed. Lapidge, pp. 138–40); Passio Eadwardi (ed. Fell, p. 5). Similar accounts of ritualized deception can be found in the works of contemporary continental writers: G. Althof, ‘Hinterlist, Täuschung und Betrug bei der friedlichen Beilegung von Konlikten’, in Bereit zum Konlikt. Strategien und Medien der Konlikterzeugung und Konliktbewältigung im europäischen Mittelalter, Mittelalter-Forschungen 20, ed. O. Auge, F. Biermann, M. Müller and D. Schultze (Ostildern, 2008), pp. 19–29. Cf. Douglas, Purity and Danger, pp. 60–2, pointing out that a degree of distinction between these is inherent to Christianity in the form of diference between body and soul. P. J. Geary, ‘The Ninth-Century Relic Trade – A Response to Popular Piety?’ (1979), repr. in and cited from his Living with the Dead, pp. 177–93, at 178; T. F. X. Noble, ‘Introduction’, in The Letters of Saint Boniface, trans. E. Emerton (New York, 2002), pp. vii–xxxv, at xxxii. Cf. Raoul Glaber, Historiae IV.6–8, ed. J. France, Radulfus Glaber: Opera, OMT (Oxford, 1989), pp. 180–4, grappling with the issue of why God at times allows evil spirits to perform miracles.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England be hidden.57 This in many ways reveals a similar approach to exterior show to that espoused by Augustine of Hippo in his discussion of the gestures of prayer: Augustine believed that the bodily act of supplication and the external expression of faith were essential, as they helped inspire an appropriate inner state of belief.58 A similar connection (albeit in the reverse direction) was drawn by Pope Gregory the Great, who in the Regula pastoralis enjoined the paciici to instil a sense of inner peace into the wicked, so that in time they might also come to appreciate the beneits of external peace.59 There is, therefore, reason to doubt that a sharp Weberian contrast between ‘charisma’ and ‘bureaucracy’ would have been shared by ninthor tenth-century observers.60 To them royal power and authority evidently rested as much in ritual and symbols as in institutions and the two were innately intertwined: to be a king was not just to raise taxes or appoint ealdormen, it was also to be seen to be a king. Coronations, ritualized entrances and the other trappings of power are recorded in our sources because they did matter, and Pierre Bourdieu’s ‘theory of practice’ can help illuminate aspects of their role. Bourdieu observes that Western commentators have often misunderstood pre- or non-capitalist societies because they have approached them from a perspective in which economic gain is of paramount importance. However, if instead we think in terms of diferent types of capital which a ruler might possess, in particular ‘economic capital’ (material wealth) on the one hand and ‘symbolic capital’ (embodied concepts of honour and respect and expressed by means of rituals and display) on the other, then we begin to get a better grasp on how these societies operate. Leaders naturally require both forms of capital, but of the two symbolic capital is often the more sought after, since it acts as a form of credit.61 Under most circumstances one form of capital can be converted into another and they therefore stand in a constant relationship. In our context, the rituals and symbolic displays we see at assemblies doubtless cost rulers a signiicant amount to put 57

58

59

60

61

K. O’Brien O’Keefe, ‘The Body and the Law in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, ASE 27 (1998), 209–32; N. Maraioti, ‘Punishing Bodies and Saving Souls: Capital and Corporal Punishment in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, HSJ 20 (2008), 39–57, esp. pp. 52–3. Augustine of Hippo, De cura pro mortuis gerenda V.3, ed. J. Zycha, Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 41 (Vienna, 1990), pp. 619–60, at 631–3. Gregory the Great, Regula pastoralis III.23, ed. F. Rommel, 2 vols., Sources chrétiennes 381–2 (Paris, 1992), II, 412–18, esp. 418. See similarly C. West, ‘Unauthorised Miracles in Mid-Ninth-Century Dijon and the Carolingian Church Reforms’, Journal of Medieval History 36 (2010), 295–311, at pp. 309–11. P. Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge, 1977), pp. 171–83, and Logic of Practice, pp. 112–37. The classic example of a society geared towards the accumulation of symbolic capital is nineteenth-century Bali, as discussed by C. Geertz, Negara:The Theatre State in NineteenthCentury Bali (Princeton, NJ, 1980).

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The role of the witan on, but by emphasizing the unique nature of royal authority they would have contributed to the ruler’s symbolic capital. If necessary, however, this might later be turned back into material wealth, as the king might use his position atop the socio-political hierarchy to impose taxes or demand dues. Wise leaders would always have hedged their bets, accumulating a combination of economic and symbolic capital, and this seems to be exactly what we see Anglo-Saxon kings doing: they were ruling neither through bureaucratic institutions nor ritualized charisma alone, but rather through a combination of both.62 Bourdieu’s work in many ways stands towards the end of an important line of development in social anthropology, taking forward the processual trends visible in the ield since the 1960s.63 According to this work, society should be treated as a dynamic process rather than a static entity, and norms and institutions should therefore not be seen as upholding a hypothetical stasis, but rather as the means by which society adapts and develops over time.64 Where earlier anthropologists and sociologists sought rules and norms, this work emphasizes that these do not exist outside their social context and are at least in part the products of human action.65 As Bourdieu argues, even the strictest norms cannot be divorced from daily life, and thus, for example, the requirement to requite gifts with countergifts, common to many societies, is not to be understood as an objective rule, but as a lexible practice. To reify this into the structuralist’s norms risks misunderstanding its nuances: even if a countergift is generally expected, it can be refused or delayed and hence each act of observing a norm has the power to adjust or even subvert it.66 This break with traditional analysis has had a particularly signiicant impact on legal anthropology, with research now underlining the personal and adaptable nature of legal norms even in modern society.67 Such an approach helps explain the odd mix of formal legal ambition and the continuing informality of dispute practice we have observed in ninth- and tenth-century England: whilst kings sought to implement new law, their measures were invariably adjusted and adapted as they were applied – a process witnessed 62 63

64

65 66 67

Cf. Pratt, Political Thought, esp. pp. 1–107, for a nuanced discussion of contemporary kingship. For orientation, see Bell, Ritual, pp. 76–83; and A. Barnard, History and Theory in Anthropology (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 84–7 and 142–3. V. Turner Dramas, Fields and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca, NY, 1974), pp. 23–35; Black-Michaud, Cohesive Force, pp. 17–23; Comarof , Body of Power. Cf. Giddens, Constitution of Society, which shares many similarities with Bourdieu’s work in this respect. Giddens, Social and Political Theory, pp. 131–3; Bourdieu, Outline, pp. 16–21. Bourdieu, Logic of Practice, pp. 98–111. Roberts, Order and Dispute; Comarof and Roberts, Rules; J. B. White, Heracles’ Bow: Essays on the Rhetoric and Poetics of the Law (Madison,WI, 1985), pp. x–xi; S. F. Moore, Social Facts and Fabrications: ‘Customary’ Law on Kilimanjaro, 1880–1980 (Cambridge, 1986), esp. pp. 320–9.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England by local responses to legislation – and rather than replacing previous practices they were integrated into an existing framework. Therefore, once we distance ourselves somewhat from functionalist reasoning, we can begin to understand many of the otherwise surprising features of the late Anglo-Saxon state. As we have seen, contemporary writers emphasize not only the role of ritual, but also the importance of personal bonds in politics, and igures such as Dunstan, Oswald and Æthelwold are portrayed as efective forces at court primarily because of the relationships they cultivate. Indeed, it is the familiarity of these igures with the king, rather than their oice, which their biographers chose to emphasize and we should do well to take these accounts seriously – to contemporary observers personal relationships were clearly a decisive factor in politics, and who was friends with whom was more than a mere social nicety.68 Reports of disputes give a similar impression: time and again personal relationships were brought into play and pleas seem to have been won more often by outmanoeuvring the opponent than by legal argumentation. There is, of course, a close nexus here between the role of ritual and the importance of such personal bonds, in so far as it was often by means of public display that relationships were established and conirmed.69 That politics continued to be dominated by such personal contacts is further suggested by the comments about the king’s favourites in the Old English Soliloquies, discussed earlier, which underline the importance of royal favour.70 Even more revealing is Ælfric’s observation that ‘the ordinance which the king commands through his ealdormen or reeves is one thing; another is his own decree in his presence’ (oþer is seo gesetnys þe se cyning byt þurh his ealdormen oððe gerefan. 7 oþer bið his agen geban on his andwerdnysse), which suggests that despite the importance of messages relayed through royal oicers, personal communication with the monarch remained distinctive.71 Although it has long been held that the spread of literacy leads to the reduction or even eclipse of oral and ritualized means of communication, modern studies have done much to add nuance to this. Indeed, no less an authority than Jack Goody, the doyen of the anthropological study of literacy, has recently asserted that ‘writing and the reinements of the text did not always lead to a decline in orality; literacy, it might be said, made people even more verbal’.72 This conclusion its the evidence 68 69

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Cf. Molyneaux, ‘Formation of the English Kingdom’, pp. 200–43, along somewhat similar lines. Althof , Family, Friends and Followers, pp. 136–59; H. Keller, ‘Gruppenbindungen, Spielregeln, Rituale’, in Spielregeln der Mächtigen, ed. Garnier and Kamp, pp. 19–31. See above, p. 183, with n. 113. Ælfric, Catholic Homilies:The First Series (ed. Clemoes, p. 384). Goody, Myth, Ritual and the Oral, p. 161.

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The role of the witan from the earlier Middle Ages well: letters, diplomas, wills and writs were designed to complement, not replace, other forms of communication and in fact often served to announce assemblies or arrange meetings.Thus, far from supplanting face-to-face communication, the written word often actively facilitated it. Moreover, when it was not possible to meet in person, a letter, charter or seal might serve as a symbolic replacement for an individual’s presence and written documentation itself could therefore be highly symbolic.73 The inherent symbolism of documents and seals is well attested in Anglo-Saxon England: the Old English Soliloquies refer to how the man receiving his lord’s ‘letter and seal’ (ærendgewrit and hys insegel) might recognize him through these, and Ælfric comments that the thegn who ignores his lord’s written instructions, refusing to hear or to view them (the latter perhaps implying the recognition of a seal), risks incurring his wrath.74 As Andreas Kränzle observes, in such contexts the dynamics of written communication were remarkably similar to those of normal interaction at court: only igures with royal favour would write directly to the king, while others would send their petitions through friends or relatives.75 Therefore, although there can be no doubt that the written word played an increasingly important role in later Anglo-Saxon politics and society, there is no reason to doubt that personal contacts remained essential. In this respect literacy is no more incompatible with ritualized behaviour than is bureaucracy. Indeed, although a strong tradition amongst medievalists holds that the two are antithetical, recent studies show that orality, ritual and literacy have a complex relationship, which cannot be reduced to a zero-sum game.76 The important roles of individuals such as Oswald, Dunstan and Æthelwold at court and assemblies also encourage a renewed focus on personal agency in later Anglo-Saxon politics. Giving a place to the individual within the operation of the state helps guard against the assumption that all men in the service of the king were simply royal ‘agents’.77 73

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H. Keller, ‘Ottonische Herrschersiegel. Beobachtungen und Fragen zu Gestalt und Aussage und zur Funktion im historischen Kontext’ (1997), repr. in and cited from his Ottonische Königsherrschaft, pp. 131–66 and 275–97 (notes), and ‘Mediale Aspekte der Öfentlichkeit im Mittelalter. Mündlichkeit – Schriftlichkeit – symbolische Interaktion’, FMSt 38 (2004), 277–86; B. Bedos-Rezak, ‘Medieval Identity: A Sign and a Concept’, American Historical Review 105 (2000), 1489–533. Alfred, Soliloquies, book 1 (ed. Carnicelli, p. 62); Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection, ed. J. C. Pope, 2 vols., EETS o.s. 259–60 (London, 1967–8), II, 659. Kränzle, ‘Der abwesende König’, pp. 144–50. See Fried, Weg in die Geschichte, pp. 135–41; and Vollrath, ‘Kiss of Peace’, p. 167, for what amount to ‘zero-sum’ treatments; and cf. Patzold, Episcopus, pp. 528–9; and Innes, ‘Memory, Orality and Literacy’. An important step towards putting individuals into this picture is represented by Baxter, Earls of Mercia.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England Recent work on Carolingian politics has done just this, demonstrating how the individual and personally motivated decisions of rulers and leading aristocrats might inluence developments decisively.78 There is every reason to believe that senior English magnates were similarly independent players in a complex game, in which they were willing to support centralized authority, but only so long as they considered it to be in their interests. It has often been noted in this context that ‘public’ and ‘private’ are unhelpful terms with which to describe oice-holders and this too has important implications: if royal authority rested to a signiicant degree in harnessing the self-interests of the kingdom’s aristocrats, then it is questionable whether top-down models alone can explain the vitality of a regime. In this respect it may be that kingship in England was particularly efective in these years not because it was ‘public’, but rather because it was successful at channelling the interests of its leading noblemen.79 In this light, one might well wonder what is left of the maximalist view of the late Anglo-Saxon state so evocatively presented by James Campbell and Patrick Wormald.80 The answer is, in fact, a fair bit. Although a focus on rituals, individual agency and other more processual features of state and society tends to bring the informal, personal and less modern aspects of rulership to the fore, it by no means negates this earlier work. While it is important that we take modern criticisms of functionalism and structuralism seriously, it is equally important that we do not discard the helpful insights which earlier scholarship brought with it. As Jack Goody observes, the social sciences are not hard sciences and do not advance in Kuhnian paradigm shifts; rather, when a theory is found increasingly incompatible with the evidence available or increasingly incapable of providing further insights, other approaches begin to evolve, incorporating the most important contributions of such earlier work.81 Thus, while functionalism may no longer be in favour, this does not negate all research built on its premises. The work by Campbell and Wormald on the formal aspects of the Anglo-Saxon state, those elements aimed in Bourdieu’s terms at the accumulation of economic capital, remains a fundamental part of the picture; what one should simply wish 78

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Airlie, ‘The Aristocracy’, and ‘Service of the State’; Nelson, Courts, Elites, and Gendered Power (collected studies); Costambeys, Innes and MacLean, Carolingian World, pp. 271–323. See also Baxter, Earls of Mercia; and Staford, ‘King and Kin’. Campbell, ‘Late Anglo-Saxon State’; Wormald, ‘Power Structures’, and ‘Pre-Modern “State”’. For more recent discussion, see Wickham, Inheritance of Rome, pp. 453–71; and Baxter, ‘Late AngloSaxon State’. Goody, Cooking, Cuisine and Class, pp. 6–9. Cf. T. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientiic Revolutions, 2nd edn (Chicago, 1970).

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The role of the witan to emphasize is that the ritualized and informal aspects of kingship were not necessarily of secondary importance, but rather are to be treated seriously alongside these formal aspects. The answer to the problem of the Anglo-Saxon state is not to join ‘maximalist’ or ‘minimalist’ camps in a ight to the last man – such scenes are best left to the pages of the Chanson de Roland or the Battle of Maldon – but rather to acknowledge that both groups have often been seeing either side of the same coin: the ‘symbolic’ and ‘informal’ aspects of rulership stood in a constant and by no means always antagonistic relationship with the ‘economic’ and ‘formal’.82 If this study has at times leant more towards a minimal interpretation, this is because most previous scholarship is so unreservedly maximal; nevertheless, we should not replace an at times problematic maximal reading with an equally problematic minimal one.83 Rather, we should emphasize that royal power rested at least in part in places where it has seldom been sought: in the ability of kings and other igures to mobilize consent and support, making use of the ‘informal’ and ‘horizontal’ bonds of friendship, family and community. Ritual s and as se mbl ie s in E ng land and on th e conti ne nt Taking these other factors seriously makes English kingship begin to look somewhat less exceptional than it has at times in the past.84 In particular, we have seen that contemporary writers’ interest in ritual and demonstration is reminiscent of the evidence from West Francia and the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich. Hence, far from being a decisive diference between England and Germany, the role of ritual at assemblies and on the public stage in fact appears remarkably similar in both, and one is inclined to follow Timothy Reuter in suggesting that many of the diferences between the ways in which the Anglo-Saxon and Ottonian states have been presented in modern scholarship are products of modern mentalities rather than medieval realities.85 Thus recent assessments of Ottonian kingship, which emphasize the lack of an absolute monopoly on legitimate force (Weber’s Gewaltmonopol), the importance of personal bonds and the centrality of ritualized behaviour might equally be said to hold for England – or at the very least the same might be said on

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See similarly Baxter, Earls of Mercia, pp. 11–12. See similarly Innes, ‘Practices of Property’, pp. 263–4. Cf. Molyneaux, ‘English Kingdom’, pp. 244–62, now similarly arguing against English exceptionalism, albeit from a diferent perspective. Reuter, ‘England and Germany’, pp. 291–6.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the basis of the narrative sources to hand.86 Indeed, to leave secondary scholarship to one side for a moment and read Thietmar side by side with Byrhtferth, or Ruotgar alongside B., is an arresting experience; the differences between Germany and England seem to melt away before one’s very eyes. Contemporary observers in both kingdoms evidently viewed rulership in remarkably similar terms, and it is perhaps telling that scholars who have placed so much store in the diferences between England and Germany (and also, for that matter, England and West Francia) have tended to make their contrasts on the basis of modern scholarship and not the primary sources.87 This is not, however, to say that we cannot learn from modern historiography. Anglo-Saxonists can hope to gain from the great German tradition of studying group bonds and rituals, as has been attempted in this study; meanwhile, Ottonian historians might learn from the venerable English tradition of studying central government and its structures.88 In fact German historians have arguably fallen into the same trap as their Anglo-Saxon counterparts, albeit on the other side: recognizing the importance of personal bonds and rituals in the constitution of the state, they have often presumed that these features must have excluded more formal structures. Thus they argue that in the tenth century personal bonds began to replace the Carolingian public order.89 Yet we know that Ottonian kings raised and led substantial armies,90 levied tribute to pay the Magyars91 and possessed the most advanced chancery in tenth86

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H. Keller, ‘Die Investitur. Ein Beitrag zum Problem der “Staatssymbolik” im Hochmittelalter’, FMSt 27 (1993), 51–86; R. Deutinger, ‘Staatlichkeit im Reich der Ottonen – ein Versuch’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 133–44; S. Weinfurter, ‘Idee und Funktion des “Sakralkönigtums” bei den ottonischen und salischen Herrschern (10. und 11. Jahrhundert)’, in Legitimation und Funktion des Herrschers. Vom ägyptischen Pharao zum neuzeitlichen Diktator, ed. R. Gundlach and H. Weber (Stuttgart, 1992), pp. 99–127; H. Kamp, ‘Konlikte und Konliktführung in den Anfängen der Regierung Ottos I.’, in Otto der Große, ed Puhle, I, 168–78. For example Wormald,‘Power Structures’, pp. 106–8, and ‘God and King’, pp. 339–40; Shoemaker, Sanctuary and Crime, p. 87. T. Reuter, ‘Modern Mentalities and Medieval Polities’, in his Medieval Polities, pp. 3–18, at 9–14, makes a number of points germane to this discussion. Althof , Ottonen, pp. 230–47; Keller, ‘Grundlagen’, and ‘Reichsorganisation’. Werner, ‘Heeresorganisation’; B. S. Bachrach, ‘Magyar-Ottonian Warfare: À propos a New Minimalist Interpretation’, Francia 27.1 (2000), 211–30; B. S. and D. Bachrach, ‘Saxon Military Revolution, 912–973? Myth and Reality’, EME 15 (2007), 186–222. Although these scholars probably exaggerate the scale of early medieval military forces, there can be no doubt that the raising and supplying armies would have posed major logistical diiculties. Cf. G. Halsall, Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West, 450–900 (London, 2003), pp. 119–33; and Reuter, ‘Warfare’, pp. 24–30. Widukind, Res gestae Saxonicae I.32 (ed. Lohmann and Hirsch, p. 45); with Althof, Amicitiae, pp. 70–5.The recent interpretation of Widukind’s munera as ‘gifts’, rather than ‘tribute’ (B. S. and D. Bachrach,‘Revolution’, pp. 220–2), seems to overlook Widukind’s later reference to how after victory at Riade Henry I ordered that the tributum, which would previously have been paid to maintain the peace, be allocated to the church and the poor: Res gestae Saxonicae I.39 (ed. Lohmann and Hirsch, pp. 57–8).

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The role of the witan century Europe,92 none of which could have been organized ‘from a box under the bed’, to borrow Vivian Galbraith’s memorable turn of phrase.93 Some recent studies have, in fact, begun to reassess Ottonian kingship in important ways, arguing that it was more like its Carolingian predecessor than has been appreciated.94 Moreover, as argued at some length here, ritual and institutions are not necessarily antithetic and in fact to a certain extent must work hand in hand, as exempliied by the Ottonian rulers’ famed iter regis per regna: though highly ritualized, the royal progress nevertheless required detailed prior arrangements and would have been impossible without state institutions, agents and agencies.95 When one comes to compare England with France in the same period, it is the diferences which at irst are striking: while English kingship apparently went from strength to strength, the late ninth and early tenth centuries have in the past been regarded as a period of notorious weakness for the rulers of West Francia.96 This is relected in part in the fate of the royal assembly: while in England magnates continued to seek out the king and his court, in West Francia assembly politics at the highest level all but completely ceased.97 It is in this period that, according to the classic accounts, the old Carolingian public order began to wither away, giving way to a more localized and privatized ‘feudal’ society. Nevertheless, there are reasons for relativizing some of these diferences. Janet L. Nelson now argues that at the start of our period it is the similarities rather than differences between Alfred the Great’s and Charles the Bald’s courts which stand out.98 Moreover, French and anglophone historians, spurred on by doubts about the feudal ‘revolution’ or mutation, have begun to revise our picture of these years in important ways.99 Although there can be no 92

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Die Urkunden Konrad I., Heinrich I. und Otto I., ed. T. Sickel, MGH: Dip. regum 1 (Hanover, 1879–84), pp. 37–8 and 80–8; and Die Urkunden Otto II. und Otto III., ed. T. Sickel, MGH: Dip. regum 2 (Hanover, 1888–93), pp. 1–9 and 385–92. V. Galbraith, Studies in the Public Records (London, 1948), p. 45. Patzold, ‘Konliktführung’, and Episcopus, pp. 537–40. Cf. D. Bachrach, ‘Exercise of Royal Power in Early Medieval Europe: The Case of Otto the Great 936–73’, EME 17 (2009), 389–419, and ‘The Written Word in Carolingian-Style Fiscal Administration under King Henry I, 919–936’, German History 28 (2010), 399–423. Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 346–7, rightly observes that from an administrative standpoint itinerancy might be more complex than sedentary rulership. Wickham, Comparative History, pp. 15–35. See further J. Dunbabin, France in the Making, 843–1180, 2nd edn (Oxford, 2000), pp. 27–132; and K.-F. Werner, Les origines, Histoire de France 1 (Paris, 1984), pp. 430–97. Nelson, Charles the Bald, pp. 261–3;Y. Sassier,‘Rex Francorum, dux Francorum: le gouvernement royal au dernier demi-siècle carolingien’, in Le monde carolingien, ed. Fałkowski and Sassier, pp. 357–75, at 360–2. J. L. Nelson, ‘West Frankia and Wessex in the Ninth Century Compared’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 99–112. The literature on the topic is vast. See esp. D. Barthélemy, ‘La mutation féodale a-t-elle eu lieu? (Note critique)’, Annales: E. S. C. 47 (1992), 767–77, and ‘Encore le débat sur l’an mil!’,

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England doubt that royal authority was more circumscribed in these years, it is emphasized that this gap was often illed by local dukes and bishops. Even the Peace of God movement, once seen as a sign that centralized authority had atrophied to the point of extinction, has been reinterpreted as an indication of continued commitment to this.100 Thus, while the fate of France certainly was diferent from that of England, it would seem that assemblies and public authority did not disappear altogether, and the similarities between the two might be greater than they at irst appear. Indeed, on a seigneurial level it has been suggested that England itself underwent something approximating the mutation féodale, with structures tightening in favour of encroaching lordship.101 Furthermore, at the highest level, which is our primary concern, even though royal power was more circumscribed and contested in France, we can see its rulers using similar rituals to their English and German counterparts; although the balance of power may more often have gone against the king than it did elsewhere, essentially the same political game was played.102 There is, therefore, an extent to which the arguments presented here and those of revisionist French and anglophone historians come together. While I have argued that English kingship was not just about state structures, but also like late Carolingian, Capetian and Ottonian rulership made extensive use of informal bonds and rituals, French scholars point out that not all aspects of public authority ever disappeared in France and that personal bonds and ritual did not ever completely replace the Carolingian ‘public’ order (and, for that matter, that this order probably never existed in its idealized form). Diferent, though not unrelated debates about the nature and importance of feudo-vassalic bonds further underline the substantial similarities between England, France and Germany in this period. Thus, although according to traditional lines of interpretation the variety of forms of lordship visible in later Anglo-Saxon England – tenurial, commended and legal – would seem to contrast with

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Revue historique de droit français et étranger 73 (1995), 349–60; White, ‘Tenth-Century Courts’; F. L. Cheyette, ‘Georges Duby’s Mâconnais after Fifty Years: Reading it Then and Now’, Journal of Medieval History 28 (2002), 291–317, and ‘Some Relections’; and Barton, Maine. See also the responses of T. N. Bisson, ‘The “Feudal Revolution”: A Reply’, P & P 155 (1997), 209–25; and J.-P. Poly and E. Bournazel, ‘Que faut-il préférer au “mutationisme”? ou le problème du changement sociale’, Revue historique de droit français et étranger 72 (1994), 401–12. Important further light is now thrown on the issue by C.West, Reframing the Feudal Revolution: Political and Social Transformation between Marne and Moselle, c. 800 to c. 1100, CSMLT 90 (Cambridge, 2013). Barthélemy, The Serf, pp. 245–301, and L’an mil, pp. 269–568. Barthélemy’s arguments were anticipated by H.-W. Goetz, ‘Kirchenschutz, Rechtswahrung und Reform. Zu den Zielen und zum Wesen der frühen Gottesfriedensbewegung in Frankreich’, Francia 11 (1983), 193–240. D. Bates, ‘England and the “Feudal Revolution”’, Settimane 47 (2000), 611–46; S. Baxter,‘Lordship and Labour’, in A Social History of England, ed. Crick and van Houts, pp. 98–114. Koziol, Begging Pardon; Krause, Konlikt und Ritual; Barton, Maine, pp. 105–11.

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The role of the witan the uniied banal lordship of the continent, it has now been argued that beneices (or iefs) and entry into vassalage were not irmly associated in either France or Germany in these years, if indeed they ever were.103 Once this is accepted, then we begin to see a similar variety of competing forms of lordship – tenurial, vassalic and legal – on the continent to those in England; it would seem that lordship in the regnum Anglorum was no more ‘public’ (or ‘private’) than it was elsewhere.104 On a general level all of these debates underscore how diicult it is to demonstrate diference and change: aspects which at irst strike the historian as obvious dissimilarities may well upon relection turn out to be less an indication of difering socio-political realities than of alternative documentary practices. Here is where comparison becomes particularly diicult. As David Bates points out, the evidence for state and society in later Anglo-Saxon England depends heavily on Domesday Book, a wonderful record, certainly, but one the likes of which cannot be found elsewhere.105 Such an administrative document, produced by centralized authority for the king, naturally emphasizes the more formal aspects of state and society. In contrast, our main sources for France (‘private’ charters and cartularies) and Germany (narrative accounts) are more likely to emphasize the informal aspects of the socio-political order: disputes, rituals and interpersonal relationships. Whilst the difering nature of the sources available cannot prove that the reality on the ground was in fact the same across these regions, it should warn against the assumption that it must have been as diferent as it initially appears. Indeed, though the nature of the surviving sources might itself be argued to relect fundamental diferences between these regions, such arguments from silence are dangerous, and it is salutary to remember that Domesday Book itself would never have been produced had the English repelled the Norman 103

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S. Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Revisited (Oxford, 1994). For traditional teaching on banal lordship, see F. L. Ganshof, Feudalism, trans. P. Grierson, 3rd edn (New York, 1961), pp. 156–60. Compare Baxter, ‘Lordship and Justice’, with discussions of the continental material in Roach, ‘Submission and Homage’; Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 75–93; H.-W. Goetz, ‘Staatlichkeit, Herrschaftsordnung und Lehnswesen im Ostfränkischen Reich als Forschungsproblem’, Settimane 47 (2000), 85–143, at pp. 116–23; B. Kasten, ‘Das Lehnswesen – Fakt oder Fiktion?’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 331–53; J. Dendorfer, ‘Was war das Lehnswesen? Zur politischen Bedeutung der Lehnsbindung im Hochmittelalter’, in Denkweisen und Lebenswelten des Mittelalters, ed. E. Schlotheuber (Munich, 2004), pp. 43–64; D. Barthélemy, ‘La théorie féodale à l’épreuve de l’anthropologie (note critique)’, Annales: H. S. S. 52 (1997), 321–41, at pp. 327–33; Barton, Maine, pp. 197–219; and S. D.White,‘The Politics of Exchange: Gifts, Fiefs and Feudalism’ (2001), repr. in and cited from his Re-Thinking Kinship and Feudalism, no. X, and ‘Service for Fiefs’. Bates, ‘The “Feudal Revolution”’, pp. 630–2. See also D. Bates, ‘England around the Year 1000’, in Hommes et sociétés dans l’Europe de l’an mil, ed. P. Bonassie and P. Toubert (Toulouse, 2004), pp. 101–12, at p. 102.

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Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England invasion in 1066. Without it our picture of late Anglo-Saxon state and society would be very diferent indeed and we must guard against the assumption that the absence of such a record elsewhere relects English ‘exceptionalism’ in the face of continental ‘normality’. In fact, as we have already seen, the local histories and dispute records of ninth- and tenthcentury England at times tell a remarkably similar tale to their French and German counterparts, suggesting that rituals, compromise agreements and personal bonds formed an essential part of the pre-Conquest socio-political order. Nevertheless, there is also a danger in the tide of post-modernist reassessment of neglecting diference and change altogether.106 The processual approaches so often championed by recent generations of American and French historians in order to overthrow the old ‘feudal revolution’ paradigm are not, in fact, designed to deny or even downplay the distinctions between diferent societies and can be integrated into dynamic models which make much allowance for development and change.107 There can be no doubt, on the one hand, that English kingship in this period was more like that in the East Frankish-Ottonian Reich than in West Francia, and, on the other, that all three of these kingdoms continued in important respects to be distinctive. Perhaps the most decisive factor here, at least from an English perspective, is geography: England was but a fraction the size of the Reich, and even West Francia at its greatest extent was more than thrice the size of the ‘kingdom of the English’ (not to mention the more compact ‘kingdom of the Anglo-Saxons’).108 As a result, royal power was inevitably more difuse in Germany and France, and only in the core regions of these kingdoms was it ever likely to be felt as directly as it was across the Channel. Of course, communications networks involving palaces and monasteries might make up for the absence of the ruler, and ingenious methods were developed to hold together the Carolingian and Ottonian empires; nevertheless, it was always an uphill battle.109 Indeed, as Simon MacLean succinctly puts it, ‘the [Carolingian] empire was too big for one man, but then it always had been’.110 Given 106

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As pointed out by Wickham, ‘The “Feudal Revolution”’, pp. 200–1; and C. West, ‘Upper Lotharingia and Champagne c. 850–c. 1100’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2007), pp. 2–4. A revised version of the latter is now available as Reframing the Feudal Revolution. See e.g. P. B. Roscoe, ‘Practice and Political Centralisation: A New Approach to Political Evolution’, Current Anthropology 34 (1993), 111–40. Nelson, ‘West Frankia’, pp. 105–6; Barthélemy, L’an mil, pp. 471–2. McKitterick, Charlemagne, pp. 214–91; Costambeys, Innes and MacLean, Carolingian World, pp. 65–79, 170–94 and 407–19; Bachrach, ‘Exercise of Royal Power’. MacLean, Kingship and Politics, p. 122.

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The role of the witan this, it should hardly surprise us to see more centralization in England (or at least England south of the Humber), and where similar trends are visible on the continent they are often to be found on the level of the duchies and principalities, the largest of which were about the size of Southumbrian England.111 Further geographical factors also helped encourage the consolidation of royal rule in England: the kingdom’s borders were relatively natural, and its immediate neighbours to the north and west, as a consequence of their poorer ecological position, could rarely ofer a serious threat.112 These weaker neighbours provided an ideal target for raids and an important source of plunder and tribute, which, in so far as it provided wealth for the kingdom’s warrior élite, would have further helped maintain internal stability.113 Maintaining a hegemonic position over these neighbours also brought less tangible beneits: success in battle and tribute-taking were important sources of legitimacy; meanwhile, the aura of empire and hegemonic rule, to which our kings certainly aspired, would have contributed to royal authority in a manner which deies modern ‘cost–beneit’ analysis.114 The very fact that the kingdom was expanding throughout much of this period, a process which brought a steady low of new lands and oices into royal hands, also goes some way towards explaining England’s relative stability – as the fates of the Carolingian and post-Carolingian kingdoms on the continent demonstrate, it is only after expansion halts that centrifugal tendencies tend to develop in earnest.115 This combination of factors also explains another striking feature of early English history: the precocious development of 111

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114

115

As observed by Reuter, ‘Sonderweg’, pp. 402–4. See further Goetz, ‘Dux’ und ‘Ducatus’; and J. Dhondt, Études sur la naissance des principautés territoriales en France (IXe–Xe siècle), Rijksuniversiteit te Gent. Werken uitgegeven door de Faculteit van de Wijsbegeerte en Letteren 102 (Bruges, 1948). W. Davies,‘States and Non-states in the Celtic World’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 155–70; C.Wickham, ‘Medieval Wales and European History’, Welsh History Review 25 (2010), 201–8. T. Reuter, ‘Plunder and Tribute in the Carolingian Empire’ (1985), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 231–50; R. I. Moore, The First European Revolution, c. 970–1215 (Oxford, 2000), pp. 43–4. However, cf. J. L. Nelson, ‘Introduction’, in her Frankish World, pp. xiii–xxxi, at xxviii– xxix. In this respect the situation in England approximates that in the Reich but not West Francia: Reuter, ‘Plunder and Tribute’, pp. 92–4; E. J. Goldberg, Struggle for Empire: Kingship and Conlict under Louis the German, 817–876 (Ithaca, NY, 2006), pp. 195–200. On success in battle and tribute-taking, see Reuter, ‘Warfare’, pp. 30–4; and on English imperial ideology, see Molyneaux, ‘Rulers of Britain’; Foot, Æthelstan, pp. 212–26; and Wormald, English Law, pp. 430–49. In Bourdieu’s terms both of these would have helped generate ‘symbolic capital’. T. Reuter, ‘The End of Carolingian Military Expansion’ (1990), repr. in and cited from his Medieval Polities, pp. 251–67; Molyneaux, ‘English Kingdom’, pp. 246–61.

233

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England a sense of common ‘regnal’ identity, which emerged somewhat later and more haltingly in France and Germany.116 However, although the comparisons drawn in this study have primarily been with the East Frankish and Ottonian rulers (and to a somewhat lesser extent with West Francia), this does not mean that they ofer the closest model in all respects for later Anglo-Saxon kingship; the more traditional comparisons with the eighth- and ninth-century Carolingian empire remain important, particularly within the legal sphere. Historians have reassessed the Carolingian state itself in recent decades bringing it much closer in line with both the Ottonian Reich and the later ‘feudal’ order in France and Italy.117 Hence it is not a question of England approximating either the Carolingian empire at its heyday or its tenthcentury successors, but rather of appreciating that a broad series of similarities can be seen between all of these regimes. In this respect it may be that the parallels between tenth-century England and the empire of Charlemagne and Louis the Pious have occasionally been pressed too far, at least in so far as they have been pursued at the expense of comparisons with England’s immediate neighbours in East and West Francia. The former ofers a particularly close parallel to English experience, as Karl Leyser and Timothy Reuter noted: both were multi-ethnic kingdoms, dominated by dynasties of Saxon origin; both expanded, overcoming severe external threats (from the vikings and Magyars respectively); both collected the relics of saints to aid their cause; and both harboured imperial aspirations, claiming hegemony over their neighbours.118 Yet the similarities do not stop here, as we have seen: in both kingdoms we can observe a new dedication to ritualized display and liturgical kingship in these years; in both this ethos fostered traditions of royal portraiture which are unparalleled in Western Europe at this time; and in both the royal court remained the hub of political activity, largely preventing the centrifugal tendencies so visible in the French duchies and principalities from developing. Thus, while the similarities between late ninth- and tenth-century England and the early Carolingian empire are clear, we should do well to keep in mind that other points of comparison are available. Indeed, important similarities can also be seen with late Carolingian and Capetian West Francia.Though here it was more often on the level of the duchies and principalities that centralization proceeded, the methods 116

117 118

Brühl, Deutschland – Frankreich; J. Ehlers, Die Entstehung des deutschen Reiches, Enzyklopädie deutscher Geschichte 31 (Munich, 1994); B. Schneidmüller, Nomen patriae. Die Entstehung Frankreichs in der politisch-geographischenTerminologie (10.–13. Jahrhundert), Nationes 7 (Sigmaringen, 1987). MacLean, Kingship and Politics; Deutinger, Königsherrschaft; Costambeys, ‘Disputes’. Leyser, ‘Ottonians and Wessex’, pp. 73–4; Reuter, ‘England and Germany’.

234

The role of the witan of rule employed remained much the same: assemblies and ritual were important, but so too were institutions, agents and agencies. Whether we can (or should) term such polities ‘states’ has been a matter of some discussion, particularly within the Germanophone historical tradition.119 While some scholars dismiss the term as unhelpful and anachronistic, others defend its utility as an analytical tool.120 It seems wise to strike a balance here: while it is true that there was no single term for the ‘state’ in this period (though regnum and res publica may have come close to meaning the same thing), this does not undermine its usefulness for the purposes of analysis and comparison. Indeed, as Stefen Patzold reminds us, there is no particular reason why we should limit ourselves to strictly contemporary terminology when discussing historical phenomena: so long as we are conscious that such terms are modern and not medieval they can be employed to good efect.121 The approach which the present study has taken, therefore, has been to use the term sparingly and largely for comparative purposes in the introduction and conclusions, but to avoid it when discussing primary sources in which it does not appear. Indeed, the main objection to the term ‘state’, the implicit teleology and reiication it brings with it, can to a very large extent be got around by using the types of anthropological and sociological models discussed above, models which emphasize that despite apparent similarities medieval polities may have operated very diferently from their modern bureaucratic counterparts.122 A ssemblie s and kingship in E ngland, 8 71 – 97 8 : f inal obse rvation s If we are justiied, then, in speaking of the state on an abstract level, it is worth returning to the witan’s role within it.What has emerged from this 119

120

121 122

J. Fried, ‘Gens und regnum. Bemerkungen zur doppelten Theoriebindung des Historikers’, in Sozialer Wandel im Mittelalter. Wahrnehmungsformen, Erklärungsmuster, Regelungsmechanismen, ed. J. Miethke and K. Schreiner (Sigmaringen, 1994), pp. 73–104; H.-W. Goetz, ‘Regnum: Zum politischen Denken in der Karolingerzeit’ (1987), repr. in and cited from his Vorstellungsgeschichte. Gesammelte Schriften zu Wahrnehmungen, Deutungen und Vorstellungen im Mittelalter, ed. A. Aurast, S. Elling, B. Freudenberg, A. Lutz and S. Patzold (Bochum, 2007), pp. 219–72, at 260–72. For more recent discussion, see the contributions to Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser; along with Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 19–23; and Patzold, Episcopus, pp. 535–43, esp. 540–3. From various perspectives, see Davies, ‘Medieval State’; S. Foot, ‘The Historiography of the Anglo-Saxon “Nation-State”’, in Power and the Nation, ed. Scales and Zimmer, pp. 125–42; and S. Reynolds, ‘There were States in Medieval Europe: A Response to Rees Davies’, Journal of Historical Sociology 16 (2003), 550–5. Patzold, Episcopus, pp. 540–3. See also S. Patzold, ‘Bischöfe als Träger der politischen Ordnung des Frankenreichs im 8./9. Jahrhundert’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 255–70, at 268.

235

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England study is a rather diferent picture of the late Anglo-Saxon state. While I do not wish to deny for a moment the bureaucratization visible in aspects of it, there can be no doubt that informal bonds and rituals were also an essential part of kingship in these years. Approaching the state from the perspective of assembly politics thus highlights the personal nature of medieval rulership, illustrating the crucial role played by individual bonds and consensus politics. The importance of consensual government embodied in the witan suggests that long before 1215 there was a strong tradition of consultative rule in England, and, while we may not wish to go so far as Liebermann in speaking of ‘the national assembly’ in these years, it would be equally misleading to reduce the witan to the level of the ‘King’s Council’, a term which dangerously anticipates the later Anglo-Norman curia regis and does not do justice to the scale and representative nature of these gatherings.123 As J. R. Maddicott emphasizes, there certainly is a sense in which these events laid the long-term foundations of the later English parliamentarian tradition.124 There are, as we have seen, indications that the importance of assemblies increased during our period, with these events taking on a central role in politics at least by the reign of Æthelstan.125 Nevertheless, Æthelstan and his successors were building on existing traditions: assemblies already played a part in the development and consolidation of West Saxon rule in the ninth century, and from a longue durée perspective these in turn owed much to the lively eighth- and early ninth-century Mercian tradition of assemblies and councils.126 Assembly politics as such was a constant: what changed was the scale and, at least in certain respects, signiicance of these events. Maddicott suggests that the witan’s power and inluence increased further in the course of the irst half of the eleventh century, thanks to the many disputed successions in which it took on the role of adjudicator.127 While he may be right, it is important to emphasize that our sources also become much richer at this point, so this change is probably in part an optical illusion. Indeed, there are grounds for thinking that the role of the witan in deciding the succession disputes of the eleventh century was already heralded by the disputed successions of the tenth, and it may only be the absence 123 124 125 126

127

Cf. Dumville, ‘Medieval Foundations’, p. 272, n. 27. Maddicott, Origins. See also Bisson, ‘Celebration and Persuasion’. Above, pp. 31–3. On assemblies in ninth-century Wessex, see A. P. Smyth, Alfred the Great (Oxford, 1995), pp. 421–51; Pratt, Political Thought, pp. 35–6, 47–8 and 52–3; and Nelson, ‘Power and Authority’, pp. 326–7; and on the earlier Mercian tradition, see Keynes, Councils; and Cubitt, Councils, pp. 205–34. Maddicott, Origins, pp. 36–41.

236

The role of the witan of detailed contemporary accounts that prevents us from seeing similar dynamics at work in 924–5, 957 or 975.128 I would, therefore, be hesitant to speak in terms of a lineal growth in the witan’s power and authority, though this probably was the general direction of developments. Although the increasing importance of the witan over these years need not have directly reduced royal power, it certainly would have limited kings in important ways. As emphasized at a number of points, there is no reason to see the witan purely as a royal instrument. In an era before standing armies, police forces and other means of coercion, in which wealth was generated primarily by rent and property dues, kingship always depended on the willing participation of others. Assemblies played a central role in the formation of this consensus, bringing the king’s desires to his magnates and taking their concerns back to the king. Communication from meetings of the witan was therefore not ‘mainly downward, from royal authority to the local courts’, as Maddicott seems to suggest,129 but rather always moved in both directions. Long before the thirteenth century we have evidence for a lively exchange between royal and local assemblies, exempliied by Æthelstan’s legislation and the responses to it, which illustrate how decisions were made and responded to by assemblies at many diferent levels.130 Taking counsel and seeking to generate consent in this fashion was not, however, simply to the detriment of royal authority; on the contrary, it seems if anything to have enhanced it. Here we encounter one of the central paradoxes of early medieval kingship: it was at its most powerful when at its most restrained and least autocratic.131 In this light Roman Deutinger’s assessment of the role of consent and consultation in the ninth- and tenth-century East Frankish kingdom might well be said to hold for England in these years too: according to Deutinger rulers did not attempt to obtain a veneer of consent in order to justify pre-formulated policies but rather the very nature of royal rule lay in the establishment of consent, which alone enabled efective government.132 The centrality of this consent inds expression in England not least in the fact, observed at 128 129 130

131

132

Cf. Staford, ‘Reign of Æthelred’, pp. 15–16. Maddicott, Origins, p. 452. Above, pp. 108–9. Cf. R. McKitterick, ‘Court and Communication in the Early Middle Ages: The Frankish Kingdom under Charlemagne’, in Der frühmittelalterliche Staat, ed. Pohl and Wieser, pp. 257–68. On such ‘paradoxes of power’, see J. L. Nelson, Charlemagne and the Paradoxes of Power, Reuter Lecture 2005 (Southampton, 2006). Deutinger, Königsherrschaft, pp. 267–72, esp. 268–9, asserting that ‘consensus was at the end of the day not a limitation on but rather the product of kingship’ (‘der Konsens war letzlich keine Beschränkung der Königsherrschaft, sondern Ergebnis derselben’).

237

Kingship and Consent in Anglo-Saxon England the start of this chapter, that much of the business of kingship had to be put on hold when assemblies could not (or did not) meet. Thus, where once scholarship saw the witan as a check on the king,133 we should now emphasize that royal authority itself was scarcely conceivable without it: kingship was not so much limited as enabled by assemblies. 133

The classic remains Kern, Gottesgnadentum. See also Oleson, Witenagemot, pp. 75–109, along similar lines.

238

A P PE NDIX: M E E T ING S O F THE WITAN , 8 7 1 – 9 7 8

Locatable me eti ngs of the

WITAN

Table 1 Locatable meetings of the witan: meetings recorded in narrative sources, 871–978 Location

Term used for location

Aller, Som.

—

Tiddingford, Berks. — Witham, Essex —

Date

Type of event

May/June 878 ?906 912

Baptism of Guthrum Peace treaty Submission of Danes Submission of Danes Submission of Danes Submission of Danes Submission of Danes Submission of Danes Submission of Mercians and Welsh Coronation

Buckingham, — Bucks. Passenham, Bucks. —

914

Colchester, Essex

—

917

Stamford, Lincs.

—

918

Nottingham, Notts. —

918

Tamworth, Stafs.

burg

918

Kingston-uponThames, Surrey Tamworth, Stafs.

—

4 Sept. 925 30 Jan. 926 c. 926

—

Abingdon, Berks. Eamont, Cumbria stowe Tanshelf,Yorks.

—

917

12 Jul. 927 947

Source(s) ASC 878 ASC 905 A, 906 CD ASC 912 AB, 913 BCD ASC 917 A, 915 BCD ASC 920 A ASC 920 A ASC 921 A ASC 921 A ASC 921 A

ASC 924 BCD; WM, GRA II.131; cf. S 394 Marriage of ASC 925 DBC Æthelstan’s sister (= 926) Assembly (conventus WM, GRA II.135 procerum) Submission ASC 926 D (= 927); WM, GRA II.134 Submission ASC 947 D

239

Appendix Table 1 (cont.) Location

Term used for location

Bradford, ?Wilts.

—

Chester, Chs.

—

London

—

Kingston-uponThames, Surrey

—

Type of event

c. 959

Assembly (sapientium conventus) May 973 Submission

Source(s) B., VD, c. 25

Ælfric, Life of Swithun, c. 28 974 × 975 Assembly LÆth, c. 46 (= LE II.35) c. 975 Assembly (possibly LÆth, c. 60 coronation (= LE II.49) assembly) c. 30 Apr. Assembly (micel ASC 977 CB 977 gemot) 977 Assembly ASC 978 DE

Kirtlington, Oxon. — Calne, Wilts.

Date

—

Table 2 Locatable meetings of the witan: assemblies recorded in law-codes, 871–978 Location

Term used for location

Exeter, Devon Grately, Hants.

ceastre —

Exeter, Devon Faversham, Kent Thunderield, Surrey Whittlebury, Northants. London Colyton, Hants. Andover, Hants. Wihtbordesstan

ceastre — —

II Ew prol. II As epil.; III As 2, 5; IV As 1–2; V As prol.; VI As prol. Christmas, 924 × 939 V As; VI As 1; VI As prol. 924 × 939 III As 2; IV As 1 924 × 939 IV AS 1; VI As prol., 10

—

924 × 939

VI As 12

byrig — — —

Easter, 939 × 946 939 × 946 959 × 975 959 × 975 (?962)

I Em prol. III Em prol. IV Eg 1.4 IV Eg 1.4

Date

Source(s)

899 × 924 924 × 939

240

Table 3 Locatable meetings of the witan: assemblies recorded in charters, 871–978 Location

Term used for location

Date

Epsom, Surrey Woolmer, Hants. Chelsea, Middx. Malmesbury, Wilts. Winchester, Hants. Southampton, Hants. Southampton, Hants. Axminster, Devon Milton, ?Dorset Southampton, Hants. Bicanleag, ?Devon Winchester, Hants. Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey

locus locus locus locus ciuitas pagus locus locus celeber locus celeber celeber locus uilla uenatoria — —

882 898 898 × 899 871 × 899 (?890s) 900 c. 901 901 901 903 903 903 c. 909 4 Sept. 925

Exeter, Devon Lyminster, Sussex Chippenham, Wilts. Colchester, Essex King’s Worthy, Hants. Wellow, Hants. Lifton, Devon Milton, ?Dorset Exeter, Devon Amesbury, Wilts. Wilton, Wilts. Chippenham, Wilts. Dorchester, Dorset

arx regia uilla omnibus notissima uilla omnibus notissima villa omnibus notissima uilla omnibus notissima uilla regali villa omnibus notissima villa noblissima ciuitas famosissima uilla omnibus notissima ciuitas notissima uilla omnibus notissima villa regali

Easter (16 Apr.) 928 3 Apr. 930 29 Apr. 930 23 Mar. 931 20 June 931 15 July 931 12 Nov. 931 30 Aug. 932 9 Nov. 932 24 Dec. 932 11 Jan. 933 26 Jan. 933 7 Apr. 934

Source S 345 S 350 S 1628 S 356 S 359, 1284 S 360 (sp), 370 (sp) S 366 S 364 S 368 S 369 S 372–4, 1286 S 385 S 394; cf. ASC 924 BCD (= 924–5) S 399–400* S 403* S 405* S 412* S 413* S 1604* S 416* S 417* S 418a* S 418–19* S 379* S 422–3* S 391 (sp)*

Table 3 (cont.) Location

Term used for location

Date

Winchester, Hants. Nottingham, Notts. Buckingham, Bucks. Frome, Som. Dorchester, Dorset Cirencester, Gloucs. Hamsey, Sussex Colchester, Essex Chippenham, Wilts. Winchcombe, Gloucs. Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey ?Gadshill, Kent Somerton, Som. Abingdon, Berks. Cirencester, Gloucs. Cheddar, Som. Edington, Wilts. Penkridge, Stafs. Cheddar, Som. Woolmer, Hants. London Bath, Som.

ciuitas opinatissima civitas omnibus notissima villa on þam cynelicun hamæ ciuitas celeberrima civitas a Romanis olim constructa — — celebrus locus locus celeberrimus villa regalis palacium villa famosissima regalis uilula — palatium regis uilla locus famosus sedes regalis villa regalis civitas famosa urbs

28 May 934 7 June 934 13 Sept. 934 16 Dec. 934 21 Dec. [935] 935 924 × 939 940 940 942 946 948 Easter (22 Apr.) 949 950 956 29 Nov. 956 9 May 957 958 Easter, ?968 Easter (27 Mar.) 970 973 ‘974’ [973]

London ?Puddletown, Dorset

— villa

963 × 975 976

Note: *‘Æthelstan A’ Charters

Source S 425* S 407* S 426* S 427 (sp)* S 434 (sp)* S 1792* S 1211 S 472 S 473 S 479 S 520 S 537 (sp) S 549 S 552a S 663 S 611 S 646 S 667 S 806 (sp) S 779 (sp), 776 (sp) S 1328 S 799 (sp); cf. ASC 973 AB, 974 C, 972 DE S 1457 S 830

Meetings of the witan, 871–978 Date d me eti ngs of the

WITAN

Table 4 Dated meetings of the witan, 871–978 Date

Source

Potential signiicance

19 Oct. ?878 2 Aug. 891 4 Sept. 925 16 Apr. 928 3 Apr. 930 29 Apr. 930

S 352 S 347 S 394, ASC 925 BCD S 399–400* S 403* S 405*

23 Mar. 931 20 June 931 15 July 931 12 Nov. 931 30 Aug. 932

S 412* S 413* S 1604* S 416* S 417*

9 Nov. 932 24 Dec. 932 11 Jan. 933 26 Jan. 933 7 Apr. 934 28 May 934 7 June 934 13 Sept. 934 16 Dec. 934 21 Dec. [935] Christmas, 924 × 939 Easter, 939 × 946 Easter (22 Apr.) 949 13 Feb. 956 29 Nov. 956

S 418a* S 418–19* S 379* S 422–3* S 391 (sp)* S 425* S 407* S 426* S 427 (sp)* S 434 (sp)* V As prol. I Em prol. S 549 S 607 (sp) S 611

9 May 957

S 646

Easter ?968 Easter (27 Mar.) 970 Pentecost (11 May) 973

S 806 (sp) S 779 (sp), 776 (sp) S 799 (sp), ASC 973 AB, 974 C, 972 DE ASC 977 CB

Luke the Evangelist (18 Oct.) — — Easter (13 Apr.) Fifth Lenten Sunday (4 Apr.) Seventh Sunday of Easter (30 Apr.) Ascension of Mary (25 Mar.) St Alban (22 June) Sunday St Martin (11 Nov.) Beheading of John the Baptist (28 Aug.) St Martin (11 Nov.) Christmas Sunday Conversion of St Paul (27 Jan.) Easter (6 Apr.) Pentecost (25 May) Sunday — — Thomas the Apostle (21 Dec.) Christmas Easter Easter — Advent Sunday (30 Nov.), Andrew the Apostle (29 Nov.) Anniversary of the battle of Edington (6 × 12 May) Easter Easter Pentecost

30 April 977

Note: *‘Æthelstan A’ Charters

243

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Banton, N., ‘Ealdormen and Earls in England from the Reign of Alfred to the Reign of Æthelred II’ (unpublished D.Phil. dissertation, University of Oxford, 1981) Faulkner, T., ‘The Frankish leges in the Carolingian Period’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge, 2010)

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‘Anglo-Saxon Penitentials: A Cultural Database’: www.anglo-saxon.net/penance (online edition and translation of the Old English penitentials by A. J. Frantzen) ‘Electronic Sawyer’, ed. S. Kelly and R. Rushforth et al.: www.esawyer.org.uk (a revised version of Sawyer, Anglo-Saxon Charters, listed under ‘Primary sources’) ‘Monumenta Germaniae Historiae digital’: www.dmgh.de (digital versions of all primary sources edited in the MGH series) ‘ODNB’: www.oxforddnb.com (an online version of Matthew and Harrison, eds., Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, listed under ‘Secondary literature’) ‘Prosopopgraphy of Anglo-Saxon England’: www.pase.ac.uk

291

INDEX

Abbo of Fleury, 168 abbots, 193 appointment, 155 assembly attendance, 43 charter attestation, 28, 39–40 Abingdon Abbey, 80, 92, 96, 100, 155, 185, 188 Abingdon, Berkshire, 59, 63, 67, 157 Adalbert of Magdeburg, 209 Adalhard of Corbie, 147 Ælfgifu, wife of Eadwig, 169 Ælfheah, abbot (later archbishop), 177 Ælfheah, ealdorman, 130 Ælfhere, ealdorman, 35, 70, 101, 102 Ælfric of Eynsham, 150, 152, 165, 201, 221, 224, 225 Ælfric, son of Æscwyn, 131 Ælfsige, archbishop of Canterbury, 187 Ælfsige, disputant, 130 Ælfstan, bishop of Rochester, 131–2 Ælfthryth, daughter of Alfred the Great, 205 Ælfthryth, wife of Edgar, 41, 163, 185, 188, 209 Ælfweard, son of Edward the Elder, 34, 57, 151, 156 Ælfwine, ealdorman, 177 Ælfwold, thegn, 178 Æscwig, abbot of Bath, 204 Æscwyn, disputant, 131–2 Æthelbald, king of the West Saxons (858–60), 7 Æthelberht, king of the West Saxons (860–5), 7 Æthellæd, lady of the Mercians, 8 Æthelgifu, disputant, 129–30 Æthelhelm, disputant, 126 Æthelhelm, king’s son, 180 ætheling(s), 91, 93, 161 charter attestation, 28, 40–2 presentation to court, 190–1 Æthelmær, son of Ealdorman Æthelweard, 134 Æthelred I, king of the West Saxons (865–71), 7, 158

Æthelred II, king of the English (978–1016), 10, 15, 22, 35, 41, 66, 91–2, 114, 131, 134–5, 137, 151, 152, 158, 164, 165, 171, 191, 216–17 Æthelred, ealdorman of Mercia, 7, 8, 125 Æthelred, king of Mercia, 183 Æthelsige, ealdorman, 183 Æthelstan ‘Half-King’, ealdorman, 35, 70, 93, 94, 101, 102, 213 Æthelstan of Sunbury, 130–1 Æthelstan, ealdorman, 130, 131 Æthelstan, king of the English (924–39), 8, 15, 24, 29, 30, 32–3, 36, 44, 51, 54, 57–63, 67, 68, 69, 72–4, 92–3, 97–8, 99, 108–9, 111–12, 120, 127, 128, 133, 149, 151, 153, 156, 157, 158, 159, 183, 190–1, 196–7, 203, 204, 205, 206, 208, 210, 212, 236, 237 coronation, 35, 57–9 Æthelstan, priest and kinsman of Archbishop Oda, 140, 142 Æthelstan, priest of Horningsea, 138, 141 Æthelstan, son of Mann, 138, 140 Æthelweard, ealdorman, 15, 203 Æthelwine, ealdorman, 141, 175, 179, 180, 188 Æthelwold, bishop of Winchester, 92, 137–40, 141, 154, 155, 172–3, 175, 177, 179, 180, 182, 183, 185, 186, 188, 196, 224, 225 Æthelwulf, king of the West Saxons (839–58), 7, 59, 92, 202 Æthelwulf, witness to a dispute, 125 Africa, 18 Ailsworth, Northamptonshire, 132–3 Akeman Street, see roads, Roman Alba, Kingdom of, 24, 50, 51, 53, 59 Alban, St, 73 Alcester, Council of, 86, 167, 176 Alfred the Great, king of the Anglo-Saxons (871–99), 7, 8, 15, 28, 29, 30–1, 48, 56–7, 67, 74, 96, 99, 107, 108, 113–14, 117, 119,

292

Index 125, 126, 133, 145, 156, 189, 190, 193, 201, 203, 205, 229 ‘Alfredian Renaissance’, 6 Alfred, minister, 73 Alfred, son of Æthelred II, 182 Aller, Somerset, 48 Althof , Gerd, 189, 210 Amesbury, Wiltshire, 59 amphitheatre, 68 Andover, Hampshire, 54, 171 Andrew, St, 74 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, 48, 71, 93, 151, 154, 155, 156, 158, 165, 184, 209 ‘Common Stock’, 8 Anglo-Saxons, kingdom of the, 7–8, 29, 57, 119, 232 anthropology and history, 18–19, 122–3 processual, 223 ‘Anti-Monastic Reaction’, 178, 182 antiphons, 177, 179 arson, 115, see also law artwork, 198, 201 ‘Winchester School’, 196 Ascension of Mary, 73 assemblies, local, see also hundred (court); shire (court) connections with royal assemblies, 109, 237 oaths and pledges given at, 114 assemblies, royal areas of competence, 148–9 and the army, 24, 49 attendance, 31–2, 33, 37–8, 42–3 and church councils, 24 and consent, 13, 15, 44, 210–11 contacts with local assemblies, 109 coronation, 57–9, 149–50, 162–6, 169–71 deinition of, 25 deposition of kings, 152 as distinct from local, 21–2 division of the kingdom, 156 ‘Grand Assemblies’, 32–3 historiography, 1–6 issuing of charters, 81–9 length, 71–2 making of peace treaties, 156–7 March- and Mayield, 24, 75 military planning, 158–9 reception of foreign embassies, 157–8 ritual performance at, 14–15, 162–73 and the royal court, 24–5 royal election, 150–1, 161 size of, 43 and ‘the state’, 11–14 summer and winter, 43

terminology conventus, 20 curia regis, 236 gemot, 20 King’s Council, 3, 12, 236 synoð, 23 witenagemot, 3, 20 typologies of ‘diplomatic’, 48–53 ‘dispositive’, 54–64 ‘legislative’, 53–4 problems created by, 64–6 Asser, 8, 30, 145, 189 Augustine of Canterbury, 171 Augustine of Hippo, 183, 222 Austria, 101 Axminster, Devon, 56 B., 69, 150, 151, 153, 155, 156, 158, 169–70, 174, 181, 193, 196, 197, 210, 228 Bakewell, Derbyshire, 50 Baldwin II, count of Flanders, 205 baptism, see liturgy barefoot procession/journey, 178 Barnwell, Cambridgeshire, 140 Barrow, Julia, 52, 205 Bates, David, 231 Bath, Somerset, 52, 63, 64, 67, 68, 162, 165 Battle of Maldon, 227 Bavaria, 101 Baxter, Stephen, 219 Bedingield, Brad, 197 Bell, Catherine, 18 Benedict, St, 196, 221 Benedictional of Æthelwold, 197, 198 Benedictional of Archbishop Robert, 23 beneice(s), 139 Bentley, Michael, 2 Beornric, owner of land at Sunbury, 130 Beowulf, 17, 211 Berhtwald, archbishop of Canterbury, 86, 167 Bible, 201, 207 Old Testament, 104 Bicanleag (?Bickleigh, Devon), 56, 69 bishops, 71, 144, 177, 189, 193 appointment, 153–4 assembly attendance, 43 auxillary bishops, 40, 43 charter attestation, 28, 30, 31, 34, 37–8 role in legislation, 107, 108 Bisson, Thomas N., 210 Blickling Homilies, 221 Blockley, Gloucestershire, 125 Boethius, 183 Boethius, Old English, 183

293

Index bookland, 21, 90, 91, 95, 96, 97, see also diplomas, Anglo-Saxon Bourdieu, Pierre, 18, 222–3, 226 Bradford (?Bradford-upon-Avon, Wiltshire), 67 bribery, 125, 126, 138, 186 bridgework, 47 Brighton, 54 Bristol Channel, 62 Bromley, Kent, 132 Brühl, Carlrichard, 203 Brunanburh, Battle of (937), 9, 36 Brunner, Heinrich, 90 Brunner, Otto, 12 Bruno, archbishop of Cologne, 206 Buc, Philippe, 195, 201, 211 Buckingham, 24, 49, 59, 60, 159 bureaucracy, 13, 16, 17, 215, 219, 222, 225, 236, see also kingship; ritual; state ‘Burghal Hidage’, 68 Burgred, king of Mercia, 158 burh, 32, 49, 62, 68 Burton Abbey, 95, 100 Butterield, Herbert, 2, 6 Byrhtferth of Ramsey, 22, 75, 86, 140, 152, 153, 154, 162–9, 170, 173, 174, 176, 178, 179, 180, 183, 186, 188, 196, 197, 209, 220, 228 Byrhthelm, archbishop of Canterbury, 153 Calne, Wiltshire, 67 Cambridge, 141 Campbell, James, 11, 14, 218, 226 Candlemas, 197, 207 Canterbury Benedictional, 23, 200 Canterbury Cathedral, 40, 153, 154, see also Christ Church, Canterbury Capetian realm, 166 capital, symbolic and economic, see Bourdieu, Pierre capitularies, see Carolingian realm(s) Carlisle, Cumbria, 51 Carloman, king of West Francia, 147 Carolingian realm(s), 16, 103, 123, 143, 145, 156, 166, 191, 193, 202–3, 233, 234 capitularies, 108, 143 feuding within, 117 royal legislation, 109, 110–11, 112 cattle, 54 Cenwulf, grantor of land, 125 Ceolnoth, archbishop of Canterbury, 59 Chanson de Roland, 227 chapel, royal, 42, 43, 88 chaplains, royal, 153 Chaplais, Pierre, 78–9, 80 charisma, 16, 17, 219, 222, see also Weber, Max Charlemagne, Frankish emperor, 234

Charles the Bald, ruler of West Francia, 203, 229 Charles the Straightforward, king of West Francia, 93 charters, private, 27, 90 Cheddar, Somerset, 63, 68 Chelsea, Middlesex, 56 Chester, 52, 64, 68, 165 Cheyette, Frederic, 123, 142 Chippenham, Wiltshire, 59, 63 Christ, 174, 177, 181, 196, 197, 198 Christ Church, Canterbury, 96, 99, 127, 128, 129 Christmas, 71, 73, 74, 75, 207 Cirencester, Gloucestershire, 60, 63 Cluny, 139, 140 Cnut, king of the English (1016–35), 28, 80, 114, 144, 157, 175, 180, 182 Coenred, king of Mercia, 86, 167 Coenwald, bishop of Worcester, 204, 213 Cogad Gáedel re Gallaib, 205 coinage, 97, 159, 215, see also kingship; state royal portraiture on, 196 Colchester, Essex, 49, 59, 63 Colyton, Devon, 54 commendation, see lordship coniscation, see forfeiture Constantin II, ruler of Alba, 51, 60, 159 constitutional history, 2, 6, 12, 19, 151, 217 ‘new constitutional history’, 15 ‘Constitutions of Oda’, 148 corepiscopi, see bishops Cornwall, 60, 62, 96, 159 coronation, see assemblies, royal coronation oath, see kingship Coronation Ordines First Ordo, 196, 203 Second Ordo, 164, 196, 203 councils, church, 20, 24, see also assemblies, royal counsellors, royal terminology, 20–1 witan, 3 court (judicial), see law; hundred (court); shire (court) court, royal, 24–5, 42, 70, 101, 119 Crediton Cathedral, 154, 182, 185 crown-wearing, 74, see also festival crowning Cubitt, Catherine, 5, 22 Cynesige, bishop of Lichield, 169, 210 Danelaw, 24, 39, 40, 42, 54, 57, 70, 96, 97, 99–101, 102, 119, 121, 153, 157 De duodecim abusivis saeculi, see Pseudo-Cyprian de Jong, Mayke, 134 Dee, river, 52 Deshman, Robert, 197, 201 Deutinger, Roman, 214, 237

294

Index diplomas, Anglo-Saxon, 5, 6, 20, 25, 53, 64, 72, 212, 218, 220, see also ritual: conveyancing archival survival, 95–6 authentication, 28 blessing, 167, 168 boundary clause, 83, 84 cartae sine litteris, 85 dating, 72, 74, 150 diplomatic mainstream, 33–4, 79 dispositive nature, 90 disputes recorded in, 124–36 draftsmen/agencies ‘Æthelstan A’, 32–3, 35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 42, 55, 59, 72, 75, 82, 84, 88 ‘Æthelstan C’, 82 ‘alliterative’ charters, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 56, 63, 70, 87, 89, 99 ‘Dunstan B’, 37, 39, 41, 63 ‘Edgar A’, 82, 83, 89 ‘Edmund C’, 83 emotional expressions in, 199 foundation charters, 85 intervention, 188 Kentish, 29, 31 livery of seisin, 82 nature of transactions recorded, 94–5, 96–9, 188 orientation, 30 place of issue, 54–64, 66 and private charters, 90 production, 42–3, 78–89, 217 hiatus in (910–24), 96 rate of production, 99 royal writing oice, 87–9, 217 two-stage, 81–4 proem, 90 sanction (anathema), 90, 167, 168, 217 scribal memoranda, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84 ‘Second Decimation’, 92 symbolism, 89–94 testamentary value, 91, 125 traditio cartae, 82, 85–6, 94 West Saxon, 29, 55, 97 witness-list, 21, 78, 90, 161, 168, 198 abbreviation of, 35 additions to, 82–3 composition, 28, 30–1 length, 29–30, 32–3 order, 28, 31 origins, 27–8 Welsh rulers in, 39, 51 diplomas, continental intervention, 188 litterae elongatae, 89

Ottonian, 87–8, 228 papal, 167 placita, 135 production, 77, 87–8, 228 ritual aspects of, 89 seals, 89 dispute settlement, 105–6, 122–43, 216, see also feuding; law adjudication, 137 compromise, 128, 130, 137, 138, 140, 141, 142 extra-judicial settlement, 123 Domesday Book, 17, 231 ‘farm of one night’, 62 Dorchester, Dorset, 54, 59 Dorchester-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, 67 Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury, 69, 130, 131, 132, 150, 153, 154, 155, 162–3, 168, 169, 170, 174, 176, 182, 183, 184, 185, 193, 210, 211, 224, 225 Durham, 100 ‘Durham Ritual’, 69 Durkheim, Émile, 18, 201 Eadburh, daughter of Edward the Elder, 40, 93 Eadgifu, daughter of Edward the Elder, 205 Eadgifu, wife of Edward the Elder, 41, 127–9, 136, 154, 155, 182, 185, 188, 209 Eadgyth (Edith), daughter of Edward the Elder, 15, 203, 204 Eadhild, daughter of Edward the Elder, 57, 157, 205 Eadmer, disputant, 129–30 Eadred, king of the English (946–55), 9, 40, 52, 63, 83, 93, 128, 130, 149, 150, 154, 155, 175, 181, 183, 185, 193, 212 Eadric Streona, 184 Eadsige, archbishop of Canterbury, 154 Eadwig, king of the English (955–9), 9–10, 41, 83, 130, 151, 156, 169–70, 187, 210 ealdordom, 70 ealdormen, 130, 144, 160, 189, 224 appointment, 155–6, 215 assembly attendance, 43 charter attestation, 28, 30, 31, 34, 35–6, 37–8 deposition, 155–6 northern, 38–9 Ealhswith, wife of Alfred the Great, 56 Eamont Bridge, Cumbria, 51, 60 East Anglia, 49 East Francia, 16, 171, 178, 187, 202, 213, 227, 232, 234, 237, see also Ottonian Reich (Germany) East Wellow, Hampshire, 59 Easter, 57, 59, 62, 63, 66, 73, 74, 75–6, 92, 166, 167, 174, 204, 207

295

Index Eastertide, 73, 75, 193 Ecgberht, king of the West Saxons (802–39), 7, 59 Ecgferth, ealdorman, 130, 131, 191 Ecgwine, St, 180, 183, 187, 189 Edgar, king of the English (957/9–75), 9, 10, 28, 38, 39, 41, 42, 52–3, 54, 64, 67, 69, 75, 83, 86, 101, 120, 128, 130, 131, 132, 137, 138, 142, 144, 150, 152, 153, 155, 156, 158, 162–7, 168, 170, 174, 176, 180, 183, 185, 186, 188, 196, 204, 210 Edington, battle of (878), 7, 74 Edington, Wiltshire, 63, 74 Edmund Ironside, son of Æthelred II, 157, 179, 184 Edmund, king of the English (939–46), 9, 36, 40, 54, 69, 93, 114, 128, 158 Edmund, son of Edgar, 41 Edward the Confessor, king of the English (1042–66), 85, 91, 142, 154, 156, 181, 184, 192 Edward the Elder, king of the Anglo-Saxons (899–924), 8, 24, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 39, 42, 49–51, 54, 56–7, 67, 96, 99, 127, 128, 157 Edward the Martyr, king of the English (975–8), 9, 10, 41, 67, 137, 140, 150, 152, 165, 170–1, 175, 179, 180, 212, 221 Edwin, son of Edward the Elder, 93 Egbert Pontiical, 23, 200 Ely Abbey, 137–40, 141, 145, 186 Ely, Cambridgeshire, 141, 188 embassies, see assemblies, royal emotional display, 174–6, 199–200 anger, 175 joy, 175 weeping, 163, 164, 174–5, 199–200 Empire, Roman, 27, 104, 136, 146 Encomium Emmae, 179 English, kingdom of the, 8–10, 29, 99, 119, 232 Enlightenment, 220 Epsom, Surrey, 56 Eucharist, 221 Evans-Pritchard, E. E., 106 Evesham Abbey, 86, 167 exceptionalism, English, 11, 124, 227 excommunication, 120, see also dispute settlement; law Exeter, 54, 59, 60, 85, 159 exile, see law Eye, Cambridgeshire, 138

favour, royal, 126, 163, 167, 182–4, 225 Fawkham, Kent, 132 Felix, Frankish secretary to Æthewulf, 203 festival crowning, 203, 204, 209, see also crownwearing; ritual feudal revolution, 229, 232 feuding, 114, 115–17, 142–3, see also dispute settlement; law ‘peace in the feud’, 106, 116 isc, royal, 95 ‘Five Boroughs’, 8, 9 Flanders, 205 Fleming, Robin, 216 Fleury Abbey, 176, 186 Flocuin of St-Bertin, 93 Flodoard of Reims, 158 Foldbriht, abbot of Pershore, 177, 220 folkland, 95, 96 ‘Fonthill Letter’, 125–7 forfeiture, 114, 130, 132, 133–6, 143 Fosse Way, see roads, Roman France, 14, see also Carolingian realm(s); West Francia Francia, see Carolingian realm(s); East Francia; West Francia Fried, Johannes, 161, 192, 208 friendship, 214, 225 Frithestan, bishop of Winchester, 34–5, 57, 208 Frome, Somerset, 60, 68 functionalism, 123, 218, 226 Gadshill, Kent, 63 Galbraith,Vivian, 229 Geary, Patrick, 123, 136, 142 Gerhard of Alsace, count, 191 Germanus, abbot of Winchcombe, 177, 181 Germany, 14, see also East Francia; Ottonian Reich (Germany) Glastonbury Abbey, 35, 155, 193 glossing, 196 Gloucester, 71 Gluckman, Max, 106 Goda, disputant, 127–9 Godwine, earl, 154, 181, 182, 184, 192 Goody, Jack, 111, 224, 226 Gospels, 121, 174, 179 Grately code, see law-codes Grately, Hampshire, 54 Gregory the Great, 222 Gundobad, king of the Burgundians, 105 Guthrum, Scandinavian ruler, 7, 48

‘farm of one night’, see Domesday Book fasting, 200 Faversham, Kent, 54

haligdom, king’s, 88 Halloran, Kevin, 39 Hamsey, Sussex, 60

296

Index Harald, king of Denmark, 180, 182 Harold Godwineson, 156, 184 Harold Harefoot, king of the English (1035–40), 156 Hart, Cyril Roy, 99 Harthacnut, king of the English (1040–2), 156 Harz Mountains, 71 Helmstan, disputant, 125–7, 134, 136 Henry I, ruler of Germany, 40 Henry II, ruler of Germany, 64 heregeld, 159, 216 Herewulf, priest of Horningsea, 138 heriot, 192 hermeneutic style, 34, 90 Hincmar of Reims, 21, 27, 147–8, 193 Hitchin, Hertfordshire, 129 honour, 17, 222 Horningsea, minster church, 138 Hugh the Great, duke of Francia, 57, 157, 158, 205 Humber, river, 52 hundred (court), 114, 118, 119, 128, 131, 144, 159, 216 meeting places, 67 hunting, 69 Hyams, Paul, 115, 124 hymns, 172 Hywel Dda, ruler of Deheubarth, 62 ‘imperial aristocracy’, Carolingian, 101 Ine, king of the West Saxons (688–726), 113 Ingulf, despoiler of Ely, 139 Innes, Matthew, 214 Insley, Charles, 5, 6, 79 Ireland, 205 Israel the Grammarian, 206 Italy, 122 itinerancy, royal, 48, 59, 63, 70–1, 229 Jerusalem, 177, 197, 198 Jezebel, 169 John the Baptist, 73 John the Old Saxon, 15, 190 John, Eric, 90 Judas, 181 Judgement, Day of, 73 Judith, daughter of Charles the Bald, 203 justice, royal, 104–5, see also dispute settlement; law Justinian, emperor of Byzantium, 108 Kelly, Susan, 79, 80–1, 83 Kennedy, Alan, 141 Kent, 31, 96, 111 Kern, Fritz, 4, 12, 13, 144

Kershaw, Paul, 106 Keynes, Simon, 5, 42, 78–9, 80, 81, 82, 88 King’s Worthy, Hampshire, 59, 68 kingship, see also bureaucracy; charisma; ritual accession, 149–52 Christological, 135 consensual, 44, 159–60, 213–15, 237–8 coronation oath, 104, 150, 163 indirect rule, 102–3 law-making, 143–4 models of, 11–14 minimal vs maximal, 18–19 royal deposition, 152 Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey, 45, 57–9, 63, 67, 69, 71, 151 kinship, 117–18, 214 Kirtlington, Oxfordshire, 67 Königsnähe, 94, 183–4, see also favour, royal Koziol, Geofrey, 149 Kränzle, Andreas, 225 Lanalet Pontiical, 198, 200 Lancaster, 51 Lantfred of Winchester, 53, 119, 144 laudes regiae, 177 law, see also dispute settlement; feuding; kingship compensation, 113–16, 117, 126, 130 courts, 141, 144, see also hundred (court); shire (court) customary, 121, 144 exile, 28, 155, 216 judicial mutilation, 221 law-making, 105, 208, 215, 220 and the witan, 107–9 legal advocacy, 126, 185–6 outlawry, 132, 142, 143, 156 public vs private, 144, 226 wergild, 115, 116, 130–1 law-codes, 5, 6, 11, 25, 53, 54, 64, 72, 157, 159, 161, 212, 218, 220 II Æthelstan, 107, 109, 111, 114, 132 III Æthelstan, 111, 112 IV Æthelstan, 109, 112 V Æthelstan, 72, 73, 111 VI Æthelstan, 109, 112, 118 IV Edgar, 111, 119, 120 II Edmund, 115, 116, 185 I Edward, 107 Alfred’s code, 113–14, 120, 127, 133 ‘barbarian’, 104, 113 dating, 72 Hundred Ordinance, 118 and literacy, 109–12 non-royal, 108–9 Ordinance on Charities, 107

297

Index law-codes (cont.) place of issue, 53–4, 66 promulgation, 198 and the witan, 22 Lent, 73 Leofwine, disputant, 140–1 Leyser, Karl, 16, 207, 234 Libellus Æthelwoldi episcopi, 124, 137–40, 141, 144, 145, 188 Lichield, Stafordshire, 49 Liebermann, Felix, 1, 2, 6, 71, 155, 236 Lifton, Devon, 59, 62, 68, 159, 208 literacy and orality, 111 and ritual, 224–5 liturgy, 207, see also ritual baptism, 207 ‘drammatic liturgy’, 202 processions, 197, 207 rites for councils, 23 rites of penance, 200 livery of seisin, see diplomas, Anglo-Saxon loanland, 91 London, 54, 56, 63, 67, 71, 158, 179 London ‘Peace Guild’, see law-codes: VI Æthelstan lordship, 113, 115, 121, 127 banal, 231 commendation, 113 English vs continental, 230–1 and kinship, 115, 117–18 Lothar IV, king of West Francia, 149 Lotharingia, 204 Louis IV (d’Outremer), king of West Francia, 205 Louis V, king of West Francia, 149 Louis the German, king of East Francia, 101 Louis the Pious, Frankish emperor, 73, 170, 234 Luke, St, 74 Lydford, Devon, 62 Lyminster, Sussex, 59 MacLean, Simon, 143, 232 Maddicott, J. R., 6, 236, 237 magi, 196 Magyars, 213, 228, 234 Main, river, 71 Maitland, Frederic William, 2 Malmesbury, 56 Manni, abbot of Evesham, 155 Marchield, see assemblies, royal Martin, St, 73 Mathilda of Essen, 15, 203 Mauss, Marcel, 18 Mayer, Theodor, 12, 13 Mayield, see assemblies, royal

memory, cultural/social, 164 Mercia, 5, 7, 8, 38, 39, 51, 54, 57, 69, 70, 96, 99–101, 102, 150, 151 Merovingian Francia, 123 Michael’s Mount, Cornwall, 91 Milton (?Dorset), 56, 59, 68 Missal of Robert of Jumièges, 200 modernism, 2, 4, 6, 12 ‘monastic retirement’, 134 monopoly on legitimate force (Gewaltmonopol), see Weber, Max Mont-Saint-Michel, 91 Muir, Edward, 18 mutation féodale, see feudal revolution Naismith, Rory, 215 Nelson, Janet L., 5, 229 New Minster, Winchester, 56 Norman Conquest, 33 Normandy, 91 North Britain, 52, 64, 205 Northumbria, 50, 97, 99 Nottingham, 24, 49, 59, 60, 159 Nuer, 106 Nunnaminster, Winchester, 56 oath(s), 113–14, 118, 121, 127, 128, 129 false, 120 Oda, archbishop of Canterbury, 140, 153, 169, 174, 180, 186, 187, 210 Ofa, king of Mercia, 202 Olaf Guthfrithson, Scandinavian ruler, 9 Oleson, Tryggvi, 4, 149 orality, 164, see also literacy ordeal (judicial), 118, 132 order, symbolic, 163, 167, 171, 176–7, 182, 198, see also ritual Ordlaf, ealdorman, 125–7, 189 Ordulf, minister, 134 Oscytel, archbishop of York, 154, 180 Osferth, ealdorman, 35 Oslac, disputant, 186 Oslac, ealdorman, 38, 39, 42 Osterland, Kent, 127–9 Oswald, archbishop of York, 140, 155, 162–3, 166, 167, 168, 175, 176, 178, 179, 180, 183, 185, 186, 188, 224, 225 Otto I, ruler of Germany, 15, 40, 203, 206 Ottonian Reich (Germany), 15, 103, 134, 145, 151, 158, 166, 171, 178, 189, 191, 194, 202, 204, 209, 210, 213, 227–9, 232, 234, see also East Francia dispute settlement within, 127 and England, 15–16 feuding within, 117

298

Index Owain, ruler of Strathclyde, 51, 60 Pactus legis Salicae, 105 Palm Sunday, 150, 177, 197, 204, 207 pardon, royal, 134, 135 parliament, origins of, 1–2, 3–4, 235–7 Passenham, Northamptonshire, 49 Passio Eadwardi, 150, 170–1, 179, 180 Patzold, Stefen, 142, 148, 235 Paul, St, 73 Peace of God, 209, 230 peace treaties, see assemblies, royal penance, 120, 178, 184, 199–200 penitentials, 199–200 Penkridge, Stafordshire, 63 Pentecost, 24, 52, 63, 64, 73, 74, 75, 159, 207 Peter, St, 85 placita, see diplomas, continental plague, 120 pledges, 113–14, 121 plunder, 233 Pollock, Sir Frederick, 139 Polynesia, 18 Port Way, see roads, Roman Portiforium of Saint Wulfstan, 200 Pössel, Christina, 195, 211 precaria, 139 priests assembly attendance, 42 charter attestation, 28 royal, 88 psalms, 73, 92 Pseudo-Cyprian, 104 public sphere, 189 Puddletown, Dorset, 63 Quedlinburg, Saxony, 47 queens, 161 charter attestation, 28, 40–2 Rabin, Andrew, 126, 185, 186 Ramsey Abbey, 137, 141, 142, 166, 168, 175, 177, 179, 180, 181 Liber benefactorum, 86–7, 124, 137, 140–1, 177, 188 reeves, 119, 144, 224, see also shire-reeve reform, Benedictine, 6, 196, 201, 203, 205, 207 Reformation, 220 regalia, 163, 164, 196–7, 204, 206 crown, 169, 170, 196–7 Regularis Concordia, 22, 92 relics, 121, 178 reliquary, 178 Reuter, Timothy, 14, 16, 75, 227, 234 Rhine, river, 71 Richer of Reims, 158

ritual, see also assemblies, royal; bureaucracy; emotional display; kingship adventus, 177–9, 197 at assemblies, 162–73 and bureaucracy, 15, 16–17 church dedication, 171–3 commendation, 172 consecration, 162–3, 165, 169, 170 conveyancing, 81–9, 91, 168, 199, 208 feasting, 163, 164, 169–70, 172, 175, 181–2, 210, 218 gift-giving, 17, 147, 186, 193 historiography, 14–16 Inszenierung, 163, 210 investiture, 190–3 and itinerancy, 46 kiss (of peace), 173, 180–1, 207 modern vs medieval attitudes towards, 220–2 occursus, 177, 179 petition and intercession, 184–90 prostration, 164, 187–8 reception/greeting, 166, 180–1 rites de passage, 190–3 speeches, 167 submission, 173 roads, Roman, 47, 51, 54, 60, 64 Akeman Street, 67 Fosse Way, 54, 56 Port Way, 54, 56 Watling Street, 53, 54 Robert of Jumièges, 184 Robert of Neustria, duke, 93 Rochester Cathedral, 131 Rogationtide, 197, 207 Rome, 92 Rosenwein, Barbara, 139 Rothar, king of the Lombards, 105 Rothulf, abbot of Abingdon, 155 Ruotger, 228 Saalfeld, Thuringia, 47 St Augustine’s, Canterbury, 149 St-Denis, 47 St Peter’s,York, 100, 153 Saxony, 15, 46, 47, 71, 95, 279 Scandinavians, see vikings Schneidmüller, Bernd, 215 Scots, 9 Scott, James C., 211 seals, 225 Seller, W. C., 2 Septuagesima, 75 Shaftesbury Abbey, 73, 179 shire (court), 114, 118, 119, 128, 129, 131, 144, 216

299

Index shire-reeve, 216 Sigewold, magnate, 188 Sihtric, ruler of York, 51, 57, 75, 157 Silchester, Hampshire, 56, 67 sin, 120 Siward, archbishop of Canterbury, 154 Slepe (= St Ives), Cambridgeshire, 140 Snodland, Kent, 131–2 Soliloquies, Old English, 183, 224, 225 Somerton, Somerset, 63 sorcery, see witchcraft Southampton, 56 Southern, Sir Richard, 104 spear, 191, see also ritual: investiture Staford, Pauline, 4, 41, 63 Stamford, Lincolnshire, 49 Standon, Hertfordshire, 129–30 state late Anglo-Saxon, 13, 215–27, 235–8 bureaucracy, 13, 217–18, 236 historiography, 11 maximalism, 13, 226–7 ritual aspects of, 218–23 medieval, 235 models of, 218–20 Personenverbandstaat, 12 Stenton, Sir Frank, 3, 90 Stoke, Cambridgeshire, 188 St-Omer, 175 Strathclyde, 9, 24, 51, 53, 59 structuralism, 123 Stubbs, William, 1, 14 Sunbury, Middlesex, 130–1 surety, 115 Surrey, 96 Sussex, 96 Swein, king of Denmark, 180 Swithun, St, 174, 175, 176, 178 sword, 191, see also ritual: investiture synods, 71, 107, 108, 168, see also councils, church Tamar, river, 62 Tamworth, Stafordshire, 49, 57 Tanshelf,Yorkshire, 52 taxation, 215, 216 tents, 69 Thames, river, 54, 57, 60, 63, 64, 67, 69, 71, 87, 94, 95, 100, 101 Thanet, 142 theft, 105, 113, 115, 118, 130, 142, 143, 144, 159 thegns assembly attendance, 42 charter attestation, 28, 30, 31, 34, 37 king’s, 127, 131

Theodoric, king of the Goths, 183 Thietmar of Merseburg, 191, 204, 209, 228 Thomas, St, 73 Thunderield, Surrey, 54 Thurstan, magnate, 188 Tiddingford, Bedforshire, 49 tithes, 92, 108, 159 tithing (judicial), 114, 118, 119 titulature, royal, 7, 29 Töbelmann, Paul, 162 topoi, 157, 176, 201 Tostig Godwineson, 156 transcript, public, 211, see also Scott, James C. treachery, 114, 117, 130 treason, 143 treaties, 54 tribute, 193, 215, 228, 233 Uhtred, ealdorman, 35 van Gennep, Arnold, 18 vengeance, see dispute settlement; feuding Vespers, 166, 167 vikings, 9, 31, 113, 213, 234 ‘Great Army’, 7 vill, royal, 56, 59, 62, 63, 67, 68–9 Vita Edwardi, 156, 176 Vollrath, Hanna, 22, 23, 110, 142 Wales, 52, 64, 205 Wallace-Hadrill, J. M. (Michael), 123 warranty, 130 Watling Street, see roads, Roman Weber, Max, 16, 17, 218, 219 monopoly on legitimate force (Gewaltmonopol), 116, 145, 227 Weinfurter, Stefan, 135 wergild, see law Werla, Saxony, 47 Wessex, 7, 31, 34, 39, 51, 54, 56, 57, 59, 60, 62, 63, 64, 66, 67, 71, 96, 100, 102 West Francia (France), 133, 187, 191, 194, 202, 205, 209, 227, 228, 229–30, 232, 234–5 whig interpretation, 1–3 White, Stephen, 123, 142 Whitelock, Dorothy, 3 Whittlebury, Northamptonshire, 54, 109 Wickham, Chris, 122, 216 William I, king of the English (1066–87), 71 William of Malmesbury, 60, 154, 157, 190–1 Wilton, Wiltshire, 59 Winchcombe, Gloucestershire, 63, 125 Winchester, 24, 56, 57, 59, 60, 67, 159, 177, 178, 188 council of (993), 22

300

Index Winchester, New Minster, 35, 196 Winchester, Old Minster, 34, 96, 99, 100, 129, 153, 171, 176, 178, 182 witchcraft, 115, 132–3 witch-swimming, 133 Witham, Essex, 49 Woolf, Alex, 68 Woolmer, Hampshire, 56, 63 Worcester Cathedral, 100, 125, 153, 154, 178, 185 World War I, 1, 2 Wormald, Patrick, 5, 66, 107, 110, 111, 113, 115, 117, 124, 131, 133, 143, 217, 219, 220, 226 writ, 44, 162 writing oice, royal, see diplomas, Anglo-Saxon Wulfgar, ealdorman, 35 Wulfhere, ealdorman, 133, 156

Wulfric ‘Cuing’, 133 Wulfric, pedisequus, 149 Wulfric, reeve, 138 Wulfstan I, archbishop of York, 36, 52 Wulfstan II, archbishop of York, 120, 199, 221 Institutes of Polity, 148, 160 Wulfstan II, bishop of Worcester, 154 Wulfstan Cantor, 155, 171–3, 175, 178, 182, 183 Wulfstan ‘Dalham’, 138, 141 Wullaf, disputant, 125 Yeatman, R. J., 2 Yeavering, 43 York, 9, 36, 38, 49, 51, 52, 57, 158 York Cathedral, see St Peter’s,York

301